Free Beyond the Poseidon Adventure by Paul Gallico

what seemed like divine deliverance as the two lights had rocked down the scaffolding of the pipes towards them. Hope degenerated into uncertainty as they saw only three figures, and finally, for Rogo at least, into blazing disgust as he contemplated his rescuers. A young chick, an old seaman, and what looked to his eyes suspiciously like one of those kooks who waved banners.
    He reverted to the police manual. “Detective Lieutenant Rogo, Thirty-eighth Precinct, New York Police Department,” he said. “Now just what the hell do you guys think you’re doing here?”
    The older man stepped forward. “Captain Klaas van Zeevogel, commander of the coaster Magt van Leiden. We have a line on board this vessel, which gives us prime salvage rights. Perhaps you could explain what you are doing so far from home, officer.”
    Rogo replied, “Damn right I will. The three of us survived when this tub turned over. I’m on a security job and I’m sitting watchdog on this cargo. And what I don’t want right now is the Swiss Family Robinson walking all over my patch.” He flicked a dismissive hand at the unlikely trio.
    He spoke to the Dutchman, but his eyes were on the younger man, who had detached himself from the other two, strolled to one side and was now leaning against a steel tank.
    “You see my position,” Klaas went on. “You are now, in the eyes of the courts, a trespasser, and have no rights on board this vessel at all.”
    The younger man was brushing his lower lip with his thumbnail with a gesture that stood halfway between boredom and amusement. He’s the one to watch, thought Rogo. He replied, “You’re not the first guy to try to tell me the law, little man.”
    Klaas looked slightly shocked. “I’m afraid that is the position. Under maritime salvage laws, rights to inspect or remove cargo belong to the first salvor on the scene, and that is myself. The owners of the ship have acknowledged my position.”
    His nervousness was showing and Rogo decided to bulldoze him. “I don’t give a monkey’s ass if the Rams’ front four acknowledged your position. The only inspecting and removing around here is going to be done by me, and no guy who runs trips around the bay tells me different.” He jabbed a finger at Jason. “And who’s this you dragged along?”
    More uncertain, Klaas said, “He is a yachtsman who capsized west of here. His name is Jason, he has a captain’s ticket, and he’s going to Athens.”
    Rogo asked, “Then why doesn’t he just keep right on going?”
    Klaas wavered, then said, “He claims he has business aboard the Poseidon .”
    “Is that so?” Rogo folded his arms. “What’s the business, pal?”
    Thumbs hooked in the top of his jeans, Jason grinned, “Private, Batman, private.”
    Rogo advanced one step towards Jason. “You look like you’re on private business. I roll you guys off the park bench every night. The only business you guys know is busting the coin-box on slot machines. I don’t like freaks, mister.”
    The grin flashed back on Jason’s face. “Sorry you don’t like my appearance, officer. But I sure do admire your disguise.”
    Everyone looked at Rogo. His dignity had quite suddenly gone. He was a middle-aged, unshaven, overweight man, filthy dirty and wearing only an undershirt and grimy trousers. Klaas saw Rogo’s eyes begin to pop, and started, “Gentlemen, I’m sure there’s no need . . .” But Rogo’s hand came out of his pocket. He was holding his gun and it was pointing at Jason. Rogo was solving it the only way he understood.
    “That’s enough, funny guy,” he bellowed. “You’re going to tell me what the hell this business of yours is and then you’re going to move your ass offa this boat.”
    The gun did not appear to register with Jason. He simply said, “Not a chance, not a chance. Now what do you do? Shoot me or book me?”
    As Rogo’s frustrated tongue stumbled, Martin decided to help. “You should listen to Mr. Rogo,” he told