Coincidence - Alan May [77]
No, they’d more likely be blaming one another for its disappearance, which might even help the hostages drive a wedge between their captors. The beacon was the sort that activates automatically when it hits the water, so he’d wrapped it tightly in three layers of plastic bags. The bundle sat at his feet now as he watched, waiting for signs of activity on the Zodiac.
The walkie-talkie squawked in his pocket.
“Mac? Dave.”
Dave’s voice sounded tinny through the little speaker, and his words came in a rush.
“I just saw the captain coming from the galley. Phillip sent him to get all of the bags of sugar from the pantry. They’re going to dump them in the hydraulic cylinders to disable both the steering systems, the automatic and the manual. Guess they figured we could replace the oil if they just drained it out, so they’re wrecking the whole system.”
Damn and blast, Mac thought. There were no spare hydraulic cylinders onboard. That meant the whole system would have to be replaced.
“Phillip’s shut down the engine. He and Sam and Matt removed the injectors and tossed them overboard, and Sam’s gone to get the spares out of the workshop and throw them over, too. Phillip checked the injectors for the generator, too, but they’re from a different manufacturer and can’t be used on the engine, so at least he’s letting us keep the generator on. Thank God for small favors, eh?
“Once they finish with the hydraulics, all they have to do is take out the wiring harnesses for the electronics.”
Take them out, or more likely smash the equipment to pieces, Mac thought. Time was getting short and desperate criminals were not generally noted for their patience.
“The captain and Anika spent yesterday afternoon scrounging up whatever might be used as weapons. Not much. Some knives, the usual tools—I can hardly see them fending off six bad guys with a hammer and a screwdriver.
“We can’t get to the flare gun on the bridge, but we’ve got the one from the transom and the spare from your locker. I don’t suppose you’ve got a Colt 45 stashed away down there somewhere, have you?”
“No gun at all, I’m afraid. But hang on—I do have an axe that might do you some good. I picked it up in Zambia.”
His mind flashed back to a scene so vivid he’d almost have sworn it was unfolding before his eyes now. His first day at the copper mine in Kalulushi, watching in awe as two sinewy men wielded the heavy axes, swinging them back and forth in a seemingly effortless rhythm. At the instant the honed blades struck the sides of the tree trunks, the men exhaled in unison, a sharp whuh! sound. They had reminded him of martial artists, they really had—their motions were so controlled, so adroit. And Caroline was there, watching by his side …
Och. None of that now. What did they call it, anyway, that axe? The Bemba word for it; he’d known it like the back of his hand in those days. Like the curve of Caroline’s neck. If he’d been smart he’d have written down all of those words at the time to refer to later on, when they were no longer part of his day-to-day surroundings. He’d thought he would remember them forever, of course, and, of course, he hadn’t. Nothing lasts forever.
Not that it made a particle of difference now anyway.
“Mac?”
“Right, Dave, I hear ye.”
“They’re starting to put their things in the Zodiac now, the doctor and Anika and the hijackers. It won’t be long now. Oh damn, Phillip’s taking all of our emergency beacons with him. Gotta go now, Mac. Good luck. I—”
Dave’s voice was replaced by a short crackle of static.
Mac opened a corner of the top layer of plastic encasing the emergency beacon, tucked the walkie-talkie inside, and sealed the plastic tight again.
Within five minutes, he saw the Zodiac start its descent into the water. Clutching the bundle, he eased to the swim platform and lowered himself into the water. As the Zodiac turned toward the starboard side of the Coincidence, he dived under and swam to the port side. Mac watched, treading water, as the dinghy swung