Killers of a Certain Age(21)

“Screw it,” I said abruptly. Emotion is a good way to get yourself killed, the Shepherdess had taught us. I hefted the attaché case.

“You’re taking it?” Helen asked.

“It’s better this way. The lower down it is when it detonates, the greater the chance it will take out the whole boat.” I went to the door and took one last look. “See you on the other side.”

“The other side,” they said. Three old women, nodding their heads like the witches in Macbeth. I’d known them for two-thirds of my life, those impossible old bitches. And I would save them or die trying.





CHAPTER EIGHT



I made my way belowdecks, stopping a few times to dodge around a corner when a crew member passed. It seemed to take ages to reach the engine room, but my watch said it had been less than ten minutes. I wasn’t surprised. Time always seemed elastic on a job. Seconds felt like eternities and whole hours could pass in an instant. Heather Fanning’s key card swiped me right where I needed to go, and I slipped into the room, keeping my ears open for the sound of any engineers who might be hanging around. It was after nine and most of them were probably finishing their dinners or hitting the crew bar. A few would be left to supervise that everything was running smoothly, and they could do that by monitoring the computers. There wasn’t much call for them to hang out by the NGL tanks, I realized. It seemed as good a place as any to stash the case, so I wedged it between two tanks, counting on the shadows to conceal it from a casual glance.

Then I headed up another deck to the deserted library. Hunkered behind a chair, I took out the T-shirt and used the Swiss Army knife to cut it into pieces. The newspaper I crumpled into loose balls and piled on top of the T-shirt, soaking the whole pile with the alcohol from the minibar. The newspaper would burn fast but the fabric would smoke like hell, hopefully setting off the emergency warnings. I opened the door and took a cautious look outside. Empty. I slipped out and jammed the door closed.

My third stop was my own cabin. I was out of liquor, but I made do with some nail polish remover from Mary Alice’s toiletry bag, dousing the sheets and setting them alight. I fired my bed and Mary Alice’s, making sure to drop the security bolt as I exited by the terrace doors. I left them open, the sea breeze already whipping the flames up high enough to touch the ceiling. The curtains were drifting dangerously near and it would only be a matter of minutes before they caught.

I stood on the terrace, waiting for Natalie’s signal. Suddenly, the alarm sounded, loud as a trumpet of the Second Coming, and I put a hand to the railing, vaulting over it and lowering myself to the deck below. Another suite was just below ours, and I counted on the guests still being out. They’d even been considerate enough to leave the terrace doors open, and I passed through their suite, emerging into the corridor on the other side.

From there I moved out to the deck where pandemonium had erupted. Natalie was shrieking about smelling smoke and a harried pair of stewards were trying to quiet her down while Heather Fanning urged everyone to stay calm. She was still insisting it was just a false alarm when the captain’s voice came over the PA issuing the orders to head directly to the lifeboats.

To their credit, the crew did as they’d been trained, organizing the passengers into their lifeboat queues, trying to check everyone off by name. Helen and Mary Alice hit two lines each, giving their own names to one steward, mine and Nat’s to another. Both times they were answered with brusque nods and told to stay close in order to be loaded into the next boat. And both times they slipped away into the scrum.

Nat and I headed towards the back of the boat to rendezvous with them. We’d just rounded the corner of the Theia deck when a voice boomed out behind us. “Ladies! Don’t be frightened. I’ve got seats for both of you.”

It was Hector, wearing a lurid fluorescent orange life vest and looking determined to play the hero. “Thanks, but we’ve got assigned seats,” I told him. “Go on to your boat and don’t worry about us.”

“Absolutely not! My ladies should not be left alone to find their way. Come, I will take care of you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Natalie muttered. “We’re running out of time. We have to get rid of him.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have flirted so much with him,” I hissed at her. I turned squarely to face him. “Hector, we’re not assigned to you. We are fine. Go to your boat,” I said again.

He shook his head and put out a hand to grip my arm. “You’re just panicking because you’re scared,” he said in what he probably thought was a soothing tone. “Now, come with me.”

“I don’t have time for this patriarchal bullshit,” I said, whipping out a right cross that caught him on the sweet spot just below his ear. He went down silently, as if every bone had been filleted out of his body, landing in a heap on the deck.

“Wow. He must have a jaw like porcelain,” Nat remarked.

Together, Nat and I hoisted the unconscious Hector. I grabbed his shoulders while she took his ankles, and we swung him over the rail, dropping him into the water with an enormous splash.

I caught the attention of the nearest steward. “Man overboard!” I shouted, gesturing to the sea below where Hector was bobbing peacefully.

The steward swore and ran to alert someone while Nat and I hustled to the stern of the boat to meet up with Mary Alice and Helen. They were standing by the motor launch, the rubber motorized raft designed to ferry passengers from the boat for a hundred yards or so to the waiting docks. It was meant for harbors, not the open sea, but it would have to do. Together we maneuvered it off the fantail, cutting it loose instead of wrestling with the ropes. It started to drift as soon as it hit the water, the current carrying it away from the larger vessel.