"Is there something wrong?" Oscar shouted. It was the last sentence he ever uttered. The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile hurtled towards him. He screamed and staggered back, Palme's harpoon protruding from his chest. Swiftly Baum, who was concealed in the darkness, aimed at a moving shadow and fired. The shadow dropped. Baum shouted in German at the top of his voice.
"Mass on the bridge! Withdraw from the deck!" Then he unscrewed his silencer and fired into the air twice.
Theoretically it was sound strategy, as Palme was the first to recognise. Baum was planning on assembling his men on the ship's equivalent of the high ground the bridge from where they could pour a hail of gunfire down onto the intruders approaching from the deck below.
Baum reached the bridge because of the swiftness of his movements, running crouched up the steps and pressing himself upright against the rear of the bridge. From here he could see exactly what was happening. He witnessed a massacre — of his own troops.
On the port side Palme projected the beam of a powerful lamp on his staircase; on the starboard side Kellerman employed the same tactic. Caught in the glare of the two lights, the MfS men jammed on the staircases were targets which could not be missed. There was a continuous rattle of automatic fire from the Telescope men and Baum saw his guards collapsing and tumbling over each other as they went back down the staircases. He raised his Luger and aimed it at the glaring lamp. As though anticipating he had pushed his luck far enough, Palme turned off the lamp at that moment and jumped to one side. Two bullets from Baum's Luger thudded harmlessly into the woodwork beside him.
It was Henderson, emerging on the rear of the bridge from the starboard side, who saw the almost invisible Gunther Baum pressed close to the woodwork. A brief glimpse, he pinpointed his position when the German fired his two bullets. Taking a grenade from his pocket, Henderson removed the pin, counted and then rolled it along the deck. The grenade stopped rolling a few inches from the feet of Gunther Baum. There was a flash which illuminated the whole of the rear of the bridge, showing Baum as its sole occupant, a thunder-crack as the grenade detonated. Baum fell forward, arms out-stretched, slithered over the rail and hit the deck below.
It was time to storm the interior of the bridge, take complete control of the vessel — and destroy it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Slow down to five knots," Rashkin ordered as he ran back onto the bridge. He had come up from below via a small stairwell which led to his cabin and the main dining-room.
"Slow down?" Livanov was confused.
"For Christ's sake give the order — we are under attack."
He broke off as he heard a loud explosion beyond the rear of the bridge. He did not know that this had killed Baum but he immediately grasped that the opposition had won — they had reached bridge level. Without issuing further orders he disappeared down the small stairwell, paused cautiously at the bottom, a Walther automatic in his hand, saw that the passageway was deserted and ran to his cabin.
He had already warned all his guests to remain in the dining-room, assuring them that they were in the safest place, that the intruders would be dealt with speedily. Rashkin had sensed that Baum's defences were being overwhelmed, that this would be followed by the destruction of Kometa and all aboard her. Someone was taking violent vengeance for the killing of Jules Beaurain. Telescope were in action.
The speed of Kometa had been considerably reduced by the time he reached the cabin. A man of great agility, it took him hardly any time to strip off his outer clothes and wriggle himself into the skin-diver's suit he had brought aboard secretly in a hold-all bag. Rashkin had only survived in his present position by always preparing for every contingency — and he never neglected his escape route.
As he unscrewed the porthole cover he was armed with two weapons — a sheath knife and the waterproof watch attached to his wrist. It was most fortunate that his cabin was on the starboard side. As he swung back the cover he could see clearly the warning flashes of the lighthouse above The Hammer on Bornholm. And he calculated the hydrofoil was no more than a couple of miles from the Danish island.
Climbing backwards through the porthole, he lowered himself until his body was hanging against the hull, supported only by his hands. He let go without hesitation or trepidation, knowing that at this position there was no risk of his hitting the submerged foil — the speed had dropped to five knots and the vessel was moving like an ordinary ship. There was a risk, however, in getting caught in the stern undertow, hurled into the wake and chopped to pieces by the propeller.
He felt his feet catch the slow-moving hull and kicked out with all his strength, lunging himself backwards and away from the hull which was gracefully sliding past him. Then, still lying on his back, he began to swim with strong purposeful strokes. Behind him the hull went on gliding past. Above he saw the lights of the dining-saloon. The ship seemed oddly deserted.
The interior of the bridge resembled a slaughterhouse. A few of Baum's surviving security guards had retreated there to join Livanov just before Henderson ordered the final attack to begin. He used one word.
" Grenades! "
Three minutes later, followed by Palme and several of his gunners, he entered the deathtrap. He first checked the steering gear. Someone — doubtless Livanov — had at the last moment turned the vessel onto automatic pilot. Like a robot — or a ghost ship — the huge hydrofoil Kometa was cruising slowly across the Baltic. He began organising the evacuation of his own men: three were dead, seventeen had survived due to the element of surprise and the co-operation of Peter Sobieski. Palme had personally found the Pole and brought him to the bridge. Henderson was talking to Max Kellerman who had just arrived on the bridge.
"What is the position with that international scum waiting in the dining saloon? The elite of the Stockholm Syndicate?"
Trapped inside the saloon. The special section fought its way down, wiped out the guards and then welded up the doors with the equipment they brought. The passengers might get out if they try smashing the windows, but I don't think they will try it in time. The shooting rather discouraged exploration."
"Fix the bombs to the doors, then leave — all of you — by the smashed windows," said Henderson. "I stay until I get this damned ship moving."
"You'll have trouble leaving her," Palme interjected. "I mean when she's travelling at top speed. And the rescue boats are coming in."
"I said fix those bombs," Henderson repeated.
It was the green Verey light Henderson had fired into the night sky which had summoned the rescue boats. Coming up fast behind Kometa, the British motor vessel with Beaurain and Louise aboard and commanded by Captain Buckminster had paused after the green flare exploded like a firework.
"My God! Jock's done it!"
Louise was so relieved that she hugged Beaurain publicly as they stood on Firestorm 's bridge. Already power-boats lowered over the side were plunging through the night towards the slow-moving Kometa, their searchlights turned on full power to locate Telescope's gunners who would be diving into the sea.
Behind the wake of Kometa, which was still moving at five knots, a series of tiny lights were beginning to appear, all bobbing on the water. Power-boats despatched from Firestorm were already slowing down, each heading for a light.