He had no luck at all on his first two throws, both of which missed the porthole completely. On his third attempt the loop hooked on, but, when he tugged it, it fell down back into the boat.
‘Fourth time lucky,’ he said and chucked the rope up. This time it fell neatly over the open window and rested on the sturdy iron hinge He gave it a jerk and tested its strength.
‘I think it’ll hold,’ he said.
Kelly was grinning now. ‘You’re a madman, you know?’
‘Maybe. You stay here and look after the boat, I won’t be long.’
James gripped the rope and put a foot against the side of the Amoras. It was awkward stepping off the boat as it bobbed about in the water but he managed to get both feet against the ship’s hull and then walked up, hauling himself hand over hand, until he got to the porthole. He gripped the edge of the frame, the sharp metal cutting into his hands, and then pulled himself up until his head was level with the opening.
He looked in. There was a tiny lavatory, painted a dull green. He hoisted himself up, slid on to his chest and kicked and wriggled until he was inside, though not before nearly falling head first into the lavatory bowl.
He looked back down at Kelly and to his dismay saw that she was struggling up the rope. In her heavy skirt, she had a much harder time of it than James and her face was set in a grim mask of fear and tension. Twice her feet slipped and she was left dangling, bumping against the side of the ship, but she was terrified of falling into the water and clung on like a limpet. Eventfully she got near enough for James to reach out and grab hold of her, and with a grunt he pulled her inside. She threw her arms round him and hugged him tight. He could feel her whole body trembling.
‘Don’t ever make me do that again,’ she said.
‘I thought I told you to look after the boat.’
‘You didn’t think I was going to sit down there all by meself, did you? I told you I don’t like the water.’
‘Well, we are going to have to climb back down, you know?’ said James.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Kelly was as green as the walls of the lavatory.
‘Listen,’ said James. ‘I want you to wait in here.’
‘In here?’
‘Yes. Lock the door when I go out. And don’t let anyone in. When I’m back I’ll knock like this.’ He demonstrated, giving two quick bursts of knocks. One-two-three, one-two-three. ‘Then, and only then, you can open the door. When I get back, I want to find you and the rope and the boat still here. Got it?’
‘I’d rather come with you.’
‘I need you here,’ said James. ‘Don’t let me down.’
He saw the old fight come back into her eyes. ‘I won’t ever let you down,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t ever let no one down.’
James smiled at her. ‘I know,’ he said.
For a moment they looked at each other in silence. Water dripped steadily into a cistern mounted on the wall, and they could hear the gurgling of the ancient plumbing system.
‘This is romantic, isn’t it?’ said Kelly after a while. ‘A bleeding khazi.’
James smiled at her. ‘I’m glad you didn’t kill me this morning,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said Kelly. ‘Me too.’
James went to the door, opened it a crack and peeped out into a long passageway. It was all quiet. He slipped out of the lavatory and heard Kelly turn the lock shut behind him.
From somewhere far off he could hear music from a badly tuned wireless set echoing down the lonely corridors of the Amoras. He took his bearings, making sure he would recognise this area later. Luckily there were markings on the wall and the passageways and doors were all numbered and labelled in the orderly way that a ship is organised. That would be a help, but he knew how easy it would be to get lost.
He padded along the passageway until he came to a companionway that led up and down. He went down and found a map of the ship mounted on the wall of the next level.
There were two holds, a smaller one to the bow and a larger one to the stern. Checking them would be as good a place as any to start his search. If Fairburn’s machine was on board it would have to be in one of the holds. And if he could find the machine, then maybe he could find Fairburn.
He hurried through the ship, checking and double-checking any maps as he came across them. For the most part he saw no one, but twice he had to duck into empty cabins to hide and he heard the clatter of feet and voices as crewmen went past. At last he found a bulkhead door marked FORWARD HOLD. He spun the handle, eased the door open and stepped through.
He was on a high metal walkway looking down into the hold. The roof was open to the sky and the crane was lowering in another full cargo net. A group of sailors stood below, calling to each other in a foreign language that James instantly recognised as Russian.
There was no sign of a machine, though, and James had to move fast. The ship would soon be ready to set sail and if he wasn’t careful he’d end up heading for Russia across the North Sea with no hope of escape.
He went back out into the passageway and backtracked until he was at the lavatory. He gave the secret knock, and Kelly opened the door.
‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘Where is he, then?’
‘I haven’t found him yet,’ said James. ‘I was just making sure I could find my way back here and that you were all right.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Kelly. ‘Just get a move on, will you?’
James nodded and ran off, making his way in the other direction, towards the stern of the ship. He quickly found a door almost identical to the one through which he had entered the forward hold. A sign next to it read AFT HOLD. AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY and a skull and crossbones, the universal symbol for danger, had been painted on to it.
Underneath the skull was the word NEMESIS.
Well, it would take more than a skull and crossbones and a scary word to frighten James Bond off.
He opened the door and went through.
Another walkway. Another hold. But this one was different.
The roof was closed and instead of being filled with cargo the whole space was taken up by a giant, gleaming framework of brass and steel supported by cables and iron struts.
He had found it.
Fairburn’s machine.
Nemesis.
24
Nemesis
It was vast. Bigger by far than he had ever imagined. Bright lights shone down on it from all sides so that it was picked out from the dark walls of the hold.
James could make no sense of it; it was studded with gauges, dials and levers. Bits of it were like the workings of a motor-car engine, other bits looked like brass bedsteads or huge sewing machines and it made a whirling, clicking noise, like a thousand typewriters all working away at once. It was like looking into an ants’ nest – all the intricate parts were constantly moving: rods, wheels, coils, cogs and gears, tiny pistons and seemingly endless strips of thin card, punched with holes, that snaked from huge rolls, then threaded their way through tirelessly chattering gates before returning to the bowels of the great machine.
It was similar to the machine in Charnage’s office, but James could see now why Charnage had described that one as a mere toy. This was a colossus compared to it.
It was powered by a series of belts that must have been driven by the ship’s engines and there was a tremendous heat coming off it, filling the space with humid air. The sudden contrast with the freezing night outside caused sweat to spring to James’s forehead and his skin felt itchy under his shirt.
He shifted slightly to get a better view and saw a man sitting slumped at a table next to the device, his head sunk in his hands, a picture of weariness and despair. He was stripped to his vest and appeared to be staring at a series of rotors with numbers on them. In front of him on the tabletop were piles of notes and a large typewriter-style keyboard connected to the main machine by a tangle of coloured wires. James recognised the familiar untidy bush of hair, rising in a
wave to one side. This had to be Fairburn. If only he would lift his head, James would know for sure. He couldn’t call out, or go down to him, however, because two armed Russian sailors were watching over him.
A door opened and a group of four people appeared. They walked over to the stooped figure at the table and started a conversation. One of the group was Sir John Charnage; two were squat, bulky stone-faced men in cheap suits who James had never seen before; and the fourth person was the mysterious woman he had last seen in Charnage’s office.
The man at the table rose slowly and stiffly, then stretched and turned into the light. He was ten years older than in the photograph that James had taken from Peterson’s room, but it was unmistakably him.
Alexis Fairburn, born Alexei Fyodorov.
The two stone-faced men led him away, followed by the sailors. Charnage and the woman stayed behind. They went over to the machine and studied one of the strips of card.
James made a quick decision and scooted along the walkway, keeping an eye on Fairburn and his escort as they went through a door at the end of the hold, heading towards the centre of the ship. James spotted a ladder fixed to the hull wall and slid down it. Then, after checking that it was all clear, he darted through the door after Fairburn and the others.
He couldn’t see them, but could hear them up ahead. Five pairs of heavy footsteps on the steel floors of the passageway made quite a din.
James moved as fast as he dared, trying to make no sound of his own, keeping the escort party in range of his hearing, but well out of sight. Once, he thought he’d lost them, but realised they had simply gone up a run of steps to a higher deck and he was soon right behind them again. At last the footfalls stopped, and so did James. He flattened himself against a wall and listened. There were voices, then the sound of a door opening and closing. He waited. It was almost silent now. All he could hear were the ship’s steam engines steadily turning over.
The walls and floors throbbed.
How long did he have?
However long it was, he feared it wouldn’t be long enough. He couldn’t afford to hang about here all night. He had to try and see where Fairburn and the others had gone. First of all he took his bearings. There were two main passageways, running along either side of the ship from fore to aft, and smaller passageways, running crossways, connected them.
James was in a main passageway, which meant that the escort party had turned off into one of the smaller, linking corridors.
He crept forward and peered round the corner. One of the sailors was sitting on a stool outside a cabin door. As James watched, the door suddenly opened and voices spilt out. He ducked back and scuttled into an opening behind him. Presently he saw three people go past. The two stone-faced men and the second sailor. He heard their footsteps clattering away down the passage, where they paused for a moment. There was a brief conversation and then returning footsteps. James feared that he might have been detected, but it wasn’t one of the men returning, it was the grey-haired woman. As she went around the corner to the cabin, the men walked off.
James let out his breath in a long sigh of relief and for the first time looked to see where he was hiding. He was in a galley, its heavily polished aluminium surfaces shining under bright lights. Neat rows of pots and pans hung from racks alongside a bewildering array of utensils. A skinny cat sat on a stove top, keeping warm. A mouser, probably, whose job it was to keep down the army of mice and rats on board ship. It eyed James snootily and blinked once.
James explored. Next to a row of sinks there was a cupboard for cleaning items, including a slops pail with a lid that fastened shut. There were lockers filled with dried goods, like beans and rice. There was an array of vast jars containing flour, oats, sugar and salt standing on a counter, and along one wall were two large storage rooms, one of which was refrigerated and packed with sides of meat hanging from hooks in the ceiling. The cold-storage room door was as thick as the door to a bank vault and had no handle on the inside.
James looked along the rack of utensils and picked out a large, shiny ladle, then he went back out into the corridor and crept along to the corner. He squatted down and eased the bowl of the ladle out into the opening until he could see the whole of the linking corridor reflected in its convex bowl.
There was the guard on his stool. He hadn’t moved. The woman must still be inside the cabin.
James waited, keeping perfectly still. The minutes ticked away.
Come on.
Maybe she hadn’t gone into the cabin after all. Maybe he should risk it.
No.
The sailor suddenly jumped up and stood to attention as the cabin door opened.
James scuttled back into the galley. In a moment the woman walked back the way she had come.
Now he had to work fast.
He fetched the slops bucket, put it down on a worktop next to the cooker and took off the lid.
He looked at the cat.
The cat looked at him.
‘Here, puss,’ he said. ‘Nice puss. There’s a good moggie. Time to say goodnight, now.’
He picked the cat up. She didn’t look very happy about it, but didn’t try to struggle. He stroked her gently.
‘I don’t want to do this,’ he said. ‘But I can’t think of anything else… Sorry.’
As soon as the cat knew that she was about to be shoved into the bucket she tried to wriggle free, meowing loudly and lashing out with her claws. James held on tight and bundled her in, jamming on the lid and fastening it shut. There were scratches all over his hands, but he hardly noticed. He took the bucket over to the cold-storage room, sighed, and lobbed it in.
‘Help!’ he yelled, at the top of his voice ‘Come quick! Help me! In here…’
Then he let out a long scream and hid behind the cooker.
The cat was going crazy, yelping and hissing and fighting to get out of the bucket, which rolled drunkenly about the floor, bashing into things and making a frightful racket.
Soon there was the sound of running footsteps and the sailor appeared. James could see his back as he cautiously approached the cold-storage room, gun at the ready. There was a moment of stillness before the cat went into a wild frenzy, hurling the bucket around the room. The sound of the poor creature trapped inside was weird and unrecognisable.
The sailor took one step into the freezer and James dashed out. He gave the man an almighty push, which sent him stumbling into a side of beef, and slammed the door shut, pulling down the big lever to lock it fast.
He heard some dull thuds coming from inside, and a muffled shout, but it was barely audible. Nobody else on board would be able to hear him.
He picked up the ladle and hurried round to the cabin door that the sailor had been guarding. There was no sound coming from the other side. He opened it.
The cabin was tiny and windowless, with one bunk bed and a small table.
Fairburn was sitting on the edge of the bunk, his head slumped in his hands again.
He didn’t look up as James came in.
‘What is it now?’ he muttered.
‘Mister Fairburn?’ said James and now the man did look up. He had a quizzical look on his pale, unshaven face. He was very tired and his large nose and ears gave him a slightly comical look, but a fierce intelligence showed behind his bleary eyes.
‘Who the devil are you?’ he said.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said James. ‘We’ve got to hurry. The Amoras is going to sail any minute now and we don’t want to be on board when she does.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Fairburn. ‘Are you from the police?’
‘No,’ said James. ‘I’m from Eton.’
‘Eton?’
‘We got your letter. We solved the clues.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said James. ‘I’m here to rescue you.’
‘But –’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said James, grabbing Fairburn and pulling him up off t
he bunk. ‘Just follow me, will you? We can talk later. And put a coat on, if you have one, it’s freezing out there.’
‘Right, yes, right… of course,’ said Fairburn as he grabbed a jacket and followed James out into the passageway.
‘Where’s the guard?’ said Fairburn.
‘He’s cooling off,’ said James. ‘But, please, don’t talk, just try to keep up.’
‘Wait,’ said Fairburn, and he darted back into the cabin, reappearing moments later with a handful of papers, which he stuffed into his pocket.
James hoped and prayed that he’d be able to find the way back to Kelly, and that she’d still be there when they arrived. They moved quickly, and James used the ladle to check around every corner they came to. There seemed to be only a skeleton crew on the Amoras, which had been built to carry both cargo and passengers. As Fairburn was the only passenger, this part of the ship was largely deserted and all hands were making ready for departure.
They only got lost once, but, by retracing their steps, James was able to get them back on the right track. He could tell that Fairburn was bursting to ask him questions, but he shushed him whenever he opened his mouth and made him understand that they must be as quiet as possible.
They were climbing a companionway to the next deck when they felt the ship lurch and begin to move.
‘She’s sailing,’ said Fairburn.
‘We still have time,’ said James. ‘If we hurry. They’ll have to manoeuvre her out of the dock first.’
Before they could say any more they heard the sound of heavy boots and had to duck into a cabin.
Several men ran past.
They waited until it was quiet once more and carried on, the deck vibrating under their feet.
This was taking too long. They should be there by now. James was just beginning to think that he might be completely lost when he turned a corner and there was the lavatory door.
‘This is it,’ he said, knocking three times, and three times again.
There was a scrabbling and a rattle, the door opened a crack, and James was relieved to see Kelly’s heart-shaped face appear. Her mouth was set grim but her brown eyes gave away a hint of nervousness.