Leeward

by D. Edward Bradley

  Just as he finished, Bobbie burst into the kitchen in her pajamas, furiously rubbing her freshly washed hair with a towel. Trilby rose from his chair, lifted her up, and give her a big hug.

  “Nice to have you back, Mr. Trilby,” she said as he set her down again. “Do you know what they said on the TV?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Trilby replied.

  “There’s going to be a hurricane.”

  “That’s news to me,” commented the Judge.

  Then Bobbie grinned. “But it’s going to miss us.”

  Meg started working on Bobbie’s hair. “Did they say anything else?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t hear the rest.”

  “Oh well,” said Trilby, “I suppose we’ll have to be patient.”

  They got all the details on the early evening news, and it turned out that Hurricane Nancy was already affecting the Lesser Antilles. Its track seemed quite well established, and it was forecast to pass fairly close to Antigua, St. Kitts and St. Barbe’s.

  “I hope Jon’s going to be all right,” said Meg.

  “He’ll be just fine,” Trilby replied. “The Holiday Inn is a solid building and has survived several hurricanes in its time. Funny to have one so late in the year though.”

  Tuesday, November 13, St. Barbe’s

  Soon after 8:00 pm, hurricane Nancy hit St. Barbe’s with winds of over 75 mph and all contact with the island was lost.

  It was about this time when Hans Wetzlar knew he was getting sick. Like Anna, the activity he had seen through the bars of his cell led him to believe that he was imprisoned at St. Barbe’s Airport, but that was a long time ago. For the last two days his mind had been wandering irrationally, and his fever was getting worse. The day clouded over early, and the northeast winds strengthened to gale force during the afternoon. The increased airflow through the cell brought him some measure of relief, cooling the fever a little, but as nightfall came, the humidity rose and he was soon bathed in sweat again. The daily meal of bread, hard-boiled egg and a banana, remained uneaten on the crude table, but the water was all gone. About an hour after dark, the wind rose to a scream and distant flashes of lightning illuminated the eastern horizon. Then came the rain, blowing almost straight into the open window. Hans made no effort to close it, but pressed his face against the bars to allow the lukewarm downpour to cool his face and neck.

  Wednesday, November 14, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  It was announced on the TV morning news that Hurricane Nancy had stalled just south of St. Barbe’s, and was battering the island incessantly. An aircraft from the National Hurricane Center in Miami flew through the eye, which was still over open water. By this time, contact had also been lost with the nearby volcanic island of Saba.

  Just before noon, the fax machine at the villa spewed out another letter from Dougal. The lab in Mannheim had reported that the same virus was responsible for the deaths of both Hedi, and the German Chancellor.

  Thursday, November 15, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  Late that evening, Jamaican newscasts reported that the hurricane had started to drift away from St. Barbe’s, but there was still no contact with the island. They also reported that during the early afternoon, a ham radio operator in Jamestown had talked with a colleague in Miami. It appeared that the island’s east end, especially the capital, had been severely damaged. Law and order seemed to have broken down, but the rain was easing off, and the wind was dying down. Unfortunately the power was out, and the operator’s battery failed after only a brief report. On the strength of these revelations, another aircraft from the National Hurricane Center was directed to overfly Jamestown after completing its work on the storm. The damage to buildings was about as bad as the ham radio operator had intimated, but the plane was obliged to leave after only a single pass over the refinery and the city. Just as it was approaching the airport at an altitude of 2,000 feet, it came under heavy, but fortunately ineffective machine gun fire. A few bullets hit the tail, but they caused little damage and there were no injuries amongst the crew.

  Late that evening, Josie phoned her father.

  “Hi, Dad! I just wanted to let you know we’ve been working hard, and to make sure you heard the big news.”

  “No we haven’t. It’s all hurricane stuff here.”

  “The Secretary of State killed himself during the night.”

  “Did he now? I wonder what was behind it?”

  “Me too, but all we have to go on is White House briefings, and they don’t say much.”

  “Have you found out anything concrete about Marshall—like a government cover-up?”

  “Plenty, but nothing I can discuss on the phone. It’s pretty hot stuff, and we’ve only just begun to scratch the surface. I thought you should know that some government officials are probably involved with The Organization. Crispin is being very discrete about his enquiries, but I have a feeling we’ll be found out eventually. As soon as that happens we’ll come to the villa with whatever we have.”

  “That’s great work, Josie. Tell Crispin how grateful we are, and I don’t want either of you sticking your necks out unnecessarily, do you hear? At the slightest sign of trouble catch the next flight to Jamaica.”

  “You bet, Dad. Anything new about the hurricane? It was all over the TV about St. Barbe’s being cut off, but maybe you know a bit more, being nearer.”

  “As a matter of fact, we’re kind of worried. Trilby recently got back from the island after a visit I needn’t go into, and you’ll never guess who he found.”

  Josie kept silent.

  “Jon was staying at the Holiday Inn. As far as we know he’s still stuck there.”

  “Oh no!” Josie almost choked out the words. “It would be awful if—”

  “Don’t worry, honey. Trilby says he’s safe enough in the hotel.”

  “If he manages to contact you, tell him . . . just tell him the right things.”

  “Sure. Of course. I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “I’m glad you did. In fact I’d have been furious if I’d found out later.” She paused for a moment and Judge Winchester thought he heard a sniff. “Maybe something good will come out of it. Oh, Dad, it’s such a mess.”

  Fortunately the Judge had no idea just how much of a mess it really was.

  He hung up and located Meg, who was in the garden, and gave her Josie’s news. “We all knew something was going on in the US,” he concluded, “and reading between the lines, it sounds like it’s really big. Josie hinted that the Secretary of State’s suicide may be connected with The Organization, and it’s also possible that the President was involved.”

  “Or worse still the Pentagon,” Meg commented dryly. “We should tell everyone what’s happened, then we can talk about it later.”

  Bobbie had difficulty sleeping that night. She startled Meg and the Judge by appearing in the doorway just as they were about to watch the late news on the living room TV. Meg took her back upstairs to read a story, leaving Judge Winchester to find out the latest about St. Barbe’s. It transpired that a British frigate on a goodwill visit to St. Lucia and other Caribbean islands had been asked by the United Nations to go to St. Barbe’s and see if relief supplies were needed. The St. Barbe’s ambassador to the UN was unable to contact his government, but gave permission for the frigate to enter territorial waters as soon as the weather permitted. The warship was expected to arrive within the next few hours, and would stand off in Witch’s Bay.

  “At least something’s happening,” the Judge said aloud as he switched off the set.

  Friday, November 16, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  Later in the day, alarming reports started coming in about the effect of the hurricane on St. Barbe’s. It seemed that the Mayor of Jamestown had been able to visit the frigate where he made a formal request to the UN for military assistance in restoring order to his town. Apparently the St. Barbe’s Government was no longer in control, and the whole island was in a state of anarchy.

  J
ust before dusk, Meg was going through the hallway when the phone rang.

  “Meg! It’s Jon! At last I’ve got through to you! I’ve been at the airport since the hurricane quietened down. It seems that LIAT will start flights late today if the UN can guarantee the safety of its aircraft while they’re on the ground. I’ve got a seat to Antigua, but not until tomorrow morning. I—”

  At this point the line went dead and Meg hung up.

  Judge Winchester and Bobbie appeared in the hall behind her, and she told them what Jon had said. “It’s too bad he was cut off so soon. We’re really none the wiser about the current situation. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we see Jon, hopefully tomorrow. At least it’s a relief to know he’s safe.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Saturday, November 17, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica

  For those at the villa, the first part of the day was spent waiting to hear from Jon. Just after noon, the phone rang and he announced to Meg that he was in Antigua, and was about to board a flight to Kingston. The news from St. Barbe’s had been encouraging. The request for UN military help by the Mayor of Jamestown was favorably received in New York, and troops were being airlifted from a base in Canada.

  Later in the afternoon, Meg awaited Jon’s arrival in a shady picnic area on a small lawn beside the car park. She was trying to read, but it was beginning to get dark and it was difficult to concentrate. Trilby had gone to meet the flight, and Bobbie was helping the Judge cook dinner. When they finally arrived, and Jon got out of the car, Meg was amazed at his disguise.

  “I hope it’s really you,” she said, as he gave her a hug.

  Jon smiled, but Meg saw that he was exhausted. “Would you like a lie-down before dinner? You must be tired out.”

  “No thanks, Meg. I want to tell everyone what happened on St. Barbe’s, then perhaps it won’t keep going round in my head.”

  Meg changed the subject. The tone of her voice was noticeably disapproving.

  “The Judge and I were very concerned when you left Josie. We honestly thought the relationship was going to work. Where did you go?”

  Jon could see that Meg had bottled up all her concerns about him, and they were obviously spilling out with little regard for his feelings. He put an arm round her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to be such a worry to you. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Meg had to be content with that. In any case, Bobbie came running round the corner of the villa, and demanded Jon’s complete attention for the next several minutes. Eventually, she sat him at the pool-side table and went into the kitchen to get him a long cold beer.

  Judge Winchester passed her in the doorway, and went over to shake hands with Jon, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable. The reason seemed obvious.

  “I’m sorry about you and Josie,” said the Judge as he took a seat. “She’s been overstressed like the rest of us, and doesn’t handle it well.”

  “Things did get a bit difficult in Boston, sir.”

  Jon didn’t think Judge Winchester knew about her affair with Crispin, and he had no intention of mentioning it. Then Trilby arrived and relieved the tension.

  While everyone was settling down with drinks and snacks, Jon glanced round at the people who were now his only family. Meg seemed to have a few more gray hairs, which wasn’t surprising, and Judge Winchester looked tired and drawn. Even Trilby had lost some of his sparkle.

  Bobbie, on the other hand, just wouldn’t stop chattering about snorkeling expeditions and her trip to Scotland. Then she asked Jon what it felt like to be in a really big hurricane. “Were you frightened? I know I would be.”

  “Stop chattering, young lady,” said Meg, “and let Jon tell us all about it.”

  Bobbie grabbed a cheese stick. “Okay,” she replied with her mouth full. “It’s a deal.”

  “It was all very scary,” Jon began. “Everyone had to gather in the lobby of the hotel, which is in the center of the V formed by the two wings where the rooms are. It doesn’t have any windows, so it was very safe.”

  “When did it hit?” asked Trilby.

  “It didn’t exactly hit, Joel. It sort of crept in from the sea at snail’s pace, and the weather worsened very gradually. We had to go to the lobby in the small hours of Wednesday morning. There were no radio reports all day, and the power went out at about ten. Soon after that, the hotel’s generator was started, and we were able to get some food.

  “It was safe to go back to our rooms on Thursday morning, but it wasn’t until late in the afternoon that things quietened down enough for me to go outside. As you might expect, the gardens were ruined with fallen trees all over the place, and the beach was a shambles. I could see three huge columns of smoke rising from Jamestown, but had no way of knowing what was going on. When I got back to my room I switched on the radio. The station had just started broadcasting again, and the announcer said that Jamestown was going crazy. Damaged shops were being looted, and there was a lot of shooting. In other words the place was in a state of total chaos. At that point I decided to head for the airport to see if I could pick up a flight. The phone was still out, so the only chance I had of getting on a plane was to be on the spot. I left as soon as it got dark, and drove to a bypass round the edge of Jamestown, hoping to avoid trouble. I guess all the action was in the city, because it was plain sailing.

  “I was just waking up on Friday morning after sleeping on a seat in the terminal, when I happened to glance at the outside doors of the main concourse. You’ll never guess who walked in—Werner Kleinschmidt.”

  Meg interrupted. “Wasn’t he the man from the German Consulate who helped you and Anna escape to Antigua? I think it was while we were being held at Leeward.”

  “Right,” Jon answered. “He didn’t recognize me with the disguise, but he certainly remembered my voice. While we were in the restaurant, he told me he’d heard that Crick and Stoker were dead, both of them. Crick’s car crashed into a fallen tree while he was being driven back to his house on the Gillie’s Bluff road. Apparently Stoker got exactly what he deserved, a bullet in the head, and from a policeman of all people. Talking of policemen, Chief Green hasn’t been seen since before the hurricane.

  “Anyway, just as we were finishing breakfast in the cafeteria, some troops walked in. It turned out that they were from a British frigate which had anchored in Witch’s Bay and was acting under the UN flag. Then several UN transport planes landed.”

  “That’s quite a story, Jon,” commented the Judge, tilting his chair back and stretching.

  “I haven’t finished yet, sir. We boarded a plane on Saturday morning, and while we were taxiing, I got quite a good view of the new Airport Jail. It’s kind of isolated, way off to the right of the main runway. Kleinschmidt and I were sitting together, and as we went past, he said he’d heard there were political prisoners there—two or three were supposedly Europeans. He had tried to determine their nationalities some time ago, but with no success.”

  “That’s very interesting,” said Trilby. “I wonder what will happen to them. If they’re still there, they should be released as soon as possible.” He turned to the Judge. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Sure, Joel. And they probably know a few things we don’t.”

  “How about I call Norton Grinder,” Jon suggested. “Maybe he can find out who they are."

  Trilby turned to Meg. “I’m going to listen in on the hall phone, if no one objects.”

  “Of course not,” she replied. “I’ll wait here for the result.”

  Jon got through straight away on the kitchen phone.

  “Norton! Are you all okay?”

  Grinder was obviously quite hyper. “Splendid, Jon. Just splendid!”

  “And how’s the store? Did it get damaged in the hurricane?”

  “The roof leaked in a couple of places, but that’s all. We weren’t hit as hard as Jamestown down this end of the island.”

  “That’s a relief. I had a bad feeling. It wouldn’t have taken much to flatten the w
hole village. As you can guess, I’ve managed to get back to the villa in Jamaica, and we’re all hoping you can do a job for us. Nothing dangerous, mind you, just a bit of snooping.”

  “I’m not saying yes until I know what it is.”

  Trilby chuckled from the hall. “Norton, you’re a cagey old bastard, aren’t you?”

  “I might have known you were in on this, Mr. Joel Trilby. What do you have in mind, Jon?”

  “It seems that there may be some political prisoners at the Airport Jail, and three of them are supposed to be white. We think they must be enemies of the old St. Barbe’s Government, and might even have some information about The Organization. We’re not asking you to rescue them. Just get some good binoculars and see if you can spot anything without getting caught. And I’m sure Joshua will be happy to join you.”

  Grinder hesitated for a moment, then said, “Okay, that doesn’t sound too difficult.”

  “Don’t take any chances, you guys. Just find out what you can, and see how many guards there are while you’re at it. If there’s anyone still in the cells, we’ll think about getting them out.”

  “You’ll have a job doing that. I heard on the radio that the place is crawling with police. They’re armed up to the eyeballs. But don’t worry about us. I’m not one for taking risks, as you well know.” Grinder hung up.

  Trilby joined Jon in the kitchen. “You look like hell, my young friend. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “Sounds like a great idea, Joel. But not until I get some home cooking.”

  Sunday, November 18, Heidelberg

  It had been a long day, and Dougal threw his heavy overcoat and Russian bearskin-type hat onto a chair in his living room. He shivered from the lingering outside chill, envious of Marvin Winchester and the others, now basking in the warmth of a Jamaican afternoon. It was pitch black outside, well below freezing and yet damp. He went to the liquor cabinet knowing a stiff malt whisky would soon put him to rights.