Noah's Ark: Survivors (31 page)

“No idea. I am guessing they’re keeping some of the bridge crew captive somewhere. Hoping, anyway. We know that he took Lucya, the chief radio officer. And before that they took another hostage, the head of housekeeping. They may have other hostages, and they must be holding these women somewhere. Some of the disciples will be guarding them.”

“Any thoughts on where he would be holding them?” Coote asked.

“None. There’s no brig or secure cell on the ship. We looked for Tania and didn’t find her, even when we surveyed every cabin. I guess they moved her around. They could be anywhere. Maybe more than one location.”

“So we have no way of identifying these guys,” Ralf said.

“Not all of them. But anyone carrying a gun you can probably assume is one of them. Apart, maybe, from Max, our head of security. He had access to the gun locker, but I believe they took his key, violently. I might be wrong, and he could be armed and active, but I think it’s more likely he’s a hostage, or dead.”

“Thank you, Jake. Ralf, the plans if you could?” Coote looked over to the tattooed man.

Ralf tapped away on his tablet. The screen flickered, then the image was replaced with deck plans.
 

“Our entry on board is here, the landing platform for the tender. We have visual confirmation that they haven’t closed it up. It provides access to deck two. The bridge is located on deck ten. This is the most direct route.”

As Coote spoke, Ralf zoomed in on the relevant sections of the blueprints. The plan was discussed in detail for two hours, with Jake providing as much information as he could.

They were to board the
Spirit of Arcadia
at twelve thirty hours. There had been discussion about waiting until night, when most passengers would be asleep and out of danger. The consensus was there was too great a risk that Flynn could already be harming or even killing people and that they should not waste any time. At the hour they had chosen, passengers were likely to be in the restaurants for lunch rations, so the risk was somewhat reduced.

They filed out of the mess to take up positions for the mission. Coote turned to Jake. “Maybe this boat isn’t so poorly named after all eh? The
Ambush
is about to engage in an actual ambush!”

• • •

Jake was to remain aboard the submarine until the men had secured the bridge of the cruise ship. They were trained in combat and he wasn’t. He would only get in the way and risk the mission. Instead, he was stationed next to Ralf. They were to provide radio support. The live feed from the bridge would provide crucial information. From a station next to Ralf’s, another officer was monitoring the video feed from the periscope array.

The most delicate part of the operation, Coote had explained, was surfacing at exactly the right spot. They wanted to remain hidden for as long as possible. The captain was now in the main control room, overseeing the helmsman. An open audio feed between the two control rooms meant Jake had a good idea of what was going on. They had pulled alongside the
Spirit of Arcadia
and matched her speed exactly. Using a fancy sonar trick, they had been able to engage some sort of autopilot that would keep them in position, provided the cruiser stayed on a relatively straight course and didn’t execute any tight turns. They were now in the process of surfacing. Instead of just rearing up out of the water as they had done in front of the life raft, they were attempting to partially surface. Clipped orders were called out, status updates called back. Jake got the impression from the tense atmosphere that this was not something they practised regularly.

“Steady!”

“A little more out of the aft tank please, Budden.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Tower has broken the surface!”

“Keep it steady, Budden. Another three metres.”

“Two…one…”

“Hold her here!”

“Holding.”

“How do we look from outside?”

The officer to Jake’s left replied into his headset: “Looks like we’re creating a slight bow wave, nothing too conspicuous.”

“Any sign they’ve spotted us?”

“Negative,” Ralf responded. “All quiet on the bridge. Primary target looks to be sleeping.”

“Red Team, proceed with caution. I repeat, proceed with caution.”

Jake watched the periscope monitor intently. It had a wide field of view, and he was able to see a hatch on the top of the fin pop open. He counted a dozen armed submariners as they crawled out of the small, round hole, then leapt from the tower onto the landing platform from which he himself had been dispatched so recently. They mounted the steps in formation. The lead man entered the ship. Thirty seconds later the others followed.

“Red Team aboard.”

“Roger. Blue Team, stand by.”

“Standing by.”

There was radio silence for a few very tense minutes.

“Red Team approaching engine room.”

“Roger. Blue Team — go, go, go.”

Jake listened attentively. Ralf’s screen showed no movement on the bridge. On the other screen he saw twelve more men leave by the hatch. They followed the same formation, and within two minutes all had disappeared from view.

“Blue Team aboard.”

“Red Team, we have secured the engine room. I repeat, we have secured the engine room.”

“How many disciples?”

“Two gunmen. I don’t think they were expecting us.”

“Casualties?”

“None. No shots fired. These boys gave themselves up easily.”

Jake breathed a small sigh of relief. They knew that until a few days ago these so-called disciples were just regular passengers, not soldiers. They hadn’t expected too much of a fight. Even so, Coote had insisted that frightened men with guns could be unpredictable. Nothing was to be taken for granted.

“Blue Team, we are on deck ten. Approaching bridge.”

“Roger. Keep this channel open.”

Jake’s heart was beating fast again. This was the most dangerous part of the operation. There was a good chance that Flynn had stationed men outside the bridge door. The speakers hissed quietly as the radio transmitted the breathing of the lead man. Then everything happened very fast. Shouting erupted from the speaker.

“Armed forces, drop your weapons! Get down on the ground, now!”

Incoherent noise, more shouting. Two shots fired. Then another.

“Down, now!”

On the monitor, Jake watched as Flynn’s men ran to cover the door. They took up position behind consoles, two each side. Flynn ran.

“Primary target appears to be going for the escape hatch,” Ralf said into his headset. He turned to Jake. “Looks like you were right about him trying to escape.”

“Blue four, confirm your position.”

“Blue four in position above bridge hatch.”

“Stand by, primary target headed your way. Blue one, report.”

“Blue one, one man down, dead. Another immobilised. No casualties on our side. About to blow the door.”

Flynn was halfway up the ladder, but stopped. He paused for an instant, then jumped back to the ground, landing in a crouching position. He sprang to his feet and sprinted to the rear of the bridge, and out of view of the camera.

“Primary target has changed direction, no longer headed for the hatch,” Ralf reported. “You’ve got two targets either side of the door. Repeat, two either side, behind consoles. Further target at five metres from door. Shit, what the hell is he doing?”

At the same instant, the screen flared bright white. The camera came back into focus. Dust was blowing across the room. More shouting issued from the speaker.

“Armed forces, drop your weapons and give yourselves up. You are outnumbered!”

Gunshots rang out.

Jake looked on in horror as he saw Pedro being walked up the middle of the bridge towards the door. Zhang was behind him, a gun held to the pilot’s neck.

One of the men behind the console popped his head over and fired off a shot. More shots were being fired from the door by the unseen navy men.

“He’s using Pedro as a shield,” Jake said. “He thinks he’s going to get out of there.”

Ralf relayed this to Blue Team, but it was too late. As he spoke, Pedro and Zhang both dropped to the floor. The gunshots rang out through the speaker.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Jake said. “I’m going in. Flynn’s getting away. They could be held up there forever, it’s a standoff.”

“Coote wants you here until the bridge is secured,” Ralf said.

“That’s my ship. I’m responsible for those people. I’ve let them down once, I’m not doing it again.”

“I can’t stop you, Jake, you’re a civilian. But I’d advise you to let us take care of this.”

“Your advice is noted, thank you.”

Jake smiled, then turned and left the communications room.

Sixty-Four

J
AKE
N
OAH
RAN
through corridors and up several flights of stairs. It seemed strange, being back on board the
Spirit of Arcadia
after seeing her sail off, assuming he would die. He passed a few passengers; fortunately none seemed to recognise him. Had he not been running they probably wouldn’t even have given him a second glance. As he reached deck ten, he heard gunfire from the direction of the bridge. Blue Team were evidently still trying to take it. He spoke into the radio Ralf had insisted on giving him before he left.

“Ralf? Jake. Any sign of Flynn on the bridge?”

“Negative. Blue Team are being held at the door. Two more disciples down, two still firing.”

Jake had an idea how Flynn had got away. He climbed another flight of stairs. On deck eleven he found an exterior door, went out on deck, and sprinted towards the bow of the ship until he was above and slightly behind the bridge. Its floor-to-ceiling windows extended out over the sea, giving almost full three-sixty-degree visibility. The rear-facing windows that had been blown out by the ash cloud had since been covered in plastic, keeping the cold air out. Jake looked down; his suspicion was confirmed. The plastic sheet covering the innermost window was shredded. Flynn must have climbed out. If he hadn’t fallen into the sea, he must have either jumped and landed on one of the balconies below, or climbed up and onto the bridge roof, where he could then get onto the deck eleven promenade. It was a sizeable drop to the balconies, and they were a small target to hit. Climbing seemed like the most obvious choice. Even so, he’d had time to get a good distance away. He could be almost anywhere by now.

Jake turned and ran back the way he had come, searching around desperately, but there was nothing to give any clue as to which way the mutineer had gone.
 

The radio in his hand burst into life.

“Jake? Ralf. I’ve hacked into the security cameras. Four of us are sweeping the ship now.”

“Understood,” Jake replied. Then he had an idea. “Ralf, the cameras store the last twelve hours of footage. If you can, check anything on the starboard side, deck eleven. Flynn climbed out of the bridge window. You might be able to track him.”

“Roger that, we’re on it.”

Jake attached the radio to his belt. He had no idea what to do next. In desperation he set off around the exterior promenade of the deck. If Flynn knew the game was up, he figured he would probably try and keep a low profile, avoid going inside where he might come face to face with the Royal Navy.

He walked fast, checking anywhere he thought the fugitive might hide. Behind stairways, inside deck-chair stowage units. There were a thousand places to hide, just on the sun deck alone.

The radio crackled again. He whipped it off his belt just in time to hear Ralf’s voice.

“Jake, we see him. You were right, he climbed out over deck eleven. We tracked him down to deck seven. He’s in some kind of park. I’ve sent some of Red Team up there. You should stay put, out of harm’s way.”

Jake stood where he was, rooted to the spot. He knew that he should let the professionals handle it. On the other hand, he knew the ship better than they did. He could get there faster. His mind made up, he ran inside.

• • •

He flew through the ship and down the stairs, taking them two at a time, arriving at deck seven out of breath but no less determined. The nearest entrance to Palm Plaza was just metres away.

Also between himself and that door was the door to one of the larger cafes. It was full. They had evidently been using it for the lunchtime ration service in addition to the three restaurants. The service was coming to an end, and the first diners were starting to leave. A group of a dozen or so people were pouring through the doors. One of them spotted Jake.

“Hey! Look, that’s that guy! The captain. The murderer!”

“Jesus, it really is him!”

Somebody screamed.

“What the fuck is he doing, walking about freely?”

Jake raised his hands slightly, showing he wasn’t armed.

“Now, now, take it easy, folks. I didn’t kill anyone, okay? I was framed.”

“Framed? You hear that, Jimmy? Says he was framed.” The man spoke with a thick northern Irish accent.

“Aye, I heard what he said, Paul, but I know what I saw, and I saw that man with a gun.”

“So what are we gonna do with him then, the murdering bastard?”

The two men advanced on him menacingly, the rest of the crowd huddled behind them. Jake backed up slowly, keeping his hands in the air.

“You’re making a big mistake!” he said.

“We’re making a mistake? I’d say you made a big fucking mistake when you shot three people. And if the new captain isn’t going to take care of you, then we are!”

The leading men broke into a run. Jake turned and ran back up the stairs. His legs were burning from the effort of his sprint down, but the adrenaline pumping through him pushed him on regardless. He mounted one flight and charged out of the stairwell into the deck eight main passageway, bounced off a wall, righted himself, and ran as fast as he could. A glance over his shoulder and he could see the four men just metres behind.

“Come back here, you coward. Time to face real justice!”

The effort of pumping so much air into his lungs was making Jake’s side explode with pain. Vardy’s pills taken with breakfast were no match for the physical exertion he was subjecting his body to.