Wyatt's Hurricane / Bahama Crisis

by Desmond Bagley

  A rustle of papers. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘But she did make a reservation?’

  ‘Yes, sir; two rooms. Mrs Mangan and Miss Mangan, and Mr and Mrs Pascoe.’

  ‘Have the Pascoes checked in?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I put down the telephone and said blankly, ‘She’s not there.’

  ‘What time was she supposed to get into Miami?’ asked Billy.

  ‘Before dark; say, eight o’clock. Pete has standing instructions from me to get into port in daylight if possible, especially with the family aboard. She’s a fast boat for her type and he’d have no trouble about that.’

  ‘She’s only three hours overdue, Tom. Anything could have happened. Engine trouble, perhaps.’

  ‘Boats with Pete aboard don’t have engine trouble,’ I said sharply. ‘Besides, the Girl has two engines.’

  ‘If one was knocked out it would slow her down.’

  ‘Not by a lot—not by three hours.’ I picked up the telephone again. ‘I’ll ring the marina in Miami.’ Ten minutes later I knew that Lucayan Girl had not arrived. I said to Billy, ‘I’ve got a feeling about this. I’m going over to BASRA—they can raise the US Coast Guard.’

  ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘Fifteen—twenty minutes. It’s quite close.’

  ‘I’ll stick around until you get back. Julie might ring.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll check that Karen’s safely asleep before I go.’

  BASRA headquarters on Grand Bahama are in the building which also holds the Underwater Exploration Society. Five minutes later I was climbing the stairs to the Tide’s Inn, a tavern which supports both the Society and BASRA. The place was noisy with vacationers and I found Joe Kimble of BASRA employed in his favourite occupation—chatting up a couple of nubile females. I crossed to his table. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Joe, but Lucayan Girl is overdue in Miami.’

  He looked up. ‘How much overdue?’

  ‘Over three hours now.’ I met his eye. ‘Julie and Sue are aboard.’

  ‘Oh!’ He stood up. ‘Sorry, girls, but business comes first.’

  We went down to the BASRA office and I said, ‘What’s the weather like in the Florida Straits?’

  ‘Calm—no problems there.’ He sat behind a desk and took a pen. ‘When did she leave?’

  ‘Dead on eleven this morning.’

  ‘Give me the number of the marina in Miami.’ He scribbled it down, then said, ‘You’d better go home, Tom, and stick by your telephone. But don’t use it. I’ll do any telephoning that’s necessary—you keep an open line. I’ll ring the marina and tell them to notify BASRA if she comes in.’

  ‘What about the Coast Guard?’

  ‘I’ll radio them but there’s not much they can do at night—you know that.’

  ‘Can I use the phone here?’ At Joe’s nod I picked it up and rang Bobby Bowen at his home. I outlined the situation, then said, ‘There may be nothing in it, but if there’s no report in the next few hours I’ll need planes in the air at first light. How many can we raise?’

  ‘Just two here,’ said Bowen. ‘There’s one in Nassau and the other has its engine stripped for the 300-hour check.’

  ‘Get that plane back from Nassau as fast as you can. You’ll liaise with Joe Kimble of BASRA who will be coordinator. Unless the order is cancelled you’ll rendezvous at…’ I twitched an eyebrow at Joe who said, ‘Lucayan Beach Air Services.’

  I passed that on, and added, ‘…at five-thirty a.m.’ I put down the phone. ‘I’m going home, Joe. Julie might ring.’

  He nodded. ‘If I’m going to fly tomorrow I’ll need some shuteye. I’ll get one of the groundlings to stand by here as soon as I’ve raised the Coast Guard.’

  I had an argument with Billy which he won. ‘I’ll stay by the telephone,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to sleep. If anything comes through I’ll wake you.’ He raided the kitchen and made me warm milk laced with brandy. Afterwards he told me that he had roused Luke Bailey who found Julie’s sleeping pills and he dissolved one into the milk.

  So it was that when he woke me at five in the morning I felt doped and muzzy. At first I did not know what he was doing there in my bedroom, but then the knowledge hit me. ‘Any news?’ I demanded.

  He shook his head. ‘Just a call from BASRA; the Coast Guard are putting helicopters out of Miami as soon as it’s light enough to see.’

  I got up and found Debbie in the living-room; Billy had rung her and she had immediately come from the hotel. None of us did much talking because there was nothing much to say, but Debbie insisted that she was going to stay to look after Karen. Luke Bailey made an early breakfast and I drove to the airport feeling like hell.

  Joe Kimble was in the office of Lucayan Beach Air Services, allocating areas on a map. Bobby Bowen was there, and Bill Pinder, another Corporation pilot, and there were three other pilots, volunteers from BASRA. Joe said, ‘Now, remember we’re tying in with the US Coast Guard on this. Stick to your own areas and watch your altitude. And watch for the choppers—we don’t want a mid-air collision to complicate things.’

  We walked out to the tie-down lines and the sky was just lightening in the east as we took off. I flew with Bobby Bowen and, as we flew west and gained altitude, the panorama in the rising sun was achingly beautiful.

  Lucayan Girl was of a type which the Americans call a trawler. Because of recurrent oil crises a demand has arisen for a boat, not particularly fast, but with range and seakeeping qualities, and light on fuel. These boats, no matter who the designer, all look pretty much alike because they were all trying to solve the same problems and inevitably came up with the same results. And our problem was that in Florida and Bahamian waters they are as thick as fleas on a dog.

  Not many people make night passages in power boats in the Islands but we spotted our first twenty miles out and heading our way. We were flying at 2500 feet, adhering strictly to regulations for the course we were on, and Bowen dropped us 1000 feet, again going by the book. I looked at the boat through glasses as we went by and shook my head. Bowen took us up again.

  It was a long and futile search. We found six boats but not Lucayan Girl. From the intermittent chatter on the radio no one else was having any luck either. Visibility so early in the morning was generally good but, as the sun rose, cloud began to form. Presently Bowen said, ‘Got to go back.’ He tapped the fuel gauge.

  So we went back, the engine coughing as we landed, and found that all the others had already returned. No one had seen the Girl and neither had the US Coast Guard. Joe Kimble reamed out Bobby Bowen. ‘You cut that too damn fine.’

  Bowen managed a tired smile. ‘No problem; I emptied my cigarette lighter into the tank.’

  ‘I sure as hell don’t want to go out there looking for plane wreckage because some damn fool has run out of gas. Don’t do it again.’

  I said, ‘Refuel, Bobby.’

  One of the BASRA pilots stirred. ‘I’ll take you out again, Mr Mangan. I’m fuelled up.’

  So I went out again. They all went out again. They were a good crowd. And we all came back, but not Lucayan Girl.

  The next few days were grim. People pussyfooted around me, not knowing what to do or say, and work went to hell. I felt as numb as though I had been mentally anaesthetized and I suppose I acted like a zombie, one of the walking dead. I wished I was dead.

  Billy said, ‘This is no time to talk business, Tom. Let me know when we can get together again.’ He went back to Houston, but Debbie refused to go home and stayed on to look after Karen. I was in no mood to argue.

  Looking back I can see that this was worse than a normal death in the family. There was no funeral, no assuaging ceremonial—nothing to do. There was the ever-present expectation of a telephone call which would magically solve everything and restore my wife and daughter to me and bring back my old friend, Pete Albury. I jerked every time a phone rang—anywhere.

  The house was haunted. Although the pool was mirrorlike in its q
uietness there was still held in the mind’s eye the image of a lithe young body, sleek as an otter, breaking the surface with a shout of joy, and I expected, on turning a corner, to find at any moment the dark beauty of Julie, perhaps going about some domestic chore like watering the roses.

  I suppose I was a haunted man.

  Debbie was very good. At first she sought to cheer me up, but I was impervious so she desisted and contented herself with acting as a barrier between me and the world of the newspapers. And she saw that I ate regularly and did not drink too much or, at least, drink alone. She need not have worried about that; I have never considered that diving into a bottle could solve any problems.

  She looked after Karen and played with her and stopped my little daughter from worrying me too much in those awful first days. Once I overheard Karen say to her, ‘What’s wrong with Daddy?’

  ‘Your father has some problems,’ said Debbie. ‘Don’t bother him now—he’ll be all right soon.’

  Karen had not been told, but sooner or later I would have to tell her that her mother and sister were dead. I wondered if the idea of death would mean much to a nine-year-old. I sweated at the thought of telling her.

  And then there were Julie’s parents, Mike and Ellen Pascoe. I did not know how to contact them because they were on the move, driving from Maryland to Miami where they expected to meet Julie at the Fontainbleu. I left a message at the Fontainbleu asking that they ring me immediately on arrival.

  The call came two days later and Ellen was on the line. ‘Julie isn’t here,’ she said. ‘Has she been held up?’

  ‘Can I speak to Mike?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Is anything wrong, Tom?’

  ‘Just let me talk to Mike for a moment.’ Mike came on and I told him what had happened, and I heard his breath hiss in my ear.

  He said, ‘Is there no…hope?’

  ‘Oh, God! Hope is the only thing that’s been keeping me going. But it’s been nearly three days, and every hour that goes by…Look, I’ll send a plane for you. It’ll be there this afternoon. Just wait at the hotel for Bobby Bowen. Okay?’

  ‘All right,’ he said heavily.

  Half an hour after that telephone call Debbie came into my study. ‘There are two men to see you. Policemen.’

  I jerked around. ‘With news?’ She shook her head sadly and I sighed. ‘All right; show them in.’

  Debbie led them into the study and then left. I stood up and looked at Perigord in some perplexity. Deputy-Commissioner Perigord, a black Bahamian, was the topranking police officer on Grand Bahama and I knew him slightly, having met him at social functions. His companion was also black but unknown to me. Both were in uniform.

  Perigord said, ‘I’m sorry to have to intrude at this time, Mr Mangan; I assure you I wish it were otherwise. I put it off for as long as possible but…’ He shrugged.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  He took off his uniform cap and laid it on my desk together with his swagger stick. ‘This is Inspector Hepburn.’

  I nodded in acknowledgement and sat down. Perigord said, ‘I knew Mrs Mangan slightly; we met at PTA meetings—our daughters attend the same school. If there is anything my wife and I can do to help then please call on us. However, I am here on a different errand. You must know that in circumstances like this there are questions to be asked.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Just get on with it.’

  He took out a notebook. ‘The name of your boat is Lucayan Girl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did she sail from?’

  ‘Here.’ I pointed through the window towards the atrium. ‘Her mooring is just through that archway.’

  ‘Would you mind if Inspector Hepburn looks at the mooring?’

  ‘No—but what does he expect to find?’

  ‘I don’t know. Police work consists of looking at a lot of things, most of which turn out to be useless in the end. But sometimes we get lucky.’ He nodded to Hepburn who got up and left the room.

  ‘I don’t see how the police come into it.’ I saw Hepburn walk by the pool and disappear through the arch.

  ‘There is more to police work than crime; we fulfil many social functions. Were you present when Lucayan Girl sailed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who was on board?’

  ‘Julie, my wife; my daughter, Susan; Pete Albury, the skipper; and a crewman.’

  ‘What is the crewman’s name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Perigord frowned. ‘You don’t know!’ he said with a tinge of perplexity in his voice.

  ‘Pete Albury hired him. I didn’t want my wife and daughter to sail with only Pete aboard so I asked Pete to hire a hand just for this trip.’

  ‘I see. But if you hired him you were obviously going to pay him. Was it to be by cash or cheque?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said to Perigord’s obvious bafflement. As he made a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue I said, ‘That was Pete’s business. He ran Lucayan Girl; he had a bank account from which to draw funds, and I checked the account monthly. He’d have paid, but whether in cash or by cheque I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘You must have trusted Mr Albury,’ said Perigord.

  ‘I did,’ I said evenly.

  ‘Now, then; what did this man—this crewman—look like?’

  ‘I don’t know; I didn’t see him.’

  Perigord definitely lost his composure. ‘You mean you hired a man you didn’t even see!’

  ‘I didn’t hire him,’ I said. ‘Pete did. I had every confidence in Pete to pick a good man. Look, I run a business. I don’t hire personally everyone who works for me, neither do I necessarily know them by name or sight. That’s known as delegation of authority.’

  ‘And so you bring your business practices into your household.’

  ‘I trusted Pete,’ I said stubbornly.

  ‘How do you know that this…this stranger was on board when the boat sailed?’

  ‘Pete told me. I asked him and he said the crewman was below greasing the shafts.’

  ‘But you don’t know it of your own knowledge.’

  ‘I can’t say that I do.’

  Perigord pondered for a moment, then asked, ‘Is there anyone else to whom I can refer who would know it from his own knowledge?’

  I thought about that, casting my mind back to the scene by the lagoon. Billy, Debbie and I had walked through the archway together and if I had not seen the crewman then neither could they. I shook my head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Inspector Hepburn came back and Perigord glanced at him. ‘So what it comes to is this—we have a man, probably dead, whose name we don’t know and whom we can’t describe. We don’t even know his colour. In fact, Mr Mangan, we might even be wrong about the sex—this crew member could be a woman for all we know.’

  ‘No,’ I said definitely. ‘I asked Pete about him, and Pete said, “He’ll do.”’

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ said Perigord. ‘Where does Mr Albury live?’

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘There are some work rooms and store rooms for ship’s chandlery with an apartment over. Pete moved in here when his wife died last year.’

  ‘There may be something in the apartment to give us a lead. Do you mind if Inspector Hepburn looks?’

  ‘Of course not.’ I opened the wall safe and took out the key to Pete’s rooms and gave it to Hepburn, then rang for Luke who appeared with suspicious alacrity. ‘Show the Inspector where Pete’s rooms are.’

  They left and I turned to Perigord. ‘There’s something here which may possibly be useful.’ I took a small book from the safe. ‘I record the serial numbers of any important equipment I own, and there’s a section for Lucayan Girl in here—her engine numbers, radar, radio and so on. Even the binoculars and the cameras we routinely carry aboard.’

  ‘Ah, that’s better!’ Perigord took the book and flicked through it. ‘And the numbers carried on certain documen
ts, I see. Is the boat insured?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you, Mr Mangan; do you carry life insurance?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘And Mrs Mangan? Was her life insured?’

  I stared at him. ‘I’m a rich enough man not to want to benefit by my wife’s death. What the hell are you getting at?’

  He held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I’m sorry; in my work we are forced to intrude at inopportune moments with questions which may be construed as tactless—tactless but necessary. I did not wish to offend, sir.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m under a bit of strain. No apology is necessary.’

  There were more questions, the answers to most of which appeared to satisfy him, and presently Hepburn came back and Perigord picked up his cap and swagger stick. ‘That will be all for now, sir. There’ll be an enquiry; I’ll let you know where and when it will be held. May I offer my profound sorrow and my…condolences. I did like Mrs Mangan.’

  ‘Condolences!’ I said in a choked voice.

  ‘It has been two and a half days,’ said Perigord gravely.

  I took a grip on myself. ‘Commissioner, what do you think happened?’

  ‘I doubt if we’ll ever know. Perhaps a gas leak in the bilges leading to an explosion—that’s rather common. Or the boat could have been run down by a supertanker.’

  ‘In daylight!’

  ‘We don’t know that it was daylight,’ he pointed out, and shrugged. ‘And those ships are so big they could run down a moderately small craft and no one would feel a thing. A ship carrying 300,000 tons of oil has a lot of momentum. We’ll do our best to find out what happened, but I offer no certainties.’ With that he and Hepburn left.

  He had not been gone two minutes when Luke Bailey came in wearing a worried frown. ‘I’d like to tell you something.’ He jerked his head at the door. ‘That policeman…’

  ‘Who—Perigord?’

  ‘No, the other one—the Inspector. He’s on the Narcotics Squad. I thought you’d like to know.’