Cruise the Storm Read online

  At last the day to meet Biff had arrived. Bourne travelled by bus again, and this time, since the weather was cooler, walked from the bus station into town, and straight to the plaza, negotiating with a street plan he had bought.

  He turned into the square. It was another sunny day, with a pleasant breeze. The shadows of the orange trees dappled the pavement, and a few oranges had dropped off the trees, rotting on the ground, giving a citrus scent to the breeze. Bourne ambled slowly up the street, his Daily Express tucked under his arm, glancing at the occupants of the benches as he walked.

  When he was about halfway along the plaza he began to wonder whether this was a ploy for Biff to escape from him and Biff had no intention of turning up. Then he had wasted days when he could have been searching out alternative sources of arms. It was still barely eleven o'clock and Bourne could do a complete circuit of the plaza, which would take about quarter of an hour, and then try again. It wouldn't arouse suspicion, a youngish man going for a walk, and doing a double lap.

  But that wouldn't be necessary. He saw a man in a white cap, sitting on a bench. He was reading The Times. He had placed a carrier bag on the seat next to him, so that the place would not be taken. Except for Bourne, of course. When the older man looked up, saw Bourne with the newspaper, he took the bag off the seat, and put it on his lap. To anybody watching, it looked a perfectly natural movement, done as Bourne was actually approaching the bench, and turning.

  That's if anyone really was watching. Watching who? The old ex-con, or Bourne, the new man on the block? God, he was getting paranoid.

  Bourne sat down, opened his newspaper, and started reading the English news, which sounded trite, when you were not in England. In the past if Bourne had been on holiday on the mainland, he had never read the papers or listened to the news, and when he got back, it was as if nothing had happened in the meantime.

  Biff spoke to him, dragging him out of his reverie. "Well done. I began to think you didn't recognize me. Down to business. The price of the rifles is one thousand pounds sterling each, the pistol, twelve hundred pounds. Then there is getting them into a consignment to get them on board ship. That will be an extra twenty thousand pounds. As to payment, I need half down with the order, the rest a day before delivery, cash, in used notes, naturally. That price is for a week, after that the price will probably alter, so I would have to update you nearer the time, if you place an order."

  Bourne had been doing a mental calculation as Biff was talking. "Thirty-three thousand two hundred pounds in total. Is there any discount for me?" It seemed a high price.

  Biff chuckled into his Times. "If you are going to look around, get other prices, I think you will be in a Spanish jail within a few days. I can tell you that they are worse than English jails, mate."

  "Does that mean no?"

  "It certainly does. I don't want go to jail, and I'm taking a risk for not much money. You don't realize, sonny, the price of arms dishonestly acquired. Take it or leave it." He shrugged. "It doesn't bother me."

  "Okay," said Bourne, "I had to ask. It's a deal. I will have to phone you when the date's set. And then I will have to phone you the day before, to tell you where the rest of the money is. So I need two mobile numbers, and I will use one new mobiles, pay-as-you-go, each time I phone you."

  "That suits me, mate. Thanks for the order. The pistol, I can't be sure what it will be, but I will try to get a Sig Pro. American, the best."

  "Are you going to give me your mobile numbers, or send them?"

  "I am going now, and I will leave my Times on the bench. When I've gone, wait a few moments, and then pick it up. One number is pencilled on the top of page fourteen, the other on the top of page sixteen."

  With that, he folded his paper, stood up, dropped it on the bench, and without a backward glance he was sauntering down the street.

  Bourne picked up The Times, opened it and started reading. After quarter of an hour, he started flicking through the paper, reading items here and there. He noticed the numbers, which were on pages fourteen and sixteen, just has Biff had promised. He got up, depositing the Express in a nearby litter bin, and looked for a café, where he could grab a snack.

  When he entered the coffee house, he made straight for the servicios. The toilet was empty. He bolted the door behind him, opened the newspaper, tore off the tops of pages fourteen and sixteen, inserted them into his wallet, and threw the paper in the waste bin under the sink. He had a pee, while he was there.

  He wandered outside, sat at a table and ordered a snack. He felt quite pleased with himself. Outlay on the scheme would be thirty-three plus say ten more to bribe the staff on the ship, and twelve cruise tickets, say another twelve. Might get a block-booking price. But they couldn't do that really, not if they were going to join the ship separately. Anyway that came to fifty-five thousand pounds. Not a bad outlay for a return of say, twenty million, or maybe more.

  Chapter 3

  Bourne phoned his executives, Audrey and Kevin; told them he was calling a meeting for the following morning, at his flat, to start at ten o'clock, then they might go round the pub when they'd finished and grab some food.

  He had only recently moved into the one bedroom apartment, a new-build tower in Leeds. It was down-town, which suited Bourne. He was renting, and could afford it. He was not a high spender. A large living room looked out over the city centre, windows floor to ceiling.

  The entry phone buzzed and Bourne picked it from the wall mount, "Yes?" he said. There was a closed circuit camera view. "Come up, Audrey." He pressed the release button for the lobby. As the lift approached his floor he could hear the faint whine. Perhaps he would lease a flat further from the lift, when renewal came up. He was at the door to meet her.

  "First time you've been here?" said Bourne, to hear her praise the luxury. But she didn't, just stepped past him, into the living room, and sat down on a large sofa.

  "We'll just wait for Kevin, and then we'll get started. He had his notebooks on the table, and was pleased to see that Audrey was pulling computer printouts from her attaché case. "You're looking suntanned," commented Audrey, "I suppose it was good weather."

  He nodded. He didn't want to comment further, knowing that she was miffed at not being invited along.

  The door buzzer broke the awkward silence and Bourne let Kevin in. He had his hands in his pockets, not carrying anything. Presumably any information was tucked away in his brain. Bourne was tempted to be sarcastic, but held it in.

  They sat round in a group, two on the sofa, Bourne in an easy chair. He perched his notebooks on the chair arm. Audrey put the printouts on the sofa, between her and Kevin. She pulled out a laptop computer, balanced it on her knees.

  "I'll start first," said Bourne, "regarding the hijack project." He looked at them to make sure he had their attention. "I contacted an arms dealer and placed an order for twelve AK47 rifles, and one Sig Pro pistol. Cost including delivery on to the boat, about 33K. Then we have to bribe some crew, and book ourselves tickets, so I reckon total costs, 55K. As against a return of, say, twenty million."

  Nobody said anything. Bourne went on to the next point of the agenda, unwritten, existing only in Bourne's head. "Current membership, Audrey?" She punched computer keys. "Sixteen thousand two hundred and four, paid up, not many coming in last month. We need a big event to boost it further."

  "Any ideas?" said Bourne.

  Kevin said: "Yes. There was a shooting down in London. Muslim shot a white boy, the area's full of unrest." He was silent.

  "And?" Bourne eyebrows were raised.

  "Well, if we get all the southern guys bussed down there have a march, with banners. And you give a speech afterwards. It will be okay if the police try to stop us. I think they would. Causing unrest, racist violence. Tip the papers off the day before, and the telly. Get lots of publicity."

  Bourne was a good speaker when he was on a rant, turning his fury on Muslims and Jews. He was a rabble rouser. Both Kevin and Audrey had heard him
speak on other subjects. Then he was pathetic, halting, third rate.

  "Sounds good, Kevin. Can you draw up some plans, talk to me about it tomorrow. Get something down on paper, please. Here, have a notepad. " Bourne threw his empty pad across, aiming it at his head, but Kevin fielded it neatly without getting out of slumped position on the sofa. "Ta," he said.

  "I was thinking, we ought to start devolving the organization, you know a pyramid structure. We could split the country into areas, have one top guy in each, and when we get even bigger, have even more leaders down the line. Otherwise, we won't be able to keep up with it, and it will blow apart, split into factions, as the English Defence League did. Would be an awful waste of hard work." They both nodded enthusiastically. "Audrey, if you go through the records, you could probably pull a few out of each area, who might be good at the job, then you could both interview them, whittle them down to say two possibles for each area, and I'll re-interview them with you. What do you say? We ought to start on that, it could revolutionise our growth, all these keen guys making their own riots, and getting more recruits.

  Chapter 4

  A fortnight later Bourne said he was going down to Southampton, to try and turn a couple of ship staff on a cruise ship.

  For weeks now they had been collecting brochures, and schedules, of cruise ships doing the Med routes. They wanted a small ship, upmarket crowd, which they imagined would be easier to handle. The passengers that is, as Bourne pointed out. They wouldn't be doing the driving or anything nautical. Also the cruise selected would have to call at Malaga, and pick up stores there.

  A lot of reading time by Bourne, and internet surfing by Audrey, had singled out only two ships, and one was the Helena. The ship was due in Southampton later that week, and so Bourne motored down to Southampton to see what he could find out about the crew. He booked in to The Holiday Inn one evening.

  Early the next morning, when the Helena was due to dock at the Southampton Cruise Ship Terminal, Bourne drove down in his car, parked up and strolled down to the terminal building. As he approached he saw the ship coming into its berth. He was not alone. There were some dozens of people arriving to meet the incoming passengers, presumably. One or two were chauffeurs, dressed in uniform, peaked caps being worn. Affluence of the passengers suggested robbing them could be a good secondary income.

  He lazed around, observing. The passengers left by the elevated bridge, some decks up. They re-appeared in the ground floor of the terminal building. There was a further entry, by a gangway at quayside level, and some crew were leaving by this gangway. But it was impossible to determine what their jobs were on the ship, because they were, naturally, all in civvies.

  Stubbornly, Bourne hung around until he was nearly the last person around the quayside. He made his way back to his car and drove back through the industrial estate that surrounded the terminal. It had surprised him, on the way to the terminal, such dreary surroundings. He had envisioned quaysides edged by warehouses, interspersed by seedy pubs and bars, where sailors got drunk. The modern world was nothing like that, however.

  When he had got into his car, he had thought that he would visit local pubs, and that he might find some of the crew of the Helena spending their wages on drink. He parked the car back at his hotel and made for the city centre on foot. This was a long way to walk, modern hotels' locations to suit the driver, rather than the walker, not to mention land in the suburbs being cheaper. He ate lunch in one city pub, full of shoppers rather than mariners. Over the course of the afternoon he visited three more pubs, without success. He spent a lonely evening in the hotel, and dined in the hotel restaurant, with only four or five other diners. This did not surprise him, when he looked at the a la carte prices.

  In the morning, over breakfast, it occurred to him that the ship must take on provisions before it sailed the next day. He decided to return to the quay. Surely the ship's crew would be involved in loading victuals, if that was the word. He had heard it somewhere in connection with food and ships.

  The quayside that morning was a bustling scene. Outside the crew gangway, neatly lined up in all directions were pallets, and also clusters of pallets of provisions, with room between for forklifts to travel. Two huge refrigerated trucks, dwarfed by the ship were waiting to be unloaded, engines idling to keep the contents chilled. People were coming and going through the crew entrance, and some pallets were even going up to the elevated entrance by the passenger lift. Bourne stood watching the bustle. He worked out that outside contractors brought the goods to the ship, but that it was the crew that loaded on board.

  A foreman, or someone equivalent, was overseeing the operations, with clipboard in hand. It was he who decided the order of loading, pointing to groups of pallets. A forklift driver then brought the pallets and placed the on the gang plank, from where they were picked up by a smaller on-board forklift, pedestrian operated, and disappeared into the interior. Bourne continued to watch, worried that if he approached too close, the supervisor would chase him off. Eventually at ten thirty exactly, work stopped. For a designated tea break, Bourne assumed. The supervisor went into the ship, together with some of the crew, and others sat on empty pallets, in the morning sun. Now was the time he thought, and wandered over to a group he had his eye on earlier. This group had been concerned only with foodstuffs, so he reckoned they must be supplying the kitchens, and those were the men he wanted.

  As he approached, one of the men looked over. He beckoned, and, surprisingly the man rose and came towards him.

  "What's the matter, mate?" he said

  Bourne smiled. "Can I have a word?"

  "If you make it quick. We only get fifteen minutes."

  There were more empty pallets near them, and the man sat down. Bourne sat beside him. "Are you in the kitchens on board?"

  "Yes. I'm one of the kitchen porters. Why?"

  "Do you want to earn ten thousand pounds?"

  "It don't sound legal. What do I do for that?"

  "Very little. You got a mate?"

  "Yes, the other porter."

  "Well, ten for him, as well. You don't sail until tomorrow? "

  The other man nodded.

  "You get time off tonight?"

  Another nod.

  "Well, meet me, and I'll tell you more. You know the Holiday Inn? I'll be in the bar tonight at seven. Will you both do that?"

  "Yes," he said, although he still looked dubious.

  Bourne got up and walked off the quayside, not looking back.

  * * * *

  Later that day the two porters were arguing. Mike, the man who had been approached by Bourne was speaking.

  "We're only going to have a drink, we don't have to agree anything."

  "Christ," said Alan. "We could be kidnapped. Maybe he wants us to appear in a snuff movie. You never live to collect the fee. I can't believe you didn't just tell him to fuck off."

  "He sounded fairly normal. He can't do anything in the bar of the Holiday Inn. We won't go up to his room, even if he wants us to. We'll just walk out, in that case. But I could do with ten grand. I could buy a car."

  "When you're never at home to drive it."

  "Or something else. Christ, just to have that amount to spare."

  "Okay," said Alan. "I'll come with you. Just to keep you quiet. We could always go on to a disco, later."

  At seven that evening they entered the bar of the Holiday Inn. There were a few reps drinking, mostly at tables, and a couple of single women, reading paperbacks, sitting alone, not wanting to be accosted by the reps.

  The guy wasn't there. "He was pulling a gag," said Alan.

  "So, we'll have a drink, and then go somewhere else. No big deal," said Mike. He heard someone come up behind him, turned, and there was Bourne smiling at him.

  "Sorry I'm a bit late" he said. "Come on, we'll sit at this table." A table tucked in the corner, he pointed at. "Then we won't be overheard."

  Once they were seated, Bourne waved an arm at a waiter, and they ordered d
rinks.

  "Come on," said Mike, "Tell us what it's all about. We nearly didn't come. Alan here thinks it is some sort of con."

  "I didn't exactly say that," said Alan. But Bourne knew that he had.

  The waiter was back with the drinks. Bourne didn't reply until he had signed the waiter's pad and he had walked out of earshot.

  "It isn't a scam, I really will pay you ten thousand each, and if you agree, you get a thousand each tonight. That is for not telling anyone what we discussed."

  The two porters looked at each other, then back to Bourne. They nodded.

  "I am going to hijack the Helena, for a ransom. Nobody will get hurt, but we need some guns to convince the owners to pay up. You know that the security is tight. The passenger luggage is scanned. But, the stores that come aboard during the cruise are not scanned or searched, are they?"

  "No," said Mike, "but they are unpacked from the pallets, and the cartons are stacked on our own shelving." He took a long pull at his beer.

  "Exactly, and you two guys are the ones that do it?"

  "Well, yes," said Alan.

  "Okay, down to the point. In one of the ports that you load fruit, we will have a couple of cartons that don't contain fruit. Your job would be to separate these cartons, and make sure that they are delivered to my cabin. Simple as that."