The Dark Crusader

by Alistair MacLean

  ‘I hope so for the Neckar’s sake. Just too bad if they’re ninety seconds late in igniting the raft.’

  ‘They won’t be. A radio signal is sent from here when the rocket leaves.’ He paused. ‘Well, if it leaves. The Crusader will take exactly three and a half minutes for the flight, so they ignite two minutes after receiving the signal.’

  But I wasn’t listening to him anymore. LeClerc, Hewell and the last of the guards had disappeared behind the blockhouse. I looked away, over the shining sands and the green gleam of the glass-smooth lagoon and stiffened abruptly as I saw a vessel about four miles out heading for a break in the reef. I didn’t stay stiff long, this wasn’t any knight-errant naval vessel coming to the rescue, it was the intrepid navigator, Captain Fleck, coming to collect his wages. Hargreaves had mentioned that he was expected that afternoon. I thought about Captain Fleck, and I thought that if I were in his shoes I’d be steering my schooner in the diametrically opposite direction and putting as many sea-miles as possible between myself and LeClerc. But then Captain Fleck didn’t know what I knew, or I was reasonably certain he didn’t. Captain Fleck, I thought, a shock awaits you.

  I twisted round as the rumble of bogie wheels came to my ears. The two gantry cranes, weirdly unmanned and controlled by radio, were moving slowly away in opposite directions, withdrawing their top clamps and leaving the Crusader supported only by the extensible clamps still gripping its base. Ten seconds to go, perhaps less. No one was talking anymore, finding a suitable conversational topic when you’ve perhaps only eight seconds left to live isn’t a thing that many people have had practice in.

  The big high-speed turbine induction fans near the nose of the Crusader whined abruptly into life, two seconds to go, one, everybody rigid as stone and with eyes half-closed against the shattering shock they would never feel, the base clamps leapt apart, a single thunderclap of sound and a great seething ball of orange flame appeared at the foot of the Crusader, completely enveloping the bogie. Slowly, incredibly slowly, the Crusader lifted off the ground, the ball of orange flame riding up with it, and now the echoes of the thunderclap were replaced by a steady continuous shrieking roar, terrifying in its intensity, battering at our shrinking eardrums like the close-up thunder of giant jet engines, as a fifty-foot long brilliant red tongue of flame pierced the flaming sphere at the base of the rocket and lifted the Dark Crusader on its way. Still it climbed slowly, unbelievably slowly, it seemed that it must topple over at any moment, then at a hundred and fifty feet another violent explosion as the second set of fuel cylinders ignited, the Crusader doubled its rate of climb, a third explosion about six hundred feet and then it began to accelerate at fantastic speed. At about five or six thousand feet it turned over abruptly and headed south-east on a trajectory that seemed almost to parallel the surface of the sea, and within eight seconds was completely lost to sight with nothing to show that it had ever been except the acrid stink of the burnt fuel, the flame-blackened bogie and the thick white trail of exhaust which stretched bar-straight across the hot blue sky.

  By this time my chest was hurting me, so I started breathing again.

  ‘Well, it works!’ Farley smacked a fist into a palm in grinning exultation. He gave a long tremendous sigh of satisfaction, he’d been without oxygen even longer than I had. ‘It works, Bentall, it works!’

  ‘Of course it works. I never expected anything else.’ I rose stiffly to my feet, rubbing the wet palms of my hands against my drills, and crossed over to where Captain Griffiths sat with his officers. ‘Enjoy the show, Captain?’

  He studied me coldly, not bothering to hide the dislike, the contempt in his eyes, and glanced at the left side of my face.

  ‘LeClerc seems to like using his cane, doesn’t he?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s just an addiction he’s got.’

  ‘And so you collaborated with him.’ He looked me up and down with all the enthusiasm of an art collector who’s been promised a Cézanne and finds a comic coloured postcard in front of him. ‘I didn’t think you would, Bentall.’

  ‘Sure, I collaborated with them,’ I agreed. ‘No moral fibre at all. But the court-martial can wait, Captain Griffiths.’ I sat down, pulled off shoe and sock, removed a paper from its plastic cover, smoothed out the creases and handed it to him. ‘What do you make of this? Quickly, please. I found it in LeClerc’s office and I’m certain it’s in some way connected with his plans for shipping the second Crusader to its destination. Nautical stuff isn’t my line.’

  He took the paper reluctantly as I said: ‘The Pelican’s a ship, we know that, because LeClerc himself told us. I suspect the others are, too.’

  ‘Pelican-Takishamaru 20007815,’ Captain Griffiths read. ‘Takishamaru is a Japanese ship name, no doubt about that. Linkiang Hawetta 10346925. Probably all ships’ names. All paired. Now, what would that be for? The numbers, always eight numbers.’ He was getting interested. ‘Times, could they be times? 2000 could be eight p.m., none of the first four numbers go higher than twentyfour. But the second four do. References of some kind. Ships, eh? Now what kind of references – ’ His voice trailed off, I could see his lips moving, then he said slowly: ‘I think I have it. No, I know I have it.’

  ‘2000 is twenty point oh-oh. Latitude twenty degrees south. 7815 stands for 78.15 degrees east. Together they give a position less than fifty miles west of here.’ He studied the paper in silence for almost a minute while I looked over my shoulder to see if there was any sign of LeClerc approaching: there was none, he would be waiting to hear from the Neckar about the success of the firing.

  ‘They’re all lat., and long. positions.’ Griffiths said finally. ‘It’s difficult to be sure without a chart but I could be fairly certain that if those positions were plotted they would represent a north-east curve from here to some position off the Chinese or Formosan coasts. I should imagine those ships – pairs of ships, rather – will be located on those positions. I should also imagine they would have the duty of escorting the vessel carrying the rocket, or keeping a lookout or seeing that the road is clear. LeClerc would have taken precautions, I imagine, against premature discovery of the fact that the rocket had been stolen.’

  ‘They would be armed, those ships, you think?’ I said slowly.

  ‘Highly unlikely.’ He was an intelligent incisive old bird with a mind that matched his sharp speech. It would have to be concealed arms, and no amount of concealed arms would be a match for any searching warship which would be the only thing they would have to fear.’

  ‘They might be radar-equipped vessels, searching the sea and air for fifty, a hundred miles round?’

  ‘They might. They probably would be.’

  ‘But wouldn’t this ship carrying the rocket be equipped with its own radar?’

  Captain Griffiths handed me back the paper.

  ‘It won’t be,’ he said positively. ‘LeClerc is the kind of man who will always succeed because he takes precautions elaborate to the point almost of the ridiculous. Almost, I say. This paper is of no use to you, even if you could act on the information enclosed. Those vessels are almost certainly screen vessels which will travel some miles in advance and in the rear of the vessel carrying the rocket. At various points they will turn this vessel over to another pair, if air searchers saw the same two ships going in the same direction the same distance apart for days on end they’d start getting suspicious.’

  ‘But – wait a moment, Captain, my mind – it’s just about stopped.’ I wasn’t joking at that, the heat of the sun and the fact that my wounds hadn’t been treated since I’d been knocked about in the blockhouse made my head reel dizzily. ‘Yes. But what happens if some warship or aircraft does come on the scene. You can detect them with radar but you can’t shoot them down with radar. What does the vessel with the Dark Crusader do then?’

  ‘It submerges.’ Griffiths said simply. ‘It will be a submarine, it’s bound to be a submarine. Enlarge the loading hatch and practically any submarine in service could carry
the Crusader in its for’ard torpedo room. The screen vessels will enable it to travel on the surface at top speed. If anything happens it just submerges and proceeds at much lower speeds. But it’ll get there. A hundred naval ships equipped with Asdic could search for a year and never locate just one solitary sub loose in the Pacific. I think you can take it for granted, Bentall, that if that rocket leaves the island we will never see it again.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Captain Griffiths.’ No question, he had the final truth of it. I pushed myself wearily to my feet, like an old, old man making his final attempt to leave his death-bed, tore the paper into pieces and let them fall on the thin sun-brown grass. I looked in the direction of the blockhouse and could see several figures just appearing from the back. Out at sea Fleck was coming in through the gap in the reef.

  ‘One more request, Captain Griffiths. When LeClerc returns ask him if you and your men can remain out in the open for the remainder of the day, in the fresh air instead of baking in those corrugated iron huts. It’s likely they’ll soon start encasing the other rocket’ – I pointed to the two twenty-foot steel boxes with the built-in cradles in the hangar – ’ ready for shipment, and point out the fact that it would then need only one guard to look after you instead of the four or five required to watch the doors and windows if you’re locked up in the huts, so releasing more of his men for the work. Give him your word there will be no trouble. If the test went well, he’ll be in a good mood and likely to grant your request.’

  ‘Why do you want this, Bentall?’ The dislike was back in his voice.

  ‘I don’t want LeClerc to see me talking to you. If you want to live, do as I say.’ I wandered aimlessly off to inspect the extent of the damage caused by the rocket leaving the launching pad. Two minutes later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw LeClerc and Griffiths speaking to one another, and then LeClerc and Hewell came towards me. LeClerc was looking almost jovial, the way a man is apt to look when he sees his greatest dream coming true.

  ‘So you didn’t jinx it after all, did you, Bentall?’ He obviously didn’t want to embarrass me by showing too much gratitude for the job I’d done.

  ‘No, I didn’t jinx it.’ But I’ll jinx the other one, Mr LeClerc, oh, brother how I’ll jinx the other one. ‘Successful?’

  ‘Completely. Absolutely on target – after a thousand miles. Right, Bentall, finish off the other one.’

  ‘I want to see Miss Hopeman first.’

  He stopped being jovial.

  ‘I said finish it off. I mean finish it off.’

  ‘I want to see Miss Hopeman first. Five minutes. No more, I promise you. Either that or wire up your own damn rocket. See how long it takes you.’

  ‘Why do you want to see her?’

  ‘Mind your own damned business.’

  He looked at Hewell, who gave an all but imperceptible nod.

  ‘Very well. But five minutes. Five minutes only. You understand?’ He handed a guard the key and gestured us on our way.

  The guard unlocked the door of the armoury and let me in. I closed the door behind me, not worrying whether I was hurting his feelings.

  The room was in near darkness, with its shutters drawn. Marie was lying in a cot in the corner, the same cot as I had slept in that morning. I crossed over and sank on my knees by the side of the cot.

  ‘Marie.’ I said softly. I shook her shoulder with a gentle hand. ‘Marie. It’s me. Johnny.’

  She must have been in a deep sleep and she took some time to come out of it. Finally she stirred and twisted round under the blanket. All I could see was the pale blur of the face, the sheen of the eyes.

  ‘Who – who is it?’

  ‘It’s me, Marie – it’s Johnny.’

  She didn’t answer so I repeated my words, my face and mouth and jaws were so stiff and sore that perhaps she couldn’t catch my thick mumble.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she murmured. ‘I’m so very tired. Please leave me.’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Marie. Honest to God, I could shoot myself. I thought they were bluffing.’ Again no answer, so I went on: ‘What did they do to you, Marie? For God’s sake tell me what they did to you!’

  She murmured something, I couldn’t catch it, then said in a low voice: ‘I’m all right. Please go away.’

  ‘Marie! Look at me!’

  She gave no sign that she had heard.

  ‘Marie! Look at me. Johnny Bentall on his knees.’ I tried to laugh, but it was only a froglike croak, a frog with bronchitis at that. ‘I love you, Marie. That’s why I fused up their damned rocket, that’s why I’d fuse up a hundred rockets, that’s why I’d do anything in the world, anything that’s right, anything that’s wrong, just so no harm would ever come to you again. I love you, Marie. I’ve been so long in seeing it but you should know by now what to expect from a fool like me. I love you and if we ever come home again I want to marry you. Would you marry me, Marie? When we get home?’

  There was a long silence, then she said softly: ‘Marry you? After you let them – please leave me, Johnny. Please leave me now. I’ll marry someone who loves me, not someone – ‘She broke off and then finished huskily ‘please. Now.’

  I rose heavily to my feet and went to the door. I opened it and let the light flood into the room. A shaft of light from the westering sun illuminated the bed, the fair shining hair spread on the rolledup coat that served as a pillow, the great hazel eyes in the pale and exhausted face. I looked at her for a long, long moment, until I couldn’t bear to look any longer, I’d never shed more tears for the martyrs who went to the stake, it was all too easy. I looked at the only person I’d ever loved and as I turned away, Bentall the tough guy to the end, not wanting even his Marie to see the tears in his eyes, I heard her shocked whisper: ‘Dear God, oh, dear God! Your face!’

  ‘It’ll do.’ I said. ‘It won’t have to last me a great deal longer. I’m sorry, Marie. I’m sorry.’

  I closed the door behind me. The guard took me straight to the hangar and luck was with me and LeClerc, for I did not meet him on the way. Hewell was waiting for me, with Hargreaves and Williams, both with their notebooks at the ready. I got on to the lift without being told, the other two followed and we started work.

  First I opened the junction box on the inside of the outer casing and adjusted the timing devices on the rotary clock, then, checking that the hand-operated switch on the destruct box was locked at ‘Safe’, I took a quick look at the second break in the suicide circuit, the solenoid switch directly above the timing device. The solenoid, normally activated when its enveloping coil was energized, was held back by a fairly stout spring which required, as a quick tug informed me, about a pound and a half of pressure to close. I left the box open, the lid hanging downwards and secured by a couple of butterfly nuts, then again turned my attention to the destruct box: when pretending to check the action of the switch I did the same as I had done on the first Crusader, forced a small piece of wire between switch and cover. Then I called down to Hewell.

  ‘Have you the key for the destruct box? Switch stuck.’

  I needn’t have bothered with the wire. He said: ‘Yeah, I have it. Boss said we might expect trouble with this one, too. Here, catch.’

  I opened the cover, unscrewed the switch, pretended to adjust it, replaced it and screwed home the rocker arm. But before I replaced it I’d turned it through 180°, so that the brass lugs were in a reversed position. The switch was so small, my hands so completely covered it, that neither Hargreaves nor Williams saw what I was doing,’ nor had they any reason to expect anything amiss, this was exactly, they thought, the same as they had seen me doing in the destruct box in the other rocket. I replaced the cover, shoved the lever to the safe position: and now the destruct box was armed and it only awaited the closing of the solenoid switch to complete the suicide circuit. Normally, the switch would be closed by radio signal, by pressing the EGADS button in the launch console. But it could also be done by hand…

  I said to Hewell: ‘R
ight, here’s the key.’

  ‘Not quite so fast,’ he growled. He signalled for the lift to be brought down for him, rode up to the open door and took the key from me. Then he tried the destruct box switch, checked that it was impossible to move it more than halfway towards ‘Armed’, let it spring back to the ‘Safe’ position, nodded, pocketed the key and said: ‘How much longer?’

  ‘Couple of minutes. Final clock settings and buttoning up.’

  The lift whined downwards again, Hewell stepped off, and on the way up I murmured to Hargreaves and Williams: ‘Stop writing, both of you.’ The hum of the electric motor covered my words and it wasn’t any trick to speak without moving my lips, the left-hand side of my mouth was now so puffed and swollen that movement was almost impossible anyway.

  I leaned inside the door, the cord I’d torn from the blind concealed in my hand. To fasten one end of the cord to the solenoid should have taken maybe ten seconds but my hand was shaking so badly, my vision and co-ordination so poor that it took me almost two minutes. Then I straightened and started to close the door with my left hand while the cord ran out through the fingers of my right. When only a four-inch crack remained between the door and the outer casing of the rocket, I peered inside and the watching Hewell must have had the impression that I had one hand on either side of the door handle, trying to ease its stiffness. It took only three seconds for my right hand to drop a round turn and two half hitches round the inner handle, then the door was shut, the key turned and the job finished.

  The first man to open that door more than four inches, with a pressure of more than a pound and a half, would trigger off the suicide charge and blow the rocket to pieces. If the solid fuel went up in sympathetic detonation, as Dr Fairfield had suspected it would, he would also blow himself to pieces and everything within half a mile. In either case I hoped the man who would open it would be LeClerc himself.