Treasure (Dirk Pitt 9)

"Not really. I signed aboard a Panamanian ore carrier when I was sixteen. Mum and dad are gone. Nobody left I grew up with." He paused and pointed through the bridge window at an approaching boat. "Here come the bloody customs and immigration inspectors."

"Since we have no passengers, and the crew won't be going ashore," said Collins, "the vessel should be cleared with a rubber stamp."

"The health inspectors are the worst nuisance."

"Notify the purser, Mr. Finney. Then show them to my cabin."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but isn't that a bit much? I mean, greeting mere customs inspectors in the Captain's cabin."

"Perhaps, but I want everything to run smoothly with the bureaucracy while we're in harbor. You never know when we might require a favor."

"Aye, sir."

It was dusk as the customs and immigration officials brought their boat alongside the Lady Flamborough and mounted the boarding ladder. The ship's lights suddenly blazed on and illuminated her upper decks and superstructure. Moored amid the lights of the city and the other cruise ships, she sparkled like a diamond in a jewelry box.

The Uniguayan officials, led by Finney, approached the open doorway to the Captain's cabin. Collins studied the five men including his first officer. He was a man who missed very little, and he quickly noticed something odd about one of them. One man had on a wide-brimmed straw hat pulled low over his eyes and was wearing a jumpsuit, while the rest were dressed properly enough in the casual uniforms worn by most officials throughout the Caribbean islands.

The fellow who stood out walked without looking up, keeping his eyes on the feet of the man in front of him. When they reached the dciorway, Finney politely stood aside and allowed them to enter first.

Collins stepped forward. "Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome aboard the Lady Flamborough. I'm Captain Oliver Collins."

The visiting officials stood strangely silent and Collins and Finney exchanged curious glances. Then the man in the jumpsuit stepped forward and slowly peeled it off, revealing a white uniform with gold braid that was an exact copy of the one Collins wore. Next he removed the straw hat and replaced it with a cap that matched the uniform.

The normally calm Collins was momentarily caught off balance. He felt as though he was staring into a mirror. The stranger could easily have passed for a twin brother.

"Who are you?" Collins demanded. "What's going on here?"

"No name is necessary," said Suleiman Aziz Ammar with a disamiing smile.

"I am taking command of your ship."

Surprise is the key for any successful clandestine operation. And the surprise takeover of the Lady Flamborough was total. Except for Captain Collins, First Officer Finney and a stunned purser, who were bound, gagged and closely guarded in Finney's cabin, none of the other officers or crew had the vaguest idea their ship had been hijacked.

Ammar cut his timing to a fine edge. The bona fide Uruguayan customs inspectors showed up only twelve minutes later. He greeted them as if they were old acquaintances in his makeup and nearperfect disguise as Collins. The men he had hand-picked to play the roles of Finney and the purser kept to the shadows. They were both experienced ship's officers and bore a remarkable resemblance to their counterparts. Few crew members would have noticed the facial differences outside of three meters.

The Uruguayan officials cleared the vessel and were soon on their way.

Ammar called Collins's second and third officers to the captain's cabin.

This would be his first and most crucial test. If he passed their inspection without arousing suspicion, they would become invaluable to him as innocent accomplices to carry out the complicated plot in the next twenty-four hours.

Making himself up to look like Dale Lemk, the pilot of Nebula Flight 106, was not a difficult process. Animar had easily casta plaster mold from Lemk's face after he'd murdered him. Disguising himself to pass as the captain of the Lady Flamborough was another matter. He was forced to work from only eight photographs of Collins obtained on short notice by one of his agents in Britain. He also had to inject himself with a compound that raised his voice to an identical level with recordings of Collins's voice.

He hired a skilled artist to sculpt a likeness of Collins's face from the photos. Male and female molds were cast from the sculpture. Next, a natural latex, dyed to match Captain Collins's skin coloring, was pressed between the molds and set aside until gelation occurred, and then baked. He trimmed and carefully fitted the latex mask, using a resin-wax mixture to match minor changes in facial structure.

Then Ammar applied foamed ear and nose prosthetics and added makeup.

Finally, a correctly dyed, barbered and parted hairpiece, contact lenses to match the color of Collins's eyes, tooth caps, and Animar became the spitting image of the cruise liner's Captain.

Ammar did not have the time to study Oliver Collins's personality profile in depth or study the Captain's mannerisms. He just managed to take a cram course on shipboard duties and memorize the names and faces of the ship's officers. He had no choice but to bluff it out, relying correctly on the assumption the crew did not have the slightest reason to be skeptical. As soon as the two officers stepped into the Captain's cabin, Ammar immediately acted to tip the scales in his favor.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, for sounding and looking a bit under the weather, but I've picked up a case of the flu."

"Shall I send for the ship's doctor?" asked Second Officer Herbert Parker, physically fit, suntanned, with a smooth

boyish face that seemed as if it saw a razor only on Saturday evenings.

A near-stake, thought Ammar. A doctor familiar with Collins would have spotted the masquerade in a flash.