^ The ocean came up to them hungrily, a grey, white-capped ocean, cold and forbidding. Winter was descending towards the water as the tanker came on at fourteen knots, and it looked as though they could be submerged – with the massive steel bow riding over them. LeCat leant sideways, saw the unstable water coming up.
^ He disliked the sensation because he was wholly at the mercy of another man's skill. Slipping the Skorpion back inside its shoulder holster, he pulled his parka front together to hide it. Behind him another thirteen men crouched together nervously, not enjoying the experience, not looking at each other for fear their nervousness showed. There was Andre Dupont, who had flown with Winter the day they had attacked the Italian Syndicate motor cruiser in the Mediterranean, who had phoned through LeCat's order to Hamburg that Sullivan must now be killed. There was Alain Blancard, a veteran of Algeria and a skilled sniper. And there were eleven others.
^ LeCat, ignoring the intense vibration, the thumping beat of the rotor overhead, pressed his cheek hard against the window. Where was the bloody tanker? They were almost in the sea. Had Winter, despite his pilot's skill, mistimed it? LeCat's stomach ached with the strain and his hands were sweating. Where the hell was the ship? Grey steel slid past below them, so close he felt he could reach out and touch it. There was a bump. They were landing.
^ The pilot cut the motor, the rotor-whizz faded, the blades appeared, spinning fast, then more slowly before they stopped moving. The three seamen on the forecastle with fire-fighting apparatus ran down on to the main deck as the machine's door opened and a tall man jumped out, landed in a crouch, straightened up and headed along the catwalk for the bridge.
^ 'Doesn't waste much time, does he?' Bennett remarked. 'Big chap, must be six feet tall…'
^ The pilot was still wearing his helmet and face shield over his eyes and this gave him a sinister appearance as he half-ran along the catwalk, glanced up at the bridge, saluted and disappeared. In the distance Bennett saw two more men jump out of the machine and then start talking to the three seamen. It all seemed very normal, a routine rescue 'Five more men have come out of that machine,' Bennett said sharply. 'How many is the damned thing carrying?'
^ Mackay strode to the front of the bridge and stared along the main deck. He counted five more men coming out of the helicopter while he watched, but they were all staying close to the landing point, chatting with the three seamen as far as he could see. 'Send the bosun down there,' he said. 'Send him with a walkie-talkie…'
^ 'Stay exactly where you are, gentlemen. If anyone moves the captain dies from a bullet – instead of from old age -'
^ Mackay spun round. The pilot stood in the wrong place – he was standing at the entrance from the starboard wing deck. He must have dodged along under the bridge when he was out of sight. He held a pistol in his right hand and the muzzle was aimed at Mackay's stomach. The gun, with only one-and-a-half inches of the barrel protruding from the body of the weapon, had a highly lethal look.
^ 'This is a hi-jack,' the pilot warned. 'We shan't hesitate to shoot…'
^ 'The Weathermen. Stop asking questions. You…' The pilot gestured towards Bennett. 'Go and stand at the front of the bridge where my men can see you. Then wave to them – swing your arms round like a windmill.'
^ The helmsman, a man called Harris from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, gripped his wheel and kept the vessel on course. He had received no fresh orders from the captain. By the window Betty Cordell froze. 'Do as he tells you,' Mackay said quietly to Bennett.
^ 'Move!' The pilot elevated his pistol, aiming it point blank at Mackay's chest. 'Do you want to get your captain killed?'
^ Bennett moved, went over to the window and swivelled his arms in a windmill motion. A group of men came running down the catwalk at a fast trot, leaving two men behind with the seamen at the landing point. Bennett counted twelve men running down the catwalk, all of them armed, the man in front very nimble in spite of his short height and wide shoulders. They vanished under the bridge.
^ The pilot waited, holding the pistol very steady, and twice he glanced at the bridge clock as though checking the elapse of a ^ ^ specific number of minutes. The helmsman, a short, dark-haired man with quick eyes, stayed frozen behind his wheel. Betty Cordell stood stiffly, her hands clenched as she stared at the eyes behind the shield. They were stunned, all of them except perhaps Bennett whom Mackay had ordered to obey the pilot, sensing that he might have done something dangerous; so easy to make a quick gesture of resistance, and so easy to get shot when the other man has the gun.
^ There was a clatter of feet and two armed men appeared from the same direction the pilot had come – from the starboard wing deck. They took up positions on either side of the bridge, aiming their pistols so they had the prisoners in a potential crossfire. The pilot spoke to one of them in French, which Mackay understood. 'Has LeCat gone straight to the engine-room? Good. When I leave the bridge these people are to stay exactly where they are -including the woman.' He looked at Betty Cordell, speaking in English. 'Why are you on board?'
^ 'I'm Betty Cordell, a reporter. I came for a story. It looks as though I've got one…'
^ The pilot smiled bleakly. 'You may wish you had stayed at home. You will remain here on the bridge until I decide where to put you. You are a problem I didn't anticipate.' He looked at Mackay. 'Get your ship back on course, Captain.'
^ Mackay grunted. 'You know the penalty for piracy on the high seas?'
^ The pilot walked towards the captain, stopping when he was a few feet away, leaving a clear field of fire for the guards at either side of the bridge. Stripping off his helmet, he looked down at Mackay who was five feet eight tall, inches shorter than the thin, bony-faced Englishman. 'My name is Winter. I seem to remember I asked you to issue a certain order.' His voice was soft and menacing and Mackay stiffened. 'You do value the lives of your crew, I take it?'
^ 'Mr Bennett,' Mackay said crisply. 'Put the ship back on course for San Francisco. Increase speed to seventeen knots.'
^ Bennett issued the order to Harris, the helmsman, and then the bridge phone rang. 'That may be the engine-room chief, Brady,' Winter told Mackay. 'At this moment there are four armed men in that part of the ship. Warn Brady that he is to carry out any instruction they give him – and that he will continue to receive all navigational orders from you.' He smiled bleakly. 'Engine-room chiefs are notoriously men with minds of their own…'
^ Mackay said nothing as he lifted the phone, then personally gave the order to increase speed. He added his own warning: 'These men who have come aboard are armed and dangerous – do nothing that could affect the welfare of the crew, Chief…'
^ 'Very good.' Winter turned to Betty Cordell who had been watching him for several minutes as though trying to assess what kind of man this was. 'I say it again, Miss Cordell – you will not leave this bridge without my personal permission. You are a problem I shall have to work out…'
^ 'She is an innocent passenger,' Mackay broke in with a rasp in his voice. 'She is also an American citizen and I would advise you…'
^ 'When I require your advice I will request it. If you had let me finish what I was saying I would have said I am concerned for her safety.' Winter glanced at the French guards who did not understand what he was saying. 'Some of these men are not the best of company for women, so you must not do anything foolish. Later, I will decide whether you should be confined to your cabin for the rest of the trip…'
^ Winter left the bridge abruptly and Mackay stared at his first officer. 'I don't understand that man, Winter, at all. And who the hell are The Weathermen?'