Ivory (10 page)

As they closed on her, Alex noted the ship looked almost as bad as she smelled. Streaks of rust painted her off-white hull, and other stains, the colour of raw sewage, oozed from the scuppers.

‘What's that noise?' Mitch asked into his radio.

Alex held up a hand for silence. The rasping cough was a chilling memory from childhood visits to the zoo in Lourenco Marques, and bush holidays spent in Gorongosa National Park in Mozambique and Wankie in Southern Rhodesia.

A shriek carried across the calm waters. ‘That ain't human,' Mitch said.

‘I don't want to board,' Kufa said.

‘Shut it. All of you. We all go. Ready the grappling hooks.'

Alex looked up as the stern of the
Peng Cheng
loomed large above him. The stench at her foul rear end was even worse. He swung the first of the rubber-coated hooks and it sailed up over the safety railing. It caught with an audible thud, though Alex hoped the noise of the throbbing diesel engines had masked the noise from the bridge.

Alex climbed hand over hand. As always there was the mix of excitement and dread as his hand left the rope and grasped the metal railing. He heaved himself up and over. Nothing. Memories of the brief and bloody encounter with the Norseman on the
Oslo Star
had quickened his pulse rate. He drew his pistol and crouched, covering the others as they clambered aboard. He lifted his mask and smelled smoke above the excrement. He heard voices speaking Chinese. He pointed to the bridge above them, where an oriental face was momentarily illuminated by the flaring tip of a cigarette.

Mitch raised his M4. Alex motioned for the American and the others to follow him.

He crept along the deck and paused when he heard the sawing cough again. Normally they would have gone straight for the bridge, but the two crewmen above, still smoking and savouring the balmy night air, would have seen them in plenty of time to raise the alarm.

‘Let's take a look below decks first,' he said into his radio. The nods from the men nearest him confirmed they were as curious as he about the
Peng Cheng
's cargo.

A rusting handle squeaked in protest and Alex paused, making sure no one else had heard, before pulling open the watertight door. They moved silently down the narrow corridor and heard a radio blaring
behind a closed hatch. ‘Crew's quarters. Heinrich, stay here and keep a look out,' Alex whispered.

Heinrich nodded. Of all of them, the former GSG9 counter-terrorist commando was the least likely to question an order, and Alex wanted someone trustworthy watching their backs.

He pressed on, descending lower into the cargo hold. Scratches and other noises, hard to distinguish over the increased volume of the engines, made him grip the pistol even tighter. His slung rifle dug into his back.

In front of him was a wooden crate, about a metre and a half high by two metres long. Several holes were drilled in the side of it. Alex removed his mask and put it back in its pouch. The others followed suit.

‘Fuck, my eyes are watering,' Kevin said. ‘What is that? Cat piss?'

Alex sniffed the ventilation holes in the crate. Kevin was right. He pulled a mini Maglite torch from one of the pouches in his vest and turned it on. Pointing the beam into the hole he knelt and, closing one eye, looked inside. The whole crate shuddered and a snarling, rasping growl from inside made Alex back off. ‘It's a leopard.'

The others had started exploring.

‘Hell, there's the biggest bloody python I've ever seen in my life here, man,' Novak said.

‘Birds,' Henri reported. ‘Parrots. They're crammed into the one cage. This is inhumane.'

‘Lizards over here,' Kufa said. ‘This ship is evil. We should not have boarded.'

‘Boss, check this out,' Kevin said.

Alex moved around a wire cage containing a pangolin, an African version of the heavily armoured armadillo, and found the Australian locked in a staring match with a vervet monkey. The primate started calling in a squeaky, two-part alarm.

‘Shut that thing up,' Mitch said.

‘You want me to kill it?' Kevin raised his pistol, which had a silencer screwed to it.

‘No,' Alex said. ‘Scout around, see what else they've got in this floating zoo.'

Urine and faeces slopped under Alex's boots as he moved through the fetid cargo hold. Mitch whistled softly as he used a crowbar he'd found hanging on a hook to prise open a wooden crate. ‘Ivory. Maybe a hundred grand's worth. We're taking that.'

Alex had seen Mozambique's wildlife before and after the revolution. It sickened him that the international market in animals and their body parts had been responsible for the extinction and decimation of so many species. Now was not the time to get into an argument with Mitch, though. ‘What else?'

‘Dagga. Marijuana, boss,' Novak said. ‘Fifty k-g's worth at least. Dried. This place isn't just a zoo, it's a bloody goldmine.'

Alex stayed away from one sack which was writhing and hissing, but cautiously opened another, which contained three rhino horns. Worth a small fortune to a Chinese herbalist who would grind it up and sell it as a cure for fever, or to an oil-rich Yemeni who would turn the matted hair into a polished handle for his dagger. He shook his head in disgust.

Henri had ventured further ahead. The darting beam of the torch fixed under his rifle barrel announced his return. ‘
Chef
. The next hold is full of raw timber.'

‘Illegally felled hardwood, I'll bet,' Alex said.

‘So what do we do, boss?' Novak said.

Mitch spoke first: ‘We take this boat and sell the loot, or ransom it back to its owners. There's millions of dollars around us, Alex.'

‘Sink the fucking thing,' Kevin said. ‘This is just wrong – trading in bloody misery.'

‘I agree,' Kufa said.

‘We could take the most valuable items – the tusks and horns and the drugs,' Henri ventured. ‘The crew haven't noticed us yet. We could just leave.'

Alex's father had hunted in Mozambique and, later, in Rhodesia when on leave from the army. He'd always imagined growing up that
one day his father would take him out into the bush and teach him the skills of tracking and killing. Many times he'd heard his dad rail against the evils of poaching. Later in life he'd pondered the morals of shooting big game in Africa. White men paid to hunt for sport. Black men shot what they believed was theirs, in order to feed themselves and make money.

He knew profiting from the sale of ivory or rhino horn was morally wrong, but he had become a thief, a pirate. Were there degrees of wrongness?

His head told him to leave this foul-smelling hulk at once and go back to the island. His heart told him to do something to save the endangered animals and reptiles on board. The part of his conscience that told him repeatedly that as long as no one was hurt there was nothing truly wrong with stealing goods that were covered by insurance was trying to convince him right now that the proceeds of a few rhino horns and a crate of ivory would allow him to restore a floor of the hotel and finally open for business.

Alex was still weighing his options when he heard the deep rumble of a ship's engines. It wasn't the
Peng Cheng
's idling diesels, but another vessel. Mitch opened his mouth, but Alex waved him to silence and pointed to the direction of the noise. ‘Move. Quietly. Let's go topside. It sounds like this tub's rendezvousing with someone else.'

Alex led his band back through the stinking hold to the metal stairs that led to clean air above. They collected Heinrich on the way and, once topside, Alex took a few deep breaths then replaced his gasmask to hide his identity in case they were spotted.

They stood at the stern of the
Peng Cheng
, hiding in the shadows as the largest freighter Alex had ever seen blocked their view of the horizon and starry night sky.

‘That's the
Penfold Son
,' Kevin whispered. ‘Seen a pic of her in a magazine. What a brute.'

Voices in Chinese echoed above them and the
Peng Cheng
's engines stopped. There was the squawk of radio static and the voice above them turned to English.

‘This is
Peng Cheng
,
Peng Cheng
, out of Shanghai. We have no engine power. We are stranded. Can you assist, over?'

Alex motioned with an open palm for his men to stay put and started climbing the stairs to the bridge, to get closer. He heard the faint reply, in a Scottish-accented voice.

‘
Peng Cheng
this is the
Penfold Son
. We can't offer a tow, but I can send my engineering officer down to take a quick look if you wish.'

‘Affirmative,
Penfold Son
, and very much appreciated.'

 

Jane was having trouble sleeping. She checked the digital clock-radio on her tiny bedside table. Two am.

She rolled over and tried to get comfortable, but to no avail. She'd been dreaming about pirates, and being forced to jump overboard at gunpoint from the stern rail of the
Penfold Son
– like being made to walk the plank. There were sharks in the water below.

It was stuffy in the cabin. The airconditioning had been too cold. It seemed to have been stuck on the highest setting so she'd turned it off. She swung her legs out of bed and swapped her pyjamas for a pair of cargo shorts and T-shirt. She slipped on her sandals. Strictly speaking, passengers were not supposed to be on the open deck at night-time, for safety reasons, but the first mate had seen her once before taking a stroll in the moonlight and had simply waved and smiled.

She passed the first of the cabins where Van Zyl and his men were quartered, two to a room. There was no noise from inside. If George's hired guns really were supposed to be keeping his flagship safe from pirates, it appeared they were sleeping on the job.

Jane made her way to the hatch leading to the open deck and sighed with relief at the gush of fresh air that greeted her. She walked outside and saw the sky was clear. The full moon was starting its descent towards the western horizon and as its light waned more stars were appearing above. Somewhere out there was the coast of Africa – Mozambique. She thought again about her dream and the increasing incidence of maritime attacks. She shuddered and
suddenly experienced the distinct impression that she was not alone. She looked over her shoulder.

There was no one there.

Leaning out over the railing she saw the lights of another ship ahead. She didn't know about the intricacies of navigation at sea, but it looked like Captain MacGregor was heading right towards the other vessel.

‘I've been watching her for a while.'

Jane gave a start and turned again, and this time saw Piet van Zyl emerging from the shadows. He was dressed in black and wore a matching beanie over his white hair. ‘Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack.'

Van Zyl held an overly large pair of binoculars out to her. ‘Take a look.'

She held the glasses to her eyes and saw the lights of the other ship glare like bright green traffic lights against a luminous sea of lime. ‘Night vision?'

‘Yes. The button on top projects an infra-red beam, which provides more light. Try it out.'

Jane saw the ship's bridge better with the additional invisible light source. She could even make out a man looking back at them. ‘Cool.'

The deck shuddered under their feet. ‘We're slowing,' Van Zyl said.

‘I wonder why. Perhaps they're in trouble.'

Van Zyl reached for the binoculars and she handed them back. He studied the other vessel again, but didn't reply. Instead, he took the portable radio clipped to his belt and said, ‘Tyrone, come topside. Bring my gear.'

‘Your gear? What's going on, Piet, do you think they're pirates?'

He turned to her. ‘I think it would be best for you to go below now, back to your cabin.'

‘No way. This is just getting interesting.'

 

‘Get back,' Alex hissed at Mitch, swinging his arm out to force the American back into the shadows under the overhanging wing of the
bridge. He'd taken the night-vision monocular from its pouch on his assault vest and removed his gasmask so he could slip the device's strap over his head. He had scanned the looming bulk of the
Penfold Son
. ‘Someone up there's also using a starlight scope and they just hit their infra-red.'

‘I never worked on a ship that had night vision,' Kevin said. ‘What do we do now, boss?'

The infra-red spotlight was just one more oddity in a night that had been full of them. ‘There'll be crew looking down. If we move on deck they'll see us. We stay put and see what happens next.'

They didn't have long to wait. The
Penfold Son
's engines changed pitch again and the boat seemed to shudder to a near halt.

The larger freighter gleamed spotlessly white against the contrasting rust and garbage stains that camouflaged the Chinese trader.

A rigid-hulled inflatable boat was swung over the side of the
Penfold Son
and Alex could see three men on board as the ship's rescue craft was lowered to the sea. Once on the water's calm surface the crew started the outboard and cast off. It took them only seconds to bridge the gap between the two ships. A rope ladder was lowered by a Chinese crewman and one man clambered aboard. He wore overalls and carried a canvas hold-all.

‘This stinks more than all that animal shit down below,' Heinrich said.

‘Y'all got that right,' Mitch whispered.

‘We should go now,' Henri said, ‘drift away while their attention is distracted. No one would see us.'

Alex shook his head. ‘Moon's still too high. We wait.'

 

‘Give me the binoculars,' Jane said. Van Zyl ignored her, so she said, ‘Do you know who that man is who just got out of the inflatable boat?'

‘No.' The South African clearly hadn't had the chance yet to meet all the crew. Reluctantly, he handed the glasses to her.