‘We’ll go and find out what the skipper has to say about this.’
As Maine went to return the knife to his belt it slipped through his fingers and bounced down into the opening with a sharp clang.
Maine said, ‘I’ll ’ave to wait till all that’s shifted before I gets me pussers dirk back, sir.’
At that instant there was a chorus of shouts overhead and the sound of running feet across the deck.
Standish ran for the ladder and was almost knocked flat by a charging seaman as he emerged through the hatch.
During his search below the light had faded considerably, and as he paused to collect his bearings he noticed that the masts and patched sails were bathed in deep, fiery red from the setting sun. But his attention was riveted to the small, frozen group around the boat’s stern. They appeared to have been caught in their various attitudes of surprise or anger and moulded there for all time. Then he saw the fishing boat’s skipper beside the wheelhouse, his arm locked around a seaman’s neck while with the other hand he held a heavy pistol to his temple.
Wishart was standing some six feet clear, his eyes fixed on the two motionless figures, his body quite still, as if by moving he might cause the gun to explode against the seaman’s skull.
He seemed to sense that Standish was on deck again and said tightly, ‘He heard you do something below. We were just talking when he grabbed Dolan, and …’
The seaman in question gasped hoarsely, ‘Help me, sir! He’s goin’ to kill me!’
Wishart said in the same tight voice, ‘He has said that unless our men put down their weapons he will shoot. I think he means it.’
Standish made himself speak very slowly. ‘He hasn’t got a chance. If you look at the ship you’ll see that a Bofors is trained right on this boat. Tell him that if he has stolen those drums of oil he will have a chance to explain and get a fair hearing from the authority involved.’
As Wishart started speaking in slow, careful French he glanced swiftly at the surrounding sea. It was very much darker, and the mist was moving in like pink vapour against the dying sunlight. Unless they did something soon it would be hard to see anything at all.
Wishart said flatly, ‘He refuses. Put down the weapons, or he will shoot.’
Able Seaman Dolan closed his eyes as the pistol nudged against his head with a sharp jerk.
Standish said, ‘All right. Lay down your weapons. But stand by them in case the others try to rush us.’ He heard the Stirlings clattering on the planking but kept his eyes on the two interlocked figures as step by step they retreated towards the stern rail.
Maine whispered, ‘’E’s goin’ to jump over board, sir. Drown hisself, that’s what ’e’s up to.’
Standish shook his head. ‘No. He’ll swim for one of the other boats. In the darkness we’ll never find him, and by dawn they’ll be scattered to every point of the compass.’
The smock-coated skipper released his hold around the seaman’s throat but kept the pistol levelled at the nape of his neck as he edged closer to the rail, his eyes shining dully in the sunset.
As he threw one leg across the rail Standish heard a soft click and knew he was going to shoot Dolan even as he dived clear of the boat.
He yelled, ‘Get down, Dolan! Down!’
His shout momentarily distracted the man on the rail, and in the brief, split-second silence which followed nobody moved. Dolan still stood where he was, either too terrified or too dazed to heed Standish’s warning, and the pistol was as before, in line with his neck.
There was a sharp, abbreviated crack, and for a moment Standish imagined the man had used a silencer. Dolan whimpered and clapped his hands to his face, but he did not fall. But the man on the stern rail had changed his position, was even now sagging forward in a tired bow, the pistol dropping at his feet as with one choking gasp he pitched down beside it.
Then everyone started talking at once. Men seized their guns while Wishart kept repeating, ‘I felt the bullet pass me! Must have missed me by inches!’
Standish walked slowly aft and stood looking down at the corpse. The blood was starting to trickle through the thick coat, and he could see the man’s teeth bared like the fangs of an animal caught in a trap.
He bent over and picked up the pistol. Dalziel must have fired his rifle at no less than half a cable. He felt the pistol shake in his grip. One hundred yards and into the eye of the sunset. The slightest error and he could have shot Dolan or Wishart. With such a high velocity weapon he could have killed both of them.
He said harshly, ‘Try and get the engine started. We’ll go alongside the ship and sort this lot out.’ He heard the men moving around him, their actions jerky but determined, as if glad to be told what to do.
Wishart asked shakily, ‘Is he dead?’
‘Instantly, I should think.’ Standish handed him the pistol. ‘Souvenir for you. You’ll be ready next time.’ The deck gave several convulsions and then started to tremble. ‘We’ll be alongside Terrapin in a few minutes. I suggest you use the time to question some of the fishermen. It might save your bacon from the captain’s wrath for letting Dolan get jumped like that.’
He left Wishart staring at the corpse and walked to the wheelhouse. Maine had taken the wheel and said, ‘Sorry about the dirk, sir.’
Standish felt the cool air across his face and took a slow, deep breath. ‘You probably saved us all a lot of time. But don’t bank too much on getting the knife back just yet.’
When the boat finally bumped alongside the frigate’s hull Standish saw Dalziel already at the guardrail peering down at him with obvious eagerness.
As he climbed up the ladder Dalziel asked sharply. ‘What did you find out?’
‘Hidden cargo of fresh diesel oil, sir.’ Standish’s limbs felt like lead. ‘Very well concealed. Anyone could miss seeing it.’
‘Really?’ Dalziel eyed him searchingly, ‘You didn’t, did you?’ He swung round as Wishart clambered on to the deck and gripped a wire stay as if to stop himself from falling. ‘Well?’
Wishart said hoarsely, ‘I questioned the others, sir. They seem to be genuine fishermen. The skipper was the one who told them what to do.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And he’s dead.’
Dalziel peered at him. ‘Any charts on board? Anything like that?’
Standish said, ‘No, sir. That is why a determined man would use fishermen. They have little use for charts, as you know.’
‘Makes sense.’ Dalziel nodded quickly. ‘Very clever idea. Drift in with a large collection of fishing craft, most of which are from a dozen or more different places, and there you have it.’ He saw Rideout hovering in the gloom and barked, ‘Fetch that corpse aboard and search it. I want a full report of every damn thing you can find.’ He turned his back on him and added shortly, ‘We’ll have a conference in the chartroom in fifteen minutes, right?’
Standish replied, ‘It will certainly prove our other report, sir. The diesel was destined for a submarine, unless I’m very much mistaken. I imagine the real objection to your theory was the difficulty in operating a submarine in the Gulf, with no available base for refuelling.’ He glanced abeam and saw that the fishing vessels had melted away into the darkness. Maybe they knew of the captured boat’s real function, or perhaps they did not care either way. They had known too much hardship, centuries of it, to have any interest beyond their own survival, he thought. He said, ‘If you code up a signal right away, sir, we could organize an air search. Either way it might show the other side we’re on to them.’
‘Signal?’ Dalziel sounded vague. ‘Oh, that can wait for a bit longer.’ He glanced up at the bridge. ‘Don’t forget. Conference.’
Quarrie joined Standish by the guardrail. He said quietly, ‘He wasn’t joking. That was a bloody dangerous shot with the rifle all the same.’
Standish watched Dolan being helped aboard, he was still suffering from shock and whimpering as he was led below.
Quarrie asked, ‘Is that the end of it, do you think?’<
br />
Standish looked past him, recalling Dalziel’s evasive answer. ‘I’ll tell you what I think after the conference.’
* * *
Dalziel came out of his sea cabin and glanced quickly around at the assembled officers. They were all present, except Caley, and it was possible to hear his restless pacing on the bridge gratings or the stamp of his feet as he tried to keep warm in the night air. Inside the crowded chartroom it was warm enough, and from the look of Hornby’s shining face it seemed as if he had more than the heat to contend with. With her engines stopped, and drifting uneasily on a slow swell, the Terrapin’s motion was very uncomfortable, and high up on the bridge it felt at its worst.
Dalziel appeared to notice none of it. He nodded to Standish and then laid a chart on the table where they could all see it.
As they crowded closer Standish saw it was like no other chart he had ever confronted. Dalziel had shaded certain areas in colour, and there were little pins inserted around their various patrol areas, alongside pencilled notes and calculations.
Dalziel said briskly, ‘Well now, gentlemen, what do we have?’
Nobody spoke, and Standish was conscious of the shipboard noises intruding all around them. The quiet purr of the automatic plot, the creak of metal from the bridge structure as the ship rolled on a beam swell, and the occasional stamp of feet as the watchkeepers eased their cramped limbs.
‘Then let me sum up.’ Dalziel leaned on the table. ‘The diesel was obviously destined for that unidentified submarine. From the markings on the drums it would appear to be American, stolen from a military dump in Viet Nam.’ He glanced at Irvine who appeared about to voice a question and added smoothly, ‘Young Wishart has been to some pains to question the fishermen, and this is borne out by the fact that they come from the Mekong Delta, right?’
Quarrie said stubbornly, ‘I still don’t see why they should have let that chap take over their boat.’
Dalziel shrugged impatiently. ‘The reasons are as varied as they are irrelevant. Fear of reprisals from guerillas, greed for easier reward than from fishing, who can say?’ He looked at their faces individually. ‘But it all points to the submarine. Our submarine.’
Irvine said, ‘We have no power to interfere with foreign warships, sir. We can’t even be sure the submarine was acting unlawfully.’
‘Our job here is to investigate, Pilot.’ Dalziel’s tone was almost gentle. ‘If that submarine was behaving lawfully, why all this bother? She could fuel at sea in broad daylight if that was the case. The powers-that-be have already stated several times that they have no information about her, some even doubted she existed. That hardly points to a run-of-the-mill patrol, or even a spying operation, now does it?’
Irvine persisted, ‘Then someone else will have to sort it out, in my view, sir. There are no charts, and the doc has searched the dead man’s body and found nothing.’
They all looked at Rideout. In the chart light his hands were very red, as if he had just finished scrubbing them.
He said, ‘A few oddments, which I gave to the captain. The bullet entered his left upper …’
Dalziel held up his hand. ‘We can manage without the post-mortem, thank you.’ He smiled calmly. ‘The man was most likely Chinese. He was carrying a copy of the Teachings of Mao, if you are interested.’ He frowned. ‘Also a scrap of paper with the name of a ship. The Bombay Queen.’
Standish watched him closely. Dalziel appeared very cool and relaxed, but he knew him well enough now to accept it as an act. He was enjoying it, playing with them, as he saved the most important piece to the last, while his officers were still mulling over his words.
Dalziel snapped, ‘Don’t bother, Sub!’
Wishart had been reaching for the manual of merchant shipping and dropped his hand to his side.
Quarrie said, ‘Does that mean we’ve got to start searching for some ship again, sir?’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Like a needle in a haystack, if you ask me.’
‘Now, Chief, don’t be so modest. You were the one to spot that the Cornwallis was behaving in a strange manner. It was you who noticed the fishing boat’s unnatural draught, too.’ He shot a hard glance at Wishart. ‘When others were more concerned with taking a swim!’
He continued more evenly, ‘The Bombay Queen is not on any list. She ceased to exist twenty-eight years ago when she foundered on a reef and was lost with all hands. As a point of interest, she was full of refugees and trying to escape from the Japs when she was hit by a typhoon and driven aground, that we do know of her.’
Standish glanced at the others. They were staring at Dalziel as if wondering what he would say next. He did not keep them waiting long.
He tapped the chart and said in an almost matter-of-fact tone, ‘Here is our present position. Approximately one hundred miles to the north-cast of us is that chain of reefs where the Bombay Queen foundered. There she still lies, although the wreck is unnamed on any chart. There are too many scattered along the reefs to bother making distinction.’
Irvine’s eyes gleamed with professional interest. He said quietly, ‘Sixty miles from the Cambodian mainland, sir.’ He paused. ‘And outside our patrol area.’
Dalziel ignored him. ‘The reefs were said to be islands at one time, and there are many small islets along their entire length. Shipping avoids the area, and who can blame them? There are some reefs quite unmarked.’ He looked up, his eyes very bright. ‘But there are deep waters amongst them also. Deep and untroubled by unwanted observers, gentlemen. A most suitable location for a secret fuel dump, eh?’
Irvine said, ‘We should make a signal with this information.’
‘In due course, Pilot.’ Dalziel smiled at him. ‘But first we must investigate, and verify, do I make myself clear?’
‘May I get something clear, sir?’ Irvine was very erect, his features grim in the overhead lights. ‘Do you intend to leave the allotted area without permission?’
‘As my navigating officer I would have expected you to realize that earlier.’ Dalziel watched him calmly. ‘Anything else?’
‘Then I must protest, sir. I …’
Dalziel interrupted harshly, ‘Your protest will be noted. Now, if you have nothing more useful to add perhaps you would lay off a new course as I have shown on my own chart.’ He tapped it with his fingers. ‘One day this chart might be used as a blueprint for our entire Far East strategy, when no doubt even you, Pilot, will want to share in its construction!’
Dalziel looked at Standish. ‘I will discuss details with you later. Right now I want four good volunteers to act as prize crew on the fishing boat. Give them a course for Kota Bharu and make sure they know what’s expected of them. They’ll run into a patrol in three or four days, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He smiled. ‘By which time we will have something interesting to offer, eh?’
As the officers filed out on to the bridge Irvine caught Standish’s arm and said urgently, ‘You’ve got to stop him. He’ll ruin everything if he’s allowed to go on.’
Standish shook his hand away. ‘This reef is about thirty miles outside our maximum patrol area. Is that so much to ask if it proves to be a secret base?’
‘And if not, this ship’ll be a laughing stock again.’
‘Well, you won’t have to worry, Pilot. Your written protest will exonerate you completely, and should look well when you go up for promotion.’ He walked away adding quietly, ‘Think about it, Pilot. And remember that mud has a habit of sticking, even to the one who throws it!’
Standish hurried down the ladder to the main deck, wondering why Irvine had made him so angry. He was probably right, and it would prove to be another fruitless search. But they were all in it together, whether they liked it or not. Quarrie, who had spotted the overloaded boat; Wishart, whose unlawful swimming party had delayed the search and had first drawn attention to it. And himself, perhaps most of all for giving Dalziel the one lead he had been seeking.
He paused and looked up at the dark silhouettes of funnel a
nd foremast. In just a few more weeks it would be finished with anyway. It might be as well to have something worthwhile to remember when it was over.
17 The Bombay Queen
AT DAYLIGHT THE following morning the Terrapin reached her destination, and using one of the known passages between the scattered necklace of reefs and islets began a slow and methodical search. As the sun rose higher in the sky the desolation and menace of the area became more apparent, and Standish could well imagine the ships which had perished being torn apart and thrown to the sea’s bottom. Some of the islets were little more than craggy humps, and few were over two miles in length. While the frigate crept close by one of them, her echo sounder recording a constant warning, Standish studied it through his glasses, noting the steep sides with their swirling currents, and above all the total absence of vegetation. Bird life there was in plenty, and what had first appeared to be pale gorse along the cliffs proved to be an endless covering of droppings, and whenever the ship moved too close the air became filled with circling, screaming sea birds of every size and description.
Here the sea was very green, with deeper patches of dirty brown as the only visible evidence of the other menacing reefs below its surface.
A very dangerous place to be, and had the weather changed against them, Standish knew it would be madness to continue the search.
But the sky stayed clear and unmasked, and but for a steady swell the sea remained passive and indifferent to their presence.
At mid-day Dalziel ordered the anchor to be dropped, and as the ship swung lazily at her cable the two power boats were lowered alongside.
Dalziel said, ‘These two islands are the largest in the reef. The boats can take a look round. I want everything reported. I don’t care how trivial it seems. We will keep at it until we find the evidence we want.’
The Whizz-Kid was away first, and after two minor breakdowns the motor boat chugged off in the opposite direction. Irvine had been sent in the latter, and when he returned an hour later he wasted no time in making his feelings known.
The Greatest Enemy Page 30