^ At 3am the ^ Challenger – ^ which had increased speed inside the Bay – was anchored half a mile from Pier 31 on the San Francisco waterfront. Ship-to-shore radio-telephone equipment had been set up in MacGowan's office in response to a signal from LeCat that he wished to establish direct contact with the Governor of California. Foreseeing long hours ahead of the action committee, MacGowan had brought in beds which now occupied adjoining rooms. It appeared that the three-man assault team had gone to ground – as Winter had warned might happen.
^ Watchers along the waterfront and high up on the Bay bridge linking San Francisco with Oakland across the Bay had scanned the stationary vessel through powerful night-glasses. There were no lights aboard the vessel, no sign of movement anywhere. 'It must be the thinning of the fog which stopped them,' MacGowan told General Matthew Lepke of the Presidio. They dare not try and storm the bridge until the fog provides cover – there's six hundred feet of exposed deck between the fo'c'sle and the bridge at the stern. All the hostages would be murdered before they got ^ ^ there – and they would probably be shot down before they ever reached the bridge structure…'
^ Gen. Lepke, fifty-five years old and rumoured to be moving into the Pentagon over the heads of fifteen other generals, was a spare, wiry man with a bird-like face and restless eyes. 'Cassidy will know what he's doing,' he observed. 'Trouble is he may have to wait till tonight – another sixteen hours – before there's chance of more fog. You'll just have to spin out the negotiations with this terrorist chief, LeCat…'
^ 'Except that we're pretty certain that at some stage he's going to shoot the hostages anyway,' MacGowan commented.
^ The first message came through on the ship-to-shore minutes later. The Frenchman sounded confident and decisive as his voice came through the speaker. He repeated his warning.
^ 'All the twenty-nine hostages – including the American girl -will be shot instantly if the ^ Challenger ^ is approached by any aircraft, surface vessel or underwater craft…'
^ 'What about the casualties?' MacGowan demanded. 'Your earlier signal said you had nine injured people aboard – including Miss Cordell…'
^ 'There have been no casualties yet,' the Frenchman shouted. 'That was a mistake. Now, no more interruptions. I will only say it once…'
^ LeCat went on to say that his ultimate demand would be made in due course; in the meantime a Boeing 747 must be made ready to stand by at San Francisco International Airport with full fuel tanks; a Greyhound bus must be requisitioned, its windows painted over black, and then driven to Pier 31; finally, the sum of two hundred million dollars must be assembled at the Bank of America within five hours. 'You will be informed of where to take the money later,' LeCat ended.
^ MacGowan tried to protest, then realised LeCat had switched off the ship-to-shore. He had tried to intervene while LeCat was speaking, only to be talked down by the Frenchman. 'When I want you to speak I will tell you. Now, you will listen! If you interrupt again First Officer Bennett will be shot…'
^ ^ ^ single shot being fired. MacGowan glanced at Lepke sitting alongside him. The general's mouth had tightened. LeCat came back on the ship-to-shore. That bullet went out of the window. The next one goes into Bennett…'
^ 'He's a bastard,' MacGowan said when he had switched off the speaker. 'Is it possible that Winter got it wrong? Is he really going to negotiate? He made it sound damned convincing – the demand for a Jumbo, for the bus…'
^ MacGowan began using the phone at once, making arrangements about the bus, the Boeing 747, and enquiries about the money. It was important to appear to be cooperating at this stage – to keep LeCat in a state of suspension as long as he could, to buy time until the assault team aboard the ship could make a move. And still he was unsure about the genuineness of LeCat's demands, about whether Winter had been wrong.
^ Winter raised the hatch cover slowly, then held it open a few inches and peered along the main deck. The ship had stopped, his watch showed the time as 3am, a transparent trail of fog drifted across the fo'c'sle, but the main deck was clear. His night vision was good – he had switched off the light in the carpenter's store a few minutes earlier to get his eyes used to the dark. And the foremast was highly visible.
^ Something moved on the circular platform at the top of the foremast; a man was walking round it slowly, his back turned to Winter for a moment. The Englishman thought he recognised the man's movements, that it was probably Andre Dupont. He pressed the pair of miniature field-glasses he had brought with him to his eyes, adjusting the focus with one hand. The lookout was holding a box-like object in his right hand, probably a walkie-talkie. Cassidy had been right; there was communication between Dupont and the distant bridge.
^ He closed the hatch while the lookout was staring in the opposite direction, felt his way down the ladder in the dark, switched on the light. Sitting on the floor with their backs against a bulkhead, Sullivan and Cassidy looked up at him anxiously, a question in their eyes. 'No good,' Winter said. The deck is still practically free from fog – and the lookout is still on the foremast. He's carrying a walkie-talkie, I'm sure. He'd be reporting our presence before we even got off the fo'c'sle. Every hostage would be dead before we were half-way to the bridge…'
^ 'I can't be sure – there's a heavy belt of fog obscuring the shore, which means the people on the mainland won't be able to see the tanker. My guess is LeCat has stopped where I told him to – half a mile off Pier 31.'
^ 'Jesus!' Cassidy stretched a leg which was stiffening up. 'Looks as though we could be here for hours.' He looked round their cramped quarters. 'You say the escape apparatus was in here?'
^ 'Was…' The inflatable Zodiac was no longer in the store. The outboard motor had gone. The cases containing the wet-suits were no longer there. Everything pointed to LeCat opening up the planned escape route. It also destroyed Winter's first plan – to wait inside the carpenter's store until one or two of the terrorists arrived to collect the equipment. They could have eliminated the men quietly below deck, taken their outer clothes and then marched openly along the main deck in the dark. Now they would have to wait. It was an unnerving prospect and already tension was building up inside the carpenter's store.
^ On the bridge of the ^ Challenger ^ LeCat had let Mackay hear him talking to MacGowan over the ship-to-shore. Now he was in control, it seemed sensible to the Frenchman to keep the British crew quiet, especially its captain. As he ended his dictatorial monologue with the Governor and switched off, he thought he saw relief in Mackay's face at the reference to providing a bus, a plane. He checked his watch, noting when he must call up MacGowan again: the timing was important.
^ Earlier, as the tanker was passing Alcatraz Island, Dupont had reported to LeCat that the lookout on the forepeak was missing. LeCat had hurried to the fo'c'sle as the fog was thinning out. He had found the Skorpion pistol lying near the rail, and near that ^ ^ he had found an empty wine bottle. Cursing the lookout for drinking on duty, he had concluded the feeble-minded idiot must have toppled overboard. He had forgotten him as he went to his cabin to collect the miniature transmitter with an extendable aerial. From now on this instrument would accompany him everywhere he went.
^ Attached to the nuclear device now planted deep inside the empty oil tank was a tinier mechanism – also a miniature receiver of the type used by aircraft model-makers. The receiver, which would set the timer mechanism going, could only be activated when a radio signal reached it. The radio signal would come from the miniature transmitter LeCat was now carrying with him. One turn of a switch and nothing on God's earth could stop the nuclear device detonating at the pre-set timing.
^ There was tension also in Paris, over five thousand miles away, where it was eleven in the morning, where an emergency meeting of the Cabinet had been called at the Elysee Palace. Earlier, Karpis of the FBI, after obtaining agreement from Washington, had phoned through direct to Paris, asking for information on a certain Jean Jules LeCat. The request – because of the world news bulletins – travelled like an electric shock through the upper echelons of the French government.
^ At first ministers considered telling Karpis that there must be some mistake, that LeCat was still in the Sante prison, that the San Francisco terrorist was clearly an impostor. French logic, however, prevailed – this was far too big an issue to risk any kind of deception. They argued about it for some time – the record shows that the meeting went on for over two hours – and then a realistic decision was taken.
^ The Surete Nationale transmitted to Inspector Karpis a detailed technical report on LeCat's known criminal activities-the political side was omitted. Reading this report in San Francisco, Karpis found it illuminating and not a little frightening. The man they faced was no common thug; he was a man of enormous experience in the more violent aspects of human activity, obviously had some skill as an organiser, and had at one time lived in the United States. The FBI man skipped some of the technical data, so he saw no particular significance at that moment in the reference at the end. 'Also expert in the remote control of explosives, that is, detonation by radio signals…'
^ The next communication from LeCat over the ship-to-shore came at 4am. Again, MacGowan was warned not to interrupt. 'You will warn the American ambassador to the United Nations that he should stand by to receive a message from you later. There will be a time limit for you to decide whether or not you will agree to my demand. If you do not agree, all the hostages will be shot at the expiry of the deadline …'
^ Theentire action committee was assembled inside the Governor's office as LeCat began talking. They watched MacGowan as he sat grim-faced in front of the speaker, knowing that he just had to sit there and take it while the French terrorist lectured him, told him what he had to do, that he must not interrupt. MacGowan interrupted.
^ 'If you shoot them now you won't have any cannon fodder left for the deadline,' he said brutally. 'I've listened to you – now you damn well listen to me. I'm providing a bus…'
^ Peretti winced, certain that this was not the way to handle it, that there was going to be a disaster, that MacGowan had the wrong approach altogether. LeCat's voice burst in, filled with venom.
^ 'As I was saying,' MacGowan interrupted, 'transport for you to escape is being provided. Whether we will ever let you use it is another matter – it depends entirely on what you propose, whether we agree. Now, get on with what you were saying…'
^ 'We will board the ship immediately. And I will not speak with you again unless you give me some proof that all the hostages are at this moment alive and well – alive ^ and ^ well. Put Captain Mackay on the air if you want me to speak to you again…'
^ MacGowan's voice was a growl, Peretti was pale-faced with apprehension, the other men inside the room were leaning forward in their chairs, their expressions tense. Gen. Lepke had his head on one side like a bird, listening, watching MacGowan. They were ^ ^
^ There was a pause, some static crackle, confused noises at the other end on the bridge of the ^ Challenger ^ half a mile from Pier 31. MacGowan had his head down, staring fixedly at the speaker from under his thick eyebrows as though he could see his opponent, as though he were facing a hostile witness in the box. The seconds ticked by and the tension inside the room became almost unbearable. They were all still waiting for the sound of shots, their bodies tensed as though they might be the targets.
^ Firm, steady, unemotional, this was Mackay's first contact with the outside world since the terrorists had seized his ship four days earlier. It was, MacGowan thought, remarkable. 'Are all your crew still alive and well, Captain?' he asked. 'I want to know the position aboard that ship…'
^ 'We are all alive, we are all well, at the moment. And that includes our American passenger, Miss Betty Cordell.'
^ 'We will do everything we can to see you are released safely,' MacGowan said slowly and deliberately. 'We shall continue negotiating for that end,' he went on, knowing that LeCat was listening. 'But no one must be harmed or I shall immediately stop all negotiation…'
^ There was a flurry at the other end, a grunt of pain which every man inside the room felt, then LeCat repeated his instruction once more that no aircraft, no surface or underwater vessel must approach them and abruptly went off the air. Someone in the room let out a deep sigh and then everyone started stirring restlessly, getting up and walking about to ease the tension out of their muscles.
^ 'Because unlike me, you never were a trial lawyer. That man out on the ^ Challenger's ^ bridge is an egomaniac – I'm beginning to get to know him and I can hear it in his voice. For the first time in his life he has a huge audience – everything he says or does is reported across the face of the earth. He knows it, he likes it. His only trump card is he holds the lives of those hostages in his hands…' MacGowan leaned across his desk. 'He's not throwing that away – yet. And the main demand is yet to come – he'll not shoot anyone until he's made that demand. My bet is we still have a few hours left…'
^ 'Your bet is on the lives of twenty-nine people,' Peretti snapped. 'I'm not that much of a gambler.'
^ Gen. Lepke had been staring across the room with a faraway look, as though something had just struck him. 'Has he always made that reference to no underwater vessel approaching the tanker?' he asked. 'I'd like to see the transcripts of all the exchanges you've had with him so far – and the radio signals, too.'
^ Gen. Lepke moved very quickly when he left the room. He knew he had little over an hour to act because soon after seven it would be sunrise. Alone in another office, he put through a call to the Marine base. The dolphins, which had been brought from San Diego for training in the Bay, were sent out within a few minutes of his making the call.
^ At 6.25am Mac the dolphin slipped away from a Marine launch anchored offshore and began swimming strongly into the Bay. Jo, the second dolphin, followed him almost immediately. They swam at a depth of ten feet under the surface, heading for the only ship within half a mile, the tanker ^ Challenger, ^ with Mac in the lead. He came to the surface for air at regular intervals, a graceful creature who had a great affection for his trainer, Marine Sergeant Grumann. It was dark, steamy and fogbound above the surface at that hour, and he went under again with a sense of relief, at home in his natural element as he came closer and closer to the motionless ship.
^ Attached to his nose was a sucker-like disc, rather like a compass set in a rubber base. He had got used to having this strange contraption fixed to him; for days recently Sergeant Grumann had taken him out into the Bay, had then released him and 'pointed' him in a certain direction. He knew exactly what he had to do and he enjoyed the work; even more he enjoyed returning to the launch when Grumann would reward him with a fish. He swam on, a menacing shape moving through the water with a power and sureness no Olympic swimmer could have emulated.
^ Slowing down, he cruised towards the hull. He was hardly moving at all when he reached his objective and pressed his snout forward gently. The magnetic field inside the Geiger counter did the rest, hauling itself close against the steel hull. Plop! The suckei was attached to the hull. The dolphin paused, feeling the tug of the tide against his huge body. He paused for only a few seconds, then he bobbed his nose hard against the hull. The magnetic field was neutralised for thirty seconds.
^ Released from the hull, Mac turned in a great sweep, his tail swishing against the immovable steel. Then he was swimming hard again, leaving the tanker behind, moving like a projectile through the dark water, heading back for Grumann's launch moored close to the waterfront. Within a few minutes he was swallowing fish while Grumann checked the Geiger counter as the other dolphin reached him. Grumann's hand was unsteady as he picked up the field telephone which linked him to the shore.
^ It was close to sunrise when Gen. Lepke took the call in the outer office. He listened, said, 'Are you absolutely certain?' Replacing the receiver, Lepke walked unhurriedly into the Governor's office where early breakfast was being served to the action committee from a kitchen adjoining the main conference room. The mixed aroma of bacon and eggs and strong coffee did not make Lepke feel hungry. He spoke very quietly to MacGowan so no one else could hear him, and then the two men went into the office Lepke had just left and shut the door behind them. The Governor asked almost the same question Lepke himself had asked over the phone. 'You're sure?'
^ 'The Geiger counter was positive. They have a nuclear device aboard that tanker.'
^ Thursday January 23 was a nightmare for MacGowan as he fought to keep control of the situation in his own hands. There were plenty of other groping hands trying to influence him, to turn him in another direction. Two State Department officials had come in from Washington, one of them George Stark, a lean-faced, precise man who urged the Governor to 'negotiate flexibly…' There were international implications – if there was a catastrophe, a wave of anti-Arab feeling might sweep across America. And there were already rumours that the Golden Apes were considering a further cut in the oil flow to the West… The Atomic Energy Commission experts arrived secretly in the city at ten in the morning – to assess the extent of the threat to the city posed by the nuclear device aboard the tanker.
^ Dr Reisel of the Atomic Energy Commission flew in from Los Angeles where AEC experts had been attending a meeting on the future of nuclear power stations. He headed the team which would play the grim projection game, Operation Apocalypse. A room had been set aside on the floor below MacGowan's office in the Transamerica building and the team went into immediate session.
^ The team comprised experts from the US Air Force, from the US Weather Bureau, Coast Guard service, Planning Division of the Pentagon. US Navy and, above all, radiation specialists. Aboard the Boeing 707 from Los Angeles – they had started discussions while in mid-air – Dr Reisel had emphasised one point over and over again.
^ 'Gentlemen, the thing we must not do is to underestimate the size of the catastrophe. On the basis of the report we draw up the authorities will take certain precautions…' He paused.'… which may include mass-evacuation. If we underestimate the area which could be affected we might all have to leave this country for ever -people would never forgive us. The hell of it is we have to make certain assumptions – as to the likely size of the nuclear device aboard that British tanker. I have made an assumption myself -based on a device manufactured from the five kilograms of Plutonium hi-jacked from Morris, Illinois, ten months ago…'
^ It was Karpis of the FBI who had earlier pinpointed a possible source of the material used to make the device. At 7.30am he had phoned Washington; the reply had come back within thirty minutes. During the past year there had been only one reported case of a sizeable amount of plutonium going missing; the brutal hi-jacking of a GEC security truck in Illinois ten months ago when a canister containing five kilograms had been stolen. The Apocalypse team was rushed from the airport by special bus along Highway 101 with an escort of police outriders and a patrol car, its siren screaming non-stop. Peretti informed the Press that a team of anti-terrorist experts had arrived in the city. Arriving at the Transamerica building, they went up to the room set aside for them and started at once on their macabre exercise.
^ LeCat came back on the ship-to-shore at 10am while Apocalypse was in session, his voice full of confidence as he spoke to MacGowan who sat in his shirt-sleeves despite the morning chill.
^ Ask the bastard something, MacGowan reminded himself, make it sound like I believe him, for God's sake. He was beginning to feel the strain of being up all night and his face was lined with fatigue. He cleared his throat. 'We need to know what is going to happen to the hostages…'
^ LeCat sounded surprised, impatient. 'They come with us to the bus on Pier 31, of course…'
^ 'They will be released at the airport when we are safely aboard the plane. All except one man – he flies with us to Algiers.'
^ 'You will be told later.' LeCat sounded very impatient. 'Inform the airport at once…'
^ He went off the air before MacGowan could reply. The Governor looked round the room. In a desperate attempt to keep secret the fact that there was a nuclear device aboard the ship the action committee had been slimmed down to six men – MacGowan, Peretti, Karpis, Commissioner Bolan, Gen. Lepke and Stark, from the State Department. 'Don't let's underestimate our opponent,' the Governor warned. 'That LeCat is clever – if I didn't know about the nuclear device I might almost believe him, the way he keeps on checking details.'
^ 'He made no mention of the so-called ultimate demand,' Stark pointed out, 'And you didn't ask him about it…'
^ 'Deliberately. He's holding that back to keep us on a high wire.. Why should I jog his bloody elbow?'
^ The Apocalypse report was ready in two hours – a task which normally would have taken as many days – but as the men in the room below conferred more than one pair of eyes strayed to the window overlooking the Bay – because that was where it would come from when the nuclear device was detonated. The proximity concentrated their minds wonderfully. MacGowan went down to see them alone at noon.
^ 'Nothing as definite as I would like,' Reisel warned, 'but I assumed a crash analysis is better than a detailed report after…'
^ The thing has blown you to bits,'MacGowan completed for him. He knew it was bad the moment he entered the room; one look at the grave faces waiting for him told the Governor the worst. Or so he thought.
^ Reisel pointed to a map opened out on the table. 'That tells you better than I can – the circle…'
^ 'Oh, my God…' MacGowan recovered quickly. 'You mean it's going to take out nearly every city in the Bay area – Oakland, Richmond, Vallejo, Berkeley – even San Mateo?'
^ 'God, no!' Reisel sounded shocked. 'That's just the area of total annihilation from blast…'
^ MacGowan sat down in the chair vacated by Reisel and looked round at the fatalistic expressions of the men gathered at the table. He didn't like the atmosphere. 'And San Francisco?' he asked quietly.
^ 'Forget it – that's gone.' The man who replied was a gnome-like figure who sat opposite MacGowan, placidly puffing a pipe. MacGowan didn't like the look of him either: too detached and sure of himself.
^ MacGowan stared at Hooker who was watching him through rimless glasses as though he found politicians inexpressibly comic. The Governor had heard of Hooker, a scientist with a unique ^ ^ reputation, the only man who had warned Washington of the risk at the San Clemente nuclear power station just before the plant nearly ran wild.
^ 'This minority report of yours, Hooker,' he said. 'You disagree with the majority assessment? You feel they overstated their case?'
^ 'No. They've understated it – badly. I think the blast could easily destroy San Jose, which is many miles outside that circle…'
^ 'Radiation depends on the wind, of course. I estimate that if an average wind for this time of the year comes along – and the device detonates – half California could be at risk.'
^ 'Not yet…' Hooker was holding the floor, building up a head of steam. 'The geography of central California is well adapted to maximise the catastrophe. You see, we have a long valley – the San Joaquin – with population centres scattered along it to Bakersfield. With the wind in the right direction the radiation would be funnelled straight down the valley, so we have to start thinking of Fresno and Bakersfield…'
^ 'Raise your sights. It might well reach Los Angeles in lethal quantities. On the other hand, if the wind comes off the Pacific we can assume Reno is in trouble,' Hooker went on. 'I'd assume Salt Lake City would be safe…'
^ 'It had better be,' Hooker replied. 'I'm only guessing at the size of the device, but I could tell you more if I knew who had made it. The degree of competence is a crucial factor.'
^ 'I may be able to help you there,' MacGowan said slowly, 'even if it is a very long shot. Earlier this morning Karpis of the FBI phoned Paris for information on LeCat. He lit a fire under government circles over there, I gather. Half an hour ago he had a call from a Francois Messmer, a French counter-intelligence man. A couple of days ago, in some way, Messmer linked LeCat with a missing French nuclear physicist called Jean-Philippe Antoine…'
^ 'I know Antoine's work,' Hooker said. 'I met him once at an AEC meeting in Vienna. I thought he was dead. He was an ^ ^ innovator. If he designed the device we must be prepared for a very special kind of holocaust…'
^ At 1pm on Thursday January 23 MacGowan closed the Golden Gate bridge. At 1.30pm he closed the Bay bridge to Oakland. Half an hour later he shut down the BART – Bay Area Rapid Transport – subway. By two in the afternoon San Francisco, which stands on a peninsula, was isolated except for the roads going south through Palo Alto towards San Jos6 and along the coast.
^ The official reason for these unprecedented steps was that there were terrorists in the city connected with the men aboard the ^ Challenger. ^ To back up this explanation, all roads south had police road-blocks set up to check all traffic which might be transporting these fictitious men. For this measure, at least, there was unanimous approval from the Apocalypse men, including the maverick Hooker. 'When the device detonates,' Hooker said, 'both bridges will go, no doubt about it. And if it happened when they were carrying rush-hour traffic…'
^ They also agreed that the five other Bay bridges would be knocked out by the enormous shock-wave from the detonation. "The blast will destroy all communications,' Hooker stated. 'Whatever is left of the Bay area after it happens will be isolated from the rest of the country…'
^ They had, these grim, spectacled men, MacGowan noted, begun talking about the catastrophe as a near-future inevitable event. This change had taken place after Karpis had referred to the French report on LeCat, a remark he made soon after yet another debate on whether the tanker should be stormed by a detachment of Marines.
^ 'I can't back that,' Karpis said. 'This Paris report says LeCat is, I quote, expert in the remote control of explosives, that is, detonation by radio signals, unquote. My guess is that at this moment LeCat is on the bridge of that ship with some kind of radio mechanism that can flash a signal to the nuclear device. If I'm right, he only has to press a button and…'
^ So far, by restricting the knowledge to only a few people, MacGowan had managed to keep secret the terrifying news about ^ ^ the nuclear device. He knew that, sooner or later, this news must leak out. If it reached LeCat, whom they assumed was listening to radio bulletins, it might just cause him to detonate the device at once; it depended on the degree of his fanaticism, a completely unknown quantity. If it reached the city, God knew what would happen.
^ MacGowan, a very tough man physically and mentally, was slowly being worn down by the massive weight of his responsibility, although outwardly he showed no signs of this. There was constant debate about whether or not to try and storm the ship, and each time MacGowan vetoed any such suggestion.'We already have a team aboard – even if they are still pinned down somewhere in the for'ard area. If fog comes tonight, they'll have their chance…'
^ There was constant debate about whether to start a mass-evacuation of the city. The Apocalypse men were again unanimous in their decision that people should start moving out at once. 'Do that,' MacGowan pointed out, 'and it will be screamer news in the radio bulletins, which LeCat must be checking on. He'll know then that we know – about what he has on board. He might press that button…'
^ More disturbing news had come in about LeCat's character. Winter had earlier told the action committee that the Frenchman had once lived in both Canada and the United States and a massive enquiry had been set in train. About the time MacGowan closed the Bay bridge a report came in from Quebec. A woman believed she had once rented a room to the terrorist; if it was the same man he had frequently expressed bitter anti-American views. Both decisions were postponed – about storming the vessel, about evacuating the city. At three in the afternoon LeCat came back on the ship-to-shore and made his ultimate demand.
^ Conditions inside the carpenter's store on the fo'c'sle of the ^ Challenger ^ were not good. The three men had now been confined below deck for fourteen hours, with only vitamin pills and a diminishing supply of water from one water-bottle to sustain ^ ^ them. They had foreseen that they might be there for several hours, but not for anything like this period. They already hated the sight of each other.
^ The fog had never completely left the Bay, the sun had never penetrated the heavy overcast which drifted above San Francisco for the whole of the day. But there had been no chance to leave the cell and approach the bridge. A fresh lookout had just climbed to the top of the foremast – there had been two changes since they came aboard. And each time Winter cautiously raised the hatch a few inches the view was always the same – an exposed, fog-free deck, a lookout with a walkie-talkie on the foremast.
^ 'This is worse than a foxhole in Korea,' Cassidy remarked as Winter came back down the ladder, shaking his head. The Marine colonel was crouched on his haunches, exercising to ease the stiffness out of his limbs. 'Sooner or later we have to risk it – shoot the lookout on the foremast and head for the bridge…'
^ 'Better wait for dark,' Sullivan advised wearily. 'That's only two hours away. Two more hours… Jesus Christ…'
^ They had used a bucket they found in a corner for performing natural functions. They had covered it with a piece of canvas, but a stale, urinal odour was seeping into the stuffy atmosphere. The only relief came during the few minutes when Winter had the hatch open. They agreed they must wait; the lookout could report their presence within seconds of their emerging from the hatch and all the hostages would be shot before they had covered half the distance to the bridge. They settled down to more waiting, until dark, until the fog came. If it did come.
^ 'Unless the American ambassador to the United Nations makes a statement by six o'clock tomorrow morning that the American government will send no arms – not one single tank, gun or aircraft – to the State of Israel for the next six months, that is until July 23 this year, all the hostages aboard this ship will be executed…'
^ It was LeCat's ultimate demand. The time was exactly three o'clock. The Frenchman had spoken in a monotone, as though he were reading from a piece of paper. There was complete silence in MacGowan's office as the six men listened, knowing it was quite impossible to accept the ultimatum. Stark, the State Department official, scribbled a note and pushed it in front of the Governor, who brushed it aside without looking at it. As it happened, he asked the question Stark had written.
^ 'We have dispensed with that demand. We are not interested in money. Is the Greyhound bus in position?'
^ 'LeCat, if one single hostage is shot we shall immediately board the tanker…'
^ 'If one single hostage is shot,' MacGowan repeated, 'I will not transmit your message…'
^ The sound of a shot came over the speaker. The men inside the room froze. MacGowan sat with fists clenched on the table. Gen. Lepke quietly picked up a phone which now had a direct line to the Presidio. Somewhere, a long way off, the sound of a foghorn came through the open office window. Karpis checked the exact time by his watch. The speaker crackled.
^
^ The hysteria in his voice shook the men in the room. LeCat had played the same trick a second time. The impact had been just as shattering as on the previous occasion. MacGowan's voice was steady, aggressive, giving not an inch.
^ 'Now I want to speak to Mackay again before I'll take any action at all – certainly before I think of transmitting the demand you just made…'
^ 'The man who will be killed,' LeCat screamed, 'is Engine-Room Artificer Donald Foley who lives in Newcastle, England. Tell that to his parents, to his wife…'
^ MacGowan fought for self-control, his facial muscles tensed with cold fury, his wide mouth tight. He waited for a moment while the others watched him. He said – quite calmly-'I'm waiting…'
^ ^ ^ for a few hours since they last communicated, MacGowan wondered. 'That shot went through the window. Miss Cordell is stili alive and well…' The captain was talking fast, as though any second he expected to be dragged away from the ship-to-shore. 'All my crew are alive and well. We hope that…' They didn't get to hear what he hoped; they heard LeCat's voice say, 'No more The speaker went off the air.
^ The city had been in a turmoil since one o'clock when the first bridge was closed. Men who lived in Marin County knew they would not get home that night; it was too far to drive right round the Bay and they hadn't the gas. Then the Bay bridge was closed, then the BART system. Foreseeing what was coming, MacGowan installed a traffic controller, a man called Lipsky in one of his outer offices. Those who could, left early, driving to their homes, or the homes of friends, south of the city. By 2.30pm, as Lipsky relayed the traffic reports to MacGowan, it seemed as though the whole of San Francisco was on the move.
^ 'On Highway One and One-o-One. Steady build-up of traffic coming north – into the city. They must be using up the last of their gas…'
^ It went on growing through the afternoon. Soon it became clear that despite the exodus and the influx the majority of citizens were staying inside the city, were refusing to get caught up in the cauldron. Then a fresh movement began – towards the waterfront, to try and see the terrorist tanker.
^ Seeing what was happening, MacGowan reacted quickly with the mayor. A huge cordon of police was thrown round the waterfront, was extended across the top of Nob Hill, along the full length of California Street. Patrol cars formed barriers. The cable cars were stopped. Van Ness Avenue was closed. The bus station was open only for outgoing traffic, with orders that no bus must stop this side of Daly City.
^ The direction of the movement changed: people remembered the high-rise buildings. There was a concerted rush for any ^ ^ building higher than ten storeys which overlooked the waterfront. Men and women crammed inside elevators, headed for the top floors. The premium positions were the tallest buildings – with windows facing the Bay. MacGowan issued a fresh order which was phoned round the city by a corps of telephone operators, talking non-stop.
^ 'Close the high-rises, put guards on the street doors… close off the high-rises…'
^ The ingenuity of human beings determined to get somewhere was endless. Those with money in their pockets decided to take a hotel room. 'Providing it faces the Bay… as high as you can go…' The great towers on Nob Hill sold out their accommodation within fifteen minutes. The desire to see the terror ship had increased when news of the latest demand became public. LeCat had radioed his ultimate demand to the UP wire service.
^ MacGowan became more and more grim-faced as the news poured in. He had hoped people would leave the city when he was compelled to close the bridges; now they were flooding into San Francisco. And he dare not make a broadcast, appealing for them to stay away – if LeCat picked up the broadcast when it was repeated in news bulletins he might guess the reason for it, he might press the button…
^ Eight thousand miles away from San Francisco the British supertankers, ^ York ^ and ^ Chester, ^ were moving through the Strait of Hormuz, leaving behind the Gulf of Oman, steaming into the heart of the Persian Gulf, heading towards the Saudi Arabian coastline. The huge crates which had intrigued American photo-analysts were still on deck. There was one odd aspect about their apparently innocent passage. Against all regulations, they were proceeding at seventeen knots through the darkness without any navigation lights.
^ Within one hour of LeCat making his ultimate demand – that the United States should stop supplying arms to Israel, Sheikh Gamal Tafak heard the news in Baalbek where it was lam. He immediately made a phone call, triggering off a series of messages summoning all Middle Eastern oil ministers to an emergency ^ ^ session of OAPEC (Organisation of Arab Petrol Exporting Countries). The climax was near.
^ At 5.10pm on Thursday January 23 dusk descended on San Francisco and then it was dark. At 5.10pm the cluster of lights near the top of the foremast on the ^ Challenger's ^ main deck were switched on, illuminating the forepart of the ship. The information was relayed to MacGowan within a few minutes by observers with powerful night-glasses. He told Gen. Lepke.
^ 'That means the assault team can't get from the fo'c'sle to the bridge along the main deck without being seen – unless we have very thick fog.'
^ The US Weather Bureau man gave them a qualified report. There might be fog; then again, the Bay area might remain clear all night. 'You don't bet on horses, do you?' MacGowan said savagely. 'I'm just glad Ike didn't have you on D-Day.'
^ MacGowan was in an evil mood. Stark, the State Department man who had taken up permanent residence over his shoulder, was in the other room on the line to Washington. He'd be back soon, with more urgent advice the Governor could do without. And MacGowan had just had his third session with Major Peter Russell, British military attache in Washington, who had also taken up permanent residence in the Transamerica building. There was something odd about Russell's attitude.
^ Russell, who was acting as liaison with the British Ambassador in Washington because he happened to be on the West Coast when the ^ Challenger ^ entered the Bay, had probed MacGowan about his intentions. 'I suppose,' he said, 'your policy is to spin out the negotiations as long as possible in the hope that the situation will break your way?'
^ 'Deeply appreciate all you are doing.' Russell had paused, looking at Gen. Lepke. 'I imagine this will go on for days. No chance it will all blow up in our faces, say tonight?'
^ Blow up in our faces? MacGowan had managed to retain a blank expression; Russell, of course, had no idea there was a ^ ^ nuclear device not one mile from where he was sitting. MacGowan couldn't rid himself of the feeling that Russell, worried as he was about the lives of the twenty-eight Britishers on board, was even more anxious that the negotiations should drag on for a few more days. It was odd.
^ At seven o'clock in the evening MacGowan, whose ration of sleep during the past twenty-four hours had consisted of no more than a few catnaps, heard that his secret had leaked – it was spreading through the city that there was a nuclear device aboard the tanker lying half a mile from Pier 31.
^ It was a switchboard operator who passed the night hours listening in to calls who alerted MacGowan. Pretending she had someone on the line who could give vital information – 'He says he won't speak with anyone except the Governor…' – she found herself with MacGowan at the other end.
^ 'It's not that I listen in to calls,' she explained, 'but I just caught…'
^ 'I thought you ought to know there's a lot of unusual activity
… more calls than I can remember at this hour…' She took a deep breath. "They're all saying there's an atom bomb aboard that British ship out in the Bay…'
^ MacGowan thanked her, told her it was a ridiculous rumour, nothing more, then Police Commissioner Bolan came running in from another room. Reports were flooding in from all over the city, a mass exodus was under way; for the moment it was confined to certain districts, but it was spreading.
^ People began moving out of Telegraph Hill first, out of the packed rabbit warren below the hilltop where wealthy men paid a fortune for houses overlooking the Bay. It began to look as though the money had been badly spent – because Telegraph Hill now overlooked the British tanker anchored offshore. Here it was a quiet exodus. Taking any valuables they could grab, the inhabitants got into their cars and drove up Nob Hill to where the barricades had been erected along California Street. They were allowed through – but no one was allowed to go back. One woman who had taken the wrong jewel case – the one with paste gems – had a hysterical scene with an Irish cop. 'Officer, I have to go back – I've left a fortune in my bedroom…'
^ 'Lady, that tanker is half a mile from where we stand now – you see yourself wearing rubies – stretched out in the morgue?'
^ Some people with cooler heads exploited the situation. A gas truck, which had been parked in a garage before the barricades went up on California Street, prowled the lower slopes of Russian Hill. Three armed men sat in the cab as they watched for expensive cars parked by the kerb. They found a fresh victim standing by a Cadillac with an antique vase in his hands, loading up the car. The driver of the truck pulled up, lowered his window. 'Need any gas, buddy?'
^ 'We got the pipe that will stick it into your car,' the driver said coarsely. 'Top grade…'
^ 'Why the hell do you think I'm leaving? I'll pay you twenty-five …'
^ The driver made a lot of noise loosening his brake and the man ran up to the cab, shouting hysterically. 'Fifty is OK., fifty is OK…'
^ If you have only a few hours left to live, what do you do with those hours? Arthur Snyder, insurance salesman, knew he'd never get out of the city: at this moment his car was stripped down in a repair shop a mile away. The nagging wife he'd come to hate over the years was upstairs in the bedroom, still screaming at him. 'Do something, you bum, do something…' He slammed the front door and made his way down the hill. It was convenient to have your mistress on the same street; it was a bloody life-saver now. Reaching the right door, he stuck his ringer on the bell and kept it there until Linda, in pyjamas and robe – she had been going to bed early – opened the door on the chain. 'Who is it…'
^ He guessed she hadn't heard about the nuclear device – she'd have mentioned it by now, probably lost her fool head and phoned him. He went inside the dimly-lit hall and pressed the ^ ^ door shut behind him. 'Art…!' He practically raped her in the hallway while she gasped, first with alarm, then with pleasure as he shoved her hard against the wall. Snyder had thought it out while he hurried to her doorstep. She might go off the idea if she heard the news first. So, this was it. Fuck now, talk later…
^ Haight-Ashbury and the Western Addition were on the move. Haight-Ashbury is to San Francisco what the East End is to London, and here the panic was more brutal. But it was still the same instinct for self-survival which had infected Telegraph Hill; it simply took a different way out. A Greyhound bus, full of people, found itself blocked by a barrier of trucks – out of gas and dragged across the street. The driver got out of his seat opened the door and stared at a man holding a Colt. 45. 'Get out,' the man said. The driver protested. The man shot him in the stomach and jumped aside to let him fall to the sidewalk. He got back inside the bus and waved the Colt around.
^ 'We need this bus to get clear. Get off this goddamn bus – all of you. Anyone stays on it gets a pill in the guts – like the driver…'
^ There was a scramble to leave the bus and the ordeal heightened as they reached the sidewalk. A huge crowd of evil-looking youths crowded round the exit, leaving only a narrow passage for the passengers to move through. As they left the bus hands grabbed for their bags, their wrist-watches. 'For Christ's sake…' one male passenger protested. An iron bar descended on his skull, his bag was grabbed, his body hauled out of sight. Someone spat on it.
^ The reports continued flooding into MacGowan's office as he presided over a meeting of the action committee, for once letting others do the talking while he turned the decision over in his mind. On the far side of the room Karpis was watching the TV set in case something came through they ought to know about. Once again the TV cameras played over the illuminated Boeing 747 waiting at San Francisco International. 'This is the escape plane…' They switched to the waterfront, showing the Greyhound bus with black-painted windows waiting on the deserted Pier 31. "This is the escape bus waiting for the terrorists to board it…' Finally they showed the large police launch moored at the end of the pier in the darkness. To MacGowan it had the look of a funeral launch waiting to transport corpses.
^ He took his decision in a few minutes – because it was the only one to take. They had, in any case, reached the stage where San Francisco was in a state of siege. Many hours ago all shipping approaching the port from as far away as Australia had been diverted to other anchorages – to Canada, to Seattle, to Los Angeles. No planes at all were landing at San Francisco any more. Amtrak passenger and freight trains on the east side of the Bay had been stopped.
^ The problem was as simple as it was enormous. If word got through to LeCat that they knew about the nuclear device he might instantly press the button. Occasionally, the news media do not hear about a major development as soon as it happens, and MacGowan had already personally phoned local radio and TV stations asking them to clamp down on this item. But it would be broadcast soon – by someone – if they had the facilities. 'I've decided, gentlemen,' MacGowan said suddenly. 'It has to be done.'
^ 'We already have one. We have to buy every minute of time we can, hoping Cassidy's assault team can make it…' MacGowan gave the order. He blacked out the whole of central California, cutting all communications.
^ The Reuter news flash, dated January 23, came through just before the TV screens went blank.
^ It ^ ^ has just been reported that Russian airborne troops are boarding their transports all over Roumania…
^ 'The negotiations between LeCat and the American authorities will break down… it will be reported that American Marines attempted to storm the ship… the hostages… will all be killed.'
^ Remarks made by Sheikh Carnal Tafak during meeting with Arab terrorist leaders, January 15.
^ 'You will recall instantly the Marine boat coming towards this ship or all the hostages will be shot now! I tell you, MacGowan, I will shoot them all and throw the bodies down on to your men… You hear me? You hear me? You hear me?'
^ It was the voice of a man gone berserk, a raving, screaming voice corning out of the ship-to-shore speaker into the silent room. MacGowan felt chilled, stupefied. It had started like this the moment LeCat came back on the air. No preliminaries, no demands, just these ravings of a maniac…
^ At the first mention of a Marine boat, Gen. Lepke went into the next room, picked up the phone. There were Marine assault craft – full of Marines, too – hidden at strategic points behind Alcatraz Island and further back along the waterfront, well away from the tanker. But none of them could have been seen, none of them could have put out into the Bay. Lepke was appalled, intensely worried as he spoke to the Presidio, told them to check immediately while he waited.
^ He returned to the main office in less than two minutes to hear the sound of a shot coming over the speaker. LeCat was playing the same trick a third time, the sadistic bastard. MacGowan, shoulders hunched forward, sat staring at the speaker. He raised a hand to stop Lepke saying anything. A voice came over the speaker. Mackay's, very subdued, the voice of a man stunned with shock.
^
^ Lepke scribbled on a desk pad, pushed the note in front of MacGowan, who glanced at it, looked back at the speaker. ^ No Marine craft has left the shore. Positive. Impossible LeCat could have seen one. ^ Mackay was speaking again in the same disembodied voice.
^ "They are putting his body out of the bridge window… it just went down…' The voice changed, became something between a strangled roar and anguish. 'No! For God's sake, not again…', Sounds which might have been a scuffle, then LeCat's voice faintly… 'Stay where you are, Bennett-or we shoot Mackay…', Another shot, deafening, very close to the speaker, then another, strange, younger voice.
^ "They've shot Wrigley… the steward… the fuckers. For Christ's sake, MacGowan, storm the ship before it's too late…' The voice ended in a grunt, a groan, as though its owner had just been clubbed on the head. Then there was a terrible fusillade of shots, a whole magazine being emptied. Lepke scribbled another, shorter note. ^ Storm the ship! ^ MacGowan shook his head. He could count. Two men dead, but twenty-seven hostages still alive -unless that fusillade… LeCat came back on the air.
^
^ Mackay's voice came over the speaker again. 'They shot Foley and Wrigley…' His voice was firmer. 'The other shots went out of the window. There are twenty-seven of us still alive. LeCat says he will not shoot any more…'
^ 'Not yet!' LeCat again. 'The Marine boat has turned away. If it does not come back the hostages are safe. I warned you, MacGowan, I warned you again and again…'
^ 'No Marine boat has approached the ^ Challenger,' ^ MacGowan said in a steady monotone, keeping the fury out of his voice. It could be that LeCat's sanity was trembling in the balance. 'No boats at all are in the Bay. The Port Authority will not permit any craft to leave its berth…'
^ 'You are lying! You were testing me! Had I not shot those men your Marines would have stormed this ship! You have killed those men…'
^ MacGowan sat quite still, his face blank as he listened to LeCat raving on. He didn't sound insane, he decided, just savage, a terrorist, a man from a world the public found hard to take in, so he had the advantage – the advantage of brutality. LeCat suddenly seemed to calm down. The unexpected switch to reasonableness was in itself unnerving.
^ MacGowan clenched his fist, digging the nails into the palm. 'It has been there for many hours,' he said in the same monotone.
^ The President is holding a special Cabinet meeting at this moment…' Soothe him down, play up to his monstrous ego, keep his mind on something else – while twenty-seven hostages are still living. LeCat went off the air quietly, and even that was disturbing.
^ In the tension – made worse because none of it was seen, it was only heard, coming through the metallic, neutral speaker – no one noticed MacGowan's personal secretary, sworn to secrecy, slip inside the room and leave the met. report in a tray.
^ What everyone had hoped for, prayed for, was happening. The siege train was returning. It moved past Mile Rocks lighthouse -which sent the report – filled Golden Gate channel with dense fog, reached the bridge, surged under it to spread out into the vast Bay beyond, along the Marin shore to the north, then it advanced southwards and to the east, heading for Alcatraz – for the point where ^ Challenger ^ was at anchor half a mile from Pier 31. Judging by its progress, it would envelop the fo'c'sle first.
^ Winter, grimy with dirt, his jaw stubbled with beard, had the hatch open a few inches when he heard the first shot. With very little food in his aching stomach his hearing was exceptionally acute and he thought he heard a moment later a distant thud, like a body hitting the main deck, dropped from a height. He decided he had imagined it when he heard the second shot, then a fusillade, much louder than the previous muffled reports, so loud he instinctively ducked thinking they were firing at him. He waited, felt Cassidy's hand impatiently tugging at his thigh. He waited a little longer, then closed the hatch and went back down the ladder.
^ 'What the hell is going on? Are they shooting hostages?' the American demanded. 'By God, we'd better make a move…'
^ 'Not yet,' Winter repeated. "The foremast lights are still on, the lookout is in his perch, there's no fog yet to cover us…"
^ 'You don't like it!' Winter exploded. 'You believe I like it? I think they just shot two hostages to show MacGowan they mean business. But I can count. That means twenty-seven people are still alive…'
^ 'Which was a whole magazine being emptied out of the window, I'm sure. It was much louder than the first two shots. Look, there are only three of us. It doesn't matter what happens to any of us, but we have to do the job first time or we're dead – and so are the hostages. We've been stuck in this stinking hole for over eighteen hours – we can stick it out a bit longer…'
" The carpenter's store did stink by now. The stench of stale urine mingled with the stench of sour sweat. All three men were filthy, thirsty, bone-weary. Whatever awaited them, it would be a pleasure to get to hell out of this cesspit. Winter checked the hatch five minutes later, came back down the ladder, shaking his head, but Sullivan thought he saw a change of expression. 'Is something happening?'
" Having recalled the foremast lookout, LeCat put the walkie-talkie down on to the table he had had brought on to the bridge. He was eating all his meals up here now, living in the wheelhouse. Since the " Challenger" entered the Bay the Frenchman had slept no more than MacGowan, and like the Governor his face was pouchy-eyed and strained, but his eyes were still alert.
" They would be leaving the ship within an hour. LeCat looked at the miniature transmitter resting on the table beside the walkie-talkie. That would be his last job before they left, to turn the switch which would activate the timer mechanism. LeCat also had been waiting for heavy fog to obscure the ship; under its protecting cover they would leave in the Zodiac which was now waiting on the main deck with the outboard motor attached.
" Most of his team, like LeCat himself, had now changed into wet-suits. Several of them stood around on the bridge, sinister figures in the gloom – only the binnacle light gave a faint glow, otherwise the bridge was in darkness. LeCat was confident his plan was working. Two hostages had been shot, which would deter MacGowan from launching any attack – he still had the remaining twenty-six hostages to think of. And it was twenty-six, not twenty-seven, but only LeCat knew that Monk, the man he had pushed over the side, was dead.
^ It would take fifteen minutes to reach the seaplane waiting in Richardson Bay. But first, the rest of the crew had to be taken ^ ^ to the day cabin. That was where it would be done. He looked round the bridge. Mackay was standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the fog rolling in. Bennett, the man who had shouted into the speaker, warning MacGowan that Wrigley had been shot, was lying near the wheel, still unconscious. LeCat checked his watch as Andre Dupont, the lookout on the foremast, came on to the bridge.
^ Betty Cordell was ready. She had opened her shirt down the front, exposing her breasts. Get on with it, she told herself, don't think about it or you'll never do it. She walked to the cabin door, started rattling the handle. 'Come quickly! Please! Do come quickly! For God's sake open the door…'
^ She was hysterical, terrified – so it sounded to the guard in the alleyway. He fumbled for the key, shouted back at her in French, words she didn't understand as she went on calling out, begging him to open the door. His first thought must have been that the cabin was on fire.
^ He pushed the door open, his pistol drooped in his hand. She was a woman, useful for cooking, for bed, so he had no fear of her at all. He came in and stopped, gaping at her open dress, then his mind churned. She threw the open pepper pot from her lunch tray full in his face and he took the powder in his eyes. He cried out, dropping his pistol, pressing both hands against his agonised, burning eyes, stumbling about. She grasped the wine bottle LeCat had left, the bottle she had never thought of opening, so it was a lethal weapon – she grasped it by the neck. Without even a hint of hesitation she smashed the bottle down with a terrible force on the back of the guard's head and the fury of her blow split his skull.
^ He collapsed on the cabin floor. There was wine like blood all over him, mingling with the blood of his smashed skull. She looked down at him coldly, watching only to make sure he didn't move. Then she dragged him further into the cabin like a sack of dirt, left him in the bathroom and ran back to close the cabin door. It was the fusillade of shots which had jerked her into action and she was in a hurry.
^ ^ ^ on the coat, to grab the assembled rifle from under the bedclothes. She kicked the shattered bottle out of her way and opened the door again. The alleyway was empty, the key still in the outside of the door. Without knowing it, she had chosen the perfect time for her killing run – LeCat had called many of the guards to the bridge. She closed the door, locked it, pocketed the key and went slowly down the passage, listening, the Armalite rifle held in both hands at waist level. She was heading for the bridge, LeCat, she felt sure, would be on the bridge.
^ Winter stood clear of the hatch cover as the other two men came up behind him. The fog was thick now, pressing down on them like a smothering blanket. They went down off the forecastle cautiously, one man behind the other as Winter had suggested; Cassidy behind Winter, Sullivan behind the Marine colonel. Their DeLisle carbines were at the ready, Winter had the smoke pistol tucked inside his belt, they went down on to the main deck.
^ Winter avoided the catwalk, kept to the port side of the huge tanker where the deck was less cluttered with piping and valves, moving along close to the port rail. It was very silent in the misty darkness, the fog drifted in their faces, the only sound was the slap of water against the hull where the two dolphins, Mac and Jo, had earlier pressed their snouts up against the steel plates. Winter kept moving, creeping forward on his rubber-soled boots, alert for the slightest sound which might tell him something about the situation sixty feet above him at bridge level. Then something loomed up in the fog.
^ It was the port-side derrick, which told him he was close to the island bridge, still lost inside the swirling grey vapour. He waited for Cassidy to draw level with him, then looped the carbine over his shoulder and pulled the smoke pistol out of his belt. The fog was thinner, ebbing for a moment, and by now their faces and hands were chilled with the touch of the clammy moisture. The island bridge loomed above them as an insubstantial shadow.
^ They were within twenty feet of the five-deck bridge and these twenty feet were a death-trap. With the thinning fog any terrorist above, leaning out of the bridge window, could pick them off as ^ ^ they moved across the exposed space. And there would be more than one terrorist waiting up there. Possibly even LeCat himself. Then Cassidy plucked at his arm, pointed. A huddled corpse lay only a few feet away at the base of the bridge. Foley's.
^ Winter took his time, raised his left arm, using it as a rest to steady the smoke pistol, took careful aim, sighting the muzzle of the pistol at the centre of the bridge, away from the smashed window. The bridge was a blur, very high above him, and the angle of the shot was steep. He remembered looking up at the roof of Cosgrove Manor from the steps below, so many thousands of miles away, so many years away, so it seemed. He steadied his aim. He fired…
^ The smoke shell spun upwards, out of sight, lost in a swirl of fog. He heard it strike the bridge. He took two steps forward. Black smoke billowed, spread a curtain of darkness masking the bridge windows. Cassidy had run into the open. He fired three times at the heads of two men which appeared over the edge of the port wing deck. One of them slumped forward, toppled, landed almost at the American's feet. He waited, carbine aimed upwards. The second man reappeared, as Cassidy knew he would, bloody idiot. Cassidy fired again and the man fell over backwards out of sight.
^ It was happening so quickly it was like a film being run at high speed. Blurred images. Sullivan flying up a ladder. The smoke obscuring three decks of the bridge. Cassidy going up a com-panionway, vanishing inside the smoke. Shots firing repeatedly, a steady drumfire of shooting, the ship coming horribly alive. Winter had long ago disappeared up another ladder. Entering an alleyway, Winter saw a guard who, seeing Winter, threw up his hands. Winter shot him twice through the chest. MacGowan's orders were explicit. 'No prisoners, no phoney trials with some gabby mouthpiece crying over them. Shoot the lot…' Winter ran down the alleyway, heading for a certain objective, the day cabin where so many seamen had been kept prisoner. He turned a corner, saw the entrance to the day cabin. A terrorist, Lomel he thought, had just kicked open the door and was standing back with his Skorpion aimed, ready to shoot the unarmed hostages inside. Winter shot him twice. When you are hit by a. 45 bullet the sensation is like collision with a charging rhino. Lomel was hit by two. 45's. He was carried over sideways, slammed against a bulkhead where he slid to the floor. Winter kept on running, trod over him, kept on running…
^ Betty Cordell moved very cautiously, like a hunter stalking a beast whose whereabouts are uncertain, straining her ears to catch the slightest sound as she moved up the companionway step by step. The ship seemed eerily silent, the alleyways oddly deserted, as though she were moving through an abandoned ship. She was going the long way round to get to the bridge, to approach it from the starboard wing deck.
^ The Armalite. 22 survival rifle she had assembled was equipped with a ten-shot magazine. The ammunition was high-speed hollowpoint. The rifle was single-shot, with two trigger pressures. And she was carrying two spare ten-shot magazines in her coat pocket.
^ She reached the top of the companionway and another empty passage stretched ahead of her. Where had all the guards gone? She would walk into someone when she least expected it. She took a firmer grip on the rifle. Then she heard rifle shots, an irregular fusillade. She began running…
^ On the bridge LeCat grasped instantly what was happening when he saw black smoke – that an attack was coming. He shouted a warning. 'Shoot down through the smoke – to the base of the bridge…' He swore when nobody did anything. The guards at the window were choking, their eyes running, coughing and spitting black smoke, staggering like drunken marionettes. 'Fools!' LeCat screamed. 'Get to the window – shoot down..,' The guards at the rear of the bridge rushed forward, leaned out, firing through the smoke at random, all of them, including LeCat, bunched together as a cannonade of shots and a reek of cordite filled the bridge and then LeCat remembered Mackay and swung round as the captain was moving towards him.
^
^ Her rifle was waist-high, held the way her father had taught her to hold it. 'In an emergency shoot from there – keep the barrel ^ ^ straight and shoot…' She came on to the bridge and saw half-a-dozen terrorists close together at the front. She saw LeCat. LeCat saw her.
^ The terrorist leader was stupefied. The woman. With a gun. His reflexes, faster than most men's, failed him for one fatal second. Betty Cordell held the rifle hard against her hip, her finger on the trigger. There was not a split-second's hesitation. She was firing, her trigger finger moving non-stop, bullet after bullet, killing live targets for the first time, a ten-shot magazine, moving the muzzle in a slight arc, right to left, firing – firing – firing… Three bullets struck LeCat. Four other terrorists died instantly. The barrel was angled slightly upwards. One man wasn't hit at all. Turning from the window, hauling up his pistol, he was thrown off-balance by a body falling against him. Betty Cordell rammed in a second magazine, began firing non-stop again. The uninjured terrorist, lifting his pistol, was struck by two bullets. She swivelled the rifle.
^ Mackay stared at her, astounded, frightened by her expression. No nerve, no fear, she stood as if not caring if she were killed, cold, ice-cold, her eyes narrowed against the smoke as LeCat staggered across the deck towards the table where the radio detonator lay. She fired twice at his back and he took two more bullets, then her rifle clicked, empty. LeCat fell over the table, reached out for the detonator.
^ LeCat, veteran soldier, veteran terrorist, now had five bullets inside him, but it is on record that men have moved carrying more bullets. His hand was clawing its way across the table like a crab walking because he could no longer use his shoulder hinge. There was smoke and confusion and screaming from a mortally wounded guard and the clatter of running feet. Winter came on to the bridge, saw what no one else had seen, saw the crab-like hand close over the radio-detonator. He guessed what it was, couldn't understand why it was there, raised his gun, fired twice. Two bullets struck the sprawled terrorist -. 45's, not. 22's – and his body jumped as though jerked by an electric charge. It could have been a reflex – his index finger pressed the switch down.
^ Winter grabbed hold of him by the back of his hair, lifted his head and stared down at LeCat. 'Why the detonator?' The ^ ^ Frenchman's eyes were still open. Winter shook him roughly. 'Why the detonator? What have you done?' LeCat hardly seemed to recognise the Englishman whose face was stubbled and smeared and smoke-blackened. Winter shook him again. 'What the hell have you done?'
^ 'Nuclear device… ten minutes… San Francisco goes.' LeCat's face twisted into what might have been a hideous grin and then the eyes rolled and the head flopped.