The Titanic Secret (28 page)

14 April 1912
RMS
Titanic

Ten minutes later, Maria cautiously opened the stateroom door, checked that the passageway outside was still deserted, and then left the room, Tremayne right behind her. He pulled the door closed, took out his specialist toolkit, and within a few seconds had locked the door again. When Bauer didn’t appear for breakfast, Voss or Kortig would no doubt raise the alarm, but it would take one of the ship’s officers with a master key to get inside the stateroom.

Tremayne hoped that his heart-attack scenario would look convincing enough to one of the ship’s doctors, and it would be accepted as a death from natural causes. Of course, if Voss were to be allowed into the stateroom, and discovered that the packet of copied documents was missing, he would guess what had happened, although he wouldn’t know exactly how.

But Tremayne had no intention of allowing Voss to get involved in any way at all. Both Kortig and Voss would themselves be dead long before breakfast was served in the dining saloon.

‘So where’s Kortig’s stateroom?’ Maria asked, her voice barely audible above the distant, ever-present hum of machinery.

Tremayne moved right beside her and pointed down the cross passage.

‘It’s directly opposite to Bauer’s,’ he replied in a whisper. ‘In fact, it’s a mirror image of the suite we’ve just left.’

‘We’ll do the same routine, then?’

Tremayne nodded. ‘Yes, why not?’

They walked down the passage, stopped at the end and looked across at the two doors which led into Kortig’s suite.

Tremayne selected the correct tools, walked forward and started working on the lock. In less than a minute the lock clicked open, and he was able to turn the handle to open the door.

But as he replaced his tools and stood up again, he heard a sudden commotion from behind him, and twisted round to see Maria struggling in the grip of one of Voss’s bodyguards. And before he could do anything about it, he felt a jab in his back from the muzzle of a pistol, and realized that he had badly underestimated his opponents.

14 April 1912
RMS
Titanic

The door which led to the lounge of the suite swung open, and Gunther Voss stepped out, the smaller figure of Lenz Kortig a couple of paces behind him. The two Prussians stood in the corridor and for a few seconds just stared at Tremayne.

Voss spoke first. ‘We expected you to come here first,’ he said, ‘but we guessed wrong. Bauer was confident he could handle you on his own, but I suppose you killed him?’

Tremayne shrugged. There was no point in denying it. ‘He didn’t look at all well when we left,’ he smiled.

Kortig’s face was suffused with anger. ‘You bastard,’ he muttered, pulling a pistol from his pocket. ‘Move out of the way, Gunther. I’ll kill him right now.’

‘No.’ Voss’s voice was sharp and commanding. ‘He’s going to die, but not here. Blood on the carpet and the walls would take too much explaining.’ He stepped forward and stood in front of Tremayne. ‘This is the end of the line for you,’ he said. ‘You should have walked away when you had the chance, you and this hussy that you’re with.’

‘She’s not involved,’ Tremayne said. ‘She’s just my secretary.’

Voss smiled. ‘Maybe she is, or maybe you’re just playing the classic English gentleman, and trying to protect the little woman. Either way, it doesn’t matter. At the moment, I have only one use for her.’

‘What?’

‘You – and she – will find out soon enough. Now, if you don’t want Vincent to blow a hole in your spine, and then do the same to her, put your hands in the air and stand still while I relieve you of whatever weapons you’re carrying.’

‘What about the blood on the carpet?’ Tremayne asked.

‘I’ll risk it,’ Voss snapped.

It’s a basic rule of combat that you never surrender your weapon, and Tremayne knew this as well as anyone. The problem was that he was outnumbered four to one, all of his opponents were clearly armed, he had a gun sticking in his own back and there was another one pointing at Maria’s head. In the circumstances, he really didn’t see that he had any option. Tremayne raised his hands.

Voss took another pace forward, reached out and pulled the Browning pistol and the cosh from Tremayne’s trouser pockets, and then found the garrotte and the metal box containing the syringe.

‘What’s in these bottles?’ he asked, opening it and looking at the contents.

‘A tonic,’ Tremayne replied. ‘You should try it. It’ll do you the world of good.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ Voss said. He held the objects in his hands and looked at Tremayne.

‘I underestimated you,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d just been sent on this ship to spy on us. But I was wrong. You’re an assassin, an executioner, pure and simple. A man who is paid to kill other men. The basest possible kind of thug.’

‘I see myself more as a specialist in rodent control,’ Tremayne replied. ‘I find rats and then I eliminate them. And I don’t need lessons in morality from you, Voss. You were planning to blackmail the President of the United States of America into forming an alliance with Germany so that you could start a war. A war in which hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, of innocent people would die. And why? For some higher moral purpose, perhaps? Oh, no. For you, it was nothing more than simple greed. You were going to start a war just so you could get your grubby little hands on the mineral riches presently controlled by the British Empire.’

Voss stared at him. ‘You are better informed than I anticipated,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t call it blackmail. It makes perfectly good sense to ally Germany with America – the two nations have a lot in common – but I thought the American president might need a little nudge, a reminder, to see things that way. And I was lucky enough to find something that might help concentrate his mind. Speaking of which, I presume you removed the envelope of copied documents from Bauer’s stateroom, so where is it?’

‘My inside jacket pocket,’ Tremayne replied, and Voss reached over and pulled it out.

‘So what now?’ Tremayne asked.

‘Now you go away and die, Mr Maitland. But I am prepared to offer you one concession. Or rather, a concession to your lady friend here,’ he added, gesturing to Maria, who hadn’t said a word since they’d been surprised by Voss and his men.

‘What?’

‘If you go up to the Promenade Deck with Vincent in a quiet and gentlemanly fashion, and do exactly as he tells you, he’ll make sure that you’re dead before you hit the water. It’ll be quick and clean. And if he comes back down afterwards and tells me that you did that, then I’ll let the woman live, and she can disembark in New York with all the other passengers.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then she’ll join you in the ocean, but we might have a bit of fun with her first. Your choice. Vincent, as a matter of interest, would far rather that you didn’t go quietly. The two men you met up on the deck the other night were good friends of his, and he would very much like you to suffer.’

As Voss said this, Vincent ground the muzzle of his pistol even more firmly into Tremayne’s back.

Tremayne glanced across at Maria, then looked back at Voss and nodded. ‘I’ll go quietly and behave myself,’ he said, ‘as long as your ape can restrain himself. Just make sure that you keep your word, Voss, and let the girl go.’

‘Or what, Maitland? You won’t be around to see whether I do or not.’ Voss nodded to the man standing behind Tremayne. ‘Do it now, Vincent, and keep it quiet. Don’t get any blood on the deck.’

The bodyguard shoved Tremayne hard in the back, pushing him down the short length of corridor towards the staircase.

As he stumbled forward, he heard Maria cry out.

‘Alex!’ she called, and then her voice was cut off, as if a hand had just closed round her mouth.

Tremayne tensed for a moment, then walked on.

14 April 1912
RMS
Titanic

‘What do you want me to do with her?’ the bodyguard holding Maria asked.

Voss looked over at him for a moment, then stared at Maria’s face. ‘I think she’d better join Maitland and feed the fish,’ he said slowly, enjoying the way her face began to turn pale as he spoke. ‘But not quite yet,’ he added. ‘Take her down to your stateroom and keep her there for a while. Try not to damage her too much, and above all keep her quiet.’

Maria glared at him. ‘You lied,’ she said.

‘Of course I lied.’ He sounded surprised at her comment. ‘If I’m prepared to have people killed just because they get in my way, why would you suppose I’d tell
you
the truth? What I said was just a convenient way of getting Maitland out of here and onto the open deck where Vincent can kill him without any mess or fuss, nothing more.’

Voss paused for a moment and looked at her appraisingly. ‘I still don’t know who you are, though your accent is obviously American,’ he said. ‘Not that it really matters. I suppose Maitland might have been telling the truth, and you could be just some assistant for him. Or maybe you’re an agent sent by the United States government to spy on us, or even to try to kill us. Either way, you won’t be seeing New York again.’

He bent down and picked up Maria’s handbag, which she had been forced to drop to the floor. Voss weighed it in his hand for a moment, apparently surprised at how heavy it was, then opened it and pulled out the Browning with the attached suppressor.

‘Just a secretary are you?’ he snapped, waving the weapon at her. ‘Just carrying a pistol around in case his jammed, something like that?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think you’re a team, two equal partners, and equally dangerous.’

Voss switched his glance to the bodyguard. ‘Leonard, make sure you watch her,’ he said, ‘just in case she’s got any other surprises for you. Now take her away.’

The bodyguard twisted Maria’s arm around her back, put away his pistol and picked up her handbag. Then he turned away and started forcing her down the corridor, towards the staircase and his own stateroom, somewhere on the decks below.

14 April 1912
RMS
Titanic

As he walked down the corridor, helped along by frequent shoves in the back from Vincent, Tremayne’s mind was working overtime. Obviously he didn’t believe a word that Voss had said, and he had no doubt that the Prussian intended Maria to die as well, but probably not that night: he guessed that she might end up in one of the staterooms occupied by the bodyguards for a while, as a kind of sick reward for the two men. All the stuff Voss had said about letting her disembark from the ship in New York was just talk, a transparent attempt to persuade Tremayne to go quietly to his death.

But Tremayne was actually pleased to go off with Vincent, because it changed the odds in his favour. Down there in the corridor on B-Deck he’d been faced by four armed men, one holding a gun to Maria’s head, in a confined space. Up on the Promenade Deck, it would be just him and the bodyguard, odds of one to one, and the only weapon Voss hadn’t found on Tremayne, precisely because he’d had his hands sticking up in the air, was the stiletto, nestling in its sheath and strapped to his left forearm. And Tremayne was good with a knife.

They emerged from the doorway at the end of the passageway, and Vincent gave him another heavy shove towards the foot of the staircase. Tremayne grasped the banister rail and began climbing slowly, but too slowly for the bodyguard, who grunted at him to get a move on.

He reached the half-landing and glanced behind him. Vincent was a couple of steps below, and out of reach, which was what Tremayne had expected.

‘Which side?’ he asked, gesturing at the stairs which ascended on both sides of the landing.

‘You can choose,’ the bodyguard replied, with a malicious grin. ‘It’ll be the last choice you ever make, so be my guest.’

Tremayne nodded, walked across the landing and began climbing the stairs towards the port side of the ship. He wasn’t sure how much noise could be transmitted through the decks, but tackling Vincent directly above the spot where he knew Voss and the others were standing didn’t seem to be a very good idea.

On the Promenade Deck, he walked across to the door, opened it and stepped outside, the bodyguard now following close behind him, the gun still held in his right hand.

On the open deck, the eastern sky was already displaying the first probing fingers of dawn, with streaks of red and yellow and gold. There was a stiff, cold breeze blowing, and Tremayne involuntarily shivered as he walked slowly towards the side rail of the ship, his right hand slipping up the left sleeve of his jacket and closing around the hilt of the stiletto.

‘Frightened?’ Vincent asked, with a sneer, ‘because you should be. Voss told you that you’d be dead before you hit the water and you will be, I promise you that. But that’ll be my last shot. The first few will just hurt you, really badly. In fact, by the end, you’ll be begging me to kill you.’

Tremayne came to a stop, staring out across the dark and foam-flecked water of the North Atlantic, the point of the stiletto now grasped firmly between his right thumb and fingers, waiting for the moment. He had met people like Vincent before, and he knew the way their minds worked. Before he pulled the trigger, Vincent would want Tremayne to turn round, to face him, so that he’d be able to see the expression on his victim’s face when the first bullet hit. Shooting him in the back wouldn’t be anything like as enjoyable for the bodyguard.

‘That’s far enough, Maitland,’ Vincent snapped. ‘Now it’s time to start dying, so turn around.’

Tremayne turned slowly to his left, lifting his right hand, shielded by his body, as he did so.

Vincent was standing about eight feet away, a smirk on his face, the pistol held casually in his right hand, obviously intending to take his time, to enjoy the punishment he was going to inflict.

But as Tremayne turned fully to face him, a flicker of alarm swept over the bodyguard’s face as the blade of the stiletto glinted in the light from the deck lamps, and he immediately started bringing his pistol up to the aim.