‘Gone without you?’ She was surprised but didn’t dare ask why he had stayed behind. So she just said, ‘Well, that’s nice for me.’
But Malik looked uncomfortable. She wondered why – if he was keen on her, he ought to be glad he wasn’t going away. She looked at him. ‘What’s the matter, Malik? Are you upset that you aren’t going?’
He shrugged and said nothing, but Tahira knew there was something wrong.
‘Perhaps you are more interested in this blonde blue-eyed devil than in me,’ she teased.
‘I didn’t say she was blonde,’ Malik snapped. He looked around, suddenly tense again. ‘I’ve got to be going.’
‘All right,’ she said, as if her feelings were hurt. ‘Do you want to meet again, Malik?’
He hesitated, and she could see his conflict reflected in his face. He was obviously attracted to her, but there was another side to him – the side that had him looking around tensely, the side that had no place for her or any woman.
Eventually Malik smiled at her. ‘Of course we’ll meet again. It is the one good thing about my change of plans.’ He reached out and put a hand on her arm. ‘Let’s see each other on Saturday, before you go to the concert. We could meet at the café.’ He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke; his mind was on something else, and she had no idea what that was.
They came under cover of darkness and mist just before sunrise. Captain Guthrie had sent for Dave Armstrong, and when he arrived in the pilot’s house on the top deck of the accommodation block, the Captain pointed silently at the newly installed radar screen. It showed four tiny blips making straight for the Aristides.
Like the crew and the officers, Dave was unarmed. No weapons were allowed on board: the owners of ships sailing through the pirate-infested waters off the Horn had long ago decided that resisting the pirates would only lead to violence. It had turned out to be the right decision – not one hostage had been killed during the spate of hijackings in recent years. But just at that moment, Dave would have liked to have a weapon in his hands to defend himself.
He watched as the blips drew closer to the centre of the screen, then began to fade. He looked questioningly at Guthrie, who said, ‘The radar starts to dissolve at five hundred yards. That means they’re very close. Look.’ He pointed to the monitor where a larger blip had appeared in its upper corner. ‘That must be the French corvette. Our chaps should be in view any moment now.’
CCTV cameras had been positioned at the stern and bow of the Aristides, tilted down to show the waterline. Daybreak had come, but the fog had not yet lifted. Dave stared at an overhead monitor as a skiff came murkily into view at the stern. He could just make out three men in it, one of whom was manhandling the lower section of a ladder, holding it upright until its upper rungs were perched against the side of the Aristides. The man began pushing the bottom rungs of the second section, which slid upwards towards the rail of the stern deck.
Dave felt a tap on his shoulder and Guthrie pointed to the other monitor, which showed a skiff nestling up to the bow of the ship. There were also three men in this boat, and one of them, bare-chested and of Arab appearance, was standing up, holding a harpoon gun. He took careful aim then fired. A steel grappling hook shot up into the air, trailing an unravelling length of rope. Dave couldn’t see where the hook had landed but the line tautened sharply, almost pulling the harpoonist out of the skiff. One of his associates quickly cut the rope free of the harpoon gun, then lashed it around the low gunwale. Now the Arab who had fired the harpoon gun swung himself up on the rope and began climbing, hand over hand, towards the bow of the Aristides, which loomed above him. It would have been easy to go along the deck to the bow and cut the rope, thought Dave, but both men still in the skiff held AK-47s, trained upwards to cover the climbing man.
‘Time to go,’ said Guthrie; the other monitor was showing one of the pirates halfway up the ladder at the stern. Guthrie reached down and flicked a switch. The noise of a klaxon horn filled the air, and within seconds crew members were running along the deck towards the accommodation block.
Dave followed the Captain to the companionway, where they quickly descended two flights of steel stairs down to the ship’s staff room, which was level with the main cargo-laden deck of the tanker. The crew members, about twenty of them, were gathering there, looking uneasy. They formed a rough semi-circle as Guthrie stepped forward to address them. Dave noticed the Pakistanis weren’t there.
