by Jack Higgins
A stream of bullets splintered the edges of the doorway and he jumped back out of harm's way. Orlov turned and vaulted over the rail onto the deck of the Grace Abounding. He dropped to his stomach, waited till the two vessels bounced a few feet apart in the heavy swell and emptied his machine-pistol through one of the saloon portholes. There was a sharp cry and the firing stopped abruptly.
He jumped for the deck of the Cuban ship and rejoined Manning. 'Somehow I get the impression that's it.'
'Which means we're too late,' Manning said. 'They're already on their way.' He handed the submachine gun to the Russian. 'Cover me. I'm going down.'
Charlie sprawled across the last half-dozen steps, his fingers hooked into talons. There was blood everywhere and Manning stepped across him into the saloon.
Viner lay on his face, his jacket charred and still smouldering, blood soaking steadily through. He had obviously received Orlov's final burst full in the back.
When Manning turned him over, the eyes were wide open and staring as if the German found difficulty in focusing properly. He moistened his lips and said faintly. 'I told her she should have killed you before we left.' He shook his head, an expression of wonderment on his face. 'I can't believe it. Survival's become something of a habit with me since the war.'
'Until Maria took a hand in the game,' Manning said deliberately.
'The point hasn't escaped me.' The German closed his eyes in pain for a moment and then opened them again. 'She's gone under the reef with Hans and three Cubans. There's a red buoy fixed in the channel on the other side where the yacht will anchor this afternoon. They're going to fix a charge to it.'
'To the buoy? But how will they detonate it? She said they wouldn't even be here when it happened.'
'Radio beam from the boat's transmitter. Detonate it electronically from fifty or sixty miles away.' Viner shook his head, an expression of puzzlement on his face. 'What a way to go after all these years. Is there an answer, Harry?'
'Have a cigarette,' Manning said. He lit one quickly but as he took it from his mouth, the German's eyes closed and all that was left of life escaped from his body in a gentle sigh.
When Manning turned, Orlov and Morrison were standing in the entrance. 'Did you get all that?'
Morrison nodded. 'One thing puzzles me. He said they'd gone under the reef. What did he mean?'
They turned and went up on deck. 'I know this place well,' Manning said. 'They call the reef "The Cathedral." It stretches for several miles to the south. A great passage cuts through for about three hundred yards, arched like a nave. On the other side in the channel, the reef slopes for a while and then goes down deeper than I've ever been.'
They jumped for the deck of the Grace Abounding and started to strip.
'How long do you figure it'll take us to get round to the other side in the boat?' Morrison demanded.
'At least a half hour, it's tricky navigating,' Manning said. 'We'll be quicker if we go after them through the reef. Seth can take the boat round the long way and pick us up at the buoy.'
Seth brought the aqualungs up on deck quickly and they struggled into them. One of Manning's straps twisted at the back. He tried to reach it and failed and Anna came across.
As he tightened his chest strap, she did the same for him at the sides. She picked up his diving mask and handed it to him. Her face was quite calm, the eyes steady. For a moment only, her fingers touched his and stayed there, and then she turned and joined her father who had come up on deck and now stood beside the wheelhouse with Seth.
Manning and Morrison had a spear gun each and Orlov had lashed one of the spare harpoons to the end of a six-foot boat hook, making it into a crude spear.
When they were ready, Manning nodded to Seth. 'Allowing for the mist, you should reach the buoy in about a half hour. We'll see you there.'
There was somehow a comfort in making such a definite statement and he went over the rail quickly and sank down into the cold waters.
In the dawn light, the sea was a place for grey-green shadows and he waited for the others and then swam forward into a milky phosphorescent mist. The current sucked them in towards the reef and he dived with a quick flick of his fins, sliding smoothly down towards the great arched opening they called The Nave.
It stretched into infinity, light slanting through the coral, shading already into different colours, adding to the illusion that they were swimming through some great submerged cathedral.
There was as yet no sign of their quarry, but already the water was beginning to change colour and a few minutes later, he was aware of the turbulence of conflicting currents and they passed out into the channel.
When he surfaced, he saw the buoy at once, a red blob in the sea some three hundred yards away. He took a quick fix with compass and submerged again. Morrison and the Russian were waiting for him and he waved them on and took the lead.
The sea change was startling. Already, the greyness was fading and the range of visibility through the clear green water was excellent. The reef slanted away beneath them to the left and he moved on through that strange, silent world, fish scattering to avoid him.
He saw them as if through the wrong end of a telescope, and yet quite clearly. The chain of the buoy dropping down to the sloping surface of the reef, the five figures grouped around it just below the surface.
He moved on at the same steady pace, his spear gun ready, Orlov and Morrison on either side. A moment later, they were seen. Immediately, three of the figures detached themselves from the group and swam towards them.
Manning had eyes only for the one in the middle. He resisted the temptation to fire too early and waited for him. The man paused, treading water, perhaps unnerved by the relentless approach. He discharged his spear gun in a cloud of silver bubbles and Manning jackknifed to avoid it and fired his own as he passed underneath.
The harpoon penetrated the man's belly and his body bucked in an agony so violent, the gun was pulled from Manning's grasp. He was aware of Morrison struggling hand-to-hand with the man on his left, of Orlov thrusting at his adversary with his crude spear. He hesitated and then drove on towards the buoy.
Maria and Hans were clamping a bulky package into place. Her long hair floated around her in a dark cloud and undulated like a living thing when she glanced over her shoulder and saw him coming.
Hans drew a knife from the sheath at his belt and came driving on. Manning had his ready in his left hand. For a moment, it seemed they must collide and then he turned to one side, narrowly avoiding the clumsy thrust the German made at him.
He broke through to the surface and jack-knifed immediately. The German floated six feet below him, his head turning frantically from side-to-side. Manning came down on top of him. His right arm encircled the neck and he pushed the knife in under the ribs, penetrating the heart immediately.
The German bucked, his arms thrashing the water, giving the whole terrible scene an air of night-marish horror. When Manning released him, the body dipped down towards the reef, twisting over onto its back.
He started to turn, was aware of a sudden vibration in the water and was spun round by a blow in his right shoulder. As his right hand reached for the harpoon, pulling it out, the pain surged through him and he caught his breath sharply, swallowing the agony.
Maria poised a few feet away, the gun in one hand, the harpoon dangling on its line. He knew then that she had recognized him and kicked sharply with his flippers and moved towards her.
She released the gun, turned and swam rapidly away from him. It was then he realized that he still gripped his knife firmly in his left hand. He dropped it and went after her.
Time, the world, everything that had happened had ceased to exist for him. He was hardly even aware of the pain that blossomed in his body or of the blood that drifted around him in a brown cloud.
She was twenty or thirty yards ahead when she went over the edge of the reef. He followed her without hesitation, descending vertically down the face of the gr
eat cliff, his eyes never leaving the slim figure in the white suit with the long black hair floating behind.
Once, he glanced at his pressure gauge and saw they were already one hundred and fifty feet deep. It was at this point that the delirium took possession of him, aggravated by his weakened state and the tremendous physical punishment his body had taken during the past few days.
All colours had faded as they descended into a great blue vault. He was too deep, he knew that and yet some terrible compulsion drew him on. It was as if she were determined to take him with her and he was powerless to resist.
He checked his pressure gauge again at two hundred feet and stretched out a hand as if to call to her, but he was wasting his time. The darkness moved in on him as the slim white figure disappeared down into the indigo dusk.
21
All Passion Spent
It was quiet when he awoke and he found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. He was lying in a narrow hospital bed and the walls of the small room and its furniture were painted white.
He tried to sit up and was immediately conscious of the dull ache in his left shoulder. The walls seemed to undulate and something whispered through the silence of eternity. He took a deep breath and tried to push himself up even farther. The door opened and a nurse entered.
She was a stout motherly person with a pleasant face and large capable hands. She moved forward quickly and eased him back on the pillow.
'You mustn't do that. You mustn't even move.'
A stranger answered her, someone who had no connection with himself at all. 'Where am I?'
'You're in hospital in Nassau. You've been here for three days. Just rest quietly. I'll get the doctor.'
She went out of the room and he lay there trying to put the pieces together in the right order, but it was impossible. His whole body ached and there was a strange persistent buzzing in his ears that refused to go away.
A few minutes later, the door opened again and someone approached the bed. He opened his eyes and saw a brown, kindly face topped by iron-grey hair.
'My name's Flynn. I've been looking after you. How do you feel?'
'Bloody awful.'
He produced an ophthalmoscope and examined Manning's eyes carefully. After a while he grunted and put it back in his pocket. 'I don't think there's likely to be any permanent damage.'
'What's been the trouble?'
'Nitrogen poisoning. The bends. When they brought you in here three days ago I wouldn't have given much for your chances. You'd lost a hell of a lot of blood. On top of that, you'd gone down too deep.'
And then things clicked into place and for a moment, Manning was back there reaching out vainly towards the slim figure as it moved deeper into the dusky water.
'Can't you remember?'
'Only vaguely. At the time, it seemed to be happening to someone else.'
Flynn nodded. 'Nitrogen narcosis, the so-called drunkenness of the deep. The effect varies with the individual. In your weakened state, you didn't stand much chance of fighting it off. Good thing you had your friend Smith along.'
'Smith?' Manning said blankly.
'The man who brought you up. We had to put him in the pressure tank as well when they got you here, but not for as long. It took ten hours' hard work to clear your system.'
Orlov. It was the only possible explanation. Probably Morrison had decided it would be politic for the Russian to keep quiet about his real identity for the time being.
'When do I get out of here?'
'Good heavens man, not for a fortnight at the very least.' Flynn chuckled. 'Don't look so put out. I'll give your friend Morrison a ring as soon as I've finished my rounds. He's been haunting the place for the past few days.
After he'd gone, Manning lay staring up at the ceiling thinking about Maria Salas. She had chosen the manner of her going, turning from life quite deliberately because her own dark purpose had failed. In the quiet, he seemed to hear her voice, high-pitched and full of bravura, echoing a final flamenco as she vanished into the mist. But for the moment, he was conscious of nothing. Only of an emptiness, a coldness that moved inside him and couldn't be explained.
The door opened and Papa Melos came in. He was wearing pajamas and a blue dressing gown and his right arm was in a sling. He sat on the edge of the bed and grinned with pleasure.
'I couldn't wait, boy. When the doctor told me you'd finally come round, I waited my chance and skipped out when the nurse wasn't looking. Anna said she'd let Seth know when she gets back to the boat. He'll probably be up later.'
'Anna?' Manning said. 'She's been here this morning?'
The old man looked immediately uncomfortable. 'She's been here every day, Harry. She was visiting me when the doctor came in and told us you'd come round.' He seemed to search for the right words. 'Look, it ain't none of my business, but maybe you two had a row or something. Anna's got a lot of pride. She wouldn't go where she thought she wasn't wanted.'
There was a short, awkward silence and Manning deliberately changed the subject. 'How's your arm?'
'Fine, Harry, just fine.' The old man grinned. 'In fact everything is. They're going to give me a new boat. The best money can buy. Mr Morrison said the Secretary of State insisted.'
Manning reached out and clasped his hand. 'I'm glad about that, Papa. Truly glad.'
The door swung open and the large, middle-aged nurse swept in. Papa Melos gave her one guilty look and got to his feet.
'I should think so,' she said.
He grinned at Manning. 'Reminds me of my mother. If she'd lived. God rest her, they'd have been around the same age.'
He ducked under her arm into the corridor and she followed him, closing the door behind her.
She came back later and brought Manning something to eat. As she arranged the tray across his knees, he noticed some flowers in a vase at the window and asked who had brought them.
She smiled. 'They were left by Miss Melos. She's brought fresh ones each day.'
After she'd taken the tray away, he lay staring out at the morning sunshine, thinking about Anna. His senses seemed sharper, more acute than he had ever known them. He could smell the perfume of the flowers and was filled with an aching longing for her.
The door clicked quietly open and he turned eagerly. Sergei Orlov was standing there. He wore a well-cut, darkbrown suit in tropical worsted, and sunglasses.
'Mr Smith, I presume?' Manning said.
The Russian grinned, took off his glasses and sat on the edge of the bed. 'Morrison will be up in a few minutes. He's talking to the doctor. How do you feel?'
'As if I shouldn't be here,' Manning said. 'They tell me you went down after me. Just for the record, what happened?'
'I finished off my man and followed you. I didn't like the way you were bleeding.'
'All the way down?'
The Russian nodded. 'I've been that deep before and it hasn't affected me particularly. In this case, we had to come up too quickly. That's what caused the trouble.'
'And Maria?'
'She took her own way out. She was still going down when I reached you.'
Manning pushed the thought away from him and asked for a cigarette. The Russian gave him one and they sat there smoking in silence.
'What happens now?' Manning said after a while.
'To me?' Orlov smiled. 'A most interesting situation. Officially, I'm quite dead. This opens up a fascinating range of possibilities.'
'Such as staying on this side of the fence?'
The Russian grinned. 'Why beat about the bush? To tell you the truth, I'm flying to Washington with Morrison in the morning. We've really only been hanging on to see if you'd pull through. He seems to think they might find something for me to do.'
'I'm sure they will,' Manning said dryly.
The door opened and Morrison entered. He sat on the other side of the bed and smiled. 'What in hell were you trying to do? Frighten us?'
They shook hands and Manning said, 'Papa Melos was here a little
while ago. He told me about the boat. I'd like to thank you.'
'He deserved it.'
'I hear you're having company on the trip back.'
'You mean Smith here?' Morrison grinned. 'He finally came to his senses.' He hesitated for a moment and carried on. 'In a way, I'm here in sort of official capacity to thank you.'
'No need,' Manning said. 'I went into this thing in the first place for personal reasons. You know that.'
'Naturally, the whole business stays a secret. I must say the authorities here have handled things superbly in that way. Under the circumstances, my government expresses a very real regret that you can't be thanked publicly for what you've done. However, there are other ways. I've been asked to tell you that we intend to compensate you fully for the loss of your salvage business in Havana.'
Manning could think of nothing to say and Morrison nodded to Orlov and stood up. 'You look pretty tired, Harry. Try to get some more sleep. We'll see you again before we leave.'
After they had gone, he lay staring out of the window. So now he could start afresh. Now he could have not only the boat, but enough money to go into the salvage business again. The thought cheered him immensely and he threw back the bedclothes and swung his feet to the floor. When he walked across to the wardrobe, he felt as if he were floating.
His best tan gabardine suit was on a hanger and there was clean linen and a pair of shoes, obviously brought in by Anna or Seth against the day he would be leaving.
The pajama jacket he was wearing was light blue and he left it on in place of a shirt. It took him quite some time to get into the suit because of his injured shoulder and he simply buttoned the jacket in the middle, allowing the empty sleeve to dangle freely.
The corridor was deserted and he went down the stairs at the far end. On the ground floor, there seemed to be a great many people moving about, some in uniform, but many of them patients. He moved into a pleasant tiled foyer. Facing him was a wide glass door.
A uniformed porter was standing in the porch and he looked at Manning curiously. 'Can I get you a cab, sir?'