Mansfield ran toward the Drake but was a few seconds too late. The gangway had already been extended and the initial throng of tourists had swarmed off. He spotted Martina near the back of the pack, trying to push through the line.
Martina waved for him to join her. The remnants of the crowd were diverging, some exiting straight off the pier, while most followed a raised walkway along the river’s bank.
He wormed his way beside her. “Where are they?”
“Near the front,” she said, “but we have them now. They’re headed aboard the Belfast.”
Mansfield looked ahead. The walkway fed into a ramp that extended over the water to a large gray warship. The HMS Belfast was a Royal Navy cruiser built in 1938 that had seen extensive action in World War II. Preserved as a museum, she was now permanently moored in the Thames, across the river from the Tower of London.
At the ship’s entry ramp, Dirk stopped and turned to Summer. “You sure we want to board her?”
She moved ahead. “We need to buy some time waiting for the tour boat.”
They led the pack of tourists to the ship’s entrance, keeping tabs on Mansfield and Martina following behind. Boarding the old cruiser on her lower deck, they were given free rein to explore most of the ship’s inner workings. Summer and Dirk immediately headed aft, walking briskly to the quarter deck and crossing to the starboard rail. A ladder led up to an open hatchway to one of the ship’s triple-gun turrets. They climbed two levels and ducked inside. The breeches of three massive six-inch guns filled the circular turret. Peeking through a cutout on the opposite side, Summer could see Martina standing watch on the gangway.
Dirk looked through another viewport as Mansfield pushed past some tourists to skirt around the aft base of the turret. “He’s on us.”
“Let’s get forward and go as high up as we can.”
“We’ll need to drop down before we can go up,” Dirk said.
They scurried down a ladder and entered a bay leading forward, then passed through an exhibit of the ship’s laundry station, complete with a mannequin loading an industrial-sized washer. Dirk found a companionway out a side hatch and they descended several more levels, arriving at one of the Belfast’s twin engine rooms. They made their way forward as quickly as they could, maneuvering past a maze of pipes and machinery surrounding one of the ship’s boilers, as well as past a few slow-moving tourists.
When they reached the forward-most bulkhead, they climbed up the nearest ladder. Dirk hesitated on the steps and peered down the passageway from where they had just come. At the far end of the engine room, Mansfield was hurrying through the bay.
They continued the cat-and-mouse chase, pushing forward and higher through the ship. Dirk and Summer passed the crew’s mess on the lower deck before finally reaching the forward superstructure. From there, they clambered up several decks to the narrow confines of the Belfast’s bridge. Summer hesitated, checked her watch, then peered out the forward windows. A horn sounded ahead of the ship and she nodded. “That’s our tour boat, departing right on time. Let’s go up to the flybridge.”
They climbed another level to the exposed flybridge, which offered a stunning view of the river and the Tower of London on the opposite bank. They stepped to the port side and briefly looked down at Martina, still guarding the gangway. Then they crossed the bridge to the starboard rail and gazed at the river.
Mansfield arrived less than a minute later. He approached them casually but somewhat out of breath. “Well, we could certainly have dispensed with the ship calisthenics.”
“You could have sent your girlfriend,” Summer said.
Mansfield smiled. “She’s not my girlfriend, but you are correct. She is probably in better shape than me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll have the folder.”
Summer held out her hands, both empty. “We don’t have it.”
Mansfield frowned. “Yes, very clever to have hidden it somewhere on this ship.” He gazed around the flybridge, which was shared at the moment by a young family admiring the view. Mansfield turned back to Dirk and Summer, speaking in a low tone. “Siblings, aren’t you?” He addressed Summer. “When the family departs, I will shoot your brother unless you produce the folder. And if not, I will shoot you, too.” The calm coldness to his voice left no room for doubt.
Summer watched as the family migrated to the stairwell after taking several pictures. “Who are you?” she said. “And why are you claiming the wreck of the Canterbury when it’s clearly a British ship? Is it the gold?”
Mansfield laughed. “There’s no more gold aboard, so I have no interest in the ship now. My name is Viktor Mansfield, if you must know, and I will take that file, please.” He tilted his head toward the family, which was now descending the stairwell.
“I didn’t hide it aboard the Belfast,” Summer said. “I left it on the tour boat.” She motioned toward the Drake, which was passing alongside the warship on its way to Greenwich. “If you look closely, you can just make it out on the lower aft deck.”
Mansfield peered over the rail at the passing boat, focusing on its stern. A heavyset man leaned against a tall table drinking a beer, but the small open area was otherwise empty. Then he saw it. The blue binder sat on the center of one of the empty tables, weighted down by a pint of beer.
“I wondered where my beer went,” Dirk said.
Mansfield pulled his radio and called to Martina, in Russian, “Get the boat!” He turned to Dirk and Summer as an elderly couple stepped onto the flybridge. “It could be unfortunate for you if this is a trick.”
“It isn’t,” Summer said.
Mansfield nodded, trusting her body language that she was telling the truth. “I trust we shan’t meet again.” He turned and left the bridge.
Summer sagged in relief as Dirk watched the Drake disappear under the Tower Bridge.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you gave it up without finding out what was in it.”