Fear is the Key

by Alistair MacLean

  ‘Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.’ My voice, for all its rasping hoarseness, had just the right shade of indifference. ‘I’ve said I’d rather stay down here, I mean I’d rather stay down here. It all depends. Come here, Vyland.’

  He rose trembling to his feet and crossed to where I was standing. His legs, his whole body were shaking so violently that he could barely support himself. I caught him by the lapels with my good hand and pulled him close.

  ‘There’s maybe five minutes’ air left; Vyland. Perhaps less. Just tell me, and tell me quickly, the part you played in this business up until the time you met the general. Hurry it up!’

  ‘Get us out of here,’ he moaned. ‘There’s no air, no air! My lungs are going, I can’t – I can’t breathe.’ He was hardly exaggerating at that, the foul air was rasping in and out his throat with the frequency of a normal heartbeat. ‘I can’t talk. ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Talk, damn you, talk!’ Royale had him round the throat from behind, was shaking him to and fro till Vyland’s head bounced backwards and forwards like that of a broken doll. ‘Talk! Do you want to die, Vyland? Do you think I want to die because of you? Talk!’

  Vyland talked. In less than three gasping, coughing, choking minutes he’d told me all I ever wanted to know – how he had struck a deal with a Cuban service minister and had a plane standing by for weeks, how he had suborned the officer in charge of a radar tracking station in Western Cuba, how he suborned a very senior civil servant in Colombia, how the plane had been tracked, intercepted and shot down and how he had had Royale dispose of those who had served his purposes. He started to talk of the general, but I held up my hand.

  ‘OK, that’ll do, Vyland. Get back to your seat.’ I reached for the carbon dioxide switch and turned it up to maximum.

  ‘What’s that you’re doing?’ Vyland whispered.

  ‘Bringing a little fresh air into the place. Getting rather stuffy down here, don’t you think?’

  They stared at each other, then at me, but remained silent. Fury I would have expected, chagrin and violence, but there was nothing of any of those. Fear was still the single predominating emotion in their minds: and they knew that they were still completely at my mercy.

  ‘Who – who are you, Talbot?’ Vyland croaked.

  ‘I suppose you might call me a cop.’ I sat down on a canvas chair, I didn’t want to start the delicate job of taking the bathyscaphe up till the air – and my mind – was completely clear. ‘I used to be a bona fide salvage man, working with my brother. The man – or what’s left of the man – out there in the captain’s seat, Vyland. We were a good team, we struck gold off the Tunisian coast and used the capital to start our own airline – we were both wartime bomber pilots, we both had civilian licences. We were doing very well, Vyland – until we met you.

  ‘After you’d done this’ – I jerked a thumb in the direction of the broken, weed-and barnacle-encrusted plane – ‘I went back to London. I was arrested, they thought I’d something to do with this. It didn’t take long to clear that up and have Lloyd’s of London – who’d lost the whole insurance packet – take me over as a special investigator. They were willing to spend an unlimited sum to get even a percentage of their money back. And because state money was involved both the British and American governments were behind me. Solidly behind me. Nobody ever had a better backing, the Americans even went to the length of assigning a top-flight cop whole-time to the job. The cop was Jablonsky,’

  That jolted them, badly. They had lost sufficient of their immediate terror of death, they had come far enough back into the world of reality to appreciate what I was saying, and what that meant. They stared at each other, then at me; I couldn’t have asked for a more attentive audience.

  ‘That was a mistake, wasn’t it, gentlemen?’ I went on. ‘Shooting Jablonsky. That’s enough to send you both to the chair; judges don’t like people who murder cops. It may not be complete justice, but it’s true. Murder an ordinary citizen and you may get off with it: murder a cop, and you never do. Not that that matters. We know enough to send you to the chair six times over.’

  I told them how Jablonsky and I had spent well over a year, mostly in Cuba, looking for traces of the bullion, how we had come to the conclusion that it still hadn’t been recovered – not one of the cut emeralds had appeared anywhere in the world’s markets. Interpol would have known in days.

  ‘And we were pretty certain,’ I continued, ‘why the money hadn’t been recovered. Why? Only one reason – it had been lost in the sea and someone had been a mite hasty in killing off the only person who knew exactly where it was – the pilot of the fighter plane.

  ‘Our inquiries had narrowed down to the west coast of Florida. Somebody was looking for money sunk in the water. For that they needed a ship. The general’s Temptress did just fine. But for that you also needed an extremely sensitive depth recorder, and there is where you made your one and fatal mistake, Vyland. We had requested every major marine equipment supplier in Europe and North America to notify us immediately they sold any special depth-finding equipment to any vessels other than naval, mercantile or fishing. You are following me, I trust?’

  They were following me all right. They were three parts back to normal now and there was murder in their eyes.

  ‘In the four-month period concerned no fewer than six of those ultra-sensitive recorders had been sold privately. All to owners of very large yachts. Two of those yachts were on a round-the-world cruise. One was in Rio, one was in Long Island Sound, one on the Pacific coast – and the sixth was plodding up and down the west of Florida. General Blair Ruthven’s Temptress.

  ‘It was brilliant. I admit it. What better cover could you ever have had for quartering every square yard of sea off the Florida Coast without arousing suspicion? While the general’s geologists were busy setting off their little bombs and making seismological maps of the under-sea rock strata, you were busy mapping every tiniest contour of the ocean floor with the depth recorder. It took you almost six weeks, because you started operating too far to the north – we were watching your every move even then and had fitted out a special boat for night prowling – that was the boat I came out on early this morning. Well, you found the plane. You even spent three nights dragging for it with grapples but all you could drag up was a small section of the left wing-tip.’ I gestured through the window. ‘You can see how comparatively recent that break is.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Vyland whispered.

  ‘Because I had secured a job as a replacement engineer aboard the Temptress.’ I ignored the startled oath, the involuntary clenching of Vyland’s hands. ‘You and the general thought you had seen me aboard that Havana salvage vessel, but you hadn’t, though I had been with the firm. I was five weeks on the Temptress and it wasn’t till I left that I dyed my hair this hellish colour, had a plastic surgeon fix up this scar and affected a limp. Even so, you weren’t very observant, were you, Vyland? You should have cottoned on.

  ‘So there you were. You knew where the treasure was, but you couldn’t get your hands on it – anyone who started using diving bells and all the complicated recovery gear necessary for a job like this would have been putting a noose round his own neck. But then someone had another brilliant idea – this one, I’d wager anything, came from the mind of our deceased engineer friend, Bryson. He’d read all about those bathyscaphe trials that were being carried out in the West Indies and came up with the idea of using it in conjunction with this rig.’

  The air was almost back to normal inside the observation chamber and though the atmosphere was still stuffy and far too warm for comfort there was plenty of oxygen in the air and breathing was no longer any problem. Royale and Vyland were getting their meanness and courage back with the passing of every moment.

  ‘So, you see, everyone was having brilliant ideas,’ I continued. ‘But the real beauty, the one that’s brought you two to the end of the road, was Jablonsky’s. It was Jablonsky who thought that it would be
real kind and helpful of us if we could provide a bathyscaphe for you to do the job.’

  Vyland swore, softly and vilely, looked slowly at Royale then back to me. ‘You mean –?’ he began.

  ‘It was all laid on,’ I said tiredly. I was taking no pleasure in any of this. ‘The French and British Navies were carrying out tests with it in the Gulf of Lions, but they readily agreed to continue those tests out here. We made sure that it got terrific publicity, we made sure that its advantages were pointed out time and time again, that not even the biggest moron could fail to understand how good it was for stealthy underwater salvage and recovery of buried treasure. We knew it would be a matter of time before the Temptress turned up, and she did. So we left it in a nice lonely place. But before we left it I jinxed it so thoroughly that no one apart from the electrician who’d wired it in the first place and myself could ever have got it going again. You had to have someone to unjinx it, didn’t you, Vyland? Wasn’t it a fortunate coincidence that I happened to turn up at the right time? Incidentally, I wonder what our friends the field foreman and petroleum engineer are going to say when they find that they’ve spent the better part of three months drilling a couple of miles away from where the geologists told them to: I suppose it was you and Bryson who altered the reference navigation marks on the charts to bring you within shouting distance of the treasure and miles away from where the oil strata lie. At the present rate they’ll end up with the pipe in the Indian Ocean and still no oil.’

  ‘You’re not going to get off with this,’ Vyland said savagely. ‘By God, you’re not –’

  ‘Shut up!’ I interrupted contemptuously. ‘Shut up or I’ll turn a knob here, pull a switch there and have the two of you grovelling on your hands and knees and begging for your lives as you were doing not five minutes ago.’

  They could have killed me there and then, they could have watched me die in screaming agony and the tears of joy would have rolled down their cheeks. Nobody had ever talked like this to them before, and they had just no idea what to say, what to do about it: for their lives were still in my hands. Then, after a long moment, Vyland leaned back in his stool and smiled. His mind was working again.

  ‘I suppose, Talbot, that you were entertaining some idea of turning us over to the authorities. Is that it?’ He waited for a reply, but when none came he went on: ‘If you were, I’d change my mind about it. For such a clever cop, Talbot, you’ve been very blind in one spot. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of two innocent people, would you now, Talbot?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked slowly.

  ‘I’m talking about the general.’ Vyland flicked a glance at Royale, a glance for the first time empty of fear, a look of triumph. ‘General Blair Ruthven. The general, his wife, and his younger daughter. Do you know what I’m talking about, Talbot?’

  ‘What’s the general’s wife got to do –?’

  ‘My God! And for a moment I thought you had us!’ The relief in Vyland’s face was almost tangible quality. ‘You fool, Talbot. You blind fool! The general – did it never occur to you to think how we got him to come in with us? Did it never occur to you to wonder why a man like that would let us use his yacht, his rig and anything else we wanted to? Didn’t it, Talbot? Didn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I thought –’

  ‘You thought!’ he sneered. ‘You poor fool, old Ruthven had to help us whether he wanted to or not. He helped us because he knew the lives of his wife and young daughter depended on us.’

  ‘His wife and young daughter? But – but they’ve had a legal separation, haven’t they – the general and his wife, I mean. I read all about it –’

  ‘Sure. Sure you read all about it.’ Vyland, his terror forgotten, was almost jovial now. ‘So did a hundred million others. The general made good and sure that the story got around. It would have been just too bad if the story hadn’t got around. They’re hostages, Talbot. We’ve got them in a place of safety where they’ll stay till we’re finished here. Or else.’

  ‘You – you kidnapped them?’

  ‘At last the penny drops,’ Vyland sneered. ‘Sure we kidnapped them.’

  ‘You and Royale?’

  ‘Me and Royale.’

  ‘You admit it? A federal and capital offence – kidnapping – you freely and openly admit it. Is that it?’

  ‘That’s it. Why shouldn’t we admit it?’ Vyland blustered. But he had become suddenly uneasy. ‘So you’d better forget about the cops and any ideas you have about delivering us to them. Besides, how do you think you’re going to get us up the caisson and off the rig without being chopped into little pieces? I reckon you’re mad, Talbot.’

  ‘The general’s wife and daughter,’ I mused, as if I hadn’t heard him. ‘It wasn’t a bad idea. You’d have let them go in the end, you couldn’t afford not to, it would have been the Lindbergh case ten times over had you tried anything. On the other hand you knew the general wouldn’t start anything afterwards: it would only be his word against yours, and up your sleeve you always carried the trump card – Royale. As long as Royale walked the face of America the general would never speak. This whole operation probably cost him a cool million – for the general a bagatelle compared to the value of wife and children. A sweet set-up.’

  ‘Correct. I hold the trumps, Talbot.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said absently. ‘And every day, just on noon, you sent a coded telegram – in the general’s company code – to your watchdogs who kept an eye on Mrs Ruthven and Jean. You see, Vyland, I even know the daughter’s name. And if the coded telegram didn’t arrive in twenty-four hours they had instructions to shift them to another place, a safer hide-out. Atlanta wasn’t too safe, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Vyland’s face was grey, his hands beginning to shake again. His voice came as a strained whisper. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I only caught on twenty-four hours ago.’ I replied. ‘We’d been blind – we’d been checking every outgoing cable from Marble Springs for weeks, but forgot all about the inland telegrams. When I did catch on, a message to Judge Mollison from me – through Kennedy, remember that fight we had, I slipped it to him then – started off what must have been the most concentrated and ruthless man hunt for years. The FBI would stop at nothing, not since Jablonsky got his, and obviously they stopped at nothing. Mrs Ruthven and Jean are safe and well – your friends, Vyland, are under lock and key and talking their heads off to beat the rap.’ This last bit was guesswork, but I thought my guess wouldn’t be so far out.

  ‘You’re making this up,’ Vyland said huskily. Fear was back in his face and he was clutching at straws. ‘You’ve been under guard all day and –’

  ‘If you were up in the radio shack and could see the state of that creature of yours who tried to stop me from putting through a radio call to the sheriff, you wouldn’t say that. It was Kennedy who gave Royale here his sore head. It was Kennedy who dragged him inside the room and kept on making those calculations on the papers on my desk while I went up to attend to things. You see, I didn’t dare move till they were free. But they are free.’

  I looked at the grey and stricken and hunted face and looked away again. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The time had come to get back, I had found out all I wanted to know, got all the evidence I would ever want. I opened up a circuit box, unbuttoned and repositioned four wires, closed the box again and pulled the first of the four electro-magnetic releases for the lead shot ballast.

  It worked. Two clouds of grey pellets showered mistily by the side observation windows and disappeared into the black mud on the seabed. It worked, but the lightening of the weight made no difference, the bathyscaphe didn’t budge.

  I pulled the second switch, emptied the second pair of containers: still we remained immovable. We were sunk pretty deep into that mud, how deep I didn’t know, but this had never happened before on tests. I sat down to work out if there was any factor I had forgotten, and now that the strain was over the pain was back in my should
er and mouth and I wasn’t thinking so well any more. I removed the button from between my teeth and absent-mindedly placed it in a pocket.

  ‘Was – was that cyanide?’ Vyland’s face was still grey.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Antler-horn, best quality.’ I rose, pulled the other two switches simultaneously. They worked – but again nothing happened. I looked at Vyland and Royale, and saw reflected in their faces the fear that was beginning to touch in my own mind. God, I thought, how ironic it would be if, after all I had said and done, we were to die down here. There was no point in putting off the moment of decision. I started up both motors, inclined the planes to the maximum upwards elevation, started up the tow-rope motor and at the same moment pressed the switch that jettisoned the two big electric batteries mounted on the outside of the scaphe. They fell simultaneously with a thud that jarred the bathyscaphe, sending up a dark spreading cloud of black viscous-looking mud: for two moments of eternity nothing happened, the bolt was shot, the last hope was gone, when, all in a second, the scaphe trembled, broke suction aft and started to rise. I heard Vyland sobbing with relief and terror.

  I switched off the engines and we rose steadily, smoothly, on an even keel, now and again starting the tow-rope motor to take in some slack. We were about a hundred feet up when Royale spoke.

  ‘So it was all a plant, Talbot. You never had any intention of keeping us down there.’ His voice was an evil whisper, the one good side of his face back to its expressionless normal again.

  ‘That’s it,’ I agreed.

  ‘Why, Talbot?’

  ‘To find out exactly where the treasure was. But that was really secondary, I knew it wasn’t far away, a government survey ship could have found it in a day.’

  ‘Why, Talbot?’ he repeated in the same monotone.