And it was staggering to think that Khan was quite willing, despite his international reputation and unblemished character to sanction Helen’s kidnapping just to get Marsh to pilot the Challenger. None of it made sense.
Marsh gave up the effort of trying to work out why all this was happening. He gave up and eventually fell asleep, but he dozed more than slept. He stirred as soon as he felt the speed of the cruiser fall away and the engine note change. He stood up and looked out over the sea. They were closing in on the Taliba.
Romulus angled the boat in skilfully and tied up alongside the ship. Malik beckoned Marsh and they clambered aboard the Taliba using the short rope ladder. He heard the cruiser pull away as Romulus increased power. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the boat moving off, gathering speed as it headed back to the mainland. He also noticed as he stood on the deck that the helicopter was on its landing pad, which meant Batista and Khan were probably now on board.
Malik took Marsh immediately to the bridge where Captain de Leon was waiting. He greeted Marsh rather formally and asked them both to follow him through to his cabin. When they were settled there, de Leon offered Marsh a drink. Marsh noticed that he had completely ignored Malik.
“Thank you for joining us, Marsh,” he said surprisingly. Marsh wondered if de Leon was fully aware of the facts, but chose not to say anything with Malik standing there. “I know of your reputation and I am sure it means we shall see our project through to a successful conclusion.”
“What’s the project?” Marsh asked him.
De Leon’s face showed just a trace of sympathy. “I’m sure Mister Khan will appraise you of everything you need to know. But with regard to the Taliba, you must understand that although this is Mister Khan’s boat, I am the captain and you, as a member of the crew are my responsibility. So you obey my orders. Now, unless you have any questions, Malik will show you to your quarters.”
Marsh smiled. “Captain de Leon, I have a million questions, but I doubt if you’ll answer any of them.”
De Leon became quite serious. “Your role here is quite important, but I can only answer questions relating to the Taliba. Anything else you must direct to Mister Khan.”
“I understand,” Marsh acquiesced, “believe me. But I do need some clothes and toiletries. I was obliged to leave in a hurry, you see.”
Whether de Leon saw or not, wasn’t quite clear to Marsh, but the captain agreed to supply him with everything he needed.
“Malik will show you to your quarters. We’ll talk another time.”
Marsh could feel the gentle throb of the Taliba’s engines beneath his feet as she got under way again. He put his glass down and followed Malik out of de Leon’s cabin. As they walked through the small bridge, Marsh looked forward. He could see the helicopter sitting forward on the prow of the ship. And on the open deck space between the foc’sle head and the bridge, he could make out the shape of the Challenger, the sister ship to the Helena.
He felt a small sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was the thrill of anticipation that he would soon be piloting the submersible. He was trying to view it all with a professional detachment, allowing only those feelings to hunt around his senses, but he was aware of a strange excitement coupled with an edge of fear.
He thought about Helen and wondered if they would both have the strength and courage to see this reckless, dangerous adventure through and come out of it alive.
Inspector Bain stood in the driveway of Helen’s house looking at her orange pick-up truck. There seemed to be police officers everywhere. Some were dusting the Chevrolet with fingerprint powder, others scouring the vehicle and the surrounding area, all looking for minute clues. From time to time, one of them would pick something up and drop it into a small, plastic bag. There were others inside the villa. And as usual there was a group of curious onlookers standing beyond the line marked out by fluttering police tape.
A witness to Helen’s abduction had come forward and was talking to a police sergeant. Bain walked over to them and interrupted their conversation, smiling in a rather condescending manner.
“Mister Rackham,” he said to the witness, “would you mind telling me again exactly what happened?”
“Of course,” Rackham answered. “I didn’t see a great deal actually; I just happened to glance across the road when Helen, ah Mrs. Walsh,” he corrected himself, “drove in.”
“And where were you sir?” Bain asked.
Rackham pointed to a villa across the road from Helen’s house. “I was on my roof. Some work I had to do,” he explained unnecessarily. “I saw Mrs. Walsh get out of her car and then this Buick raced up the drive. They grabbed her.”
“Who grabbed her, Mr. Rackham?”
“Two men. One jumped out of the Buick and grabbed her and threw her into his car while the other one held the door open. It all happened very quickly.”
“Would you recognise the two men again?
Rackham shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
“Were they black or white?” Rackham said they were black. “And what about the number plate of the Buick? Did you get that?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, no. I didn’t think about that. You don’t, do you?”
Bain said ‘no you don’t’ and thanked him. “Would you give the sergeant your personal details, please? He’ll want a statement signed. You can do it at the station.”
He spun on his heels and walked over to his official car. He was furious because Rackham had failed to take the details of the car and wasn’t sure if he would be able to identify the kidnappers either. How could a witness be so blind, he wondered?
But more worrying for the inspector was why Helen Walsh had been kidnapped. He was quite sure that it couldn’t be for money, although that was more of an educated guess. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her late husband’s dreadful accident. And gang warfare was out of the question as were drugs. So what was it?
Bain walked down the drive and ducked beneath the police tape. He paused for a moment, imagining exactly what had happened. Then he shrugged and climbed into the back of his police car. He ordered the driver to take him back to police headquarters, and wondered if he would ever see Helen Walsh again.
Chapter 9
The sun had lifted over the horizon and was flooding the Santaren Channel in a light of pure gold. The Taliba had left the Bahamas behind and was heading south west towards the open waters of the Gulf. The sea lifted gently and a fine breeze swept across the water, picking up little wavelets that tossed their heads in flecks of white surf. The gulls weaved unseen patterns around the Taliba, waiting to pick up any scraps of food that might be thrown overboard by the crew.
When Marsh had arrived on board, the Taliba had remained on station for a while before heading out towards the open sea. Marsh had been quartered in crew accommodation and given assurances that he could move freely around the ship as he needed with the exception of the sea gallery where he would need to be accompanied. He was given no explanation why.
His cabin was quite small. Marsh hadn’t expected anything else because space was always at a premium on board ship, particularly for the crew. He had a single bunk with drawers beneath it plus a tall, single wardrobe and a small, bedside locker. There was a sink up against the bulkhead, but for his own ablutions, he would have to share the communal showers in the alleyway that ran between the crew quarters.
The bed was made up for him. He lay on top of the covers for a while, reading a magazine; one of several that had been left for his use on the small table in the cabin. When he did finally succumb to drowsiness, he slept occasionally, worried about Helen and worried about his own predicament. But as the dawn light began to flood into his cabin through the porthole he decided there was little to be gained by lying in bed, so he got up and went off to find some breakfast.