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“Did something happen to the transmitter?”
“Nothing that concerns you right now. Just get down to the laundry and do what I say. Then find Rolph and report back up here. We’re getting off this ship.”
“What’s going on?”
“Trust me on this. We’re going to be arrested as soon as we reach Crete. This is the only way.”
One of the officers suddenly shouted, “Where the hell did he come from and what does he think he’s playing? Call the captain up here and sound the collision alarm.” He rushed out to the opposite flying bridge.
“Stay with me,” Kovac said, and he and Bergman jogged after the ship’s officer. A huge freighter was coming straight at the Golden Sky. She looked like a ghostship with all her running lamps extinguished, but she was cutting through the water at a good twenty knots.
The officer shouted back to the others on the bridge. “Didn’t you see him on radar?”
“He was ten miles away, last time I checked,” the junior officer replied. “And that was only a few minutes ago, I swear.”
“Hit the alarms.”
The Golden Sky’s bellowing horns had no effect. The freighter continued to aim straight for them, as if it intended to slice the cruise ship in half. Just when it seemed there was no avoiding a collision, the freighter’s bow turned sharper than any ship the officer had ever seen, and she came alongside with only a few dozen feet separating them. It was an incredible piece of ship handling, and had the officer not been so angry he would have been impressed.
Kovac recalled that there had been reports of a large ship making an illegal passage of the Corinth Canal the night the Hanley kid had been snatched. He had always known that the two incidents were related, and now a freighter makes an appearance on this of all nights. With the feral instincts of a rat, he knew they were here for him.
He moved back inside and away from the crewmen. Their walkie-talkies didn’t work well around so much steel, but he raised Rolph Strong, the third man who had choppered to the ship with him.
“Rolph, it’s Kovac. I need you to clear everyone out of the engine room and lock yourself inside. No one is to enter, and kill anyone who resists. Do you understand?”
Unlike Bergman, Strong never questioned orders. “Clear the engine room and let no one enter. Copy.”
Kovac pulled his pistol from under his windbreaker and said to Bergman, “Go out and find six or seven women. I don’t care if they’re passengers or crew. Bring them back here as quickly as you can. Also, go to my cabin and bring the rest of our weapons.” Before Bergman could inevitably ask for an explanation, Kovac added: “Thom Severance is dead, the plan is ruined, and the people responsible for it are on that freighter. Go!”
“Yes, sir!”
The Serb locked the bridge door before threading a silencer onto the end of his automatic and dispassionately shooting the two crewmen and one of the bridge officers. The soft reports were drowned out by the blaring air horns, so the second officer didn’t know what was going on until he stepped in off the flying bridge and saw the bodies. He had time to look to Kovac before two crimson blooms appeared on his starched white uniform shirt. His jaw worked silently for a moment, before he collapsed against a bulkhead and slumped to the deck.
Suspecting that the operatives on the freighter were going to throw a line onto the cruise ship to send over a boarding party, Kovac stepped up to the controls. There was a dial to order more or less speed from the ship’s engines and a simple joystick to turn the rudder. Maneuvering such a massive vessel was as easy as steering a fishing smack.
He cranked the t
hrottle to maximum and veered the ship away from the rusted-out freighter. The Golden Sky was only a few years old, and, while she was built for luxury more than speed, he was supremely confident he could outrun the derelict.
They started to pull ahead, easily outpacing the freighter, but only for a few moments. It, too, put on a burst of speed, and exactly mirrored his turn. Kovac was dismayed that a ship that looked ready to dissolve into a rust stain could move so swiftly. He checked the throttle control and noticed that if he pulled the dial upward, he could draw what was called EMERGENCY POWER.
He did, and watched their speed continue to increase. Looking across the bridge, he saw the freighter slowly falling back. Kovac grunted with satisfaction. It would take an hour or two to put enough distance between the two ships for them to stop so he could lower a lifeboat, but it didn’t matter.
As if the freighter were toying with him, the big merchantman inexorably accelerated to match his speed and once again positioned itself no more that thirty feet off the Golden Sky’s beam. A quick glance confirmed the cruise ship was pounding across the flat sea at thirty-six knots. There was no way the freighter should be able to achieve that speed, let alone maintain it.
Kovac’s frustration quickly morphed into rage. There came a sharp burst of automatic fire from the corridor behind the bridge, followed by a chorus of high-pitched screams. He rushed to the wheelhouse’s sole entrance and threw back the bolt, his pistol at the ready. The ship’s captain lay in a widening pool of blood on the carpeted deck, and four other officers cowered along the passageway. They must have tried to rush Bergman when he returned. Behind them, his assistant had seven women huddled in abject terror.
“Inside! Now!” Kovac snarled, and gestured with his weapon for the women to enter the bridge.
They moved in a tight cluster under Bergman’s watchful eye, tears streaming down their cheeks.
“Stop this at once,” the seniormost officer demanded.
Kovac shot him in the face and closed the bridge’s thick metal door.
He grabbed one of the women, a dark-haired beauty he recognized was a waitress from the dining room, and raced back to the helm. He positioned her between him and the stalking freighter as a human shield, in case they had snipers. He noted that the merchantman had narrowed the gap even more.
“I believe the game is called chicken,” he said to no one in particular, and savagely pushed the rudder control to port.
