The QE2 Is Missing

All traces of the unreasoning hatred were gone in an instant. Stroessner must have heard something, become suspicious. He was a wise old fox who had lived this long by keeping himself aware of any plots against his person. As long as he held the gun he was dangerous; the whole operation threatened. Something must be done, and quickly.

“Drop the gun, Stroessner,” Diaz called out, “and we won’t kill you…. “

Two more bullets crashed through the open door and the General cursed loudly.

“Chinga’ tu madre!”

“You’ll never get him this way,” Sergeant Pradera whispered in Diaz’s ear. “Force me to go in ahead of you and I’ll take care of him.”

“He’ll shoot you too!”

“Perhaps. But certain chances have always to be taken. Let’s go.”

“I have your own Sergeant in front of me, Stroessner. If you shoot you won’t hit me but you’ll kill him.”

There were no shots when Diaz opened the door this time and walked slowly in, pushing the Sergeant ahead of him at gun point. When they were halfway through the door, Sergeant Pradera struck. Before he knew what was happening Diaz’s gun hand was knocked into the air; the pistol fired, sending a slug into the wall. At the same moment pain surged through his leg as the Sergeant kicked backwards, knocking him to the floor. The door slammed in his face.

Diaz sat there, tensely, for long moments, but no more shots were fired in the room. The ruse may have worked. He climbed to his feet — then raised his gun quickly as the door opened. Sergeant Pradera came out, half smiling, pushing a chrome-plated, ivory-handled automatic pistol into his waistband.

“I enjoyed that,” he said. “I’ll tie him up, but it will be a few hours at least before he regains consciousness.”

“Wonderful!” Diaz said, clasping the Sergeant’s hand, then pulling him to his chest in an abrazo, the Latin embrace, pounding him in the back with exuberance. “It’s all falling into place. This is the big one and we’re going to win it.”

“I’ve been in the dark about what is happening,” the Sergeant said, looking at Admiral Marquez and his wounded and unconscious aide. The Admiral had finally lost control when faced with the armed Tupamaros and had begun screaming. He was still struggling now, although bound to the chair, and trying to chew the towel with which they had gagged him.

“There is a lot to explain,” Diaz said. “We are in this with the Tupamaros — we need their fire power. It is all working out well. We have control of the entire ship and now we have captured these two cabins. The Germans will be hit next, at breakfast time. The diamonds are in a vault, but it is being cut open and we will have them soon. Then it is a matter of waiting to meet a boat that will take us off — along with our prisoners.”

“Sounds very dangerous,” Pradera said.

“It is. But if we get away with it, we have Marquez and Stroessner as prisoners and the diamonds to finance our campaign. If things go wrong…. “

“Then we are in the shit. But this precious pair will be dead as well. I’ll enjoy shooting them myself.”

“Good. Will you stay here and guard them? We are short of men, just a handful of us controlling the entire ship. We could use your help.”

“Help? This is my pleasure. Leave me here with these roaches and don’t worry about them. I have taken orders enough from this trash.”

“Good. We’ll relieve you at dawn. We can use you when we take the Germans. Their turn is next.”

24

Klaus did not like to see his comrades shot. He had seen enough of that on the Eastern Front which, slowly and surely as the war went on, had turned into a butcher shop. He did not mind killing the enemy, that was the only thing to do with the Slavic mongrels, and he had done enough of that himself. They did not take prisoners in the East. Either side. But as the quick victory never arrived and the second, then the third winter arrived, the attrition grew. There were only a few men from the original company left, when Klaus had been wounded himself and sent to the rear, to hospital. That was when he had been assigned to Dr. Wielgus, a fact that had undoubtedly saved his life. They had been good years since then, easy and good years.

Klaus still did not like to see his comrades shot. If he had been left alone to get a good night’s sleep it might have been different. Everything would have looked better in the morning. But he was stuck here in the little cabin with the wounded Fritz, and had not been able to get to sleep. The injured man was deeply unconscious, but he moaned in his sleep. This, and his deep breathing and the strong smell of drugs on his breath, had kept Klaus awake. He lay now with one arm under his head, smoking yet another cigarette. The ship never stopped heaving up and down and that was disturbing, too. He reached out to pour another schnapps, then changed his mind. That was no solution.