“Sounds like you’re no stranger to this portion of the ship, Robert.”
The retired commando smiled proudly. “When I first went in the service, I trained to be a Royal Navy engineer. But being an outdoors sort, it didn’t take long for the Royal Marines to get my attention.”
The main catwalk continued aft. Hartwell pointed in this direction, and added, “The ship’s four vacuum evaporators for the production of fresh water, and her bilge and ballast pumping station are located back there.
Perhaps you’ll get a chance to visit these spaces during the next bomb sweep, but right now, we’d better head topside.”
An adjoining access way brought them to a closed hatch set into the starboard bulkhead. Hartwell had to use both hands to open this heavy fire door, and Vince wasted no time passing through it. This brought them smack into one of the QE2’s carpet-lined passenger passageways.
Once more, Vince felt like he had passed into another dimension — from the greasy, noise-filled, mechanical abyss of the vessel’s Engine Room, to a plush, luxurious world, where the sounds of a Beethoven symphony emanated softly from the PA system.
Vince felt dirty and hot. He carefully wiped the soles of his shoes on the rubber doormat that sat outside the fire exit. Once Hartwell shut the hatch behind them, there was no evidence that the Engine Room even existed.
“Thanks for the abbreviated tour,” offered Vince. Hartwell took his place on the doormat. While wiping off his own shoes, he responded, “It’s my pleasure, though there’s still a lot more to see. Don’t forget that you’ve got ten more decks to explore.”
Although he’d studied pictures, schematics and cutaways for a month, Vince was just now getting a true feel for the immensity of this vessel, and he knew that he had his work cut out for him. With barely eight hours to go until the ship set sail, it was imperative that he have a personal knowledge of its layout before the heads of state arrived and the summit began. He seriously doubted that he’d be able to master the crew spaces in the limited time remaining, so he decided that his main focus would be on the public areas.
Vince followed Hartwell over to an elevator that whisked them up to Two Deck and the nearby Midships Lobby. A female harpist in a flowing white gown was set up in the Lobby’s recessed center well, a strange counterpoint to the two somber, powerfully built black-suited Asians, who suddenly appeared in the starboard passageway following a steward.
Vince knew the lead figure to be Yushio Tanaka, special agent in charge of the Japanese prime minister’s security team. They had met previously during the prime minister’s last trip to Washington. Vince acknowledged his presence with a polite bow. The two agents returned this gesture before disappearing through the aft access way no doubt on the way to their cabins.
Their recent arrival on board ship was further proof of the late hour, and Vince anxiously followed Hartwell over the gangway. As they emerged onto the dock, they were engulfed by a crowd of scurrying porters, Cunard representatives, and smartly uniformed stewards.
Nearby, a line of passengers patiently waited their turns at the security checkpoint. Through the din they made, Vince could hear the bouncy show tunes being played by a combo comprised of select members of the ship’s orchestra.
On the other side of the security fence, Vince also counted seven separate television news crews, either setting up or actually shooting footage. They were working under the watchful eye of dozens of blue-uniformed policemen, many escorting police dogs. The tension and excitement on the dock was palpable.
Hartwell was apparently no stranger to such glamorous sendoffs, and after checking in with one of his female associates, he nonchalantly addressed Vince. “Looks like it’s getting close to showtime. The motorcades carrying the prime ministers of Italy and Japan should be arriving any minute now, with the Canadians and Brits preparing to leave the United Nations within the half hour.
“The plane carrying the chancellor of Germany has just touched down at Kennedy. The aircraft carrying the presidents of Russia and France are on their final approach.”
“Any word on the Chinese president?” asked Vince.
Hartwell answered as he checked the digital display of his ringing pager. “As far as I know, he’s still due in sometime around nine.”
Turning toward the terminal’s freight entrance, he added, “It appears that Tuffs got some newly arrived cargo that’s not on the original manifest. Shall we have a look?”
Vince beckoned Hartwell to lead the way, and together they proceeded to the barricaded section of the terminal reserved for cargo. This portion of the facility was connected to the street by way of a loading dock, with the QE2’s majestic hull forming a solid blue wall on the southern perimeter.
They passed a group of longshoremen, busy preparing a crate-laden pallet for transfer onto the ship. This process was facilitated by use of the vessel’s own bow-mounted loading crane that would lift the pallet up into the forward cargo hold.
Vince had seen a part of this hold during his trip down to the ship’s Laundry. It adjoined the working alleyway off Six Deck and was strategically placed to allow easy access to the rest of the vessel.
Already looking forward to continuing on with the rest of his tour, Vince spotted a group of individuals huddled on the loading dock. One of these figures was Special Agent Doug Algren, with Tuff, two Port Authority patrolmen, and the QE2’s cargomaster close by.
A short stairway conveyed Vince and Hartwell up onto the dock, where they got a close-up view of the collection of suspect cargo. Placed on the concrete landing were five pieces of gym equipment. There were three exercise bikes, a rowing machine, and a Stair Master The equipment was partially covered in protective bubble wrap, and appeared to be brand-new, sporting the latest in high-tech digital displays and biofeedback readouts.
The apparent owners of this machinery stood nearby. Vince’s glance was drawn to the only female in this foursome, a gorgeous Asian woman in her early twenties. Her short black hair was cut in bangs that perfectly framed a pair of coal-black, almond-shaped eyes, button nose, and a wide, sensuous mouth. A leotard and tight-fitting jeans displayed the perfect figure that Vince associated with a world-class athlete.
Standing close at her side was a handsome Asian man, who could easily have been her father. He looked oddly familiar to Vince — his solid, five-foot-nine-inch frame dressed immaculately in a long-sleeve, light-blue Oxford shirt and freshly pressed khakis. He wore brown leather loafers and was sock less The two men beside him were a study in opposites, even though both were also Asians and wore matching white coveralls with a patch sewn on their chests reading:
liu’s gym. The taller of the pair towered a good eight inches above his five-foot-six-inch associate. Built much like Tuff, with an expansive chest, wide shoulders, and thick neck, this crew-cut, sad-eyed giant seemed oblivious to all the excitement going on around him.
His wide-eyed coworker appeared enthralled with the milling crowds visible in the terminal beyond. Unlike his bored comrade, he didn’t want to miss a thing, his beady eyes and curious stare sweeping the facility in search of the least hint of activity.
“Hello, Vince,” said Algren, who appeared surprised to see him. “Once I saw you disappear up that gangway, I thought that would be the last I’d see of you until you got home from England.”
“You won’t be getting rid of me so easily, Doug.”
“The chief was just telling me that my page caught you down in Chinatown, on the trail of the contaminated food that could have been responsible for taking out our gym staff,” said Tuff.