‘The pier, sir? I thought you said that after that affair the other day——’
Gunnar stopped him. ‘I’ve had another think about it,’ he said calmly. ‘Did you know, Bob, that the French lost IndoChina because they shut themselves up into their forts like hedgehogs? We’ll not make the same mistake.’
‘You mean you want our boys to mix more with the locals?’ Maddox was feeling past surprise. Inglis’s terrible death, the shooting on the pier, and now this impossible attempt to kill American officers by mining the road, seemed to have steadied the captain rather than the opposite. Deep inside his mind a warning flashed and Maddox added: ‘But if someone is trying to scare us off, sir? Wouldn’t it add to their advantage?’
Gunnar smiled again. ‘You’ve seen the picture, Bob. I’m glad I don’t have to spell it out to everyone. Someone, somewhere, is planning a coup of sorts on this island. I guess our arrival has been interpreted as something rather different than it was intended.’ Then a touch of his old bitterness. ‘If they only knew we were alone and on a limb here, we might see some real action!’
Maddox said hastily: ‘The M.F.V.’s alongside, Captain. Commander Burgess is giving the ship a lookover.’
‘So I see. Any problems?’ Again that clear, penetrating glance which seemed to strip Maddox of his defences. ‘What is the commander like?’
‘Oh you know, sir.’ Maddox spread his hands. ‘A bit of the past. Rather pathetic in a nice way.’ He faltered. ‘He has a daughter, by the way. She crews for him.’
Gunnar stared past him at the open port. Half to himself he said: ‘The second English national. I see now.’
Maddox did not see. ‘She’s a peach of a girl, sir.’ He added awkwardly, ‘Half Chinese, I guess.’ He hurried on as if to cover his feeling of betrayal. ‘Her father is a bit of a guy. Cashiered for knocking off some Africans during independence celebrations!’
Gunnar smiled but his face looked suddenly sad. ‘I’m afraid not, Bob.’
‘I don’t quite follow?’
‘I checked with the British at Hong Kong by radio.’
Maddox was feeling at a loss again. ‘I didn’t see any despatches, sir.’
‘I used Jago’s radio this morning. Commander Burgess commanded a destroyer at one time, and he was discharged following a court-martial.’
‘Well, that bears out what I said.’
‘It was for embezzling navy funds, Bob. He’s a hard drinker. and about as reliable as Pirelli’s marksmanship!’
‘I see, sir.’ Maddox felt a sense of real disappointment. ‘What’ll we do about it?’
‘Nothing.’ Gunnar stood up and brushed the dust from his shirt. ‘We need every ear in Payenhau we can muster.’ He looked Maddox squarely in the eyes. ‘Invite the pair of them aboard for dinner or something.’
Maddox moved his feet uneasily. ‘The girl doesn’t want that sir.’
‘Hmm. I might have guessed you’d already made an approach in that direction.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Right. Then get Burgess to invite us to his place. We’ll take some drinks. Make it a party.’
Maddox looked at the despatch pad. ‘Do you want to send a reply to that one?’
Gunnar seemed to have forgotten about his wife completely. ‘No. Drop it.’
Maddox said suddenly, ‘Do you think it’s safe to go ashore just yet?’
‘We’ll soon know. But we can’t find out anything out here. Anyway, Bob, you’ll be in command if I set off another mine!’
As the exec left the wardroom he heard Gunnar humming to himself as if he had not a care in the world.
* * *
The party, which Burgess seemed only too eager to arrange for the Hibiscus’s officers, was a great success. Leaving a disgruntled Regan to take charge of the ship, they made their way through the narrow streets of the fishing village, between leaning buildings already alight with ornamental lanterns in the cool dusk. The meal was long and filling. Burgess’s servants had prepared a mountain of food spread across countless dishes, each with its tantalising, delicate aroma, but all backed up with a base of fried rice.
Gunnar was used to oriental food, and watched each dish with careful anticipation, unlike Kroner, who before the meal was even half finished was sweating with exertion, his jacket open to the waist as he struggled through one piled bowl after another. The wine which Burgess had insisted on providing was a ready thirst-quencher but too potent for casual drinking, and Malinski was talking with a fervour unknown to the others.
There was a lull at last as the servants began to remove the dishes, and Gunnar found time to study his new companions. Burgess was already full of drink, and appeared unable to deceive or betray anyone. As Maddox had said earlier, he was rather pathetic, yet showed a tremendous desire to hold on to his old world. Gunnar’s eyes returned once more to Burgess’s daughter. Lea Burgess was not a bit what he had expected. From the look on Maddox’s face when they had all trooped into the low room, he had been knocked sideways too. Gone were the patched jeans and sloppy shirt, and she had not even made the pretence of clinging to her father’s obvious beliefs in her choice of clothing.
Her simple, sheath-like dress was of bright kingfisher blue, high-collared, and slit at the thigh in Chinese style, so that her slim, tanned legs seemed to draw every eye as she moved around the room or sat quietly beside her father.
She was attentive and composed, yet gave little sign of warmth or welcome, even when Burgess repeatedly tried to draw her into the conversation. Once, when Kroner had unloaded a canvas grip of bottles brought from the ship, did she show some animation, and Gunnar saw her hand move quickly to her throat, and her eyes turned towards her father with something like fear.
Gunnar said: ‘I noticed that the people here are at a disadvantage with their boats. It must be very difficult to unload fish at night or when the weather’s bad?’
Burgess cleared his throat and moved his mind to the new subject with obvious effort. ‘It is, Captain. In spite of everything else here, the fishing village was built after the town. They got the worst end of the anchorage.’
‘I thought as much.’ Gunnar pretended to take a drink. ‘I think we can spare a couple of our mobile generators.’ He gestured casually towards Malinski. ‘The chief engineer would be happy to help the fishermen rig lighting and even a power winch for their boats, if they’re interested?’ They were all looking at him with mingled surprise and interest. Gunnar wanted to laugh aloud. He felt like a man in a trance, a being controlled by some mad outside force. It was all a game, a weird dance with no apparent ending. He tried to keep count of the drinks, to stay ahead of the others in self-control and calm.
He saw Maddox glance sideways at the girl, watched the eagerness and hope in his eyes. Again he wanted to laugh, as he suddenly thought of Janet. Far off, delectable Janet, who had managed in spite of everything to show that she did not give a damn for him or anything he stood for. The divorce was a master touch. He still wondered if he had expected her to plead for release, to make some gesture of submission if only for her own ends. He had sometimes thought that he might offer to take the full blame, if only to feel a sense of superiority. But she had finished even that little dream. She did not need him, any more than she required his consent. No doubt when she was ready, or tired of her new love, she would take her father’s powerful backing and look around for another.
Dimly he heard Malinski say: ‘I’d like that, sir. It’ll give my boys something to do to break the boredom.’
Gunnar nodded. ‘There’s a lot we might do here.’ He noticed that the girl was watching him closely, her dark eyes hidden in shadow. Somehow he knew she was the one to be careful of. She seemed alone, apart from the others in her own contained world.
Burgess said vaguely, ‘I’ll see what I can fix, old boy!’
Gunnar moved in quickly. ‘There’s a headman, I believe?’
‘That’s right.’ Burgess eyed the nearest bottle, and Kroner bent to refill his glass for him. ‘Tao-
Cho is his name. A funny old chap, as old as the hills!’ His speech was slurred and his massive head was beginning to droop.
Outside the veranda Gunnar could sense the watching villagers, held at bay by the circle of bright lights like animals around a camp-fire. Any one of them could throw a grenade, fire a shot without fear of detection, yet Gunnar knew somehow that it would not happen. He was safe here. He was under observation even as he played through the game of discussion and planning with Burgess.
The doctor said: ‘Perhaps I could fix up some sort of hospital here, Captain? Just to get them started?’ He watched the captain uncertainly, as if waiting for Gunnar to talk him down.
Gunnar ground down the feeling of deceit and disloyalty Connell’s question had aroused. This was the way it had to be played, and now the doctor was unwittingly falling into place. ‘I think that’s an excellent idea, Doc!’ He saw the astonishment and relief on Connell’s dark features. ‘I expect they have a rough time of it here.’
Burgess laughed thickly. ‘Your ship’ll be taking root if you go on like this, Captain!’
He swayed and would have fallen from the chair but the girl seized his arm and whispered fiercely: ‘Father! Please, you promised!’
Gunnar rubbed his chin. Promised what? he wondered. The drink most likely. She must have had a constant battle to keep him off the stuff in quantity.
‘Just say the word, Captain, and I’ll fix it with the old boy himself.’ Burgess pushed the girl away, his eyes fixed on Gunnar’s relaxed face. ‘He owes me a few favours. I’ll arrange a meeting for you!’
Gunnar stood up. ‘Tomorrow then?’ For the first time he looked directly at the girl’s grave features. ‘Perhaps you can remind him?’
She nodded, then looked away.
Gunnar made one more planned move. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll walk back to the ship. No need for the rest of you to leave, but I’ve a few things to do before I hit the sack.’
Connell was the first to jump to his feet. ‘Go alone, Captain? After what happened in the jeep?’
Maddox too was already halfway to the door. ‘It’s not safe, sir. Hell, you took a risk just coming here!’
Gunnar turned and looked again at the slender, black-haired girl. Your move, he thought coldly. ‘What do you think, Miss Burgess?’
She stared from her father to Gunnar and then into the darkness beyond. Gunnar could almost hear her mind working, her clear, desperate thoughts which had tracked every part of their conversation like a recorder, so that she now knew exactly what Gunnar had done. One way or the other she must give an indication of her position.
‘It is quite safe, Captain. Even for you!’ Then she turned and walked out on to the other veranda above the sea.
Gunnar half smiled. The help for the villagers was the bait. She could not fail to see the difference such aid would mean to the impoverished villagers.
Gunnar walked out into the darkness, conscious of the silent, watching figures and the brooding shapes of the buildings around him. To win every sort of battle you must first split the potential enemy into as many parts as possible. Up to now they had had it all their way, had conformed in every detail to their normal pattern.
Tao-Cho might be powerful in his tiny kingdom, but he would make an equally powerful ally. It was only curious that men like Jago had failed to grasp that attack, when it came, started from within.
It was only just starting, he thought, but as yet Burgess’s daughter was the only one who had showed a real sign of understanding.
7
A Name from the Past
MAJOR LLOYD JAGO STOOD STRADDLE-LEGGED on the bluff above the fishing village and stared down at the overlapping rooftops. In the slit-like gullies between the houses he could see an unusual bustle of activity, and even from his lofty vantage point his nostrils recoiled from the powerful stench of fresh fish.
Payenhau’s fishing fleet was in once more. Jago had not got used to the excitement this event aroused. It was a combination of emotions shown so rarely by these stoical people, and he had not seen such jubilation even in San Francisco when the U.S. Navy had pounced on the port for liberty. This small fleet meant many things. It represented food and survival for a certain period ahead, and therefore a continuation of birth and growth. It also meant a reunification of split families and loved ones. Some boats were crewed entirely by the menfolk of one family, and the loss of such craft meant the finish of life itself. The boats were mostly old and much repaired like everything else on the islands. Few were longer than thirty feet, and none looked as if it could survive even a moderate squall.
Sergeant Rickover chewed on a cigar and kicked a small stone over the bluff. ‘They’ll be going wild for a few nights, Major.’
‘You can say that again.’ Jago’s voice was tinged with contempt. Like most professionals whose path to the top has been hard, he was suspicious of anything untidy and undisciplined. ‘There’ll be another fifty kids started tonight!’
The Hibiscus shone in the far distance, the awnings shimmering in haze, the bridge and upperworks glittering with reflected sunlight. Small, white-capped figures moved slowly about her decks, and Jago noted that several working parties were meandering towards the town itself. He bit his lip and tried to dismiss the gnawing dissatisfaction the sight gave him. Hibiscus’s presence had been unwanted in the first place, but her sleek outline in the centre of the anchorage had nevertheless been a small hint of the power he represented. But now, after three weeks, the situation had changed, and he could not decide if it was for the better. He had tried to pump Gunnar, had even hinted at his uncertainty in his regular messages to his far-off superiors. But the usual curt replies from the latter had soon left him in no doubt that they were disinterested in his problems. The cold war was simmering elsewhere, and his own problems were an unwanted burden. Jago was quick to appreciate that any sign of uncertainty on his part might be interpreted as weakness, so he decided to handle the matter alone as was his normal approach.
He should have felt quite satisfied. Or so he kept telling himself. The islands were quiet for the present. Gunnar seemed to be toeing the line, and had certainly made peace with the inhabitants of the fishing community. The ship’s influence had partly affected the town too. The doctor ran a regular sick parade in his makeshift hospital, while some of Hibiscus’s officers and enlisted men added their weight and know-how to repairing and maintaining the waterfront installations. Gunnar was a cool bastard, he thought. He knew a few tricks about how to get in with the Chinese, yet he shared nothing with either Jago or, it seemed, his own officers. He was a sort of influence, a brain which made moves and enforced ideas like an outside force. That part Jago certainly did not like.
Major Yi-Fang, the commandant’s second-in-command, had remarked on the change several times, had even questioned Jago’s power over events. He had pointed out more than once that Gunnar’s assistance to these people might influence their desire for independence against the Nationalist Government rather than make things simpler in the long run.
Jago guessed that Gunnar was more interested in improving the American image than he was about the commandant’s status. It might follow that he was right, of course. If Gunnar was able to smooth the relations of the townsfolk with the U.S. sailors, then the next move might be even easier. The arrival of a bigger, more modern ship to replace the Hibiscus, then a nuclear submarine and all its attendant supplies and facilities, would infiltrate the Chinese reserve with hardly a ripple. Then if anything went wrong it would be too late for protest. The commandant could be replaced, Jago conceded, just as he could. Although he could not admit it, Jago knew he was more concerned with his own appearance and relations with Yi-Fang and the tough fighting garrison he had helped to train and form into a formidable unit. He knew that the Chinese soldiers had long enjoyed their sense of importance and superiority over the islanders. It had been a suitable bribe to make up for their isolation and sense of separation from their own homes i
n Taiwan. They were better fed, even pampered by Chinese standards, and Jago knew that the uneven balance was necessary to preserve their unity and sense of purpose.
As a youth Jago had almost shipped overseas to join the French Foreign Legion. It had been a kind of symbol to him, and now, years later, the Legion’s old magic stayed with him and often affected his judgement. But he also knew that the Legion had failed in North Africa because it had grown careless of its responsibilities. Loyalty was not enough. It was useless to allow the men to soften and take root, to intermarry with the locals of their garrison towns, to see the other side’s point of view. A soldier, or for that matter a marine, had no point of view but his duty. That was clear to Jago, and should have been just as clear to Gunnar.
Still, if Gunnar wanted to play at diplomacy, Jago decided he would give him his head for a while. It seemed to have taken his mind off Lieutenant Inglis’s death and the bungled shooting when a Chinese labourer had been killed. The latter incident had annoyed Jago more than somewhat. The only reason he had been so casual with Gunnar about it was because of his own sense of annoyance. The fact that the garrison sentries had been absent from the pier on that day had done two things. Gunnar’s own guards now controlled that vantage point, and it showed also that the Chinese soldiers still had a lot to learn about continuity of orders. He had banged home this point to Yi-Fang, and had felt a cooling in the man’s attitude towards him. Yi-Fang had explained that an N.C.O. had been to blame, and seemed to think that covered it.
Jago glared at the nodding fishing boats and wondered if Yi-Fang realised the menace they represented. Once at sea they scattered to the winds, and no one could be sure what individual craft got up to. Any single boat could make contact with ships at sea, or, if required, touch land at the Red-held islands to the west.
It had taken Jago weeks to get the commandant to register these craft, to log and number the boats and crews alike. A simple enough precaution, a matter of military clear thinking. But Jago had nearly gone mad with frustration as he had forced the point home. The Chinese way was not for him. The long-drawn-out formalities, the endless tea-drinking, hardly seemed to fit in with the picture of an efficient administration. If only he had more help, he had told himself so often. Rickover was a damn good marine but was strictly a nine-to-five man. Outside his duties he took little interest in Jago’s tiny empire. He could hear him now, tapping his foot and sucking contentedly on his cigar as if he were in Florida, not on the unhappy soil of Payenhau.
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