Serpent nf-1 Read online

  The lounge was on the . front _ of the boat deck, with its open promenade, and in the daytime or on dear nights firstclass passengers normally had a wide view of the sea. Most passengers had given up trying to see anything through the soft gray wall that enclosed the lounge. It was only dumb luck that Angelo looked up and saw the lights and rails of a big white ship moving through the fog.

  Dios mio," " he murmured

  The words had barely left his lips when there was an explosion that sounded like a monster firecracker. The lounge was plunged into darkness.

  The deck shifted violently. Angelo lost his balance,, fought to regain it, and, with the circular tray clutched in one hand, did a tolerable imitation of the famous Greek statue of a discus thrower. The handsome Sicilian from Palermo was a natural athlete who'd kept his agility tuned to a fine edge weaving in and out of tables and bang drinks.

  The emergency lights kicked in as he scrambled to his feet. The three couples at his table had been thrown from their chairs onto the floor. He helped the women up first. No one seemed seriously hurt. He looked around.

  The beautiful lounge, with its softly lit tapestries, paintings, and wood carvings and its glossy blond paneling, was in a turmoil. The shiny dance floor, where seconds before couples had been gliding to the strains of "Arrivederci Roma," was a jumble of squirming bodies. The music had stopped abruptly, to be replaced by criesof pain and dismay. Band members extricated themselves from the tangle of instruments. There were broken .bottles and glasses everywhere, and the sir reeked with the smell of alcohol. Vases of fresh flowers had spilled onto the floor.

  "What in God's name was that?" one of the men said.

  Angelo held his tongue, not sure even now of what he had seen. He looked at the window again and saw only the ,fog.

  "Maybe we hit. an iceberg," the man's wife ventured tentatively.

  An iceberg? For Chrissakes, Connie, you're talking the coast of Massachusetts. In July. "

  The woman pouted. "Well, then; maybe it was a mine."

  He looked over at the band and grinned. "Whatever it was, it got their to stop playing that goddamn song."

  They all laughed at the joke. Dancers were brushing their clothes off, the musicians inspecting their instruments for damage. Bartenders and waiters rushed about.

  "We've got nothing to worry about,"_ another man said. "One of the officers told me they built this ship to be unsinkable."

  His wife stopped checking her makeup in the mirror of her compact. "That's what they said about the Titanic," she said with alarm.

  Tense silence. Then a quick exchange of fearful glances. As if they'd heard a silent signal, the three couples .hastily made for

  the nearest exit like binds flying off a clothesline.

  Angelo's first instinct was to dear the table of glasses and wipe it down. He laughed softly. "You've been a waiter too long," he said under his breath.

  Most of the people in the room were back on their feet, and they were using them to move toward the exits. The lounge was quickly emptying out. If Angelo didn't leave, he'd be all alone. He shrugged, tossed his dish towel on the floor, then headed for the nearest doorway to find out what was going on.

  Black waves threatened to drag Jake Carey under for good. He fought against the dark current tugging at his body, crawled onto the slippery .edge of consciousness, and hung on grimly. He heard a moan and realized it was coming from his own lips. He moaned again, this time on purpose. Good. Dead men don't moan. His next thought was of his wife.

  "Myra!' he called out.

  He heard a faint stirring in the gray darkness. Hope surged in his breast. He called his wife's name again.

  "Over here." Myra's voice was muffled as if coming from a distance.

  "Thank God! Are you all. right?"

  A pause. "Yes. What happened? I was asleep"

  "I don't know. Can you move?"

  "No."

  "I'll come help you," Carey said. He lay on his left side, arm pinned under his body, a weight pressing on his right side. His legs were locked tight. Icy fear gripped him. Maybe his back was broken. He tried again. Harder. The jagged pain that shot up from his ankle to his thigh brought tears to his eyes; but it meant he wasn't paralyzed. He stopped struggling. He'd have to think this thing through. Carey was an engineer who'd made a fortune building bridges. This was no different from any other problem that could be solved by applications of logic and persistence. And lots of luck.

  He pushed with his right, elbow and felt .soft fabric. He was under the mattress. He shoved harder, angling his body for leverage. The mattress gave, then would move no more. Christ, the whole bloody ceiling could be on top of him. Carey took a deep breath, and, using every ounce of strength in his muscular arm,

  he pushed again. The mattress slid off onto the floor.

  With both arms free he reached down and felt something solid on top of his ankle. Exploring the surface with his fingers; he figured out it was the chest of drawers that had been between the twin beds. The, mattress must have shielded him from pieces of the wall and ceiling. With two hands free, he lifted the dresser a few inches and slid his legs out one at a time. He rubbed circulation gently back into his ankles. They were bruised and painful but not broken. He slowly got up on his hands and knees.

  "Jake." Myra's voice again. Weaker.

  "I'm coming, sweetheart Hold on."

  Something was wrong. Myra's voice seemed to issue from the other side of the cabin wall. He flicked on a light switch. The cabin, remained in darkness. Disoriented, he crawled through the . wreckage. His groping fingers found a door. He cocked his head, listening, to what sounded like surf against the shore and gulls screaming in the background. He staggered to his feet, cleared rubble from around the door, and opened it on a nightmare.

  The corridor was crowded with pushing and shoving passengers who were cast in an amber hue by the emergency lighting. Men, women, and children, some fully dressed, some in their nightclothes under their coats, some barehanded, others lugging bags, pushed, shoved, walked, or crawled as they fought their way toward the upper deck. The hallway was filled with dust and smoke and tilted like the floor of a fun house. A few passengers trying to get to their cabins struggled against the human river like salmon swimming against the current.

  Carey glanced back at the door he had just come through 'and realized from the numbers that he'd crawled out of the cabin adjoining his. He must have been thrown from one cabin to the other. That night in the lounge he and Myra had talked to the cabin's occupants, an older ItalianAmerican couple returning from a family reunion. He prayed that they hadn't followed their usual practice of retiring early.

  Carey muscled his. way through the throng to his cabin door. It was locked. He went back into the cabin he'd just come out of and pushed through the debris toward the wall. Several times he stopped to move furniture and push pieces of ceiling or wall aside. Sometimes he crawled over the wreckage, sometimes he wriggled under it, driven by a new urgency. The tilted deck meant the ship was taking on water. He got to the wall and called out his wife's name again. She replied from fine other side. Frantic now, he groped for any opening in, the barrier, found the bottom was loose, and pulled until he made a hole big enough for him to squeeze through on his belly.

  His cabin was in semidarkness, shapes and objects awash in a faint light. He stood up and looked toward the source of the illumination. A cool salty breeze blew against his sweaty face. He couldn't believe his eyes. The outside cabin wall was gone! In its place was a gigantic hole through which he could see moonlight reflected on the ocean. He worked feverishly, and minutes later he was at his wife's side. He wiped the blood off her forehead and cheeks with a corner of his pajama top and tenderly kissed her.

  "I can't move," she said almost apologetically.

  Whatever it was that had sent him hurling into the next cabin had ripped the steel frame of Myra's bat from the floor and pushed it against the wall like the spring in a mousetrap. Myra was in a near up
right position, luckily cushioned from the pressure of the tangle of bedsprings by the mattress but jammed against the wall by the frame. To her back was the steel shaft of a ship's elevator. Her one free arm dangled at her right side.

  Carey wrapped his fingers around the edge of the frame. He was in his midfifties but still strong from his days as a laborer.. He pulled with the considerable power of his big body. The frame yielded slightly only to spring back in place soon as he let go, He tried to pry the frame with a length of wood but stopped when Myra called out in pain. He tossed the wood aside in disgust.

  "Darling," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "I'm going to get help. I'll have to leave you. Just a little while. I'll be back. I promise."

  "Jake, you have to. save yourself. The ship"

  "You're 'not getting rid of me that easily, my love."

  "Don't be stubborn, for Godsakes."

  He kissed her face again. Her skin, normally so warm to the touch, felt clammy. "Think about sunshine in Tuscany while you're waiting. I'll be back soon. Promise." He squeezed her hand and, unlocking door from the inside, went out into the corridor without the slightest idea what he was going to do. A strong looking heavyset man. came toward him. Jake grabbed the mans shoulder and started to ask for help.

  "Outtamyway!" With a whiteeyed stare the man shouldered Jake aside despite Carey's size.

  He tried frantically to recruit a couple more men before giving up. No Samaritans here. It was like trying to snag a steer out of a thirstcrazed herd of cattle stampeding for a water hole. He couldn't blame them for running for their lives. He'd be dragging Myra for high ground if she were free. He decided his fellow passengers would be useless. He had to find someone from the crew. Struggling to keep his footing against the slant of the deck, he joined the throng heading for the higher decks.

  Angelo had made a quick survey of the ship and didn't like what he saw, especially on the starboard side, which was dipping ever lower toward the sea.

  Carry's soiled pajama top so he wouldn't lose him. ,They dashed down one staircase to the upper deck, where most of the firstclass cabins were. By then only a few oilcovered stragglers were making their way along the hallways.

  Angelo was shocked when he saw Mrs. Carry. She looked as if she were in a medieval torture rack. Her eyes were dosed, and for an instant he thought she was dead. But at her husband's gentle touch her eyelids fluttered.

  "Told you I'd be back, darling," Carry said. "Look, Angelo here has come to, help."

  Angelo took her hand and gallantly kissed it. She gave him a melting smile.

  Both men grabbed the bed frame and pulled, grunting more with frustration than exertion, ignoring the pain from the sharp metal edge cutting into the flesh of their palms. The frame gave a few inches more than it had earlier. As soon asthey let go, it sprang back into place. With each attempt, Mrs. Carey clamped her eyes and lips tight. Carry cursed. He'd, gotten his way. so often with simple strength, he'd become used to winning. But not this time.

  "We need more men," he said, panting.

  Angelo shrugged with embarrassment.. "Most of the crew is already on the lifeboats."

  "Jeezus," Carry whispered. It had been hard enough finding Angelo. Carey thought for a moment, liking at the problem from an engineer's point of view.

  "We could do it, just the two of us," he said finally. "If we had a jack."

  "What?" The waiter looked puzzled.

  A jack" Carey struggled for the right word, gave up, and made pumping motions with his hand. "For an automobile."

  Angelo's dark eyes brightened with understanding. "Ali," he said. A lever. For an auto."

  "That's right," Carey said with growing excitement. "Look, we could put it here and pry the frame away from the wall so we'll have space to pull Myra out."

  "Si. The garage. I come back."

  "Yes, that's right, the garage." Carry glanced at his wife's stricken face. "But you must hurry."

  Carry was never a man to take things for granted. Angelo might bolt for the nearest lifeboat as soon as he left the cabin. Carey wouldn't blame him. He gripped Angelo's elbow.

  "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Angelo. When we get back to New York, I'll make sure you're rewarded."

  "Hey Signor. I don't do this for money" He grinned, blew a kiss at Mrs. Carey and disappeared from the cabin, grabbing a life jacket on the way out.

  He ran down the hallway, descended a staircase to the foyer deck, and got no farther. The Stockholm's bow had penetrated almost to the chapel, leaving the foyer a mess of twisted metal and shattered glass. He moved away from the main damage area and followed a .central corridor that took him toward the stern, then went down another set of stairs to A Deck. Again, many of the starboard cabins had simply vanished. Once more he made his way down to the next deck using a circuitous route.

  Angelo stopped and crossed himself each time before he descended to another deck. The gesture gave him comfort even though he knew it was futile. Not even God would be crazy enough to follow him down to the bowels of a sinking ship.

  He paused to get his bearings. He. was on B Deck, where the garage and many of the smaller cabins were located. The fiftycar Grande Autorimessa was sandwiched between the forward touristclass cabins. The airconditioned garage stretched the width of the ship. Doors on both sides allowed cars to drive directly onto the pier. Angelo had only been below once before. One of the garage men, a fellow Sicilian, wanted to show him the wonder car Chrysler was shipping back from Italy The streamlined Norseman had taken a year to design, and Ghia of Turin had spent another fifteen months handbuilding the hundredthousanddollar machine. He could see the breathtakingly beautiful modern lines through openings in the crate that protected it. The two men were more interested in a RollsRoyce that a rich American from Miami Beach was shipping home from his Paris honeymoon. Angelo and his friend took turns pretending they were the Rolls's chauffeur and passenger.

  Angelo remembered being told that there were nine cars in the garage. Maybe one would have a jack he could get at. He wasn't hopeful after seeing the extent of the starboard damage.

  The other ship would have ripped right through the garage wall. He paused in the gloom to catch his breath and wipe the sweat

  from his eyes. Now what? Flight? Mamma mia. What if the lights go out? He'd never find his way. Fear tugged at his legs, tried to

  set them in motion.

  Wait.

  The day he visited the garage his friend showed him another vehicle, an oversized armored truck, in a far corner away from the impact side. No markings had been visible on the shiny black metal body. When Angelo asked about it, his friend simply rolled his eyes and shrugged. Gold maybee. He only knew that it was guarded day and night. Even as they talked, Angelo had seen a man in a dark gray uniform watching them until they left the cargo space.

  The deck trembled under his feet. The ship listed another degree or so. Angelo went beyond fear and was now in the throes of genuine terror.

  His heartbeat ratcheted up several notches. Slowed as .the ship settled. He wondered how close it was to rolling over. He looked at the life jacket he'd been carrying and laughed. The vest would not do much good if the ship capsized and sank with him deep in its belly. Five minutes. That's all he'd give it. Then it was up to the top deck as quick as a rabbit. He and Carey would work something out. They had to, He found the entrance to the garage. He took a deep .breath, opened the door, and stepped through.

  The cavernous space was black except for yellow puddles from the emergency lights in the high ceilings. He glanced toward the starboard side and saw rippling reflections on the floor where the garage was taking on water. Water surged around his ankles. Seawater must be pouring in, and if the garage

  't filled yet, it would be so in minutes. Chances were that any cars in the way would have been crushed by the knifing bow. He wouldn't have much time. He started along a wall toward the far corner. He could see the boxy shape in. the shadows and the glint of light off
its dark windows. Logic was telling him it would be a dangerous waste of time to go any farther. Get out of the hold and to the top deck. Pronto. Before the garage became a fish tank.

  The image came to him of Mrs. Carey; pinned against the wall like a butterfly. The truck was her last chance, yet no chance at all. Most likely the jack would be locked inside. He had convinced himself he would have to leave emptyhanded and stopped to take one last longing look at the truck. That's when he discovered he wasn't alone.

  A pencilthin beam spit the darkness near the truck Then another. Flashlights. Then portable lamps flared and were placed on the floor so as to illuminate the truck. In their light he could see people moving around. There appeared to be several men. Some wore gray uniforms, others black business suits. They had the side and back door of the truck open. He couldn't see what they were doing, except that they seemed to be very intent on their work. He was about twothirds of the way across the garage and opened his mouth to call out °Signores." The word never left his lips..

  Something was moving in the shadows. Grayclad figures appeared suddenly like actors on a darkened stage. Vanished into the darkness. Appeared again. Four of them, all wearing engine-room coveralls, moving across the breadth of the hold. Something about their furtiveness, like the stealth of a cat stalking a bird, told Angelo to remain quiet. A guard turned, saw the approaching figures, shouted a warning, and reached for the holstered gun at his hip.

  The men in coveralls dropped to one knee with military precision and raised the objects they'd been carrying to their shoulders. That smooth, and deliberate motion told Angelo he'd beenmistaken about the tools. You didn't grow up in the home of the Mafia not knowing what a machinegun looked like and how it was aimed.

  Four muzzle barrels opened fire simultaneously, concentrating on the immediate threat, the guard, who had his gun out and was aiming it. The fusillade ripped into him, and his gun went flying. His body virtually disintegrated in a scarlet cloud of blood, flesh, and clothing from the impact of hundreds of softnosed bullets. The guard gyrated, caught in a grotesque slowmotion death dance by the stroboscopic effect of the whitehot muzzle blasts.