the boat. The lifeboat was ablaze. Part of the canopy was on fire. At least nobody knew quite what had happened. Nobody had seen Alex come on board.
The explosions had taken them all by surprise and all they cared about was getting the fire under control. However, as Turner came out of the cabin, one of the men on the upper deck saw him.
He called out in Spanish.
“Move!” Turner shouted.
He ran for the edge of the boat. Alex followed.
There was the deafening chatter of a machine-gun and what was left of the canopy above his head was torn to shreds. Bullets smashed into the deck sending chips of wood flying. A glass bulb exploded. Alex wasn‟t even sure who was firing. All he knew was that he was trapped in the middle of smoke and flames and bullets and a lot of men who wanted him dead. He saw Turner dive over the side. There was another burst from the machine-gun and Alex felt the deck rip itself apart centimetres from his bare feet. He yelled out. Splinters slammed into his ankle and heels. He spurted forward and threw himself over the handrail. For what felt like an eternity everything was chaos. He could feel the wind racing over his bare shoulders. There were more gunshots. Then he plunged headfirst into the Atlantic and disappeared beneath the surface.
Alex allowed the ocean to embrace him. After the battlefield that Mayfair Lady had become, its water was warm and soothing. He swam down, a powerful breaststroke that took him ever deeper. Something whizzed past him and he realized that he was still being shot at. The further down he went, the safer he would be. He opened his eyes. The salt water stung but he needed to know how far he was going. He looked up. Light glimmered at the surface but there was no sign of the boat. His lungs were beginning to hurt. He needed to breathe. But still he waited. He would have been happy if he could have stayed underwater for an hour.
He couldn‟t. With his body crying out for oxygen, Alex kicked reluctantly for the surface. He came up gasping, with water streaming down his face. Turner was next to him. The CIA agent looked more dead than alive. Alex wondered if he had been hit, but there was no sign of any blood. Perhaps he was in shock.
“Are you all right?” Alex asked.
“Are you crazy?” Turner was so angry that he actually swallowed water as he spoke. He spluttered and fought to keep himself from going under. “You could have gotten us killed!”
“I just saved your life!” Alex was getting angry himself. He couldn‟t believe what he was hearing.
“You think so? Look!”
With a sense of dread, Alex swivelled round in the water. Mayfair Lady hadn‟t been destroyed.
The fire was out. And the boat was coming back.
He had been underwater for perhaps ninety seconds. In that time, the ship had continued forward with all hands fighting the flames and nobody at the wheel. The engine had been at full throttle and it was now about five hundred metres away. But the captain had obviously returned to the bridge. The boat was wheeling round. Alex could make out four or five men standing at the bow.
All of them were armed. They had seen him. One of them pointed and shouted. He and Turner were helpless, floating in the water with perhaps one weapon between them. Soon the boat would reach them. They were sitting targets, to be picked off like ducks in a fair.
What could he do? He looked at Turner, hoping the older man would produce something, some rabbit out of the hat. Didn‟t the CIA have gadgets? Where was the inflatable speedboat or the concealed aqualung? But Turner was helpless. He‟d even managed to lose the gun.
Mayfair Lady completed her turn.
Turner swore.
The boat drew closer, slicing through the water.
And then it exploded. This time the explosions were huge, final. There were three of them, simultaneous, in the bow, the middle and the stern. Mayfair Lady was blown into three quite separate pieces, the funnel and main saloon heaving themselves out of
The explosions had taken them all by surprise and all they cared about was getting the fire under control. However, as Turner came out of the cabin, one of the men on the upper deck saw him.
He called out in Spanish.
“Move!” Turner shouted.
He ran for the edge of the boat. Alex followed.
There was the deafening chatter of a machine-gun and what was left of the canopy above his head was torn to shreds. Bullets smashed into the deck sending chips of wood flying. A glass bulb exploded. Alex wasn‟t even sure who was firing. All he knew was that he was trapped in the middle of smoke and flames and bullets and a lot of men who wanted him dead. He saw Turner dive over the side. There was another burst from the machine-gun and Alex felt the deck rip itself apart centimetres from his bare feet. He yelled out. Splinters slammed into his ankle and heels. He spurted forward and threw himself over the handrail. For what felt like an eternity everything was chaos. He could feel the wind racing over his bare shoulders. There were more gunshots. Then he plunged headfirst into the Atlantic and disappeared beneath the surface.
Alex allowed the ocean to embrace him. After the battlefield that Mayfair Lady had become, its water was warm and soothing. He swam down, a powerful breaststroke that took him ever deeper. Something whizzed past him and he realized that he was still being shot at. The further down he went, the safer he would be. He opened his eyes. The salt water stung but he needed to know how far he was going. He looked up. Light glimmered at the surface but there was no sign of the boat. His lungs were beginning to hurt. He needed to breathe. But still he waited. He would have been happy if he could have stayed underwater for an hour.
He couldn‟t. With his body crying out for oxygen, Alex kicked reluctantly for the surface. He came up gasping, with water streaming down his face. Turner was next to him. The CIA agent looked more dead than alive. Alex wondered if he had been hit, but there was no sign of any blood. Perhaps he was in shock.
“Are you all right?” Alex asked.
“Are you crazy?” Turner was so angry that he actually swallowed water as he spoke. He spluttered and fought to keep himself from going under. “You could have gotten us killed!”
“I just saved your life!” Alex was getting angry himself. He couldn‟t believe what he was hearing.
“You think so? Look!”
With a sense of dread, Alex swivelled round in the water. Mayfair Lady hadn‟t been destroyed.
The fire was out. And the boat was coming back.
He had been underwater for perhaps ninety seconds. In that time, the ship had continued forward with all hands fighting the flames and nobody at the wheel. The engine had been at full throttle and it was now about five hundred metres away. But the captain had obviously returned to the bridge. The boat was wheeling round. Alex could make out four or five men standing at the bow.
All of them were armed. They had seen him. One of them pointed and shouted. He and Turner were helpless, floating in the water with perhaps one weapon between them. Soon the boat would reach them. They were sitting targets, to be picked off like ducks in a fair.
What could he do? He looked at Turner, hoping the older man would produce something, some rabbit out of the hat. Didn‟t the CIA have gadgets? Where was the inflatable speedboat or the concealed aqualung? But Turner was helpless. He‟d even managed to lose the gun.
Mayfair Lady completed her turn.
Turner swore.
The boat drew closer, slicing through the water.
And then it exploded. This time the explosions were huge, final. There were three of them, simultaneous, in the bow, the middle and the stern. Mayfair Lady was blown into three quite separate pieces, the funnel and main saloon heaving themselves out of
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