Dead Centre - Andy McNab [30]
The Nigerian didn’t even bother to greet them. He just redialled and helped himself to one of the armchairs that sat each side of a small coffee-table next to the triple-glazed window.
The oldest of the crew got to his feet. ‘I am Rudy.’ He stretched out his hand. He was in his early fifties, with tight grey hair and a beard. ‘I am the captain.’
He was about to start a round of introductions.
‘No time for that, mate. Let’s crack on.’
I threw my parka onto the armchair opposite Mr Lover Man, then drew back the curtain. I was looking out of the front of the hotel. The rooftops of Moscow were covered with snow. It was like a still from Doctor Zhivago. The onion-shaped domes of the Kremlin were so close we could have watched Putin pumping iron.
Mr Lover Man wasn’t impressed. He was too busy looking inwards, locking eyes with the crew. He might have been whispering sweet nothings into his phone, but he wanted them to know he’d be hanging on their every word.
Below me, the Range Rover was parked at the front of a line of half a dozen vehicles immediately outside the hotel entrance. Genghis did his bit for the Moscow smog by keeping the engine running. An Audi estate about four wagons down was doing the same. A couple of half-moons had been carved out of the dirt on the windscreen. It was two up. I admired the view for longer than I needed to.
Mr Lover Man closed down his mobile. Was he staying or going?
The vibe I was picking up from the crew was that it would be better if he left. You could have cut the tension between them with a knife. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more at odds with the comfortable world of suede-upholstered headboards and Egyptian cotton sheets.
Mr Lover Man wasn’t moving one inch.
‘Does anybody else speak English?’
‘I do.’
I turned back into the room.
16
HE WAS JUST a kid, really, low twenties at the most. His nose was already peeling. He looked even more nervous than Rudy, maybe because he was right at the bottom of the food chain and the only other crew member I’d be able to talk to. There was definitely something wrong with this lot.
He added, ‘A little.’ He had the kind of American accent that foreigners pick up from Friends.
‘You know I’m here to help, don’t you? I’m trying to get the three of them back, nothing more.’
I got a sort of nod from the boy. He sat back on the bed, but he was about as relaxed as a high-tensile wire.
Rudy looked as though he’d be a serious candidate for the job of Cap’n Birdseye in a few years’ time. Right now, though, the smile beneath his closely cropped beard was so rigid I thought his face might crack.
‘So what happened, Rudy?’
‘We were attacked by Somalis. It was so far from the African coast, I never thought—’ He was still on his feet. His eyes darted involuntarily in the direction of Mr Lover Man.
‘It’s OK, mate, you don’t have to stand for me. Go on.’
He sat down on the bed.
‘The Maria Feodorovna—’
‘The yacht?’
‘Yes.’
‘What sort is it? A motor yacht? Sailing?’
‘Motor yacht. Forty metres. We were cruising, and then from nowhere two skiffs were coming towards us from the port side.’
The rest of the crew sucked at their cigarettes and kept their eyes down. Either the carpet was really interesting or they didn’t want me to read their expressions.
‘They were travelling very fast – twin seventy-fives on the back. I knew they were pirates even before they attacked. Skiffs so far from the coast. They had to be.
‘We started to make speed and tried to change direction, make it harder for them to board. I shouted for Jez and—’
‘The bodyguard?’
Rudy’s eyes shot across to Mr Lover Man once more. No one else moved, but I knew they were even more uncomfortable at the mention of the BG’s name.
‘Yes, yes. He came up on deck, and he looked, but then he went down below with Stefan and Madame.’
‘Where did he take them? Was there some kind of panic room? Was he armed – did the yacht have any