Southtrap

'Don't say that — not to me, Shotton! Do you know how it felt after all these years to have a deck under me again, to feel the wind? And the first smell of the ice? I died a thousand times in prison, Shotton. Nothing, but nothing, will ever put me inside again. Not you, nor anyone else!'

I believed him. He'd use the Luger on himself first.

'What do you intend to do when you find the gold gone, Wegger? You can't put the clock back. You can't bring Holdgate and Captain Prestrud and Jacobsen to life again.'

Linn said, 'At your trial they should have taken your mental state into account…'

'Don't try and soft-soap me, you little bitch! You and Shotton, you've put your heads together and are trying to con me! You're trying to say I'm mad, talk me out of it, that the gold isn't there. It is, I tell you, it is! We're going there. I'll show you it is! Ullmann! Ullmann!'

The thug came in. 'We're going to the bridge — now,' Wegger told him.

'And the girl?' the big man asked.

'There's nothing she can do.' He addressed Linn. 'Keep to your cabin, if you don't want to get hurt, see? That's what the other passengers are doing.' She glanced at me. She held her head back. She looked very fine and brave.

'I'll be all right, Linn.'

She held my eyes for a moment. They said everything I wanted to know. Then she stalked out.

For a moment Wegger stood undecided with Jacob-sen's letter in his hand. Then he crumpled it into his pocket.

'March!' he ordered. 'The bridge!'

The bridge was a haven of peace compared to the below-decks ferment. The news obviously hadn't reached it. Jensen, the quartermaster, was at the wheel. Petersen had the watch. The only noise was of the revolving scanners clearing the spray and rain from the bridge windows and the murmur of the log. The hands of the bridge clock stood at almost nine. In the bows, the blue-white beam of the searchlight cut a traverse on blowing whitecaps and dark menacing troughs.

Petersen came half to attention when he saw me, then his jaw sagged at the sight of Wegger's gun. Before he could say anything, Ullmann moved swiftly ahead of the binnacle and pointed his machine-pistol. Jensen let go of the wheel and started back, almost colliding with Wegger close to me.

'Get back!' snapped Wegger. 'Don't let her head fall off, you bloody fool! You won't get hurt unless you try anything on!'

Jensen stood there gaping.

'Jensen!' I ordered. 'Do as he says.'

The Quest started to plunge, — the spokes spun. I jumped forward and grabbed the wheel.

'Sir…!' whimpered Petersen. 'Sir…!'

I shoved Jensen into position and put the spokes into his hands again.

'Pull yourself together!' I told him. 'You'll get us all killed if you don't.' I indicated the gunmen. The ship's been hijacked. These men have taken over. You'll take your orders from them from now on.'

'Petersen!' snapped Wegger. 'That's it, the way Shot-ton says. Understood?'

Petersen looked almost as numb as when he had seen Holdgate on the plank.

'Yes… I mean, aye, aye, sir. But why…?'

'You don't have to know,' replied Wegger. 'Do your job and you won't get hurt.'

Petersen looked appealingly at me.

I simply said formally, 'Carry on, Mr Petersen.'

'Shotton,' said Wegger, 'get on to the engine-room. Tell MacFie.'

MacFie himself answered my intercom call.

'Chief,' I said, 'how are your engines standing up?'

'So far so good,' he replied. 'But I don't like the way the screw's racing. The shaft…'

'Mac,' I cut in, 'we both owe Reilly an apology. His ghost in the tunnel is for real.'

I heard Mac's long-suffering sigh. 'Laddie, I know you and the passengers had a ball tonight. Now forget about ghosts and go and sleep it off.'

I went on, eyeing Ullmann, 'Reilly was right about the Scorpion too. It looks very small in his hands. He's got it held on me at this moment.'

'Laddie 'He looks and smells as if he's been living in the bilges,' I added. Ullmann's face remained impassive to the crack.

Suddenly Macfie's tone changed. A new, anxious note came into it.

'You don't sound drunk. What are you saying, skipper?'

The ship's been hijacked, Chief. Wegger's taken over. He's here on the bridge in company with our bilge ghost. He's also pointing a gun at my head — a Luger.'

' Wegger said harshly, 'Cut out the bull, d'ye hear? Tell him to carry on as usual if he doesn't want to get shot.'

I had held the phone clear of my head to catch Wegger's words.

'You heard, Mac.'

His Scots accent thickened. 'I heard! Hijacked! Wegger! I'll be stuffed with a goose-necked spanner!'

'Chief,' I nodded, 'you've got the message. Take it from there, will you?'

'Aye, but…'

Persson hurried on to the bridge. He made a great effort to appear controlled but his eyes couldn't stay off the stubby barrel of the Scorpion.

He addressed me. 'Signal from Botany Bay, sir. Will you take it, or will…?' He indicated Wegger.

'We'll both come,' Wegger answered. 'I want to keep an eye on the radio, too.'

'It's still only the R/T operating,' Persson added.

'What does Botany Bay say, Persson?' I asked.

'Reception's still very bad, sir. Only a word or two here and there.'

It was worse than he had led us to believe. In the radio shack I tried the microphone. 'Botany Bay!' Cruise ship Quest here. Reply, reply!'

I missed the answer but Persson was smarter. 'It's Kearnay, sir.'

'Kearnay,' I asked, 'are you still afloat?'

'Fast,' wavered the disembodied voice '… no longer afloat… nipped…'

'How the hell can you no longer be afloat and signal me?'

'Fast… fast… list of fifteen degrees…' The rest of it was lost.

'Your message not understood,' I replied. 'What do you mean, nipped? You aren't in pack-ice! Repeat, please!'

I strained to catch the reply. It was hopeless.

'Kearnay!' I said. 'You're wasting your batteries and your breath. In another couple of hours we'll be that much closer. Signal me at midnight, on the hour exactly, will you?' I didn't look at Wegger for confirmation before I added: 'Meanwhile, I am proceeding to your position at all possible speed.'

A reply came back. It could have been 'aye' or 'ice'.

I returned the microphone to Persson. There was a tight pause. Then I said, 'Wegger, we'll have to work on the chart. There's nothing here at the moment.'

'Report at midnight,' Wegger told Persson.

Wegger and I went through to the chart-room. He was watchful and alert, and gave me no opportunity to jump him. But a moment later he gave himself away. I spread open Teddy's chart of the Southern Ocean. Botany Bay's position was only a tiny cross in a vast expanse.

I pointed to it and went into technicalities. 'That's as near as I can place the windjammer at this stage. It's about one hundred and ten kilometres west of the spot where the buoy should be launched. What's your onward course to Prince Edward Island from there?'

He stood there staring uncertainly at the chart without replying. For a moment I thought he was working on the intricacies of a Great Circle course. Then my brain gave a print-out quicker than any computer — Wegger didn't know what he was doing! This was why he needed me. He could handle a course only if he were told where to sail! He didn't know how to work out a complicated one! It flashed through my mind that during the past few days I'd never seen him busy alone with the navigation of this ship — he'd always had Petersen or McKinley with him. My thoughts raced still further back, to our first interview. There hadn't been time before the Quest sailed for me to' verify his certificates. I'd taken them at their face value. Now I realized that they had been faked. Twenty-three years in gaol — that didn't give him much chance, especially at his age, to obtain a master's certificate.