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  He stopped before the doors and peered through the window into the dining room. “Merde!” He put out his left hand in a gesture to stay back.

  “What?” said Karen.

  “One of them is coming this way,” whispered Dulac. “He’s sweeping the dining room with his gun to see if anyone is hiding there. They’re onto us.”

  Dulac felt Karen’s heavy breathing over his right shoulder. He moved slightly away from the door, and a dose of adrenaline shot up his back into the nape of his neck. His stomach muscles contracted, and the pounding of his heart resonated in his chest. Dulac tensed his grip on the hatchet’s handle and raised it above his head.

  “Jesus, you’re not going to…”

  Suddenly the door swung open and the man entered, his arms outstretched, both hands gripping his pistol. He started to turn. Dulac swung, catching the hijacker’s skull dead center with the blunt end of the hatchet’s head. The man looked at Dulac, eyes rolled back, his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor.

  Karen brought her hand to her mouth. “You’ve …”

  Dulac knelt down and felt the man’s pulse. “Just a concussion.” He signaled to the cooks. “Tie him up and gag him. Can you hide him somewhere?”

  “Si, si,” said Alfonso. “We have a dry storage room.”

  “No good. Anywhere else?”

  Alfonso looked at his assistant and hunched his shoulders.

  “What about garbage bins?”

  “Si, si. We have beeg ones,” said Alfonso. “We put waste bags over him.”

  “Perfect,” Dulac knelt down, removed the Glock from the hijacker’s hand, felt his pockets, and pulled out four spare bullet clips. Dulac straightened his lanky frame and smiled at Karen. “Our odds just got a whole lot better.”

  * * *

  Luxor Amphitheater

  The passengers’ growing impatience was palpable as they waited for someone to appear on the stage of the amphitheater.

  “What is taking them so long?” Dickinson’s wife fidgeted with the hem of her sweater.

  “I have no idea, dear.” Dickinson looked abourd and behind him, searching for the safety officers who had somehow disappeared. “What do you think, Durward?”

  “I’m getting fed up with this. I’ll give them five more minutes, then we’re leaving.”

  “This is unacceptable. We should go now.” Dickinson signaled to the bodyguard on his left. “Tom, let’s go.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Getting up was as far as they made it. Machine gun fire erupted from the stage and a shower of broken glass fell from the ceiling. The bodyguard shoved Dickinson back down in the seat and fell on top of him. Dickinson’s pheripheral vision showed him two men on the stage, firing at the chandeliers overhead.

  Cries of panic filled the room, and the hijackers kept firing wildly at the ceiling, taking out all lighting except for the emergency exit lights and the indirect lights on the amphitheater’s walls and leaving the room in murky darkness. . The muted moans and cries of terrified women and children replaced the sound of gunfire. One of the hijackers raised a portable loudhailer to his mouth. “We control the ship. Do not leave your seats or you will be shot. The matter of fact tone of his voice was more convincing than any angry shout could ever be.

  Dickinson hugged Mary closer to him and whispered. “Are you all right?”

  “What’s happening?” She crouched under the bodyguard’s outstretched arms.

  “Pirates. They’ve taken over the ship.” He looked at Easton, huddling over his own wife, his back covered with glass. “Are you okay?”

  “I …I think so.”

  Dickinson’s bodyguard shifted his position slightly and Dickinson could tell he was trying to do some recon. Dickinson tried to do the same. Men and women cowered in their seats, their faces frozen masks of raw fear.

  “Don’t move and you won’t get hurt.” The man spoke in the same chilling matter-of-fact tone.

  Dickinson shot another side glance at Easton, who was trying to console his crying wife Sandra. He turned back towards Mary.

  “We’ll never see the children again, will we George?” she said between sobs.

  Chapter 17

  On the bridge, 8.46 am. Ship’s time

  Rhodes stood at the console next to Tariq and looked over his shoulder for a moment at the other officers sitting on the floor, their expressions dulled with resignation. The squat man sat on a small chair, his UZI across his lap, watching the officers with an air of contempt. The ship lurched slightly and brought Rhodes’s attention back to the bow, just as a plume of spray broke over the Star’s portside onto the deck. He looked up at the anemometer, South by Southwest, 54 knots. At that wind speed and angle, the Star was no longer impervious to the momentum of the building waves, and even with her four Vosper stabilizers, she was beginning to roll slightly.

  Rhodes’ anxiety burgeoned. Hugely top-heavy and essentially unseaworthy, cruise ships were not designed to face storms. At best, they had to avoid them. At worst, they had to outrun them. The Caravan Star was doing neither.

  “You have been to the Azores, Rhodes?” Tariq’s thin lips twisted his mouth into the form of a small, inverted crescent.

  “A few times.” Rhodes wasn’t sure of the wisdom of talking beyond the strict minimum.

  “I hear it is very windy there.”

  “Yes, quite windy.”

  “More than here, now?”

  Rhodes looked to his right at the weather fax machine, the most recent weather map hanging from its slot. Those tight, stacked-together isobars around the Azores meant even stronger winds. “Today, yes.” Rhodes hesitated, then continued, “Perhaps we should consider—”

  “Good. That’s very good.” Tariq stared ahead, his air of quiet determination effectively answering Rhodes’ query. “How much time till we get there?”

  Rhodes looked at the chart plotter, moved the cursor to the Azores and pressed the ETA button. “In about three hours.”

  “Excellent.”

  Both men continued looking ahead as the weather worsened and the waves increased in size. The silence grew more and more uncomfortable as time went by. Finally Tariq spoke. “So, Rhodes, you have children, yes?”

  “Two daughters.”

  “You are a lucky man.”

  “I believe so.”

  “I also had two girls. Once.”

  Tariq kept looking ahead, his expression now slightly pensive. Rhodes felt suddenly uncomfortable, not knowing if he should probe.

  “Azalea and Hansa. They were killed in a raid against my villa by Pakistani government troops. Also my wife Zora.”

  “I, I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. In Baluchistan, death is a part of everyday life. It is all around us. We get accustomed to it.”

  Tariq’s upper lip trembled slightly. For an instant his fine features softened, and Rhodes thought he saw an ounce of compassion in the man. “But they were so young, so beautiful, so full of energy... Anyway, it is not your concern.” Tariq’s face became hard again.He moved to Rhodes’ left, picked up the manifest from atop the console and started to go through it. Suddenly he smiled, then emitted a loud whistle. “Interesting. Do you know the name George E. Dickinson?”

  “Not particularly.” Rhodes felt the blood rush to the tip of his ears.

  Tariq aimed his pistol at Rhodes’s head. “You are sure?”

  “I… I think there may be some American politician—”

  “Correct, Rhodes. An important American politician. He is a Republican candidate for the presidency, no?”

  “Possibly, yes.”

  “Very, very interesting.” Tariq broke out into a nervous, syncopated laughter. He turned and eyed the other hijacker. “Get up.” The man sprang up from his chair. “Tie him,” he said, looking at Rhodes. “I’m going to the amphitheater.”

  * * *

  The bridge’s glass doors opened. Tariq walked to the elevators and pressed the down button with the muzzle of his
gun. While he waited, he suddenly felt a surge of elation invade his whole being. I’ve done it. I control the whole ship. It was so easy. And now I have a bonus. Allah is with us, as this is His sign. Allah be praised. He knelt, kissed the ground, and got up just as the overhead light signaled the arrival of the elevator.

  He entered and an incomprehensible voice, masked in static, called on his VHF radio. “Repeat. I didn’t get that. Repeat.”

  “Bridge, this is Luxor 2. Do you copy, over?”

  “That’s better. Go ahead.”

  “Omar went to find some missing passengers and kitchen staff. He hasn’t returned. It’s been over 20 minutes. He’s not answering his VHF.”

  Tariq felt the blood vessels in his forehead fill up. “Khara! Did you send someone after him?”

  “No. We didn’t want to lose control of the—”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 18

  P & W Cruise Lines Headquarters, Southampton

  In the company’s main conference room on the third floor, 54 P & W employees stood shoulder to shoulder, making small talk and wondering exactly why they’d been summoned to an emergency meeting by the president’s secretary. Rumors were already circulating that one of the company’s ships was in trouble in the Atlantic.

  At 10.15 am., Bolding walked in and stood at the head of the conference table, his curling grey hair slightly ruffled and a look of disquiet replacing his usual air of self-confidence. The room fell silent.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure some of you have heard that we have a situation with one of our ships. To make matters perfectly clear, I’d like to share with you as much information as I can, in order to dispel any false information or rumors.” Bolding paused, looked about the room and continued. “Right now, as I’m sure some of you have noticed, the Caravan Star has altered course and is heading in the direction of the Azores. She was not scheduled to go there on this trip. To make matters worse, we’ve lost all communications with her, and she’s not responding to her Inmarsat or High Frequency radios. She has also issued a SASS.”

  Bolding paused again, talking time to scan the audience briefly. He took in a deep breath and continued. “So we are forced to conclude that barring a major breakdown, this unfortunately means she’s been taken over by hijackers.”

  A murmur of shock and disbelief ran through the room.

  Bolding continued: “So far, this is all we know. Now I ask of all of you, that for the safety of all concerned including the passengers and crew, this information remain strictly contained within these walls and be kept absolutely confidential. It is of vital importance that no false rumors start circulating. We will keep you informed of any new developments. In the meantime, please go about your duties in a normal fashion. Any questions?”

  A woman with wire-rimmed glasses and curly brown hair raised her hand.

  “Yes Victoria,” said Bolding.

  “Mr. Bolding, do we have any idea who these people might be?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Another hand shot up.

  “Yes Robert,” said Bolding.

  “Sir, could she simply have a mechanical problem?”

  “I’d like to think that, but as I said, the accumulation of coincidences makes this highly unlikely.”

  Another hand shot up.

  “Yes Peter,” said Bolding.

  “So what is P & W doing about the situation?”

  Some of his fellow coworkers turned and looked askance at Peter Winthrop, the Eastern Europe sales rep.

  Bolding saw their look of reproach, but the last thing needed at the moment was ill-feeling among the employees. “Perfectly fair question, Peter. All I can say is that we’ve alerted the proper authorities including Home Office and the Navy. We will be looking at every option to keep the passengers and crew safe.”

  Bolding’s secretary appeared in the doorway, signaling for Bolding to come over.

  “Excuse me for a moment.” Bolding walked across the room and joined his secretary.

  “Sir,” she whispered, “the receptionist says she’s on the line with someone from the Caravan Star. Apparently it’s one of the passengers.”

  Bolding turned back to the room and dismissed the employees. “That will be all for now.” Then, accompanied by his secretary, he exited the hallway and rushed up the stairs to the fifth floor and over to the receptionist’s desk. Three other employees were huddled around and backed away as Bolding approached her desk. He grabbed a chair from an adjoining work station and sat down in front of her. “Put him on speaker. And whatever you do, don’t lose the call.”

  “Yes Mr. Bolding.”

  The receptionist flipped a switch and the speaker suddenly spewed out static and hissing white noise. Bolding leaned over, nearer the receptionist’s microphone. “Caravan Star, this is Adrian Bolding. I’m chairman of P & W. Who is this?” Bolding scribbled a note, turned and handed it to his secretary, standing behind him. The only response was more static.

  “Could you repeat that? I didn’t get that. Please repeat.”

  “I’m Thierry Dulac.” The voice sounded far away, as if drowned out by a strong wind. “I’m a passenger on the Caravan Star. She’s been taken over by hijackers.”

  “Where are you on the ship? How many are there? What is the—”

  “Whoa. Easy. I’m on deck with two passengers. The others have been corralled into the amphitheater. We managed to get away and we’re calling you on my sat phone from the stern. It’s very windy here.”

  “Mr. Dulac, any idea how many hijackers there are?”

  “I’m guessing at least six. They’re posing as security officers. We’ve just neutralized one of them in the kitchen. I don’t have much time to talk. They’re probably looking for us right now.”

  “Mr. Dulac, I’ve placed a call with Arnold Archibald from the British Navy to join us. You said you neutralized one of the terrorists. Are you armed?”

  “We are now. With one of their Glocks and four clips of ammo.”

  “Have you people handled guns before, Mr. Dulac?”

  “Henry Porter was with the 82nd Airborne. I am an Interpol agent with weapons training.”

  “Very good. Excellent, I—”

  There was a clicking sound on the phone.

  “Bolding, this is Archibald.”

  “Yes Admiral. We have a Mr. Dulac from the Caravan Star on the line. For your information, Mr. Dulac, the Star is headed for a reef off the Azores. If she doesn’t alter course, she’ll hit it in less than three hours. We’ve had no contact from these people. I’m afraid it’s beginning to look like a suicide mission.”

  “Great. Just pissing great.”

  Bolding covered the phone with his hand and signaled his secretary to come closer. “Have Winston get in touch with Watters and inform him of the situation. Get them on the line.”

  “Yes Mr. Bolding.”

  Bolding returned to the conversation between Archibald and Dulac.

  “Where are you aboard the ship?” said Archibald.

  “We’re at the stern.”

  “Any sign of the hijackers?”

  “None. That is, apart from the one we… ah, neutralized.”

  “I see. Mr. Dulac, for your information we’ve been in —”

  “You’re fading. I didn’t get that. Could you repeat that, Admiral?” said Dulac.

  “I’m saying we are in touch with the American Navy and the missile cruiser USS Anzio is on its way,” said Archibald. “Help is coming, but unless the Star slows to 17 knots, the Anzio won’t reach her before she hits the reef. We must find some way, or someone to slow her down.”

  “I didn’t get that last bit. Please repeat.”

  “I said we must slow down the Star,” said Archibald.

  “OK. How will you do that?”

  “Sir Adrian?” said Archibald.

  “Mr. Dulac, I’ve just had David Winston place a call to our Chief Engineer Egan Watters. We must assume that the bridge is h
eavily guarded, so that option is out,” said Bolding. There was a clicking sound. “Mr. Winston, are you on the line?”

  “Yes. Mr. Dulac, this is David Winston. I have our Chief Engineer Egan Watters on the line. I have already briefed him about the need to slow down the Star.”

  “Hello, Watters here.” Watters’ voice was high-pitched, almost childlike.

  “Mr. Watters, Adrian Bolding. We have one of the passengers of the Caravan Star on the line. A Mr. Dulac. He needs to know how to slow down the —”

  “Wait a second,” interrupted Dulac. “Are you saying you want me to slow this ship down?”

  “We don’t have anybody else but you and Mr. Porter, Mr. Dulac.”

  “Jesus.” Dulac turned to Karen and Hank. “They want us to slow down the ship.” They looked at each other in silent disbelief, the groaning of the wind howling over the superstructure adding to the drama of their predicament.

  Watters’ high pitched voice interrupted the low frequency static over the sat phone. “Mr. Dulac, is it?”

  “I’m having trouble hearing you. Say again.” Dulac turned slightly to shield the phone from the wind and moved towards the ship’s railing.

  “Can you hear me now?”

  “Yes, that’s better.”

  “Watters here. Are you familiar with how a ship is powered?”

  “Vaguely. I think it’s like trains. Diesel motors supply the power to electric generators, which in turn drive the propeller shafts. Hang on a second, Porter needs to hear this.” He waved Hank over to join him and listen in.

  “Very good,” continued Watters. “In a nutshell, that’s exactly how it works. It’s done through a series of frequency converters and drives. In the case of the Star, there are two banks with two Wartsila diesel motors per bank, and each bank has its corresponding generator, which is controlled electronically by a cycloconverter which measures the amount of electricity needed by the electric motors of the Azipod system, and in turn—”