“And the freezer compartment, the one where those things were locked away is below us somewhere here, according to the journal.”
“And suddenly Lou is interested in diving with our team?”
“And he changed the teams’ arrangements last minute as well.”
“Totally out of character,” she agreed.
David agreed but added. “Money changes everything. It could just be he has dollar signs in his head.”
They rushed to catch up to the other two divers, and soon they were watching Swigart split them into two pairs—Kelly with Swigart which left David with Mendenhall. Lou had discovered one possible way to get to the interior depths, Mendenhall another. David felt trumped as if a chess move two steps ahead of him had been made. A move he had not contemplated, yet one he should have foreseen.
Swigart is it, he thought now. It absolutely felt that way on the one hand, but Jacob Mendenhall remained suspect as well.
TWENTY SIX
Well into the harbor at Queenstown now, while Constable Ransom and his companions remained locked away, above decks on Titanic, Captain Edward Smith was, he felt, being besieged—first by these imposters posing as medical and civil authorities out of Belfast of all places, and now comes the tirade, tantrums, and rantings of one old battleaxe, a tough German named Mrs. Catarina Krizefieldt who insisted on a refund and that she be put off at Queenstown immediately.
An elderly, sometimes wheelchair-bound woman with bushy eyebrows, a noticeable snout, and the angry eyes of a vulture, Mrs. Krizefieldt had obviously boarded under false pretenses merely to gain some brief newsprint notoriety as she had raised holy hell among passengers and crew, claiming herself a psychic on the order of Nostradamus, and that she had foreseen the sinking of Titanic in a matter of days if not hours.
Spreading such a rumor to the captain’s ear was one thing, but when he ignored her repeated notes passed to him, first at dinner the night before, and next through his officers this morning, Smith wanted nothing more than to honor her request that she be put off at Queenstown—their last port-of-call before leaving Europe for America. Smith meant to appease the woman not so much as to honor the mad request but to be rid of her—as he had rid himself for the time being of this man Ransom and his stooges.
Indeed, Captain Smith most certainly wanted this publicity-seeking so-called psychic off his ship. And while at it, he ordered Murdoch and Lightoller to “escort those Belfast idiots from the brig to that lifeboat as well. Kill all the Albatrosses aboard with one drop of a boat.” Even so, it meant time wasted and effort wasted, things Smith detested.
To this end, he had his navigator plot a course for the most convenient departure point in the bay at Queenstown, where they were scheduled to take on not just additional passengers and supplies for their Atlantic crossing, but trade goods as well. He understood crates of hand-made, German grandfather clocks were among the goods going to America from here.
To complete Mrs. Krizefieldt’s request, a lifeboat had to be packed with the woman’s trunk, bags, wheelchair, despondent caged parakeet, her equally despondent-looking husband, and finally herself.
Second Officer Lightoller had been slated to take two junior officers with him to go ashore to oversee the boarding of additional passengers and cargo, and so he was selected to see to the de-boarding of Mrs. Krizefieldt, and her belongings in addition to escorting at gunpoint the other three unwanted characters aboard.
At the time of packing the now wildly rocking lifeboat with the family Krizefieldt and their possessions, the prisoners were being escorted up from the brig—so far as Captain Smith knew. Using a single lifeboat made sense as the most expedient way to get them all out of the captain’s hair in one fell swoop. At the same time, Titanic must come to a complete halt, her anchors lowered to steady her, followed by the lowering of the lifeboat as Queenstown had no dock large enough to accommodate Titanic. This all in addition to his men having to bring on new passengers, properly de-board others via the boat train, and load on new provisions, stores, medical supplies, and trade goods.
Smith’s orders to Lightoller had been simple and direct: “See that all aboard your lifeboat, sir, are safely put ashore. We’ll place all these malcontents into one boat, and let the Queenstown authorities deal with them, while Wilde sees to boarding passengers coming on here along with any additional goods and supplies.”
The baby-faced Lightoller meant to carry out his orders to the letter, thinking the malcontents the captain spoke of had succeeded in upsetting his captain and his ship. He knew that it would be some time before things got back on course and on schedule; for himself, personally, it’d be some time before he could get back to the ship due to his having to unload the gnarly old German couple, Ransom, and his young accomplices. Still things were gong smoothly enough what with Lifeboat #5 safely lifted and waiting for the prisoners, held steady by the powerful davit engine. The young officer once again marveled at the amazing technological advances that had made Titanic possible. He knew the ship might be delayed, but Titanic was made for speed as well as elegance; she could make up the time once they were moving forward again.
“Another ruse to slow us down,” Smith told his officers on the bridge from where he stood watching Lightoller organizing Lifeboat #5. Officer Wilde nodded, appreciating his captain’s wisdom.
“How low will Cunard stoop, sir?” Wilde put in.
“As low as their knees will allow.”
Rather than seeing to the job of escorting the prisoners up from the bowels of the ship to be taken off, Will Murdoch had sent word via a crewman that this be done. Not long following this, Murdoch was sent word that the three prisoners had escaped and were at large. This on a boat some nine New York City blocks long and three wide. A more precise measurement placed the ship at 28 meters or 92 feet wide, and 882 feet or 269 meters long. A ship with a thousand hiding places.
At the same time that Charles Lightoller was organizing the packing off of Mrs. Catarina Krizefieldt, word reached the captain that Ransom and his two young cohorts had attacked their guards halfway up to the boat deck, and the trio had disappeared after the melee belowdecks. It was believed they were now in hiding among the second class citizens of steerage grade tickets.
“What shall we do sir?” asked Murdoch after reporting the unhappy news to Smith.
“Shall we hold the lifeboat up, sir?” asked Lightoller, who’d joined them at the bridge on learning the news. “I mean until we can apprehend the prisoners?”
“More time wasted,” Smith muttered, disgusted, his features and white beard at odds with his angry blue eyes. At this moment, he more resembled depictions of Zeus than Santa. “Damn you, Murdoch, why didn’t you see to the escort of prisoners personally, man?”
“I had no idea they were so desperate, sir; I assumed they’d be thrilled at the news we were setting ’em free on the dock here. Free to go on their way, you know—facing no prosecution for—for—”
“You told them that lie?”
“I insisted the crewmen bringing them up say so, yes, to ensure their cooperation, you see.”
“Clever, but it obviously didn’t work. Damn it all. This delays us further! Which is their aim, Mister Murdoch! You know this—delay, delay, sabotage next!”
And it did have this supposed desired effect. This had all delayed Titanic, the clock ticking away, shaving off almost two hours from her schedule already, while they had been well ahead of schedule before now. This damnable delay could cost us the transatlantic record for a ship this size!” he continued. “A record I planned on winning before retirement—to beat Britannic. Every officer and crewman’s bonuses are at stake. Bonuses White Star promised, but only if Titanic shaves time off Britannic’s record.”