Home Fires

8. GOING DOWN

“You come down!”

The shouter was on the Main Deck, clearly visible in the moonlight. “Come down quick or we shoot!” One of his companions clarified that statement by shooting, his rifle pointed almost vertically up.

The shot was answered by what sounded like a string of obscenities from the topgallant yard of Number 5 Mast.

“Missed ’em,” the captain whispered. “Nobody fell.”

Skip nodded. They were watching from the dubious shelter of a veranda overlooking the stern.

“Four of them are bunched up there. Do you think you can get them with that machine gun?”

Before Skip could shake his head, there was a shot from the fantail, aft of Number 6 Mast. The flash, a pinprick of yellow flame smaller than a spark, was gone in an instant; the report, half lost in the immensity of the silent sea, small and weak.

Yet the hijacker with the rifle lurched forward, his steps awkward and uneven. He bent, crumpled, and fell on his face. The remaining three opened fire, joined by three others some distance away.

Skip vaulted the railing without a moment’s thought.

He landed, perhaps fortunately, on a seventh who had been running onto the open deck. Afterward, he could not recall how he had gotten to his feet or how his submachine gun had gotten from his back to his bruised hands, only stumbling toward the men he felt certain must be shooting at Chelle, hearing the captain’s shots behind him, and dropping to one knee before firing a short burst—the submachine gun leaping and shaking in his grip, although it seemed then that he heard no shots, neither his own nor the shot fired by the lone man at the base of the mast, who turned and fired before he fell.

He stood, no longer shooting; and the captain shouted up to the men on the topgallant yard: “Get down here! See those weapons? They’re yours. Come down and claim them.”

After that, he was in Chelle’s arms, and she in his, although he did not relax his grip on his submachine gun.

“They’ll come,” he said. “They must have heard us.”

“Out of that door there.” She pointed. “One at time, with the light behind them. Want to bet I can’t go five for five?”

* * *

They held their meeting in the first-class tearoom, a place of polished wood, old framed prints, and fine china. All four of them were tired and more than a little baffled.

“If they scuttle,” Chelle said, “they’ll drown first. I don’t think they’ll do it.”

“They will or they won’t,” Vanessa told her. “Nothing in this world is less predictable than a frightened man.”

The captain chuckled.

“It’s the truth! Women are criers, screamers, or fighters. If I know the woman, I can tell you exactly what she’ll do. Men … Well, it depends on thousand things.”

Chelle said, “Skip wasn’t frightened. He jumped that rail like a tiger. I saw him and you didn’t.”

“If he wasn’t frightened, he doesn’t count. Were you, Skip? I was hiding behind a ventilator and so was Chelle.”

“Afterward,” Skip told her. “Only afterward. They were trying to kill Chelle, half a dozen of them.”

Chelle made a rude noise. “I was firing from cover, not hiding, and those dumbfucks couldn’t hit a bull in the ass with a bass fiddle.”

The captain said, “We can argue about that later. The hijackers in the hold are our present problem. What can we do about them?”

“Rush ’em,” Chelle said. “Keep them waiting for two or three days, then rush ’em.”

Mildly, Skip said, “What if they scuttle?”

“We escape in the boats and they drown.”

Vanessa asked, “Would we have time to launch the lifeboats, Richard?”

“Yes, but we’d lose the ship, and we might die in the boats. Or some of us might.”

Skip said, “We’re not as strong as they think we are. I tried to fool them at the parley, and I succeeded. Don’t question that, please—it will just waste time. I fooled them, but they may not stay fooled. If they don’t, they may rush us.”

Chelle said, “Cool! Let ’em try it.”

“They may.” Skip leaned forward.

The captain laid a notebook on the table. “Let’s list our options. We can rush them, or we can wait for them to rush us. Anything else?”

Vanessa said, “How well can you steer without the rudders? Well enough to get us back to the NAU?”

“I don’t know. That’s what Mr. Reuben is trying to find out, steering with the sails. If you mean mainland North America, I think you can forget it. It’s too far, and we’d be tacking. How do you tack without a rudder?”

“I have no idea.”

“Neither do I, and I doubt that it could be done. A fore-and-aft rig might manage something, but we’re square-rigged.”

Chelle said, “Aren’t there a lot of islands?”

“Yes, and we were going to visit a few of them. But they’re well east of our position, and the prevailing winds have been driving us southwest. We can counter that to some extent. Maybe we could even counter it enough to slip between Grenada and Tobago and round the shoulder of South America. That would buy us time, and we might be rescued.”

Skip asked, “What if we can’t? You said we might be able to do that. Suppose we don’t make it?”

Vanessa shrugged. “Then we hit Tobago, I suppose. Richard?”

“Or Trinidad. Most likely of all, we ground somewhere on the north coast of the South American Union. I’m not going to write that down, because it’s almost the worst thing that could happen, in my opinion. Not quite as bad as sinking, but close. It’s what will happen if nothing we try works.”

Chelle’s hand found Skip’s. “What if we rush them and win? Could you repair the rudders?”

“The steering gear. They haven’t done anything to the rudders themselves. The steering gear’s electric, and all they had to do was pull a couple of wires, or cut them. It should be easy to fix.”

“Then that’s what we do, damn it!”

Vanessa’s voice was almost a whisper. “With you out in front, darling?”

“Damn fucking right, Mother!”

“In that case, I vote against it, Richard.”

Skip said, “So do I.”

The captain laid down his pencil. “We’re not voting yet.”

Vanessa edged her chair nearer his. “You’ve got an idea, and I’ll vote for it. Whatever it is.”

Skip nodded. “What is it, Captain?”

“Let me lay a little groundwork first. For years now, northern South America has been a disaster. Revolution and banditry, crime and corruption, every kind of hell. We’ve steered clear of it, and so have the other cruise lines. The Caribbean islands have been relatively safe up until now. If that weren’t true, we wouldn’t have put in at La Glaise.”

Skip said, “Where you were blindsided. I understand.”

“Grenada has been another regular stop. It’s EU, not SAU.”

“EU?” Chelle said. “Over here?”

“That’s right. There are a few EU islands. Jamaica’s the biggest. Grenada’s the nicest, in our opinion. We’ve never had trouble there, and it’s in their interest to have as many cruise ships stop off there as possible. Tourism’s the main industry. I want to try it.”

Chelle said, “If we can get there, sure. Maybe they can front us a little tear gas.”

Skip nodded. “I agree, Captain, but I have a question.”

“So do I,” Vanessa said, “and I think it’s the same one. You’re the captain, Richard, so why ask us? Why don’t you just do it?”

The captain drew a deep breath. “Because I need your cooperation—all three of you. Lieutenant Brice is in the infirmary, and some of the best people I had are dead. I don’t want another fight with the hijackers before we make port there. It would be a fight we might lose.”

He paused, then spoke to Chelle. “You’re headstrong, Ms. Blue. I don’t want you to organize an attack on your own, and after what I’ve seen you do, I’m afraid you might do it. You’re a soldier? That’s what Mr. Grison told me.”

Chelle made him a mock salute. “Mastergunner Blue at your service, sir.”

“I certainly hope so. We’ve quite a few vets among the passengers, and Mr. Gorman tells me that they—and you—were our best fighters. Would they follow you if you tried to surprise the hijackers?”

“Absolutely. Every one of them.”

“I want you to give me your word you won’t do it, at least until we reach Grenada—or fail to reach it. Will you?”

“You’ve got it, Captain,” Chelle said.

“Thank you. I’m deeply indebted to you.” He turned to Vanessa. “You’re Ms. Blue’s mother, Virginia? That’s what Mr. Grison told me, although you seem much too young.”

Vanessa’s smile would have charmed a man far less susceptible. “I was a mere infant of twenty-three when Chelle was born.”

“But if Ms. Blue here fought…?”

Chelle said, “You’re right. I was gone over twenty years, Earth-time. My mother’d be pushing seventy now if she hadn’t been up in space herself. She won’t talk about it, damn her. Not to me and probably not to you.”

Vanessa smiled again. “My lips are sealed.”

“I understand,” the captain told her. “You were a civilian employee of the government. We’ll leave it at that.”

“As I said, Richard, my lips are sealed.”

“Not where your daughter is concerned, I hope. You’re bound to have a good deal of influence with her. I’d like you to exert it to prevent a premature attack. That’s why you’re here.”

“I’d do it even if you hadn’t asked, Richard. I’d rather die myself than see Chelle killed.”

No one spoke until Skip said, “What about me, Captain? Why was I invited?”

The captain seemed to hesitate. “You’re an attorney, Mr. Grison? I believe you told me so.”

Skip nodded. “Burton, Grison, and Ibarra. Chet Burton’s our senior partner, but he’s retired.”

“You do the senior partner’s work without the senior partner’s pay.”

“If you want to put it that way. I’m doing all right financially.”

“I imagine you are.” The captain cleared his throat. “You and Ms. Blue are an extraordinary couple. We’re very lucky to have you two on board.”

Chelle said, “Thanks.”

“I feel blessed in all three of you.” The captain studied their faces before he spoke again. “Something was said earlier about Mr. Grison’s jumping the railing. Like a tiger was the way you put it, Mastergunner Blue. I was nearer than you were, and I confirm it. He realized—he’s told me this since—that they were shooting at you.”

Vanessa said, “You must have gone over that railing too, Richard. You were on deck with two empty pistols when I got there.”

The captain nodded. “Thank you. That brings me to my point, and I didn’t know how I was going to get there. I’d never have gone over that railing if Mr. Grison hadn’t done it first. As it was, I followed him without thought and without hesitation. Are you—”

As the captain spoke, the door opened. Achille looked in and made an odd, urgent gesture.

Skip said, “We’ll be through in a moment.”

When the door had shut, the captain said, “I was about to ask whether you were the leader of the passengers.”

“No. I don’t think they have a leader.”

Chelle said, “He is, Captain.”

“That is my impression as well. Whether you’re their leader or not, Mr. Grison, I know you have influence and I want you to use it.”

Soon after that, the meeting ended. The captain and Vanessa left together, going up the stairs to the signal deck. While Skip and Chelle made their way forward, she asked, “What do you think Achille wanted?”

“I have no idea. Something was wrong with him. Did you notice?”

“Sure. One side of his face was swollen.”

“You’re right. He’d put a hook through the face of one of the hijackers, and they beat him for it. That’s not what I was getting at, though. I lost track of him when the shooting started, and he looks different now. It took me a moment to put my finger on it.”

“Maybe he took a bath.”

Skip was silent.

When they had passed a dozen weary doors, Chelle asked, “Where are you going?”

“To our stateroom. I thought Achille would be waiting outside. He wasn’t and I’d like to be where he can find me, at least for the next hour or two. I’ll probably go out on the veranda and read. What about you?”

“Going down to the second-class bar. I just decided.” Grinning, Chelle raised her larger hand. “I swear I won’t have more than a couple of beers, and I won’t cheat on you. Trust me?”

Skip nodded. “I love you too much not to.”

“Okay. I need to talk to the guys and tell them to lay off the rough stuff until we get to that island he’s heading for.”

“Grenada.”

“Yeah, that was it. I’ll circulate and pass the word. Then I’ll come in and make you drop your book.”

As he walked down the corridor to their cabin, Skip decided that he would read for no longer than one hour. If Chelle had not returned by then, he too would look in on the second-class bar.

Achille was waiting outside the door. “We talk, mon. Mus’ talk. I got big news. Bad news.”

Skip slipped his key card into the lock. “Come in. I’ve got a question, but I may not need to ask it after I hear your news.”

Hesitantly, Achille followed him in. “Is good, I come in this place?”

“You’re worried about Chelle. She isn’t here, and you’ll be gone before she comes back. You said you had news. What is it?”

“They take me, los picaróns. Take my hooks.”

Skip nodded. “I should have noticed that when you opened the door and waved to me. I knew something was wrong with the way you looked, but I didn’t know what it was. How did you open the door?”

Achille grinned. “Roll him between arms, mon.” He demonstrated, one brawny forearm on top of an imaginary doorknob and the other below it. “This how I do him all days.”

“I see. How did you get away from the hijackers?”

“They let me go, mon. Take my hooks, I no fight then. Give paper and let go. I say I take to you. In pocket my shirt.” Lifting one shoulder and bending his head, Achille caught the top of a soiled note between his teeth.

Skip took it. It proved to be a list of names, some printed, some cursive: David Arthur Pechter, Gregorio I. Lo Casale, Joe Bonham, Donald Miles, Gerald Kent-Jermyn, and Angel Mendoza.

Achille pointed to the last. “Is gone, mon. He give slip before let me go. Him, him, him, him, him they still got. Rope on hands, feet, so they not give slip, too.”

“These five men are their prisoners?”

“Is so, mon. They give paper, make every mon write his name. They give me paper, say you come talk or they—” Achille made a throat-cutting gesture with the end of his right stump. “You come talk?”

“Yes. Yes, certainly.”

“No gun. No knife.”

Skip nodded. “Chelle doesn’t have a laptop. I ought to have gotten her one.” A short search uncovered paper with the ship’s name and image blazoned on top, and a pen.

Chelle, darling,

The hijackers are holding some of our people, and Achille and I have gone to talk to them about it. Should they hold us, too, don’t try to free us before Grenada. I, who love you so desperately, will love you all the more for that.

Skip

A freight elevator in the stern carried them down to the hold, where two hijackers watched its doors. Skip displayed his empty hands, identified himself, and stepped out into what seemed a rocking warehouse filled with boxes and more stainless-steel drums—filled, too, with stale air and foggy yellow light.

The hijacker who held an assault rifle told the one with a machete to tie Skip’s hands.

“No!” He held up his hands again. “I’ve come to negotiate, not to surrender. There will be no negotiations as long as I’m bound.”

“¡Puras vainas!” snapped the hijacker with the assault rifle, and Skip’s hands were bound. The hijacker with the machete marched him off between dark and beetling cliffs of barrels, crates, and boxes to a small, windowless office where an older hijacker took his feet off the desk and picked up a large knife. “You are no el capitán.” His English was accented but understandable.

“Correct,” Skip said.

“¿El jefe?”

“I am the captain’s attorney.”

The older hijacker grunted. “I will speak el capitán. No you.”

“Untie me and send me back to him, and I will tell him so.”

“One millón noras, we wish. One millón, and to be put a tierra.”

“You want me to bargain with you, señor. I won’t do it until you untie me.”

“You agree? You agree, I cut la cuerda.”

“Cut the ropes, and we’ll talk about it.”

For an instant, Skip thought that the older hijacker intended to stab him. The blow came, and for a time that might have been anything he thought absolutely nothing.

When consciousness returned, he was being dragged by the feet into a dark place. There he lay, head aching and hands numb, for hours that seemed very long.