Noah's Ark: Encounters (16 page)

Until then, until that first gunshot, nothing had been certain. He had relayed their situation to the diver outside, through the tapping of Morse code. But the replies had stopped. There had been no message to suggest someone was coming to get them; no indication that this rescue would happen.

He’d been turning that fact over in his head since tapping the last dot of the last letter of the last message. Had the diver been captured? Killed? Or was the correspondent one of the terrible men who had taken their ship from them, and not a potential rescuer at all?

After that first shot there had been more. Many more. He had kept his eyes shut tight as he hoped and wished that whoever had come to them would not be overpowered by their ruthless captors. Above all, he hoped that his wife would be safe. She was up there, somewhere, among those animals. It would be so easy for her to be caught in the crossfire.

The firing had calmed down then. Just the occasional shot. Other sounds took their place.

Screaming. Shouting. Hissing.

The sounds were getting nearer. Whoever had come aboard was closing in. He’d tried to call to them, to make his position known, but his voice had long since abandoned him. The others were conscious though, roused by the gunfight. Some of them began to grunt and groan.

And then the bulkhead door had been opened. Just a crack at first. It was hard to tell for sure because unusually, no light spilled through. It was as dark outside as in. He’d had the feeling he was being watched, examined, like a research specimen in one of the labs up top. It was the only time his faith that they were about to be rescued had wavered. Why weren’t these people bursting through and freeing them? He had worked it out just before the submariners entered the room. They hadn’t known for sure that this was where the captives were being held. They’d been scouting, making sure it was safe.

And now, here they were: divers, peeling off night-vision masks and filling the room with light from pocket torches.

Their saviours had come at last.

Seventeen

B
LUE
TEAM
REPORTED
back first.

“We have the bridge. Repeat, we have taken the bridge.”

“Understood. Red Team is advancing below.”

There was a collective sigh from around the situation room. The atmosphere had become heavy without anyone really noticing. Now that the submariners were apparently in control of the upper decks of the
Lance
, much of the tension was released.

Brian reported shortly after.

“We have found the prisoners. They’re in a bad way. Alert medical that we will be bringing in twelve, repeat twelve crew who will require immediate attention.”

Someone from the Red Team must have gone back to the engine room, because shortly after that message was relayed, the lights came back on.

• • •

Blissfully unaware of the events unfolding just a kilometre away from the other side of the ship, Grace Garet was up early again. And again, she was writing up the report of her previous night’s exploits. Her pocket notebook lay open on her little square desk, and she referred back to it frequently as she wrote a more detailed narrative of events in a much larger book. It wasn’t something she had any intention of showing Max, at least not yet. It was more a matter of being professional and doing the job she had been trained for.

She put down her pen, shook the cramp out of her hand, and read back through what she had written.

After having had my cover almost blown by the indiscretions of the gardener, I proceeded to follow Mrs Heyton as she walked away from the Pytheas Restaurant, in the direction of the front of the ship. More than once she turned around. I believe she was making sure that she was not being followed. Each time, I was able to avoid being seen.

Mrs Heyton summoned an elevator and entered it alone. This made following her very difficult as I had to wait for her to exit in order to determine which floor she got out on. The elevator stopped at deck eleven. I had already summoned the other elevator, and it arrived presently. I used this to take me to deck eleven, where I began to search for Mrs Heyton. My first thought was to avoid the outer sun deck and concentrate my search on the inner area. My hunch was proved correct as I found her not far away, still carrying two portions of dinner rations. I exited onto the sun deck and followed closely, keeping her in sight at all times through the windows.

Mrs Heyton stopped at cabin 1124. She did not knock, but the door opened from the inside. I conclude from this that someone was waiting for her, watching for her arrival from the spy hole in the door. Before entering the cabin, she once again looked around, as if making sure she had not been followed. Her behaviour can only be described as suspicious.

At this point I made a judgement to stake out the cabin with the aim of finding out if anyone other than Mr Heyton was present. The sun deck provided me with cover, and I was able to position a deck chair in such a way as to keep the cabin in view. Mrs Heyton left the cabin shortly after arriving. I was unable to follow her and maintain my surveillance. Over the course of one hour, I watched five people arriving at and leaving cabin 1124. All of these were women in their sixties, and all carried two portions of rations. One of these women was Mrs Moran, who had previously been reported missing.

Mrs Moran was the last woman I saw arrive. When she left, I decided to follow her. She led me (unknowingly) to another cabin on the other side of the ship, cabin 1182. The door was opened to her without her knocking.

Due to the position of cabin 1182 it was not possible to watch it without being seen by anyone who may have been using the spy hole, so I returned to 1124 and took up my position there once again. For a half hour nobody came to the cabin, but then there were many more arrivals. This time they were mainly young people. I noted the following during the next thirty minutes:

- A young man, estimated mid-twenties.

- A middle-aged man.

- A couple I estimated to be in their thirties.

- Two women, one mid-thirties, the other a bit older.

Most of these people looked nervous as they arrived, and all looked relieved when they left. Nobody stayed in the cabin for more than ten minutes. On every occasion, the door was opened from the inside.
 

After an hour of surveillance I left deck eleven. My next stop was Mrs Silvia Brook, where I was able to look up the cabin assignments. Mrs Brook advised that cabins 1182 and 1124 are currently listed as unoccupied, awaiting allocation. She found this surprising as they are both large multi-room suites.

Conclusion: It is my belief that some kind of illicit trade is being carried out in cabin 1124. The women in 1182 may be willing participants in this trade, but I believe it more likely that they are being coerced into delivering food there. It is my conjecture that these women — and their husbands — are being held against their will. The women collect meals from the restaurants and deliver them to the black market, which uses them as currency in exchange for other goods.

Grace nodded slowly to herself. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced there was a black market operating from the deck-eleven cabin. She needed to get in there to be sure. There was little point going to Max without proper evidence, so she’d have to go undercover and try and collect some. Her shift began at nine, so she had just enough time to put her plan into action before turning up for work.

• • •

The
Lance
was to be met by Jake, Vardy, Max, and Martin. They were the official greeting party. Unofficially, word had got out that the ship had been taken. Gunshots in the early hours of the morning hardly went unnoticed, and many on the port side of the ship had been awoken by the violent sounds of the liberation of the research vessel. News, as always in the confines of the cruiser, spread quickly. So by the time the
Lance
approached, there were a great many early risers on the outer decks, trying to catch a glimpse of the very first survivors to be seen since the asteroid.

As soon as it had become clear that the operation to take control of the
Lance
was a success, Jake and the other officers had begun final preparations for her arrival. While the submariners de-clogged the propeller and got the engine started up again, Vardy went in search of nurses, who had been allowed to sleep as late as possible.

Jake had called in on Lucya. He’d suspected she wouldn’t be sleeping, and he’d been right. Now she knew that the operation was over, she could try and get an hour or two of sleep before it would be time to get Erica up and ready for school, then take command on the bridge.

Martin had gone straight to deck two to wait for the
Lance
’s arrival. He was keen to take a look around the captured ship to get an idea of how they would proceed to their next destination with her. Either in tow, or under her own power.
 

The
Lance
circled around the
Spirit of Arcadia
, eventually drawing up against the starboard side of the cruiser. A cut-out in the high rim of her hull made it easy to rig up a wide walkway between the research ship and the starboard passenger hatch.

By then, the first rays of the morning sun were already scattering through the dusty clouds. Illuminated by natural daylight rather than the artificially white floodlights, the ship looked less menacing than it had overnight, although the great scaffold in the back still gave it a somewhat alien quality. Jake felt a shiver run down his spine as ropes were secured to the cruiser, and the walkway was heaved into place by a couple of sailors.

Brian was the first man off. Jake was shocked to see that his leg was tied with a blood-soaked bandage.
 

“Oh, yeah. Got a bit shot,” he said, shrugging as he noticed Jake looking.

“Get yourself up to deck eight. Room 845,” Vardy said. “Temporary hospital.”

“If it’s all the same, I’d like to see the other men off first. We’re not done here yet. Anyway, it’s just a flesh wound.” He gave the sort of twisted grin that made Jake think there was a shared joke between the two men.

Martin rocked from foot to foot, eager to get on board. Before that could happen, they needed to get everyone else off.

The first to come were the captives, who had been found down below the waterline. They were brought out by the sailors into the ever-brightening morning, where they blinked back the light and stared in awe at the towering mass of the
Spirit of Arcadia
. Some were able to walk, with help. Some had to be carried, too weak to stand on their own two legs. All of them were foul-smelling, and it was easy to see why. Their clothes were drenched with effluent mixed with seawater and oil, and in some cases there was blood added to the cocktail too. Their rancid torn clothes, and their weak, atrophied muscles, their pasty white faces pocked with bruises, and their unkempt, matted hair and reddened eyes told a story of an inhumane incarceration.

As each captive was brought off the boat, hushed gasps could be heard from the decks above when the onlookers saw first-hand the state of the men and women.

Vardy directed the accompanying submariners to the temporary medical accommodation. It took time to get them all out, the
Ambush
’s men each making more than one trip up and down to deck eight.

The last man off wore a deep blue jacket. He was in a particularly sorry state, but as he passed by Jake and the welcoming committee he stopped, and croaked two words to them: “Thank…you.”

Jake nodded. He was still shocked at the condition of the men. He wanted desperately to sit down with them and hear their story, to ask them just what had happened with the
Lance
, with the life rafts, and most of all with the decapitated bodies. It wasn’t the time, but he would have his chance later.
 

Next off were the prisoners, the men who had apparently taken control of the
Lance
and tied up the real crew below deck. They had almost all come round after being stunned, and found themselves gagged and bound by the ruthlessly efficient submariners. The men (and they were all men) were silent apart from one, who was trying in vain to shout and scream through the thick tape that covered his mouth.

Vardy waited until they had been marched off the ship and down to a makeshift brig that Max had prepared on deck one, before commenting.

“Those uniforms they’re wearing. You know what they are?”

Jake shook his head.

“Korean. Specifically, North Korean.”

“What are North Koreans doing on a Norwegian science ship?” Jake asked, staring out at the blue-and-white boat. “And where on earth did they come from?”

“That,” Vardy said gravely, “is the real question. Where indeed?”

• • •

Grace approached the door, dragging her feet and keeping her head low. Her pulse was racing. Should she knock? What should she say? Being up on deck eleven suddenly didn’t feel like such a clever idea. Perhaps it would have been better to discuss the plan with Max, she wondered. No. He would have ridiculed her, said she was being paranoid, then sent her off on another pointless patrol. Evidence was required. Besides, what was the danger, really?
 

When she was within two paces of cabin 1124, the door magically opened before her. Whoever was behind it stayed behind it, out of view. The entrance to the suite was a short, narrow hallway, with a cupboard on the right. Grace could see a couple of armchairs facing away from her at the end of the hall, but no sign of life. She hesitated.

“In!” The husky voice came from behind the open door. It carried such authority that almost automatically she took a step forwards. She heard the door close behind her, but didn’t dare turn to see who was there.

She walked on, and the hallway opened out into a spacious room decorated in shades of cream and brown. The armchairs, she realised, were for show. Anyone glancing in while the door was open would see them and not suspect that the rest of the furniture in the cabin had been piled into a corner, which was the case. At least in the salon of the suite anyway. The door to the bedroom was closed; there was no chance of seeing what was in there.