Chapter 15
Pacific Ocean - Monday: September 27
The old man with the walking stick came right to my window, his unsmiling face looked at me, then he looked at Steve and finally he looked at Maria, who remarkably was still asleep. He hesitated for a moment and a strange expression washed over his face for an instant, then his grim expression was back and he turned to his men and in a clipped and commanding American accent he ordered,
"Bring all three, lose the cars." He did not wait to ensure that his orders would be followed but turned around and laboriously headed back to the helicopter, ascended the ramp and was gone.
"Fuck!" said Steve.
"Ditto!" I said.
Steve and I were escorted up the ramp and then seated next to each other in the big Seahawk.The old man was seated behind us. Maria was escorted inside and shown to the seat next to the old man. The armed detail moved to the seats to the back of us. The two from the Commodore that had chased us, stayed behind to do something inventive with the cars.
When the old man tapped loudly on the metal floor of the helicopter with his walking stick, the bird lifted into the air with an ear splitting noise. It was now impossible to have any type of conversation. Steve looked at me, unvoiced questions in his eyes. All I could do was to shrug my shoulders in ignorance - I had no fucking idea either!
On reflection, one thing was becoming clear to me, and probably to Steve: the information from Maria's sister must contain something a lot more important than just a list of people on the take from some bunch of crooks operating from Melbourne. The Yanks would not go to this level of effort just for that reason. I was getting a real bad feeling about all of this; we were definitely into something that was way over our heads. I was having visions of Steve and me sharing a cell with some Al-Qaida terrorists in the basement of a Guantanamo Bay cellblock.
The noise of the helicopter was relentless and had a sort of hypnotic effect and I am not sure for how long I was in a semi-doped state. When, once again, Steve's elbow was sharp into my side. I opened my eyes and looked at him puzzled. He nodded toward the window of the helicopter on the other side of the small passageway. I looked, and all I could see was the wide blue of the Pacific Ocean. Oh boy! We were no longer in Australia. Great! Cuba here we come!
Not long after that, the timbre of the helicopter's engines seemed to change and I felt the empty feeling in the stomach that comes from a rapid descent. From what I could see from the window it was now obvious we were landing on an American air craft carrier, which must have been parked somewhere off shore, probably waiting for us. This reinforced the notion in my mind that we were into something big - aircraft carriers cost a mint to run on an hourly basis. This much investment of money and resources was a very bad omen.
As soon as we landed we were escorted down a flight of stairs, along a number of corridors and finally into a small cell and without a word our captors left and locked the door behind them. Maria must have been taken elsewhere in the ship, a situation that had me very worried. Once again, we had managed to lose Maria. It was getting to be a bad habit.
"This is an interesting development," Steve said.
"Is that what you call it?" I asked in disbelief, "I would call it a fucking disaster."
"Yeah that too," he agreed.
"What do you reckon is going on?" I asked.
"Well, for one thing, I think that sour-tits Robyn lied to us about the content of the famous letter," he said.
"You think?" I said.
"Yes sir I do, Sir," he answered, imitating the way marines are normally depicted in war movies.
"At ease, soldier." I commanded, "I think you're right on the fucking money?marine" I finished.
"What happens now?" He asked, resorting to normal behaviour, well, for Steve anyway.
"No idea, guess we'll just have to wait. I don't think escape is an option right now? I guess we sit here, and wait," I said. I moved to one of the jail-style cots and laid down, hands behind my head in a bad imitation of someone who is relaxing worry-free.
"Well, at least it's an improvement on that noisy whirly bird," Steve said, taking my queue and relaxing in the other cot.
"So long as we don't get sea sick, or are shot or thrown overboard, or tortured, or end up in Cuba?I guess we'll be okay. Hey, they are meant to be our allies after all?" I said
"As an optimist you suck, you know that?" He said.
"Yeah I know that," I nodded
"I wonder how long they are going to keep us here. And if they are going to feed us. I don't remember the last time we ate," Steve said rubbing his stomach. But, he had not quite finished speaking, when we heard a rattling noise outside the door as if someone was unlocking the door to our little prison.
A sailor in a smart white uniform opened the door and in clipped American accent he said, "Please follow me."
He turned around and walked quickly down a long narrow corridor. Steve and I looked at each other, saluted and then shrugged. There were no armed guards, no one to make sure that we were indeed following him. So,? we followed, what else? The way was long and involved many turns, side corridors and stairs, it was a real labyrinth. The sailor kept up a smart clip to his step and it was a bit of a struggle to keep him in sight. Finally, he stopped at a door. We caught up with him just as he finished knocking on the door.
"Come in, sailor," a familiar, authoritative voice called in response and the sailor opened the door and entered holding the door open for us.
The sight waiting for us could not have surprised me more than, if we'd just stepped into Fantasyland. We faced a large room, with an elegantly set dining table: complete with spotless tablecloth, coned napkins, crystal glasses, shiny silver cutlery and crested plates, but no candles.
At the table were seated the old man from the helicopter.He now sported a white navy uniform weighed down by an awful lot of medals and ribbons. The second person, already seated at the table was Maria, who was also in a spotlessly white, US navy uniform!