Mrs Warmington said briskly, ‘Well, now that you’re here with a car we can leave for the Base.’
Wyatt sighed. ‘I don’t know if that’s wise. We may not get through. Serrurier’s crowd is trigger-happy; they’re likely to shoot first and ask questions afterwards—and even if they do ask questions we’re liable to get shot.’
Dawson thrust a drink into his hand. ‘Hell, we’re Americans; we’ve got no quarrel with Serrurier.’
‘We know that, and Commodore Brooks knows it—but Serrurier doesn’t. He’s convinced that the Americans have supplied the rebels with guns—the guns you can hear now—and he probably thinks that Brooks is just biding his time before he comes out of the Base to stab him in the back.’
He took a gulp of the drink and choked; Dawson had a heavy hand with the whisky. He swallowed hard, and said, ‘My guess is that Serrurier has a pretty strong detachment of the army surrounding the Base right now—that’s why your transport hasn’t turned up.’
Everyone looked at him in silence. At last Mrs Warmington said, ‘Why, I know Commodore Brooks wouldn’t leave us here, not even if he had to order the Marines to come and get us.’
‘Commodore Brooks has more to think of than the plight of a few Americans in St Pierre,’ said Wyatt coldly. ‘The safety of the Base comes first.’
Dawson said intently, ‘What makes you think the Base isn’t safe, anyway?’
‘There’s trouble coming,’ said Wyatt. ‘Not the war, but—’
‘Anyone home?’ someone shouted from the foyer, and Julie said, ‘That’s Mr Causton.’
Causton came into the bar. He was limping slightly, there was a large tear in his jacket and his face was very dirty with a cut and a smear of blood on the right cheek. ‘Damn’ silly of me,’ he said. ‘I ran out of recording tapes, so I came back to get some more.’ He surveyed the small group. ‘I thought you’d all be at the Base by now.’
‘Communications have been cut,’ said Wyatt, and explained what had happened.
‘You’ve lost your chance,’ said Causton grimly. ‘The Government has quarantined the Base—there’s a cordon round it.’ He knew them all except Mrs Warmington, and regarded Dawson with a sardonic gleam in his eye. ‘Ah, yes, Mr Dawson; this should be just up your street. Plenty of material here for a book, eh?’
Dawson said, ‘Sure, it’ll make a good book.’ He did not sound very enthusiastic.
‘I could do with a hefty drink,’ said Causton. He looked at Wyatt. ‘That your car outside? A copper was looking at it when I came in.’
‘It’s quite safe,’ said Wyatt. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Doing my job,’ said Causton matter-of-factly. ‘All hell’s breaking loose out there. Ah, thank you,’ he said gratefully, as Papegaikos handed him a drink. He sank half of it in a gulp, then said to Wyatt, ‘You know this island. Supposing you were a rebel in the mountains and you had a large consignment of arms coming in a ship—quite a big ship. You’d want a nice quiet place to land it, wouldn’t you? With easy transport to the mountains, too. Where would such a spot be?’
Wyatt pondered. ‘Somewhere on the north coast, certainly; it’s pretty wild country over there. I’d go for the Campo de las Perlas—somewhere round there.’
‘Give the man a coconut,’ said Causton. ‘At least one shipload of arms was landed there within the last month—maybe more. Serrurier’s intelligence slipped up on that one—or maybe they were too late. Oh, and Favel is alive, after all.’ He patted his pockets helplessly. ‘Anyone got a cigarette?’
Julie offered her packet. ‘How did you get that blood on your face?’
Causton put his hand to his cheek, then looked with surprise at the blood on his fingertips. ‘I was trying to get in to see Serrurier,’ he said. ‘The guards were a bit rough—one of them didn’t take his ring off, or maybe it was a knuckleduster.’
‘I saw Serrurier,’ said Wyatt quietly.
‘Did you, by God!’ exclaimed Causton. ‘I wish I’d known; I could have come with you. There are a few questions I’d like to ask him.’
Wyatt laughed mirthlessly. ‘Serrurier isn’t the kind of man you question. He’s a raving maniac. I think this little lot has finally driven him round the bend.’
‘What did you want with him?’
‘I wanted to tell him that a hurricane is going to hit this island in two days’ time. He threw us out and banished the hurricane by decree.’
‘Christ!’ said Causton. ‘As though we don’t have enough to put up with. Are you serious about this?’
‘I am.’
Mrs Warmington gave a shrill squeak. ‘We should get to the Base,’ she said angrily. ‘We’ll be safe on the Base.’
Wyatt looked at her for a moment, then said to Causton in a low voice, ‘I’d like to talk to you for a minute.’
Causton took one look at Wyatt’s serious face, then finished his drink. ‘I have to go up to my room for the tapes; you’d better come with me.’
He got up from the chair stiffly, and Wyatt said to Julie, ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ then followed him into the foyer. Causton produced a flashlight and they climbed the stairs to the first floor. Wyatt said, ‘I’m pretty worried about things.’
‘This hurricane?’
‘That’s right,’ said Wyatt, and told Causton about it in a few swift sentences, not detailing his qualms, but treating the hurricane as a foregone conclusion. He said, ‘Somehow I feel a responsibility for the people downstairs. I think Julie won’t crack, but I’m not too sure about the other woman. She’s older and she’s nervous.’
‘She’ll run you ragged if you let her,’ said Causton. ‘She looks the bossy kind to me.’
‘And then there’s Eumenides—he’s an unknown quantity but I don’t know that I’d like to depend on him. Dawson is different, of course.’
Causton’s flashlight flickered about his room. ‘Is he? Put not your faith in brother Dawson—that’s a word to the wise.’
‘Oh,’ said Wyatt. ‘Anyway, I’m in a hell of a jam. I’ll have to shepherd this lot to safety somehow, and that means leaving town.’
A cane chair creaked as Causton sat down. ‘Now let me get this straight. You say we’re going to be hit by a hurricane. When?’
‘Two days,’ said Wyatt. ‘Say half a day either way.’
‘And when it comes, the Base is going to be destroyed.’
‘For all practical purposes—yes.’
‘And so is St Pierre.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So you want to take off for the hills, herding along these people downstairs. That’s heading smack into trouble, you know.’
‘It needn’t be,’ said Wyatt. ‘We need to get about a hundred feet above sea-level and on the northern side of a ridge—a place like that shouldn’t be too difficult to find just outside St Pierre. Perhaps up the Negrito on the way to St Michel.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Causton definitely. ‘Favel will be coming down the Negrito. From the sound of those guns he’s already in the upper reaches of the valley.’
‘How do we know those are Favel’s guns?’ said Wyatt suddenly. ‘Serrurier has plenty of artillery of his own.’
Causton sounded pained. ‘I’ve done my homework. Serrurier was caught flat-footed. The main part of his artillery was causing a devil of a traffic jam just north of the town not two hours ago. If Favel hurries up he’ll capture the lot. Listen to it—he’s certainly pouring it on.’
‘That shipment of arms you were talking about must have been a big one.’
‘Maybe—but my guess is that he’s staking everything on one stroke. If he doesn’t come right through and capture St Pierre he’s lost his chips.’
‘If he does, he’ll lose his army,’ said Wyatt forcibly.
‘God, I hadn’t thought of that.’ Causton looked thoughtful. ‘This is going to be damned interesting. Do you suppose he knows about this hurricane?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Wyatt. �
��Look, Causton, we’re wasting time. I’ve got to get these people to safety. Will you help? You seem to know more of what’s going on out there than anybody.’
‘Of course I will, old boy. But, remember, I’ve got my own job to do. I’ll back you up in anything you say, and I’ll come with you and see them settled out of harm’s way. But after that I’ll have to push off and go about my master’s business—my editor would never forgive me if I wasn’t in the right place at the right time.’ He chuckled. ‘I dare say I’ll get a good story out of Big Jim Dawson, so it will be worth it.’
They went back to the bar and Causton called out, ‘Wyatt’s got something very important to tell you all, so gather round. Where’s Dawson?’
‘He was here not long ago,’ said Julie. ‘He must have gone out.’
‘Never mind,’ said Causton. ‘I’ll tell him myself—I’ll look forward to doing that. All right, Mr Wyatt; get cracking.’ He sat down and began to thread a spool of tape into the miniature recorder he took from his pocket.
Wyatt was getting very tired of repeating his story. He no longer attempted to justify his reasons but gave it to them straight, and when he had finished there was a dead silence. The Greek showed no alteration of expression—perhaps he had not understood; Julie was pale, but her chin came up; Mrs Warmington was white with two red spots burning in her cheeks. She was suddenly voluble. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she exploded. ‘No American Navy Base can be destroyed. I demand that you take me to Cap Sarrat immediately.’
‘You can demand until you’re blue in the face,’ said Wyatt baldly. ‘I’m going nowhere near Cap Sarrat.’ He turned to Julie. ‘We’ve got to get out of St Pierre and on to high ground, and that may be difficult. But I’ve got the car and we can all cram into it. And we’ve got to take supplies—food, water, medical kit and so on. We should find plenty of food in the kitchens here, and we can take soda—and mineral-water from the bar.’
Mrs Warmington choked in fury. ‘How far is it to the Base?’ she demanded, breathing hard.
‘Fifteen miles,’ said Causton. ‘Right round the bay. And there’s an army between here and the Base.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘I wouldn’t try it, Mrs Warmington; I really wouldn’t.’
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you all,’ she snapped. ‘These natives wouldn’t touch us— the Government knows better than to interfere with Americans. I say we should get to the Base before those rebels come down from the hills.’
Papegaikos, standing behind her, gripped her shoulder. ‘I t’ink it better you keep your mout’ shut,’ he said. His voice was soft but his grip was hard, and Mrs Warmington winced. ‘I t’ink you are fool woman.’ He looked across at Wyatt. ‘Go on.’
‘I was saying we should load up the car with food and water and get out of here,’ said Wyatt wearily.
‘How long must we reckon on?’ asked Julie practically.
‘At least four days—better make it a week. This place will be a shambles after Mabel has passed.’
‘We’ll eat before we go,’ she said. ‘I think we’re all hungry. I’ll see what there is in the kitchen—will sandwiches do?’
‘If there are enough of them,’ said Wyatt with a smile.
Mrs Warmington sat up straight. ‘Well, I think you’re all crazy, but I’m not going to stay here by myself so I guess I’ll have to come along. Come, child, let’s make those sandwiches.’ She took a candle and swept Julie into the inner recesses of the hotel.
Wyatt looked across at Causton who was putting away his tape-recorder. ‘What about guns?’ he said. ‘We might need them.’
‘My dear boy,’ said Causton, ‘there are more than enough guns out there already. If we’re stopped and searched by Serrurier’s men and they find a gun we’ll be shot on the spot. I’ve been in some tough places in my time and I’ve never carried a gun—I owe my life to that fact.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Wyatt slowly. He looked at the Greek standing by the bar. ‘Are you carrying a gun, Eumenides?’
Papegaikos touched his breast and nodded. He said, ‘I keep it.’
‘Then you’re not coming with us,’ said Wyatt deliberately. ‘You can make your own way—on foot.’
The Greek put his hand inside his jacket and produced the gun, a stubby revolver. ‘You t’ink you are boss?’ he asked with a smile, balancing the gun in his hand.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Wyatt firmly. ‘You don’t know a damn’ thing about what a hurricane can do. You don’t know the best place to shelter nor how to go about finding it. I do—I’m the expert—and that makes me boss.’
Papegaikos came to a fast decision. He put the gun down gently on the bar counter and walked away from it, and Wyatt blew out his cheeks with a sigh of relief. Causton chuckled. ‘You’ll do, Wyatt,’ he said. ‘You’re really the boss now—if you don’t let that Warmington woman get on top of you. I hope you don’t regret taking on the job.’
Presently Julie came from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches. ‘This will do for a start. There’s more coming.’ She jerked her head. ‘We’re going to have trouble with that one,’ she said darkly.
Wyatt suppressed a groan. ‘What’s the matter now?’
‘She’s an organizer—you know, the type who gives the orders. She’s been running me ragged in there, and she hasn’t done a damned thing herself.’
‘Just ignore her,’ advised Causton. ‘She’ll give up if no one takes notice of her.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Julie. She vanished from the bar again.
‘Let’s organize the water,’ said Wyatt.
He walked towards the bar but stopped when Causton said, ‘Wait! Listen!’ He strained his ears and heard a whirring sound. ‘Someone’s trying to start your car,’ said Causton.
‘I’ll check on that,’ said Wyatt and strode into the foyer. He went through the revolving door and saw a dim figure in the driving seat of his car and heard the whine of the starter. When he peered through the window he saw it was Dawson. He jerked the door open and said, ‘What the devil are you doing?’
Dawson started and turned his head with a jerk. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said in relief. ‘I thought it was that other guy.’
‘Who was that?’
‘One of those cops. He was trying to start the car, but gave up and went away. I thought I’d check it, so I came out. It still won’t start.’
‘You’d better get out and come back into the hotel,’ said Wyatt. ‘I thought that might happen so I put the rotor-arm in my pocket.’
He stood aside and let Dawson step out. Dawson said, ‘Pretty smart, aren’t you, Wyatt?’
‘No sense in losing the car,’ said Wyatt. He looked past Dawson and stiffened. ‘Take it easy,’ he said in a low voice. ‘That copper is coming back—with reinforcements.’
‘We’d better get into the hotel pretty damn’ fast,’ said Dawson.
‘Stay where you are and keep your mouth shut,’ said Wyatt quickly. ‘They might think we’re on the run and follow us in—we don’t want to involve the others in anything.’
Dawson tensed and then relaxed, and Wyatt watched the four policemen coming towards them. They did not seem in too much of a hurry and momentarily he wondered about that. They drew abreast and one of them turned. ‘Blanc, what are you doing?’
‘I thought a thief was stealing my car.’
The policeman gestured. ‘This man?’
Wyatt shook his head. ‘No, another man. This is my friend.’
‘Where do you live?’
Wyatt nodded towards the hotel. ‘The Imperiale.’
‘A rich man,’ the policeman commented. ‘And your friend?’
‘Also in the hotel.’
Dawson tugged at Wyatt’s sleeve. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘What does your friend say?’ asked the policeman.
‘He does not understand this language,’ said Wyatt. ‘He was asking me what you were saying.’
The policeman laughed. ‘We ask th
e same things, then.’ He stared at them. ‘It is not a good time to be on the streets, blanc. You would do well to stay in your rich hotel.’
He turned away and Wyatt breathed softly in relief, but one of the other men muttered something and he turned back. ‘What is your country?’ he asked.
‘You would call me English,’ said Wyatt. ‘But I come from Grenada. My friend is American.’
‘An American!’ The policeman spat on the ground. ‘But you are English—do you know an Englishman called Manning?’
Wyatt shook his head. ‘No.’ The name rang a faint bell but he could not connect it.
‘Or Fuller?’
Something clicked. Wyatt said, ‘I think I’ve heard of them. Don’t they live on the North Coast?’
‘Have you ever met them?’
‘I’ve never seen them in my life,’ said Wyatt truthfully.
One of the other policemen stepped forward and pointed at Wyatt. ‘This man works for the Americans at Cap Sarrat.’
‘Ah, Englishman; you told me you lived in the hotel. Why did you lie?’
‘I didn’t lie,’ said Wyatt. ‘I moved in there tonight; it’s impossible to get to Cap Sarrat—you know that.’
The man seemed unconvinced. ‘And you still say you do not know the men, Fuller and Manning?’
‘I don’t know them,’ said Wyatt patiently.
The policeman said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry, blanc, but I must search you.’ He gestured to his colleagues who stepped forward quickly.
‘Hey!’ said Dawson in alarm. ‘What are these idiots doing?’
‘Just keep still,’ said Wyatt through his teeth. ‘They want to search us. Let them do it—the sooner it’s over the better.’
For the second time that day he suffered the indignity of a rough search, but this time it was more thorough. The palace guards had been looking for weapons but these men were interested in more than that. All Wyatt’s pockets were stripped and the contents handed to the senior policeman.
He looked with interest through Wyatt’s wallet, checking very thoroughly. ‘It is true you work at Cap Sarrat,’ he said. ‘You have an American pass. What military work do you do there?’
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