The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [37]
Doyle took the crowbar from Captain Hoffner, grabbed the lantern from Innes, and closed its shutters, plunging them into darkness.
"Stand against the walls. Away from the door," he whispered to the others. "Not a word from anyone."
They waited and watched. A small flame flickered to life fifty feet down the passage; a match igniting. It bobbed toward them, died out, then another took its place and continued forward. Doyle tracked the progress of the shuffling footsteps, and as the advancing figure reached the hatch to the hold he stepped out and uncovered the lantern right in the face of the man, blinding him. The man cried out, dropped the match, and shielded his eyes.
"For crying out loud, what'd you have to go and do that for?"
"What are you doing here, Pinkus?" said Doyle.
Ira Pinkus bent over, trying to rub the dancing spots away from his field of vision, too disoriented to organize a lie.
"I was following you," said Pinkus.
"You've picked a very inopportune time—stand away from the door, Pinkus; someone might shoot you," said Doyle, maneuvering the little man against a bulkhead and closing the hatch behind him.
"I was halfway down a flight of stairs when everything went black...."
"And keep your voice down."
"Okay," whispered Pinkus. "Jesus, I can't see a thing: Everybody looks like a light bulb—so anyway, what gives with the skull and crossbones stuff, Mr. Conan Doyle—oh, hello, Innes, nice to see you again."
"Hello."
"What's your name, friend?"
"Lionel Stern."
"How are ya? Ira Pinkus. And this must be Captain Hoffner; very pleased to meet you, sir, been looking forward to it; very fine ship you have here—Ira Pinkus, New York Herald...."
"Why is this man following you?" asked Hoffner of Doyle.
"I'm writing a series of articles about transatlantic steamship travel, Captain, and I would greatly appreciate an opportunity to interview you...."
"Pinkus," said Doyle ominously.
"Yeah?"
"Be quiet or I'll be compelled to throttle you."
"Oh. Sure, okay."
The silence that followed was broken by a series of kicks and shuddering metallic groans from somewhere aft and above them in the ship.
"Emergency generator," said the engineer.
"Trying to restart the screws," said Doyle.
Hoffner nodded. They listened.
"But it's not working," said Innes.
"That generator was inspected and fully operational before we left Southampton," said Captain Hoffner.
"But then, I assume, so were the engines," said Doyle.
Hoffner stared at him. "You are not suggesting ..."
"Sabotage?" piped in Pinkus, somewhat gleefully.
The word hung in the air. Pinkus looked back and forth from Doyle to Hoffner like a man watching table tennis.
"What is your standard procedure in such a situation?"
"The crew will distribute lamps and escort all passengers who are abovedecks back to quarters."
"How long will that take?"
"Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour."
"And all passengers are then expected to remain in their cabins."
"Yes, until power is restored."
"Captain ... does anyone else know we're down here?" asked Doyle.
"My first officer," said Hoffner. "Whoever else is on the bridge."
"Are they after me?" asked Lionel Stern glumly.
On the verge of answering, from the corner of his eye Doyle caught Pinkus's puppy-dog eager expression. "Mr. Pinkus, would you please be good enough to go over there and stand in the corner for a while?"
"Really? What for?"
"This is a private conversation," said Doyle, lighting the way for him with the torch.
Pinkus shrugged congenially and followed Doyle's beam to the far corner, with an uneasy glance at the vacant coffins.
"You want me to face the wall?"
"If you would be so kind."
"Hey, no problem at all," said Pinkus. He gave a friendly, overfamiliar wave and turned away.
Doyle gestured for the others to form a tight ring around him; he held the torch under his jacket and the five faces pushed into the faint glow.
"These men have every intention of killing you, Mr. Stern," said