by Peter Cave
Sooty was alive but in bad shape as Williams winched him up over the side of the diving platform and lowered him gently to the deck. Contorted in agony, he lay there helplessly with his body twitching and convulsing obscenely as fresh waves of pain tore through him.
Martin rushed to kneel at the man’s side, hastily unbolting the heavy helmet and pulling it clear from his head. A froth of blood and saliva bubbled from between Sooty’s compressed lips, and his eyes were rolling wildly, like a madman’s. God only knew the pain he was suffering, Martin thought, bitterly regretting the fact that he could do nothing to ease it. Although there were painkillers and sedatives in the ship’s medical kit, he could not use them. Once in the decompression tank, Sooty would need the full reserves of his strength and bodily systems operating at peak efficiency if he was to survive.
Williams had already prepared the decompression unit. Leaving the winch, he hurried over to help Martin get the diver out of his suit. Together they managed to lift the screaming, thrashing man across the deck and into the coffin-sized tank. Closing and bolting the heavy lid, Williams switched on the compressor to pressurize it and stood back, glancing at Martin with a question in his eyes.
It was a question Martin couldn’t answer. The two men stood watching the tank helplessly as the unit pumped itself up to the pre-set pressure and cut off automatically.
‘He needs to get to a proper unit fast,’ Williams pointed out. ‘And we’ve got another twenty-five minutes to wait for the other divers. Think the Greeks would help out?’
‘Damn right they will,’ Martin said firmly. He headed for the ship’s radio, to summon the Greek patrol boat which was still waiting outside the ring of marker buoys. Moments later the vessel was lying alongside the diving boat.
Martin’s Greek wasn’t good, but he considered it adequate to convey the nature of the emergency. In the event it wasn’t necessary as the Greek captain spoke near-perfect English and was more than willing to help.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked politely.
Martin didn’t bandy words. ‘Where’s the nearest full decompression unit with hospital facilities?’ he asked.
The Greek looked slightly apologetic. ‘There’s nothing on Samos or the neighbouring islands, I’m afraid. The nearest would be in Piraeus, on the mainland.’
‘Could you get our man there?’ Martin asked. ‘We can detach the tank and winch it over to you.’
The captain nodded. ‘Of course. I can call for a helicopter to meet us halfway. It will save time.’
‘Thanks,’ Martin said warmly, relief surging through him. He glanced at Williams, but didn’t need to say anything. The man was already moving towards the winch to prepare a carrying cradle for the portable compression tank. Once pressurized, it could be simply unbolted from the deck and would maintain its pressure indefinitely.
The whole operation took less than three minutes. With the tank safely stowed on deck, the Greek patrol boat moved slowly back out through the ring of marker buoys and the few ships which remained in the area before throttling up and disappearing towards the mainland at full speed.
22
Sooty was going to make it. It had taken the Greek medics two days to stabilize him and a further week to rule out the possibility of permanent internal organ or brain damage, but they had finally given him the all clear.
That was Lieutenant-Colonel Martin’s good news. The downside was that the man was going to need at least four weeks to recuperate, which effectively scrubbed him from the mission. It was a setback which Martin could have done without. Along with Sergeant Graham, Williams, Crewes and Willerbey, Sooty had always been on the priority list to take part in the actual raid, and now Martin was down to his two reserves of Bailey and Donnelly. Although both men were seasoned and reliable Marines, they lacked the degree of microlight experience shared by the others.
Other than that, things appeared to be going reasonably well, Martin felt. Diving on the sunken MTB was now finished, and the civilian conscripts had made the most of their time. Bright had already put three hulls in the water and had finished off all his flotation tests to his satisfaction. He had managed to fit temporary booms and rigs to two of them so that Randy Havilland could begin his windsurfing courses for the men. Mallory was well advanced on the basic frame for the prototype microlight and the engines had arrived from England. However, it seemed that the American had something on his mind.
‘What’s the problem?’ Martin asked, after going to his room in response to the man’s request.
‘Not really a problem,’ Mallory said. ‘More like a little mystery, really. I think someone’s been accessing my computer designs.’
The American might not consider it of much importance, but Martin most certainly did. His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’
Mallory shrugged again. ‘Well, I think so.’
‘Think – or know? What grounds do you have for suspicion?’
Mallory crossed the room to the printer connected up to the computer. ‘Come over here,’ he invited Martin, waiting until the man joined him to point to the print-run indicator. ‘See that?’
Martin looked. The figure was 004. ‘So?’ he asked.
‘So there’s an extra print I can’t account for. I made three in all – one for Bright, one for Janice and one for myself. That was over a week ago, and I haven’t used the printer since.’
‘Could either of the others have run off an extra copy without telling you?’
Mallory nodded. ‘Sure, they could have, but they didn’t. I’ve asked them both.’
‘And you’re sure the counter was set at zero when you first used it?’
Mallory looked slightly unsure of himself. ‘No, to be honest; that’s the one thing I’m not one hundred per cent sure of,’ he admitted. ‘It wasn’t something I thought of checking at the time.’ He paused, eyeing Martin querulously. ‘But it was a brand-new unit, wasn’t it? All of this stuff was straight out of the packing cases, as far as I know.’
Martin nodded faintly, looking worried. He’d personally supervised the unpacking and setting-up of the equipment. To his knowledge, no one had even switched on the system until Mallory had used it. ‘What about quality-control checks?’ he asked, grasping at straws. ‘Don’t manufacturers run a working test on equipment before they ship it out?’
Again, Mallory looked unsure. ‘I guess they might,’ he said. ‘But then if they’re going to be that finicky, why not reset the counter back to zero at the same time, just for the sake of appearances?’
Martin didn’t attempt an answer. He was too busy worrying the matter over in his mind. As Mallory had said, it was a mystery rather than a problem, and an inconclusive one at that. But a mystery nevertheless. Another one!
‘Damn,’ Martin growled, slamming his clenched fist down on Mallory’s worktop. He took a deep breath, recovering himself. ‘If there was another copy run off, when was it done, do you think?’
Mallory shook his head. ‘Could have been any time in the last week. Like I said, I haven’t used the printer since then. I only noticed it a few minutes ago, quite by accident.’
‘All right, I’ll check around and see if there’s anything I can find out,’ Martin said rather helplessly. ‘Just keep your eyes open and let me know if anything else unusual happens.’ There wasn’t much else he could do. Feeling totally impotent, he left the room.
He found Selina in the common room by accident rather than design. Though she had been his first thought for the most likely suspect, Martin had not intended to tackle her directly, feeling that there would be little point. She would of course simply deny any direct accusation, and it would not be a good idea to antagonize her while he still needed her trust and cooperation. Now, however, the opportunity presented itself to at least sound her out, using a little discretion. He forced a cheery smile.
‘Time off on your own?’ he said chattily. ‘I thought you might be with young Havilland. You two seem to get on well together.’
‘Are we doing a little prying? Trying to find out if Randy and I have got something going?’
Faced with such a frank question, Martin shook his head, feeling embarrassed. ‘No, not at all,’ he protested.
Selina seemed unconvinced. ‘Or perhaps you were wondering if I’d been pumping him for information on this little project of yours,’ she went on. ‘In which case the answer is most definitely no, and you can ask Randy for confirmation.’
The conversation was definitely not going the way he had intended, Martin thought. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ he muttered, trying to lighten things up again.
‘Perhaps it might be very necessary,’ Selina said, with a curious little undertone in her voice. She paused, staring hard at him. ‘Look, you’re suspicious of me, and I can understand that.’
The woman’s uncanny ability to penetrate matters on an instinctive level rattled Martin again. It was almost as if she could read his mind. With some effort he met her gaze. ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked warily.
Selina looked vaguely irritated. ‘Because it is in the very nature of our jobs to be suspicious of other people. And because I think you fail to understand one of the fundamental subtleties of the Greek mentality,’ she told him.
‘Which is?’
Selina allowed herself a faint smile. ‘For want of a better expression let’s call it a sense of detachment,’ she said. ‘Does it not occur to you that we might feel that the less we know about this operation, the better it might be for us? We’re not exactly the world’s front runners in matters of politics and diplomacy, you know.’
She had a point, Martin admitted to himself grudgingly. And he had nothing to counter it with. His silence evinced the faintest glint of triumph in the girl’s eyes.
‘So to answer your original question, Lieutenant-Colonel, yes I was taking some time off, and as it happens I was about to go out and watch Randy doing his windsurfing course.’ Selina broke off to smile sweetly. ‘Perhaps you’d care to join me?’
She had changed, Martin realized; slipped neatly into a new and different persona as suddenly and as easily as a chameleon changes colour to melt into its environment. The aggressive, efficient career woman was gone, replaced by the girl-woman who was at the same time both totally innocent and totally feminine.
It was unnerving, but utterly irresistible. Like some helpless drone, Martin allowed her to link her arm into his and lead him out towards the beach.
23
‘Flashy little bastard,’ Crewes spat out, his face contorted with pure hatred.
Willerbey followed his companions’s eye out over the sea, to where Randy Havilland was just completing a series of rapid and extremely slick port and starboard tacks on one of Bright’s boards. It looked pretty good, he thought, giving the young man credit for his skill. He couldn’t quite understand why Crewes seemed to be so uptight.
‘Hey, don’t let it get to you,’ he said. ‘The guy’s just good at what he does, that’s all.’
Crewes remained unimpressed. ‘Maybe because that’s all the little tosser has to do with his fucking life,’ he observed bitterly. ‘Just ponce around the beaches of the world spending his daddy’s money and showing off.’
Willerbey couldn’t stop himself from grinning. ‘I didn’t know you were into all that working-class hero stuff,’ he teased. ‘Deprived childhood, was it? Home a cardboard box on the M1, and all that bit?’
Crewes whirled on him, his aggrieved expression fading as he saw Willerbey’s grinning face. ‘No, that was just the telly,’ he said. ‘When me mum asked for a television set, the old man put two rats in a box and cut a hole in the front. Took me three bloody years to figure out why the BBC showed nothing but wildlife programmes.’
Despite the attempt at humour, Crewes was still seething below the surface, Willerbey could tell. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Randy made windsurfing look so easy. And perhaps also because Crewes had already had one practice session, and judging from his wet hair, had not exactly performed faultlessly.
‘Didn’t do too well on your test, eh?’ he asked sympathetically.
Crewes glowered at him. ‘Don’t you bloody well start,’ he warned. ‘You wait until it’s your turn. I tell you, those boards don’t handle anything like anything else you’ve ever sailed. It’s like trying to ride a couple of bloody planks through white water.’ He nodded his head out towards Randy again. ‘With that smug bastard posing about and looking down his fucking nose at you. Do you know what the arrogant little shit called me? A plonker. I nearly topped the bastard.’
‘We all got called a lot worse on basic training,’ Willerbey reminded him.
Anger flared in Crewes’ eyes again. ‘Yeah, but that was by people you could respect.’ He was about to say more, but he had noticed Martin and Selina walking down the beach towards them. ‘Anyway, let’s drop it. Here comes the boss with the bastard’s little lady-love.’
It all dropped into place. Simple jealousy, Willerbey thought. It was no secret among the men that Crewes had fancied Selina from the moment they had arrived at the Samos base.
‘So that’s it,’ Willerbey muttered. ‘You’ve got it in for him because he’s poking the home help.’
It was meant as a gentle taunt, but the brief look of rage which crossed Crewes’ face told Willerbey that he had taken it a lot harder. For a moment, he thought the man was going to explode, but then he controlled himself with a visible effort. ‘I told you, just drop it,’ Crewes hissed, and lapsed into a sullen silence.
Martin and Selina had reached the water’s edge. Noticing them, Randy brought his windsurfer round in a clean arc and headed straight for the beach. He ran the board straight up on to the shingle, dropping the boom and jumping off in one smooth movement without even getting his white deck shoes wet. The manoeuvre was obviously well practised and designed to look good – and clearly executed for Selina’s benefit.
Crewes had a point, Willerbey reflected. The man was a flash bastard. He could see potential problems if he managed to antagonize the rest of the men as easily as he had upset Crewes. Perhaps a discreet word in Martin’s ear might not go amiss, he thought.
After exchanging a few words with Martin, Randy looked over and noticed Willerbey and Crewes. Excusing himself, he loped across the beach towards them, grinning amiably.
‘Right, you haven’t been out yet, have you?’ he asked Willerbey. ‘Want to show me what you can do, or are you another one with two left feet like your mate here?’
The tension could have been cut with a knife. Willerbey could almost feel his companion struggling to contain himself, straining like a dog on a leash. He took a step forward, nodding curtly at Randy. ‘Yeah, let’s go,’ he said urgently, trying to defuse the situation as quickly as possible.
It wasn’t going to work. The last little dig had pushed Crewes over the edge. Stepping directly in front of Randy, the Marine confronted him face to face, anger blazing in his eyes.
‘Listen, sonny boy,’ he hissed, quietly but with a chilling edge. ‘You ever call me a plonker again and I’ll knock every one of your pretty white capped teeth down the back of your fucking throat.’
To Willerbey’s surprise, Randy didn’t even flinch. The young man obviously had more guts than he had given him credit for. As he faced up squarely to Crewes’ challenge there was no trace of apology in his voice.
‘No, you listen to me,’ he said quietly and evenly. ‘I’ve been given a job to do – which makes you my responsibility. These boards are a bitch to handle and your lives are going to depend on them. If you can’t control them fifty yards off a beach, on a nice sunny afternoon with nothing more than a breeze blowing, then how the fuck do you think you’re going to manage at night, on the open sea and in the teeth of a force seven?’ He paused to draw breath. ‘S
o I’ll use every trick in the book – including a few friendly jibes – to get you as proficient as I can. If you’re not man enough to take it, don’t come bloody whinging to me.’
Having said his piece, Randy turned on his heel and began to walk away, leaving Crewes speechless. Willerbey hurried after him, catching him up.
‘That was a bit strong,’ he said, his tone carrying a note of admiration rather than censure. The man had suddenly gone up several points in his estimation.
Randy shrugged and said: ‘All this macho “we’re the big bad tough guys” shit pisses me off. I find it arrogant.’
Willerbey smiled. ‘Funny, that’s what he said about you.’ A sudden thought struck him. There was something which Randy had said which had struck a jarring note. ‘How did you know we’d be using these things at night, anyway?’
There was the briefest moment of hesitation before Randy answered. ‘Somebody must have mentioned it,’ he said, trying to shrug the question off. ‘Or maybe I just assumed it.’
There was nothing he could actually put his finger on, but suddenly Willerbey had the strangest feeling that the young man was lying. And, at the same time, the suspicion that Randy Havilland knew a lot more about the details of Operation Windswept than he was supposed to.
* * *
Martin was about to retire for the night when there was a furious pounding on his door. Throwing a shirt and trousers back on, he crossed the room and opened it to find an extremely agitated Mike Bright standing outside.
‘Look, I thought I’d better come and tell you right away,’ Bright blurted out. ‘But one of the new rigs has gone missing.’
The information hit Martin like a bucket of cold water. He practically pulled Bright into the room, and slammed the door. ‘What the hell do you mean – gone missing?’
‘I mean somebody’s taken one,’ Bright expanded. ‘The whole bloody thing. It’s one of the ones Randy was using this afternoon for lessons. It was still completely rigged up.’