Beyond the Poseidon Adventure Read online

  BEYOND THE

  POSEIDON ADVENTURE

  The Poseidon Adventure was not only a major best-seller but a major motion picture. Unlike the book, the picture ended with the Poseidon still afloat. Determined to send the ship to its inescapable fate, Paul Gallico has written a new novel that combines the characters he made famous with the dramatic flair for which he is noted. The result is a sequel that stands completely on its own—a breathtaking adventure of the horrors of impending disaster and of the danger from those modern-day pirates of the sea: scavengers.

  Sixteen hundred people died in the Poseidon when the luxury liner was capsized by a tidal wave. Only six were saved by the French helicopter that swept over the wreckage. And those six had gone through all the tortures of hell in the eight hours they spent working their way out of the inverted ship.

  Now their leader, Rogo, the tough New York cop, is demanding at gunpoint to be returned to the Poseidon to see to the secret shipment he had aboard to guard. He finds himself with unexpected company when Manny Rosen, whose beloved wife died trying to help the others to safety, and James Martin, the little haberdasher who had just had the one adventure of his life, determine to join him.

  Back the three go, aware they will be reentering a chaotic world in which everything is literally upside down, with death and debris everywhere. And they quickly find things even worse than when they left. For others have come to the site, not to rescue but to plunder, and these newcomers are not afraid to kill for what they want.

  Paul Gallico takes his original adventure and makes of it the prelude to a novel that is as dramatic as it is vivid.

  Books by PAUL GALLICO

  Novels

  ADVENTURES OF HIRAM HOLLIDAY

  THE SECRET FRONT

  THE SNOW GOOSE

  THE LONELY

  THE ABANDONED

  TRIAL BY TERROR

  THE SMALL MIRACLE

  THE FOOLISH IMMORTALS

  SNOWFLAKE

  LOVE OF SEVEN DOLLS

  THOMASINA

  MRS. ’ARRIS GOES TO PARIS

  LUDMILA

  TOO MANY GHOSTS

  MRS. ’ARRIS GOES TO NEW YORK

  SCRUFFY

  CORONATION

  LOVE, LET ME NOT HUNGER

  THE HAND OF MARY CONSTABLE

  MRS. ’ARRIS GOES TO PARLIAMENT

  THE MAN WHO WAS MAGIC

  THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE

  THE ZOO GANG

  MATILDA

  THE BOY WHO INVENTED THE BUBBLE GUN

  MRS. ’ARRIS GOES TO MOSCOW

  MIRACLE IN THE WILDERNESS

  BEYOND THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE

  General

  FAREWELL TO SPORTS

  GOLF IS A FRIENDLY GAME

  LOU GEHRIG, PRIDE OF THE “YANKEES”

  CONFESSIONS OF A STORY WRITER

  THE HURRICANE STORY

  THE SILENT MIAOW

  FURTHER CONFESSIONS OF A STORY WRITER

  THE GOLDEN PEOPLE

  THE STORY OF “SILENT NIGHT”

  THE REVEALING EYE, PERSONALITIES OF THE 1920’s

  HONORABLE CAT

  THE STEADFAST MAN

  For Children

  THE DAY THE GUINEA-PIG TALKED

  THE DAY JEAN-PIERRE WAS PIGNAPPED

  THE DAY JEAN-PIERRE WENT ROUND THE WORLD

  MANXMOUSE

  Published by

  Delacorte Press

  1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza

  New York, N.Y. 10017

  Copyright © 1978 by Mathemata-Anstalt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First printing

  Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication

  Data Gallico, Paul, 1897-1976

  Beyond the Poseidon Adventure.

  I. Title.

  PZ3.G13586Be [PS3513.A413] 813’.5’2 77-26905

  ISBN 0-440-00453-5

  to

  IRWIN ALLEN

  CONTENTS

  FOREWARD

  1: BACK TO THE POSEIDON

  2: THE FRIGHTENED MEN

  3: “IT’S A DISAPPOINTING WORLD”

  4: MINDING THE STORE

  5: UNDER THE CHRISTMAS TREE

  6:COMPANY

  7: OPEN THE CAGE

  8: “YOU’RE A KILLER, MANNY”

  9: THE TRAPS

  10: THE TUNNEL OF DEATH

  11: THE PURSE

  12: “LIKE YOUR PRESENT, ROGO?”

  13: THE DIVE

  14: AMONG THE SHADOWS

  15: “WHO WANTS A DEAD COP?”

  16: A PRESENTABLE STORY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  FOREWORD

  Beyond the Poseidon Adventure is a book brought about wholly by modern times. It is a sequel, not to the original novel, but to the film made from that novel.

  The original novel, The Poseidon Adventure, was first published in 1969, then bought by producer Irwin Allen and made into a motion picture by him at Twentieth Century-Fox. It appeared in 1972 as the first of the highly successful series of catastrophe movies that followed it.

  Every writer knows that when his work is produced as a motion picture the adaptation will impose changes and The Poseidon Adventure was no exception. Of necessity characters were dropped, others added, characterizations altered and, in some cases, the plot altered also. But by and large the film reflected the spirit and the plan of the novel.

  There is no help for changes made in the transference of the book to the screen. Every sensible producer and writer knows this. Nevertheless the producer still wants his picture to follow the book as closely as possible, particularly when the latter is a bestseller and the former a smash hit.

  This last has evoked in Irwin Allen, producer of the film, a desire to make a sequel to the first film.

  This is where both producer and writer find themselves in these days when hit movies are followed by sequels using the same characters and sequel novels flower at the same time.

  Ever since the rise of the paperback the film has needed the novel, the novel the film. Each aids in the campaigns of publicity and promotion. In the sequel the novel and the film are projected to arrive simultaneously if possible. The problems connected with this in the case of The Poseidon Adventure and Beyond the Poseidon Adventure were unique. For in the original novel the gallant Poseidon, to the sound of the sirens of the surrounding rescue craft, plunges beneath the waves forever and the characters disperse in accordance with the plan of the author.

  In the film the Poseidon does not sink and we are left with the final scene of the after portion of the upturned hulk with the giant propellers showing, and the surviving characters, Mike Rogo, Manny Rosen, James Martin, Nonnie, and Susan and her younger brother, Robin, being airlifted off from the hull by a French naval helicopter and flying away.

  How fortunate! For had not Irwin Allen decided upon this ending to the picture and with the Poseidon at the bottom of the sea no sequel would have been possible.

  The novel herewith produced, Beyond the Poseidon Adventure, takes the surviving characters as delineated in the motion picture and carries on with some of them as they were, looked, and behaved in the film, the action taking place both inside and outside the partly submerged hulk of the Poseidon but with the addition of a whole new starring cast.

  The filmmaker must follow his knowledge of how to entertain the viewing public, the novelist must follow his bent on how to intrigue and sati
sfy his reading public. Thus, it is almost certain that, just as in the first case, the film Beyond the Poseidon Adventure will make changes from the novel to the detriment, one hopes, of neither. In some cases the two will go their own ways in accordance with the necessities of their creators.

  The main thing to remember is that this book is a sequel to the film and everything that was in that film. If you enjoyed that picture as millions seem to have done I hope perhaps you will be intrigued by, and find entertainment in, what happened to some of these people afterwards.

  P.W.G.

  Monaco, June 1976

  BACK TO THE POSEIDON

  1

  The thick blanket settled warm and heavy on his shoulders and the hot coffee burned sweetly in his mouth. Rogo waited for the sense of relief to wipe away the fear and tension. It didn’t.

  “You are the lucky man, monsieur.”

  The precise voice of the French warrant officer jerked him out of his bitter thoughts.

  “Huh?” Rogo grunted.

  The helicopter was swinging in a great angled sweep of the sky and the officer pointed through the window to the wreckage of the S.S. Poseidon below. “I said you are the lucky man,” he repeated. “Sixteen hundred dead and only six saved. We must thank God, I think.”

  Rogo finished the rest of the coffee in the plastic cup. “You thank Him, pal,” he said. “He ain’t done me no favors.”

  The Frenchman raised incredulous eyebrows and backed onto his seat on the port side of the machine, where Manny and Martin offered more agreeable company. “We certainly do thank God, sir,” Martin chirruped. “Mr. Rogo’s rather tired.” He raised his face to Rogo and called out, “But we did it okay, Mr. Rogo, didn’t we? We got out after all.”

  Rogo decided to ignore the little shopkeeper. There were other, more serious things that occupied him. He pressed his pugnacious face against the cold of the window and looked down.

  The ship lay on the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean like a surfacing whale. The tidal wave that had tossed it over so easily had left it upside down and two-thirds submerged. He could see the huge propellers jutting upwards like ears, and the square cut the French rescue team made in the propeller-shaft housing to release them.

  It was impossible to imagine that about eight hours earlier it had been packed with carefree merrymakers celebrating New Year’s Eve. Now they were all dead. His wife Linda. Manny Rosen’s wife, Belle, and Scott, the fiery minister who had led them to safety. All dead. In some ways, he thought, it would be better if he were down there with them.

  For eight hours they had struggled to fight their way through a nightmare of wreckage and bodies and roaring water, and in that topsy-turvy hell it had been hard to count on a normal world outside. Now he was safe in the warmth of the helicopter with a glittering sun overhead, and he wished himself still inside the Poseidon.

  The warrant officer was checking the names of the survivors on a clipboard. “Let us see if I have the details correct,” he said. “Susan and Robin Shelby. They will be the two children who are asleep in the back, yes?” His pencil indicated the rear of the machine where they had been bedded down.

  The self-appointed spokesman, James Martin, agreed. “And the girl with them, she’s called Nonnie Parry. From Lancaster, Pennsylvania.”

  He went on brightly as the officer continued to check the names against a list. “I’m James Martin, from Anaheim, California, and this is Mr. Emmanuel Rosen from New York.”

  The officer murmured his thanks and ticked off more names. “And that,” whispered Martin, “is Detective Lieutenant Mike Rogo—he’s from New York too. He’s quite famous really. He once broke up a prison riot.”

  The Frenchman shot Rogo a look that suggested he would not be impressed if he had been the first man on the moon. Martin insisted as loudly as he dare. “He did. It was in all the papers.”

  It was not quiet enough. “Can it,” Rogo’s growl shrank the little red-haired man back into his seat.

  “I was only . . .”

  Rogo mimicked his squeaky voice with cruel accuracy. “I was only trying to help, Mr. Rogo.” Then he reverted to his own rasping register. “Well, don’t.”

  He turned from his shocked audience and squinted through the window again. All around the steel hull of the Poseidon lay the flotsam and jetsam of a shipwreck, the smashed relics of life aboard a cruise liner that were no longer entirely recognizable. He could pick out some things: items of clothing, an empty lifejacket, crates, and, incongruously, a grand piano.

  Suddenly Manny Rosen burst into sobs and dropped his weeping face into his hands. “Belle, my Belle, I shouldn’t have left you down there.”

  The Frenchman was astonished by the tenderness of Rogo’s response. “Don’t take it so bad, Manny. She was a great lady. She saved us all. That’s what she wanted to do.”

  The helicopter was circling again back over the scene. Rogo nodded towards the short staircase that led to the bubble which housed the pilot, copilot, and radio operator. He asked the warrant officer, “Why don’t we get the hell outta here?”

  The Frenchman ignored his tone. “We must survey the scene to make a full report, sir,” he replied. “They will want to know which other ships are in the area and if and when the Poseidon is likely to sink. Then we shall take you back to base, and you will be flown to Athens.”

  Then, thought Rogo, back to New York. And the questions. Why had he left? Why had he not stayed with the job? What had happened to the shipment? For Chrissakes, he groaned inwardly, all those goddamn questions. Then he remembered O’Hagan and that made it worse. Every mill, every office, every classroom has its funny man. O’Hagan was going to love this one. Rogo could imagine it all too easily. “Fell down on the job, huh, Rogo? Quit. Walked out. Must have a yellow streak buried under that fat gut, Rogo.” He gripped his massive fists as he thought about it.

  The helicopter continued to circle and climb, and Rogo half-heard Martin’s babbling as he told the officer of their terrifying ascent through the bowels of the ship. “Well, it was the Reverend Scott who took charge. He was the minister, you know, a preacher. What a wonderful man! It was his idea to make for the stern. He said it was the best chance of rescue. He tried to tell the others but they wouldn’t listen . . .”

  Rogo muttered a few weary obscenities to himself. Martin made it sound like an adventure trip. He didn’t know, none of them knew, of the weight of shame and responsibility that the policeman would have to bear.

  “. . . but I guess Scott went kind of funny at the end and he threw himself into a blazing pool. He said something about sacrificing his life for ours. He was very religious.” He glanced nervously at Rogo and lowered his voice. “That was when Mr. Rogo’s wife died. She fell. And Mrs. Rosen was a real hero. She dived under the water to find a way out for us.”

  If Manny heard him, he said nothing. His head was still buried in his hands as he sobbed softly.

  The blanket fell from Rogo’s shoulders as he pressed once more against the window. The sea was no longer empty. To the south there was a white pleasure yacht with a single yellow funnel about ten miles from the Poseidon. On the horizon to the north, a blob of black smoke signifying another advancing vessel. And much nearer, almost directly below them, what looked like a scruffy working boat. All were heading for the Poseidon.

  “Hey you!” Rogo ordered. The Frenchman looked up with strained courtesy. Rogo went on, “What the hell’s going on down there?”

  The officer lifted his marine glasses and inspected the scene. He swung them from one vessel to another. “Salvage,” he said. “It is customary.”

  “Customary!” Rogo made the word sound like the eighth deadly sin. “Whaddya mean, for Chrissakes? That tub’s got nothing to do with those guys.”

  The officer lowered the glasses and explained with elaborate patience. “The nearest one looks like a coaster. He will be trying to be the first to get a line on board so he can claim salvage rights. The one furthest away is, I thin
k, the Komarevo. She is what you might call a professional scavenger of the seas. Amongst other things. The yacht, I imagine, is doing a little macabre sight-seeing.”

  Rogo scowled at the yacht. “Rich kids rubbernecking. Don’t I just know the type.” Then he was questioning the officer across the aisle again and he seemed deeply perturbed. “Why ain’t she sunk yet? Jesus, we thought she’d go down any lousy minute.”

  “Air,” the officer replied succinctly. “Air pockets. There must have been many trapped in the forward and aft, now there must be one huge air bubble holding her up. Most of her engines and boilers will have fallen out. You saw them, perhaps?”

  Rogo did not answer. “Yeah, but how long can she stay up?”

  The officer looked out of the window again; the ships below were now little more than toys. He shrugged. “Five minutes, five hours, five days, five weeks. Remember, she is one-third above the water. There was an iron ore ship, the Yacob Verolm, forty thousand tons. She was capsized in a storm, the crew escaped, most of her cargo and engines fell out. She floated, keel up, for forty days.”

  The policeman slumped back in his seat as though shot. His eyes were open and staring. He did not appear to hear the officer’s final comment. “In the end they had to shoot her down.”

  In a hoarse whisper, Rogo asked, “What happens if it doesn’t sink?”

  The young Frenchman was frowning. He could not understand Rogo’s obvious concern. “Well,” he said, “they will try to tow her into shallow water. Then salvage everything they can. Cargo, machinery, anything of value.”

  Anything of value. Rogo knew what he must do. In his mad dash to escape death, and what had seemed the certainty that the ship was sinking, he had lost sight of his mission. He had forgotten he was a working cop. Now the cargo could be recovered and claimed by God knows who. It would be the end for Rogo. He could hear O’Hagan’s taunting voice already. His simple sense of duty and primitive pride boiled inside him, but most of all he could hear O’Hagan.

  He slipped his hand into his pants pocket. It was still there. The tiny Colt .25 automatic, no bigger than a bunch of keys. He had scoffed when they had issued it to him. A handbag gun, he had said. You couldn’t punch holes in paper with it. He wanted his .38 Police Special, but they had insisted: on a security job you needed a lightweight pistol you could carry at all times. He remembered what Linda had said the previous evening when he had put it in his pocket. “Who we having dinner with, honey—Frankie Costello?” But it was a gun, it had a full clip of six, and that was all that mattered.