He hired a skilled artist to sculpt a likeness of Collins's face from the photos. Male and female molds were cast from the sculpture. Next, a natural latex, dyed to match Captain Collins's skin coloring, was pressed between the molds and set aside until gelation occurred, and then baked. He trimmed and carefully fitted the latex mask, using a resin-wax mixture to match minor changes in facial structure.
Then Ammar applied foamed ear and nose prosthetics and added makeup.
Finally, a correctly dyed, barbered and parted hairpiece, contact lenses to match the color of Collins's eyes, tooth caps, and Animar became the spitting image of the cruise liner's Captain.
Ammar did not have the time to study Oliver Collins's personality profile in depth or study the Captain's mannerisms. He just managed to take a cram course on shipboard duties and memorize the names and faces of the ship's officers. He had no choice but to bluff it out, relying correctly on the assumption the crew did not have the slightest reason to be skeptical. As soon as the two officers stepped into the Captain's cabin, Ammar immediately acted to tip the scales in his favor.
"Pardon me, gentlemen, for sounding and looking a bit under the weather, but I've picked up a case of the flu."
"Shall I send for the ship's doctor?" asked Second Officer Herbert Parker, physically fit, suntanned, with a smooth boyish face that seemed as if it saw a razor only on Saturday evenings.
A near-stake, thought Ammar. A doctor familiar with Collins would have spotted the masquerade in a flash.
"He's already given me enough pills to choke an elephant. I feel fit enough to muddle through my duties."
The third officer, a Scot with the unlikely name of Isaac Jones, pushed aside a shag of red hair from his high forehead. "Anything we can do, sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Jones, there is," answered Ammar. "Our VIP passengers will be arriving tomorrow afternoon. You will be in charge of the welcoming party. We don't often have the honor of entertaining two presidents, and I should think the company will expect us to carry out a firstrate ceremony."
"Yes, sir," snapped Jories. "Depend on it."
"W. Parker.
"Captain .
"A landing craft will arrive within the hour to transship a cargo for the company. You will be in charge of the loading operations. A team of security people will also be coming aboard this evening. Please see they are provided with suitable quarters.
"Rather short notice, isn't it, sir, taking on cargo? And I thought the Egyptian and Mexican security agents weren't due until early morning."
"Our company directors work in mysterious ways," Ammar said philosophically. "As to our armed guests, company orders again. They want their own security personnel on board in case of a problem."
"A matter of one security team overseeing another."
"Something like that. I believe Lloyds demanded extra precautions or they threatened to raise our insurance rate to some astronomical height."
"I understand."
"any questions, gentlemen?"
There were none and the two officers turned to leave. "Herbert, there is one more thing," said Ammar. "Please load the cargo as quietly and quickly as possible."
"I will, sir."
Once they were out of earshot on the deck, Parker turned to Jones. "Did you hear that? He called me by my first name. Don't you think that jolly queer?"
Jones shrugged indifferently. "He must be sicker than we thought.
The landing craft came alongside and a small cargo boom was run out. The loading operation went smoothly. The rest of Ammar's men, dressed in business suits, also came on board and were assigned to four empty suites.
By midnight the landing craft slipped into the darkness and was gone.
The Lady Flamborough's cargo boom was pulled into the hold out of sight and the large double loading doors were closed.
Ammar rapped five times on Finney's door and waited. The door was cracked slightly and the guard stood back. Arnniar took a quick look up and down the carpeted passageway and entered.
He nodded toward the Captain. The guard moved forward and stripped the tape from Collins's mouth. "I regret the inconvenience, Captain. But I suppose it would be a waste of words to ask you to give me your word you won't attempt to escape and warn your crew."
Collins sat stiffly in a chair, his arms and legs chained together, and glared at Ammar with murder in his eyes. "You sordid sewer filth."
"You British have a literary quality to your insults that is quite amusing. An American would have simply used a fourletter word meaning the same thing."
"You'll get no cooperation from me or my officers."
"Not even if I order my men to slit the throats of your female crew members one by one and throw their bodies to the sharks?"
Finney lunged at Ammar but the guard swiftly swung the butt end of his automatic rifle into the first officer's groin. Finney fell back into his chair with a muffled groan, his eyes glazed in pain.
Collins's eyes never left Ammar. "I'd expect as much from a band of subhuman terrorists."
"We are not ignorant juveniles out to butcher infidels," Ammar explained patiently. "We are top-line professionals. This is not a repeat of the unfortunate Achille Lauro episode of a few years back. We do not intend to murder anyone. Our purpose is simply to hold Presidents Hasan and De Lorenzo and their staffs for ransom. If you do not stand in our way, we shall make our deal with their respective governments and be on our way."
Collins studied Ammar's mirrored face, searching for the lie, but the Arab's eyes reflected genuine honesty. He could not know Ammar was a master at theatrical deception.
"But you wouldn't hesitate to butcher my crew otherwise."
"And you too, of course."
"What do you want from me?"
"You, actually nothing. Mr. Parker and Mr. Jones have accepted me as Oliver Collins. It's First Officer Finney whose services I require. You will order him to obey my commands."
"Why Finney?" asked Collins.
"I opened the desk file in your cabin and read the officers' personal records. Finney knows these waters."
"I don't see what you're getting at."
"We cannot afford the risk of calling for a pilot," explained Animar.
"Tomorrow after dark, Finney will take the helm and steer the ship through the channel into the open sea."
Collins considered that. Then he slowly shook his head. "Once the port authorities get on to you they'll block the harbor entrance whether you threaten to kill everyone on board or not."
"A darkened ship can slip out on a dark night," Ammar assured him.
"How far do you expect to go? Every patrol boat within a hundred miles will have you boxed in by daylight."
... They won't find us."
Collins looked slightly dazed. "That's crazy. You can't hide a ship like the Lady Flamborough."
"Quite true," said Ammar, a cold, knowing smile forming on his lips.
"But I can make her invisible."
Jones was bent over a desk in his cabin making notes for the morning's welcoming ceremonies when Parker knocked on the door and entered. He looked tired and his uniform was damp with sweat.
Jones turned and looked at him. "Loading duty finished?"
"Yes, thank God."
"How about a nightcap?"
"A glass of your good Scottish malt whiskey?"
Jones rose and lifted a bottle from a dresser drawer. He poured two glasses and handed one to Parker.
"Look at it this way," he said. "You were relieved of standing early-morning anchor watch."
"I'd have preferred that to cargo loading," said Parker tiredly. "What about you?"
"Just got off duty."
"I wouldn't have bothered you if I hadn't seen a light through your port."
"Burning the midnight oil, making sure everything runs tick-tock smooth tomorrow."
"Finney isn't about and I felt I had to talk to someone.
for the first time Jones noticed the confused expression in Parker's eyes. "What's bothering you?"