“Does anyone know which cabin he was in?” asked the captain.
“Number three,” said Harry, recalling the old man who had been moving a little too quickly. “Just along the corridor.”
The captain and the sergeant ran out of the room and into the corridor, followed by Scott-Hopkins, Harry, and Giles. The captain opened the cabin door with his passkey and stood aside to let Roberts in. The sergeant walked quickly across to a large trunk in the middle of the room. He tentatively raised the lid and peered inside.
“Christ, it’s due to detonate in eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds.”
“Can’t you just disconnect one of those?” asked Captain Turnbull, pointing to a myriad different colored wires.
“Yes, but which one,” said Roberts, not looking up at the captain as he cautiously separated the red, black, blue, and yellow wires. “I’ve worked on this type of device many times before. It’s always a one-in-four chance, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. I might consider it if I were on my own in the middle of a desert,” he added, “but not on a ship in the middle of the ocean with hundreds of lives at risk.”
“Then let’s drag Doherty up here posthaste,” suggested Captain Turnbull. “He’ll know which wire to cut.”
“I doubt it,” said Roberts, “because I suspect Doherty isn’t the bomber. They’ll have a sparks on board to do that job, and God knows where he is.”
“We’re running out of time,” the colonel reminded them, as he stared at the second hand’s relentless progress. “Seven minutes, three, two, one...”
“So, Roberts, what do you advise?” asked the captain calmly.
“You’re not going to like this, sir, but there’s only one thing we can do given the circumstances. And even that’s one hell of a risk, remembering we’re down to less than seven minutes.”
“Then spit it out, man,” rapped the colonel.
“Pick the fucking thing up, throw it overboard, and pray.”
Harry and Giles ran back to the chairman’s suite and took up positions on either side of the vase. There were several questions that Emma, who was now dressed, wanted to ask, but like any sensible chairman she knew when to remain silent.
“Lift it gently,” said Roberts. “Treat it like a bowl full of boiling water.”
Like two weight lifters, Harry and Giles crouched down and slowly raised the heavy vase from the table until they were both standing upright. Once they were confident they had it firmly in their grasp they moved sideways across the cabin toward the open door. Scott-Hopkins and Roberts quickly removed any obstacles in their path.
“Follow me,” said the captain, as the two men stepped into the corridor and edged their way slowly towards the grand staircase. Harry couldn’t believe how heavy the vase was. Then he remembered the giant of a man who’d carried it into the cabin. No wonder he hadn’t hung around for a tip. He was probably on his way back to Belfast by now, or sitting by a radio somewhere waiting to hear the fate of the Buckingham, and how many passengers had lost their lives.
Once they reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Harry began to count out loud as the two of them mounted each step. Sixteen steps later, he stopped to catch his breath, while the captain and the colonel held open the swing doors that led out onto the sundeck, Emma’s pride and joy.
“We need to go as far aft as possible,” said the captain. “That will give us a better chance of avoiding any damage to the hull.” Harry didn’t look convinced. “Don’t worry, it’s not too far now.”
How far is not too far, wondered Harry, who would happily have dumped the vase straight over the side. But he said nothing as they progressed inch by inch toward the stern.
“I know just how you feel,” said Giles, reading his brother-in-law’s thoughts.
They continued their snail-like progress past the swimming pool, the deck tennis court, and the sun loungers, neatly laid out in readiness for the sleeping guests to appear later that morning. Harry tried not to think how much time they had left before...
“Two minutes,” said Sergeant Roberts unhelpfully, checking his watch.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the rail at the stern of the ship. It was only a few paces away, but, like conquering Everest, he knew the last few feet were going to be the slowest.
“Fifty seconds,” said Roberts as they came to a halt at the waist-high rail.
“Do you remember when we threw Fisher into the river at the end of term?” said Giles.
“Could I ever forget?”
“So on the count of three, let’s throw him into the ocean and be rid of the bastard once and for all,” said Giles.
“One—” both men swung their arms back, but only managed a few inches, “two—” perhaps a couple more, “three—” as far as they could get, and then, with all the strength left in their bodies, they hurled the vase up into the air and over the back rail. As it came down, Harry was convinced it would land on the deck, or at best hit the rail, but it cleared it by a few inches, and landed in the sea with a faint splash. Giles raised his arms in triumph, and shouted “Hallelujah!”
Seconds later, the bomb exploded, hurling them both back across the deck.
2
Kevin Rafferty had switched on the For Hire sign the moment he saw Martinez step out of his house on Eaton Square. His orders couldn’t have been clearer. If the client attempted to make a run for it, he was to assume he had no intention of making the second payment owed for the bombing of the Buckingham, and should be punished accordingly.
The original order had been sanctioned by the area commander of the IRA in Belfast. The only modification the area commander had agreed to was that Kevin could select which of Don Pedro Martinez’s two sons should be eliminated. However, as both Diego and Luis had already fled to Argentina, and clearly had no intention of returning to England, Don Pedro himself was the only candidate available for the chauffeur’s particular version of Russian roulette.
“Heathrow,” said Martinez as he climbed into the taxi. Rafferty drove out of Eaton Square and headed down Sloane Street in the direction of Battersea Bridge, ignoring the noisy protests coming from behind him. At four in the morning, with rain still pelting down, he only passed a dozen cars before he crossed the bridge. A few minutes later he pulled up outside a deserted warehouse in Lambeth. Once he was certain there was no one around, he jumped out of the taxi, quickly undid the rusty padlock on the building’s outer door, and drove inside. He swung the cab around, ready for a fast getaway once the job had been completed.
Rafferty bolted the door and switched on the naked, dust-covered lightbulb that hung from a beam in the center of the room. He removed a gun from an inside pocket before returning to the taxi. Although he was half Martinez’s age, and twice as fit as he had ever been, he couldn’t afford to take any risks. When a man thinks he’s about to die, the adrenalin begins to pump and he can become superhuman in a final effort to survive. Besides, Rafferty suspected this wasn’t the first time Martinez had faced the possibility of death. But this time it was no longer going to be simply a possibility.
He opened the back door of the taxi and waved the gun at Martinez to indicate that he should get out.
“This is the money I was bringing to you,” Martinez insisted, holding up the bag.
“Hoping to catch me at Heathrow, were you?” If it was the full amount, Rafferty knew he would have no choice but to spare his life. “Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds?”
“No, but there’s over twenty-three thousand. Just a down payment, you understand. The rest is back at the house, so if we head back—”