Several hundred metres further along, and with their enemies, whoever they were, already turning their own vehicles to continue the pursuit, Jeffers steered them into a side road. He was hoping to find an alternative means of escape — but immediately they saw that it too was blocked, this time by a large truck, lying on its side, its cargo of hundreds of crates of bottles lying smashed around it. The entire area stank of alcohol. Nor was there any going back. The convoy in pursuit was just turning into the side road as well, and had spread out to cover both lanes. Jeffers remained admirably calm — he saw a large set of closed iron gates on his right, topped by a giant Bacardi sign and set into a wall at least two metres high which ran as far as they could see in either direction.
Jeffers aimed the Jeep and roared towards the gates. 'Hold on!' he shouted.
Jimmy felt his whole body jar as their vehicle crashed through the gates and then skidded to a halt.
'OK!' Jeffers shouted. 'Close them up quick! Prepare to repel!'
Two of the crewmen dashed for the gates even as the pursuing convoy raced towards them. The others took up shooting positions and began to fire at the onrushing vehicles. One immediately veered off and crashed into the overturned truck, another braked suddenly, causing two cars following behind to crash into each other and it.
With their immediate entrance blocked, the remaining vehicles came to a halt on the far side of the road. Drivers and passengers slipped out and took up more protected positions behind them. Jeffers drew his crewmen back from the gate to the Jeep, and they all crouched in behind it. Behind them there was a steep grass bank which boasted several thick bushes, and it was behind one of these that they laid the shot crewman. Claire ripped off part of his torn trouser leg and turned it into a rough bandage. Then, not forgetting her new job, took some photographs of her handiwork.
The private road they were on led back towards a large group of buildings, several hundred metres away. Jeffers was peering towards them, trying to decide if they might make a better hiding place, when Jimmy nudged his arm.
'It's where they make Bacardi rum,' he said. 'I wrote about it for the paper. It's famous all over the world. It usually costs ten dollars to take a tour and you get two free drinks.'
'Thanks, Jimmy,' said Jeffers, 'you're a mine of useless information.'
'HEY!'
The voice came from beyond the gate. A man was approaching, with his hands raised.
Jeffers told his crewmen to keep him covered then walked forward to the gate. Claire tried to stand up to take a photo, but was hauled back down. The man on the other side was heavily built, with a short black beard, and he wore a T-shirt which had once been white. He nodded at Jeffers then snapped, 'We want the girl.'
'Why?'
'We know who she is. You give us the girl, we let you go. Otherwise, we come in and take her.'
'You can try.'
They locked eyes. 'OK, sailor boy, if you want. But I tell you this, we raided the city armoury. We have weapons here that will blow you to pieces, man.'
The man behind him nodded. Jeffers saw someone else step out from the cover of one of the cars carrying some kind of missile launcher. He wasn't really sure what type — he was First Officer on a cruise ship. There wasn't much demand for heavy weapons there.
Behind the Jeep, Jimmy glanced at Claire. She looked very pale indeed.
'How would they know who you are?' Jimmy whispered.
Claire shook her head.
Back at the gate, Jeffers asked the bearded man why they wanted Claire.
'Why you think? Her daddy owns the ship. We have her, they'll bring it back. You have food, you have medical supplies, you can take us somewhere that's not dying.'
Jeffers shook his head. 'We have the plague on board as well.'
'Anything's better than here. We want off this island. So you give her up now or we'll blast you.'
'If you fire that thing, you will kill her as well.'
The man shrugged. 'Then we're no worse off. So you hand her over, now.'
Jeffers glanced at his watch. 'We need to talk. Give us one hour.'
'Fifteen minutes.'
'Thirty.'
'This ain't no car showroom, man! No bargains. Fifteen, or we start shooting.' As he finished speaking, three more cars, full of heavily-armed men, drove up.
Jeffers looked at them warily, then slowly backed away.
***
Claire immediately said, 'Please don't give me up.'
'How did they know?' Jeffers asked.
Claire looked at the ground. Benson looked down as well.
'OK, let's have it. One of you.'
'It's my fault,' said Claire. 'When we were at the City Hall I asked Mr Benson if I could use the radio. He said not without permission. But I told him my daddy owned the ship, which meant that I had permission. So he let me. I just wanted to know how my daddy was, but the radio operator on board didn't want to check for me because he'd been told to keep the frequencies clear for emergency signals, so I had to explain to him just exactly how important I was and . . . well, I suppose those guys . . . maybe were listening for radio signals and . . . well . . .'
Jeffers sighed. Then he looked at Benson. 'Not having a real good day, are you, Benson?'
'No, sir.'
'And you know you're going to pay for it, don't you?'
'Yes, sir.' He cleared his throat. 'Ahm — how?'
Jeffers smiled.
***
The gunmen watched as the crew from the Titanic argued loudly amongst themselves. At one point they began to place bets as two sailors exchanged punches and wrestled each other to the ground. They didn't notice Jimmy dart from one bush to the next up the high bank, and then disappear down the other side. They weren't aware that he was running as fast as he could towards the rum factory, while crouched down, undercover.
He had less than ten minutes to find what he was looking for. He had been given clear instructions. It was a massive factory. It stank not only of fermenting alcohol, but also of death. He passed six bodies, horrendously bloated and blue. He charged along corridors, bursting through doors; through a museum, a tourist cafe, then across a courtyard.
Bingo!
A warehouse full of bottles of Bacardi.
OK. Now — in Jeffers' exact words: 'Choose a battlefield.'
First Officer Jeffers may not have been familiar with heavy weapons, but he knew a thing or two about strategy. This wasn't due to any military training. It was due to a misspent youth playing with toy soldiers and organizing war games amongst his friends. There was hardly a campaign in the history of warfare that he hadn't recreated in his garage at home, from the grandest battle involving hundreds of thousands of men to tiny exchanges involving guerrilla fighters.
So he had been able to explain to Jimmy very quickly and in precise detail exactly what was needed. They were only a small unit with few weapons, facing a heavily-armed, numerically superior force. They had to adapt. They needed the element of surprise, the advantage of high ground and the ability to lure their enemy into the trap.