Hell Gate (Richard Mariner Series Book 9)

by Tonkin, Peter

  When they got to the command areas and started speculating about the shatter-potential of the glass — at rest, at half speed, at full speed — it became obvious that this battle-readiness survey was going to take a lot more time yet. Dall summoned First Officer Dix, put him in charge on the bridge, allowed Stubbs to monitor weather and Walker the collision alarm radar, and O’Reilley to monitor, though not to use, the radio; he released First Engineer Macleod to the engine control room and he called for slow ahead, water jets only.

  “I need a course,” said Dix a little huffily. “Even if I’m only making five knots and I haven’t got a destination, I need a course.”

  Dall smiled at him. “You shall have both, Mr Dix. Make five knots slow ahead. Your heading is due east. Your destination is Heaven’s Gate.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  By 08:00 the following morning they were nosing into Roaringwater Bay. At the first sight of the Fastnet Light to the south-east, Bob ordered power to be cut and they came into the bay between Mizen Head and the island of Cape Clear under water jets alone. The broad mouth of the bay narrowed rapidly and as it did so, a series of islands rose up out of the busy foam. In the middle, a long island stretched in towards the coast, splitting the bay into two narrows. To the north of this the bay was littered with more islands and the coast gathered in low cliffs down into the twisting, riverine structure of Heaven’s Gate itself. At the inward end of the Gate, another island rose suddenly, spitting the narrowing passage still further before it widened again right at the back of the bay. There was something about the layout of the wild, uninhabited islands and beautiful coastline which rang bells in Bob’s head, but the familiarity was too vague to be of any use to him as he guided New England closer to Heaven’s Gate.

  “Incoming!” suddenly squawked O’Reilley who, with Paul Aves at his shoulder, had been monitoring certain short-wave radio frequencies and CB bands. Half the occupants of the bridge jumped as though electrified and Bob allowed himself a quiet chuckle at the sight of their captors so discomfited. But then he began to wonder why they were so tense all of a sudden, just when they were arriving at their stated destination.

  “Collision alarm,” he called. “Can you give me soundings ahead, please, John?”

  “No problem, Bob,” responded John Dix. “You’ve plenty of water right up to the cliff edge ahead. And you’ve the better part of fifty metres clear on both sides before the islands start.”

  “State of seas behind us?”

  “Not too bad. Nothing to throw us off course.”

  “Continue slow ahead then. How far in do you want us. Captain Dall?”

  Dall instructed Bob to take New England right to the headwaters of Heaven’s Gate, then he ordered that the ship be turned round. This was an easy task to achieve using the thrusters. New England was designed to turn like a compass needle within a circle of her own length if she needed to. But then Dall ordered Bob to take her out through the Heaven’s Gate narrows again, this time coming up towards full speed. Expostulations were met with blank stares and cocked weapons. One thing Bob did notice, however. While New England was performing the manoeuvres Dall required, Paul Aves, his second-in-command, was busily feeding information about speeds and headings relative to the land onto the jet-ship’s guidance computers.

  *

  Ann and Harry had gone to the Charlestons’ quarters as soon as curfew was lifted. Pitman saw them safely stowed then went off to do some more of her obsessive exercising. They were able to get a pretty good view of the bay and its islands, for the Charlestons’ cabin had a sizeable window which looked forward down the deck.

  The sudden roaring as the main propulsion unit engaged surprised them as much as the order had Bob. “Oh my! What is happening now, Miss Newbold?” asked Mrs Charleston.

  “I think we’re going to go back out to sea at full speed,” said Harry.

  The view of the cliffs topped by emerald fields which had seemed so attractive after the days of nothing but sea now seemed far too close for comfort as they sped by at a rapidly accelerating pace. The narrows ahead, so adequate a passage at five knots, seemed a suicidal canyon at seventy-five knots. As the shaggy shoulder of the island gathered on their left, it seemed impossible that the ship would not career wildly up onto the rocks and be dashed to pieces. For minute after minute they stood, fascinated, horrified, as New England achieved full speed in the narrows of Heaven’s Gate and then burst out safely into the broad outer reach of Roaringwater Bay.

  “Now just what in hell’s name was that all about?” asked the Senator.

  “I don’t know.” Harry watched the distant point of the Mizen swing round to starboard. “But I think we’re going in to try it again.”

  She was right. They did the run three more times that morning. And at noon the trucks arrived.

  New England reversed hard up against the cliffs at the back of the bay and her shore lines were run out. As soon as she was snugly berthed, all of her complement were herded into the dining area and locked there under guard.

  Ann’s frustration bubbled over. “What in God’s name are they up to now? Bob, why on earth aren’t we doing more to stop these people?”

  “We don’t know who they are, what they want and what lengths they’ll go to get it,” he answered.

  “We know all we need to know. We know they’ve broken the law and they’re holding us against our will. We should be fighting back, not knuckling under!”

  “You saw them place guards outside the door, Ann. You heard Dall tell them to shoot us if we made trouble. Do you doubt they would do it?”

  Harry entered the discussion at this point. “One of them’s called Lobo. The other one’s called Lazio, I think. He’s the big one who looks as if he’d like to do weird things to you, Ann. To you personally. You want to give him an excuse to start?”

  “Well, no, but…” Ann’s colour fluctuated. Bob’s frown deepened.

  “You seem to be thinking that no one will be coming in after us, Miss Cable,” said Mrs Charleston gently. “I’ve never been in a position like this before but I know folks who have. And someone went in after them. Maybe not at once. Maybe they had to do some planning and negotiating first. But eventually someone always went in after them.”

  “All we have to do is wait,” added the Senator.

  “They’re right,” said Bob. “We may have to wait a little while but those fake messages we’ve been forced to send out won’t fool everyone for any length of time, especially now we’ve come to speed and sailed in here as bold as brass. It’s not as if this is war. We’re not in some prison camp here. It’s only a matter of time before the authorities take action.”

  “Well, it feels like Colditz to me. I want to organise some kind of Great Escape. I think it’s our civic duty.”

  “If this was Colditz, maybe it would be,” said Mrs Charleston. “But it’s not, my dear. It’s an Irish holiday resort and someone knows we are here and they will come and get us out. I’m certain of that.”

  “And remember what happened in the Great Escape,” added Bob dryly. “Three made it home. Most of the rest were shot. You’d look great on a motorbike, though,” he added, trying to lighten the atmosphere, and for some reason that made Harry Newbold blush.

  Further discussion was cut short by a sudden flurry of activity outside. From the windows of the dining area it was possible to look down the port side of the ship. Bob pushed his way to the best position as was his right and looked out. The upper drawbridge had been let down to rest on the cliff edge. “John,” he called. “Looks like they’re going to try and unload some of the cargo.”

  “They’ll find it hard without our help,” said the big lading officer. “Those pallets in the upper hold are too big to handle unless they’ve got cranes. They’d be better starting on the smaller stuff below.”

  As he spoke, a pallet came into view. It toppled outwards slowly, landing on its end, half on the drawbridge and half on the cliff side. It teetered there for an i
nstant while the whole vessel shuddered. A sound like distant thunder accompanied the shuddering and the whole thing fell forward and sideways, tumbling free of the ship and over the cliff edge to burst asunder on the rocks below.

  In the silence that followed, Harry said, “They’ll be lucky if no one was hurt by that little lot.” She paused for a moment and then added, “They’ll be down here looking for competent lading officers in about two minutes, I should think.”

  She was right.

  Dall himself arrived, positively sparking with rage. “I want lading officers and engineers,” he barked.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Bob, John Dix, Walker and Stubbs worked on the bridge. Bligh and Macleod worked the machinery. New England was secured more solidly and the lower hold was emptied. This had not been part of Dall’s plans at all and his temper was short, his mood dangerous.

  In the dining area, after the men had been called away, Ann and Harry found themselves a quiet comer and continued to plan what Harry might do if she could get at the computer in the library. The possibility seemed increasingly remote, but Harry had seen how dangerous Ann, too, could become when frustrated and she was wise enough to recognise that sitting making plans made Aim feel more secure and in control. And that alone served a very useful purpose. The conversation had only just begun, however, when another, unexpected interruption occurred. Sam Copeland, Pitman’s buddy, opened the door and crossed to the two women. So sudden and direct was his approach that they both shrank back a little, fearing that their plotting had been discovered. “You two, come with me,” he said.

  Ann began to protest at once. He levelled his gun at her. “Come with me,” he repeated.

  “What is all this about?” she asked as the three of them hurried along the corridor.

  “You’ll see. Shut up and hurry.”

  He led them to their cabin and pushed the door wide. Inside they discovered John Dix. As soon as the door moved, he rose, turning towards them. “I can’t see anything beyond the head wound,” he said, speaking past them to Sam. “She needs rest and nursing, I’d say. You need a second opinion, but that’s out of the question, I guess, unless you’ve got a medic of your own.”

  “If I had, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

  “Right. Well, I’m needed back on the bridge.”

  Dix walked forward and his movement revealed Pitman lying on Harry’s bed. Her shirt was open, revealing a green vest, and her head had rolled to one side on the pillow. There was a red line reaching from her temple to the outer orbit of her eye.

  “What happened?” asked Ann as Harry crossed to the stricken woman.

  “The crate caught her as it fell,” said Sam. “We thought it was going to crush her but I don’t think it did. More a glancing blow. I checked her and carried her down. There’s nothing in the trauma management kit to help. She needs a doctor, not a battlefield medic.”

  “I’ll take a good look at her now,” said Harry quietly.

  “Dix said — ”

  “I heard. But Dix doesn’t know me. Dix and the captain are new aboard. Neither of them know me or my record.” Harry straightened. She looked the younger soldier straight in the eye and spoke with an authority Ann had not suspected she possessed. “My folks always wanted me to be a doctor,” Harry went on. “I was in my second year of med school when I fell in love with the computers. I’m far better qualified than Dix. You wanted a second opinion. I can give you one. Now leave us alone and I’ll examine her.”

  “I’ll be just outside the door,” capitulated Sam.

  “Before you go.”

  “Yes?”

  “I need a flashlight.”

  Silently, he reached into his battledress pocket and produced a penlight torch. She took it and shone it in Pitman’s eye. Then she handed it back to him, saying, “Just one more thing. I need to know her name.”

  Sam hesitated.

  “She’s had a blow to the head. She could be in a coma, though her pupils are reacting to light, which is a good sign. Even so, she’s still out and I need to call her back. I need her name.”

  “Angela. Her name is Angela.”

  Harry nodded. “Now wait outside and close the door. This is not a peep show.”

  He did as he was told.

  Harry ran her hands down the insensible body on the bed. “Angela,” she said forcefully, penetratingly. “Angela, can you hear me?”

  Pitman did not stir.

  “Nothing obviously broken or badly out of place,” said Harry. “I think we can proceed.” Her hands were round Pitman’s throat and for a moment of prickly shock Ann thought she was strangling her.

  “Her neck seems OK too. We can risk a little movement. Ann, help me undress her.”

  As they unlaced the heavy black boots, Ann said, “You know we can make good use of this situation.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “For as long as she’s out you can say you need to look at medical books.”

  “So? I don’t — ”

  “The medical books in the library.”

  The boots came off and Ann automatically went to the unconscious woman’s belt.

  “I’ll do that/ said Harry matter-of-factly. “There may be soiling. There often is with unconsciousness.”

  Ann stood back. With her hands idle, her mind seemed to go into overdrive. “In fact/ she said, “you might need to look at your treatment of common ailments CD.”

  “Haven’t got one.”

  “They don’t know that. It’d give you a reason to use the computer. Don’t you see?”

  “I do see, yes. But let’s get this woman comfortable first. I think I’ll need to go to the infirmary for painkillers and sutures before I go anywhere else. Angela, can you hear me? Come here and help me get these off will you, Ann? And don’t get your hopes up too high. She won’t be unconscious for long. No one ever is unless they’re in a very bad way.”

  “Pills/ said Ann, pulling a trouser leg free. “Give her too many painkillers. Put her to sleep for a while. I’ll watch her, you check the medical information on the computer. God! I bet you could even get them to let you on the Net if they thought she was bad enough.” The trousers came free. “Jesus! I see what you mean about the soiling business. You think they’ll let you on the Net?”

  “No, I don’t think so/ said Harry. “I think they’d let her die before they’d run the risk.”

  “Yeah. I guess. Are you taking off her vest as well?”

  “Yes, it’s covered in blood. I’m going to take off her clothes and I’m going to clean her up. I’m going to close and bandage the wound and I’m going to give her some painkillers. When I’m sure she’s comfortable and responding to treatment, I’ll start playing Mata Hari for you. But like with the Great Escape plan, please remember what happened to Mata Hari in the end.”

  “Same thing as happened to Nurse Cavell, if I remember my history right,” said Ann dryly.

  “If you can’t be helpful/ snapped Harry, “then leave me to it.” Ann, chastened, sat on her bed. Harry went through into the shower room but soon came back. She crossed to the door, opened it and rapped out, “I need a bowl of some kind if I’m even going to start here. I’ll have to go to the infirmary.”

  Sam would only allow the visit if both prisoners went with him. Then he stood in the open door as Harry sorted out the things she needed. Whether he noticed Ann’s attempts to influence some of her choices or not, he gave no reaction. Within ten minutes they had everything that Harry wanted and one or two things that she didn’t. They were on their way back down the corridor when Sam’s personal radio buzzed. “They need me outside,” he said. “You got all you want?”

  Harry nodded in reply.

  “OK, you go back.” He turned to Ann. “You come with me. I’m taking you to the dining area. You I do not trust one inch, lady.”

  Harry turned to go. “Hey!” called Sam. “You take good care of her, you hear?”

  “I hear.”

  Alone with he
r patient, Harry called her name again. “Angela? Angela!” She put her medical supplies on Ann’s bed and looked at her watch. It must be twelve minutes since the incident. Perhaps fifteen. This was quite worrying. The woman might be badly hurt. But there was no unnatural pallor, no loss of temperature denoting major shock.

  Refusing to worry, therefore, Harry sorted out what she had brought, filled the bowl and set to work.

  She washed and disinfected the wound on Pitman’s temple first then, working swiftly, she applied a butterfly bandage, pulled the lips of the cut closed, placed two careful sutures and covered it all with a big Band-Aid. Then she washed her charge.

  As she went to empty the bowl of water for the last time, Pitman’s flat voice demanded, “What are you doing to me?”

  Harry jumped, slopping some of the water.

  Pitman was propped up on one elbow, her torso twisted round so that her wounded head was erect. The flare of her pelvis rested on one square hip. Her eyes seemed to contain ice and fire but Harry could read nothing precise in their depths.

  “I was giving you a bed bath,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Sam brought you down because you hit your head. You’ve been unconscious for nearly half an hour. You are not very well at all.”

  “A bed bath,” said Pitman. There was incredulity in her voice.

  “You needed one. Believe me.” Harry continued to the bathroom and emptied the bowl of water down the toilet. She kicked the pile of dirty clothing into the shower stall and went back into the cabin. “You need rest. I have some medicine for you.” She picked up the little box of pills and syringes she had brought.

  “Well, you can stick your medicine right up your…” Pitman swung her sturdy legs down, placed her feet squarely on the floor and stood — and promptly fell forward on top of Harry, pinning her to Ann’s bed and scattering the medical kit.

  Harry pushed at the dead weight on top of her and Pitman simply rolled off her and collapsed on the floor. When Harry had regained her composure and sat up to look down, Pitman was just sitting there, disbelief on her face. “My legs don’t work,” she said. “My head hurts like fuck, and my legs don’t work.”