Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  “The damn chopper’s gone!” he exclaimed.

  “It lifted off while you were below. I heard it but never saw it in the mist — it sounded like it was heading towards land.”

  “I wonder where it went.”

  “Maybe to get supplies?”

  “Could be, but I reckon it would’ve flown south to do that.” He paused for a moment as a thought struck him. “I wonder how far it is from here to Etosha.”

  “God, you don’t think it’s gone to fetch Van Rhyn?”

  “Could be.” He knew Van Rhyn would want to be there when the gold was salvaged.

  Peace mounted the binoculars on a tripod inside the bungalow and trained them on the salvage tender. Twice the divers came up, then the tender moved. The divers then disappeared below the surface again. He was sure they had not yet found the gold, but he knew that eventually, they were bound to stumble on the bullion containers. He had no idea what would happen after that, but VA was adamant the gold was not to fall into their hands.

  Fortunately, the wind strengthened considerably in the early afternoon, making it too dangerous for the tender to work so close inshore, and it was forced to abandon its operations.

  “Thank God. That’ll work in our favour,” he said. The submarine could continue its operations, impervious to conditions on the surface.

  Cherry had prepared a mid-afternoon meal for them, even producing a chilled bottle of wine. They had just sat down to eat when suddenly they heard the unmistakable whap-whap of an approaching helicopter.

  “Bloody hell!” Peace exclaimed.

  He dropped his knife and fork, picked up the binoculars from the tripod, and moved towards the window. The helicopter flew over the bungalows at no more than a hundred feet, the sound rising to a near crescendo, and then faded as it sped out to sea towards the salvage ship. The ship’s bow was pointing towards the southwest into the wind as it swung on its anchor, the stern and aft deck with the helipad clearly visible. The helicopter landed, the rotors spun to a stop and members of the ship’s crew ran on deck to lash the aircraft down.

  He peered through the glasses, sucked in his breath and spat an expletive.

  “You won’t believe it. It’s that bastard Van Rhyn, and he has his daughter with him, as well as two other people. He’s got two of his hyenas with him as well — they’re on bloody leashes!” He had seen the ship’s crew rapidly move away as the animals jumped to the deck. “It seems those damn things are his pets! If I had a rifle, I’d take him out now.”

  He moved away to let Cherry look through the binoculars.

  “It’s him all right. So, that’s his daughter. I can see why you bedded her.”

  “It’s too far away to see anybody properly, so please don’t start with me, I rather we didn’t fight,” Peace said.

  She mouthed the word bastard at him and spun round, disappearing through the door that led into the add-on garage to the bungalow housing the Land Cruiser and returned with a rifle in her hand.

  Christ, does she want to take Janet out?

  He recognised the weapon as a NATO AWM sniper’s rifle fitted with a Schmidt and Bender 10x42 scope. The rifle fired .338 Lapau Magnum cartridges.

  “Where’d you get that?” he asked in amazement.

  “Compliments of VA. The embassy’s security staff in Pretoria issued it to me. It arrived in the diplomatic pouch. I was told that VA thought that you might need it.”

  He was not surprised to hear this. This was Sir John’s way of letting him know what he wanted without actually stating it. He’d done it before. Clearly, he wanted Van Rhyn dead.

  He whistled softly and took the rifle from her. He hefted it in his hands to judge its weight — it was heavy. All sniper rifles were heavy.

  “You can pick him off any time you like with that,” she said. “Though I think you’re only supposed to do that if all else fails, and preferably without creating a diplomatic incident.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Hell, that’s rich coming from you. I thought you disapproved of my murderous ways. You know I can’t take him out; the man’s the bloody chairman of Afrikaner Goudeiendomme, for God’s sake! It would lead to the biggest manhunt this country’s ever seen!”

  “Somehow, Geoffrey, I think it’ll have to come to that. It’s the only way to deal with that man. He’s evil, he needs killing, and you do killing so incredibly well.” She looked at him, her eyes revealing nothing.

  He stared at her. For a moment, he thought she might actually approve of what he did in his job. Then he dismissed the thought. No, that couldn’t be possible.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, before daylight, they inflated the Zodiac again, fitted the outboard motor, and launched it. Mist was drifting in from the sea on a light breeze. They sat in the raft waiting in the protection of the cove for the first indication of daylight. Cherry had insisted that she accompany him on the dive and he had relented. She also was clad in a dry-skin diving suit.

  The mist began to take on a dark-grey opaque tint, indicating the onset of daylight. He started the outboard motor and manoeuvred the boat through the surf, which had calmed considerably since the previous day. He soon cut the engine, the boat drifting directly above the coordinated position recorded on the GPS. The fog still prevented them from seeing the Johan de Waldt, but they knew it was out there at anchor somewhere, with Van Rhyn aboard and probably directing the recovery operation. This time they dropped an anchor, intending to use its rope to guide them to the bottom. They carefully checked each other’s equipment and then, one after the other, toppled backwards over the side. Following the rope, they slowly descended into the depths. Initially, it was quite dark, but in the Tropics, the transition from night to day is rapid and very soon visibility improved, allowing them to see ten or so yards ahead. There were several empty bullion canisters on the seabed. Evidently, the submarine divers had already managed to load several gold bars. He wondered if they had encountered any divers from the salvage ship,

  They were surprised to see two chariots, each with two divers, loom out of the murk and knew these to be the divers from the submarine. The divers gave them a casual wave of recognition. Of course, the hi-tech equipment and periscope on the submarine would have confirmed their arrival and position. They’d timed their arrival perfectly. Once over the ingots, they dismounted and immediately began retrieving them. Peace and Cherry jumped in to help them.

  Salvaging the bullion was hard work and Peace soon found that he was beginning to sweat in his dry-suit. The divers worked in two teams of three divers each; they formed a chain, handing the gold ingots one at a time from the bottom to the chariot. They’d been at the task for a while when Peace noticed another diver emerge from the grey-green murk. He had obviously spotted them, for he stopped, did an about-turn, and swam frantically away. It was pointless trying to pursue him; he was too far away to catch up.

  Peace was convinced the man would return and this time with his comrades. The frogman in charge of the team clearly thought the same. He removed three of his men from the gold retrieval task and ordered them to swim ahead towards the salvage ship and to keep watch for any intruders. The rest continued loading the ingots.

  Suddenly, the three submarine divers returned, swimming very rapidly. The reason for their haste was apparent a minute later when six more divers emerged, swimming abreast. They were armed with spearguns and their intention was obvious. Cherry and Peace were signalled to join their comrades to form a line and to hover over the gold below. Peace was concerned for Cherry. Professional divers were extremely fit as their jobs demanded peak physical conditioning, and Cherry was a lightweight in comparison. Even though she was trained by the SBS in hand-to-hand combat, and if attacked, could give a good account of herself, this was an entirely different situation.

  As the men closed in, Peace realised the submariners had an advantage. Their guns were lethal weapons — the spears fired not by a stretched bungee rubber cord, but by a type of shotgun cart
ridge, giving them a far better range. He doubted whether Van Rhyn’s men had anything as sophisticated. When the enemy was still ten or fifteen yards away, he heard the first thuds as the submariners fired. He and Cherry, whose guns used only thick surgical rubber similar to a catapult, had to wait.

  The spears streaked through the water, with the enemy divers managing to dodge most of them, except one diver who was struck high in the chest. He dropped his speargun and grabbed the shaft that protruded from his body, his flipper-feet kicking wildly. The water around him turned pink, and he slowly sank to the bottom as the other divers continued to approach.

  Peace and Cherry both fired their weapons as the divers attacked. Peace’s spear struck his opponent in the stomach and the man sank slowly, legs thrashing as he tried to pull the barb free. Cherry’s attacker, however, took no more than a blow to the upper arm which pierced his suit and he pushed forward to attack once more.

  The divers started to grapple with one another. They had all drawn knives with eight-inch razor-sharp blades serrated on one edge. One man surged towards Peace, his knife held high, ready to strike. Peace let his own knife drop so it was suspended on the cord attached to his wrist. His empty hand then shot forward and grasped his opponent’s wrist, stopping the downward thrust of the knife. He moved close and smashed the reinforced edge of his facemask into the glass of his assailant’s mask. The blow dazed the man, his mask now hanging around his neck by the strap, the knife still clenched in his hand. Peace grabbed the wrist with both hands and twisted. As the man’s mouth opened in pain, his mouthpiece was ejected and left a trail of bubbles, which rose towards the surface. As the knife spiralled from the man’s hand, Peace deftly caught it by the hilt. In one fluid motion, he jerked it upwards through the neoprene suit just below the man’s sternum. He twisted the blade round in the man’s innards before pulling it out. The man was a goner. He made a few feeble movements and sank slowly to the seabed, trailing tendrils of blood.

  Peace’s concern was for Cherry. He swung around looking for her. She was no more than a few yards away, desperately wrestling with a diver. She was clasping both his wrists, but he was twisting about, trying desperately to free his hands. Frantically, Peace swam towards her, but knew he would be too late. The man wrenched his hand free, and when Peace was still a yard or so from him, the man lunged at her.

  Peace emitted a silent scream. He thrashed his webbed feet wildly in a desperate effort to intervene. As if in slow motion, he saw the blade plunge into her left side, all the way to the hilt. He grabbed the man from behind, pulled his head back, and drove his knife into the man’s neck, feeling it cut through cartilage and bone. The man immediately went limp and Peace released his grip. He looked around frantically for Cherry and found her below him, feebly kicking her feet in an attempt to rise to the surface — an automatic reaction if injured while diving. Fortunately, she still had the mouthpiece between her lips and was breathing air. He came down beside her, took her hand, and stared into her facemask. He saw the terrified look on her face and knew that she was badly hurt. Blood seeped from her side. He knew her dry-suit had to be slowly filling with blood and ice-cold seawater. The only way to save her was to get her aboard the submarine.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of one of the British divers. The man seemed to understand Peace’s anguish, having seen Cherry’s condition and was beckoning to Peace to bring Cherry to him. Peace did so and she feebly kicked her flippers trying to assist him.

  He glanced behind him — the fight was over. He could see only one of the enemy divers, and he had two of the submarine’s men around him. However, his immediate thoughts were for Cherry and whether she would make it back to the submarine.

  It took a very long five minutes before it appeared in his vision. Crew were ready to assist the wounded into the airlock, but this took what seemed to be an interminable time, as compressed air had to be pumped into it to expel the seawater. Then there was another wait while the chamber was decompressed. The waiting was agony for Peace as he cradled Cherry in his arms, blood trickling from her side.

  She was deathly white and her breathing was shallow. She was clearly in deep shock. He had a terrible feeling that she might also be bleeding internally. He berated himself — he should never have let her accompany him on the dive. All he could do was wait and watch blood seep from her wound and hope they’d be in time to save her. At last, he saw the lower bulkhead hatch cover’s wheel beneath their feet begin to spin. It swung open and his ears popped at the pressure differentiation. Hands grasped at Cherry’s limp body and she was rushed off to the infirmary.

  Once on the submarine, he peeled off his diving suit, as did the others. A man clad in navy-blue trousers and a light-blue shirt, his epaulettes indicating that he was the commander, approached Peace, and saluted him.

  “I’m Captain Jefferson,” he said. “I’m in command of this boat. Welcome aboard Her Majesty’s submarine, Indomitable. You must be Commander Peace?”

  “That’s right. I’m glad to be aboard,” he said, returning the salute then shaking the proffered hand.

  “My Chief Boson’s mate will find you some decent clothes. Then I’d like you to join me in my cabin. It’s a bit cramped, I’m afraid, but you’ll know that, having commanded a sub yourself, if I recall correctly. Don’t worry about the young woman; our doctor is a first-class physician and surgeon; he’ll patch her up. Let’s not disturb him.” Peace knew that the captain was right. His most pressing need was not to allow his worry to overtake his thought, so pushed any thought of her condition from his mind. He had to believe she was in the best of hands.

  An enterprising crewman had eventually found him a standard-issue navy uniform. He was led by the Chief Boson’s mate down the passageway, first through the control centre lined with computer displays manned by sailors, then through several bulkheads, where the passageway was strung with lights, and the piping and cabling fixed in bundles to the ceiling. Except for a barely perceptible hum, it was quiet. They finally arrived in front of a sliding door with the word CAPTAIN stencilled on it.

  The Chief knocked and they were bidden to enter. The cabin was small and functional, containing a table with four chairs.

  “Sit down, Commander. I gather from Lieutenant Hughes that you had a few worrying moments out there. I’m sorry about your colleague, Miss Boxx, but my surgeon tells me she’s going to be fine. Of course, she’ll need a while to mend, so she’ll have to stay aboard. As for you, well, I think you need a drink. What’ll it be?”

  “Thanks. Whisky, please.”

  The captain produced a bottle and two glasses into which he poured two tots, the one intended for Peace a very generous measure.

  The captain lifted his glass. “Cheers! I’m informed that you and my men gave a pretty good account of yourselves. I believe we won’t be hearing about this incident on any official channels. Those on the tug, I’m told, will probably keep this to themselves as well. After all, they did salvage some bullion.” He took a sip of his drink. Peace did the same.

  “Have you any idea of what’s going on?” Peace asked.

  “Well, as you know, I’ve got my hydrophone specialists listening to everything. We believe only one survivor managed to make it back to the salvage ship. Now they have a tender out and we believe they’ve recovered your raft and taken it aboard. I have frogmen out again and they’ve resumed picking up the gold. Believe me, my men are ready to deal with any trouble, although the salvage boat doesn’t seem to have sent down any more divers.”

  “This would have been a surprise for them,” said Peace. “They have to be wondering where we came from. The Zodiac couldn’t have accommodated six of you, so they must realise there’s a submarine around, and the chariot will have been a definite giveaway.”

  “You’re right. We’ll just have to wait and see what they’ll do now. Do you think they’ve got their government’s backing?” the submarine commander asked.

  Peace had no idea how well
informed the submarine captain was or to what degree MI6 had taken him into their confidence. MI6 was notorious when it came to the Need to Know basis.

  “I doubt it. After all, they stole the gold from their own country. I believe their government is investigating the theft, but you can be sure they’re being hampered by others on the upper levels. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t already know it was an inside job. Rest assured, they’re not about to advertise the fact.”

  Peace suddenly felt very tired. At the captain’s suggestion, he let the Chief lead him to the Officers’ Quarters where they gave him a bunk. He was asleep within minutes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. It was just past midnight. He was disoriented, but then recollected where he was. It’s never dark anywhere on board a submarine; there’s always sufficient light to see. The faint hum of machinery also jogged his memory. Memories flooded back, and he immediately thought of Cherry and wondered how she was doing.

  He rolled from the bunk and donned the navy boots they’d issued him. At a stainless-steel basin, he washed the sleep from his eyes and brushed his wet hands through his hair. He felt the stubble on his cheeks, but there was nothing he could do about that without borrowing somebody’s shaving kit. And that was something he wasn’t prepared to do. He ran his tongue over his teeth — they too needed brushing.

  He made his way to the infirmary and entered. An orderly was sitting in a chair close to a cot, which was bolted to the floor, its sides raised. In the dim light, he recognised Cherry. Her nose and mouth were covered by a transparent plastic mask, which had an oxygen pipe attached to it. A saline drip was attached to her arm. Other pipes fed into the drip while more tubes were taped to her lower arm and wrist. A catheter emerged from the blue blanket covering her and led to a transparent bag, half-filled with dark urine. With a shock, he realised that she must have a damaged kidney — a knife stab in the side would do that. Affixed to the wall were two monitors, one emitting a beep for each heartbeat and in time with this, the line on the scope jerked into a jagged peak. Even in the dim light of the infirmary, he could see she was pale with sunken cheeks, and near blue-white lips. If an orderly was keeping a constant vigil, then her condition was obviously still serious.