“We’re two or three miles north of Port Howe,” observed Adams as he dropped the anchors. “I don’t reckon we’ll find a more sheltered spot.”
“Then I suggest that we make an immediate recce,” suggested Conroy.
Adams looked bewildered.
“A what?”
“Reconnaissance — to reconnoitre…”
“Okay, okay,” Adams nodded at this addition to his English military slang. “I get the picture.”
“The first job is to see if the Lupo di Mare is moored at Port Howe and whether the Duke and Duchess are with her. We can leave Jessie on the yacht,” he added as an afterthought.
Jessie protested immediately.
“I need some exercise, especially after being cramped up with that storm. Anyway, who is going to mess with the yacht here? The place seems pretty much deserted.”
“All right,” Conroy said pacifyingly. “But the main task is to make sure that the Duke and Duchess are with Serafini…not to give ourselves exercise.”
As a precaution, Jessie removed the rotor arms from the yacht’s Kestrel engines.
Adams released the dinghy and rowed them the short distance to the shore.
“There’s a rise up there from which we can probably spot Serafini’s yacht if it is in Port Howe,” he said, indicating a hilly headland.
“Let’s go then.”
Conroy was eager now. He was sure of himself. Sure that Serafini was the Nazi contact, arranging the transportation of the Duke out of the Bahamas. He had no doubt, except…well, one doubt. One mystery which he still could not fathom. Why had Albright, if he were Olbricht — and, again, Conroy was pretty sure of that — been killed? That was the part which didn’t make sense.
Lise Fennell entered his mind again and he frowned in annoyance. He still couldn’t make up his mind about the girl. What was she doing with Serafini? Was she merely a hustler who had joined Serafini enticed by the promise that he would make her into a successful night club singer? Could she really be that hardened to life? And if she wasn’t well, what game was she playing?”
And why did he care?
He found himself acknowledging that he did care. He had never cared for anyone since Rebecca. Now he could hardly remember her wistful features, the pale skin and dark hair. All he could see was the ash-blonde hair and twinkling grey-green eyes of Lise Fennell; her innocent expression and humorous mouth. How could she be the whore which she was making herself out to be?
He ground his teeth in frustration.
He became aware that Adams had stopped. His head was on one side, listening.
“What the hell is that?” demanded Conroy, picking up the rhythm of drumming some way off.
“If it was St. John the Baptist’s day I could tell you,” Jessie said softly.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Unless I am much mistaken, those drummers are having a little voodoo party.”
Conroy stared at her for a moment or two and then chuckled.
“Voodoo again? This is the twentieth century.”
“And you aren’t walking down Oxford Street, either,” Jessie pouted. “Voodoo has been a real factor in the lives of people in this part of the world for the last couple of centuries, even in mainland states such as Louisiana.”
“You’ve told me all this before. It doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
Jessie laid a hand on his arm. Her face mirrored her concern.
“You don’t have to believe in it, Jimmy. What I am saying is that things are as they are. Cat Island has always had a bad reputation. The people here were said to be originally from the French colonies. Back on Eleuthera, a person from Cat Island came to get revenge on an islander who had wronged him. He put a voodoo curse on him — a gris-gris.”
Adams explained. “That’s the most feared voodoo curse.”
“And don’t tell me, the islander curled up and died?” sneered Conroy.
Jessie nodded slowly.
“It was no joking matter, Jimmy”
“Great Scott!” Conroy said softly. “You’ll have me at it. Save all this for the tourists. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”
Adams turned and walked on.
“Don’t get me wrong, Conroy,” he called over his shoulder. “I don’t believe in voodoo. What Jess is trying to point out to you is that there are islanders about who do and they are quite prepared to do things in the furtherance of their beliefs. That might suit Serafini’s book. It would dissuade people from visiting Cat Island too often.”
Conroy did not bother to reply.
They climbed to the headland and came within view of the harbour of Port Howe. The Lupo di Mare was moored close inshore. Further out in the bay was the low, grey shape of a warship. A White Ensign fluttered at its jackstaff.
“Well that’s the escort,” Adams said. “The Duke and Duchess must be at Devil’s Point.”
“It’s comforting to know that there is a British warship on call here,” Jessie observed.
“If Serafini does plan to take the Windsors off from here. 1 wonder if he’s made allowances for a warship tagging along?”
“More than likely,” Conroy replied. “He’s not liable to have been slipshod in making his plans. Let’s get back to the Eleuthera. I want to make contact with Nassau station. If might be useful if we make sure we can call on that naval sloop for back-up in any emergency.”
They turned back down the hill.
It happened very quickly.
They had reached a small clearing when three men burst out of the underbrush, surrounding them. They wore hideous masks over their faces and were smeared in paint.
They looked to Conroy as if they had stepped from the film set of “King Kong”, appearing remarkably like the islanders who worshipped the mysterious giant ape, with their grotesque headgear and gorilla skin clothing. For a wild moment, Conroy expected them to come up and starting talking in Hollywood “native”. But this was not a film set. The three costumed men were apparently in deadly earnest as they came forward threateningly. Each one held a wicked looking machete. They looked so incongruous that he started to chuckle.
However, the humour was cut short in his throat as he suddenly realised that two of them also held automatics. The guns were nothing to joke about. They were genuine Colt Model 1911 Brownings.
“Get your hands up, all of you,” snapped their leader. He was a thin man in khaki shorts and tennis shoes. Like his companions, apart from the mask, dirty shorts and shoes, he wore nothing but paint on his brown torso.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Adams.
“You’ll walk before us,” the leader instructed harshly, without replying to the question.
“We should have brought a weapon with us,” Adams whispered bitterly to Conroy.
“Shaddup!” snapped the leader, the barrel of his automatic circling menacingly.
They walked on, as indicated, along a pathway through the trees. Conroy realised that they were moving towards the sound of the drumming.
“Having a party?” he inquired sardonically.
There was no reply except a painful prod in the back with the muzzle of an automatic.
They proceeded in silence for quite a while. The drumming grew louder. Conroy watched their captors every minute, waiting for some lack of attention, some opportunity to present itself. His muscles were like coiled springs. But no opportunity came.
A series of buildings began to appear ahead of them. Rough, shanty constructions with rusting corrugated roofs. One man suddenly ran on. shouting something which it was hard to understand.
Conroy stopped in his tracks in astonishment.
From the buildings came a familiar figure in white shorts and a gaudy Hawaiian shirt.
His ugly face was smiling. Conroy could see the smile even at this distance.
“Sneque!”
Adams checked abruptly at Conroy’s startled exclamation.
Several things happened then. Sn
eque gave a shout of recognition. The man covering Adams was distracted momentarily by the reactions of both Sneque and his charges. Adams went into action, bringing his hand down with a chopping motion on the man’s wrist. At the same time, Conroy kicked out at the man standing behind him. The kick caught the man on the shin and he dropped to his knees in agony, the gun sagging from his hand.
“Run, Jessie, through there!” Conroy yelled, pointing with one hand to a tiny side path through the forest cover. Then he brought his knee up under his erstwhile guard’s chin. The man’s head snapped back and he went sprawling senseless on the ground.
“Come on, Adams!” he cried. As he turned to follow Jessie, he had a glimpse of Adams, scrabbling for one of the automatics discarded on the ground.
A short distance away, the third guard was turning back and he heard the snap of a shot.
Above the noise he could hear a bellow of bullish anger from the man called Sneque.
Then he was concentrating on running, feeling the shrubs and trees whipping at his clothing as he twisted and turned along the path. Ahead of him he could hear
Jessie gasping as she raced forward. They seemed to be running for an age before Conroy became aware that there were no longer any sounds of pursuit.
He saw a natural formation of rocks ahead which presented ideal cover.
“Rest up here, Jess,” he gasped.
The girl glanced quickly over her shoulder, then turned aside and flung herself down, her face contorted as she struggle to regain her breath.
Conroy dropped on his knees beside her. For a while they said nothing, intent on regaining their breath.
It was only after a long while that Jessie’s expression became anxious.
“Harry!” she gasped.
Conroy jerked his head up and realised that Harry Adams had not followed them.
Jessie gave a strangled sob.
“Those voodoo devils must have got Harry.”
CHAPTER XXII
Wednesday, August 28, 1940
“That was Serafini’s man, the one they call Sneque,” Conroy explained to Jessie. “Those characters in fancy dress must work for Serafim.”
“But Harry! They must have recaptured him.”
“Don’t worry, Jess. We’ll work out something.” He frowned. “Is that village anywhere near Serafini’s villa?”
“I don’t think so. We’re maybe five or six miles away from Devil’s Point.”
“Well, it’s near enough. This character Sneque must be Serafini’s local man on the island.”
She interrupted him in irritation.
“We must get Harry out of there. There’s no telling what those voodoo men can do. We’ve got to go back for him.”
“Certainly, but we need some sort of plan. Also, I’m worried about the Eleuthera. If Sneque and his cronies in the fancy dress get their hands on her, we’ll be in trouble.”
Jessie looked reluctant.
“They might kill Harry first,” she protested.
“I don’t think so. Not until they have rounded us up as well. Don’t forget, Serafini has probably ordered Sneque to put us all out of the way.”
“Do you think that Serafini knows that we are on the island, then?”
“He will certainly know if Sneque is in contact with him.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Conroy rose to his feet.
“We have to go back for Adams. But firstly we must move the Eleuthera down the coast a little and find a more sheltered mooring. Can we do it without Adams’ help?”
She nodded quickly.
“Let’s go them. And we can come back armed. Adams still has his Ml carbine in the locker. That might be useful.”
It took them half-an-hour to get back to the yacht. No one had discovered it as yet and Conroy wondered whether he was being over-cautious about insisting on moving it further down the coast. But left where it was it could certainly be seen from the rising headland and that was pretty near Sneque’s village. No; it was best to move it.
He helped Jessie into the dinghy and pushed it out into the gently lapping waves.
Reaching the yacht, Jessie scrambled up and went immediately to the engines while he made the dinghy fast. He was just turning into the saloon cabin in search of Adams’ armoury when he heard a faint shout. He glanced shoreward.
“Damn it!” he swore vehemently and then called to Jessie. “Let’s get underway pretty damned quick, Jess. We have visitors.”
There were half-a-dozen men on the shore now and three or four of them had sheathed their wicked looking machetes and were wading into the water. Their leader looked like the man who had initially taken them captive.
Conroy hurried into the saloon and broke open the locker where Adams stored his armoury. There was the Ml Garand rifle and a box of ammunition. He grabbed a couple of eight round clips, inserting one of them in the rifle. His eye caught another box, a metal one which was not fastened. He opened it and whistled softly. There were a dozen grenades in it. He grinned to himself. Adams certainly liked to keep a well stocked arsenal.
He returned to the deck with the carbine.
The swimmers were making good time. They were within thirty yards of the vessel and closing.
Conroy swung up the rifle. He did not want to kill anyone. He aimed at one of the bobbing swimmers and sighted on the man’s shoulder, squeezing off a round. The man screamed and a patch of red began floating on the water. Another of the swimmers turned and began to help the wounded swimmer back to shore.
“Back off, you bastards!” yelled Conroy, “or you’ll be next!”
The engines spluttered into life as Jessie finished fixing the rotor arms back into them and started them from the engine room.
“Let’s go, Jimmy!”
Conroy turned, laid aside the rifle and released the wheel, easing the throttles forward. He had seen Adams do it many times and hoped that it was as effortless as it looked. The bow of the Eleuthera came round easily enough and began to swing seaward. The propellers churned under the stern. The yacht began to move forward, increasing its speed. Soon they were well away from the cove.
Jessie joined him at the wheel, shaking her hair in the fine sea-spray which was cooling on their faces.
“Okay, Jimmy?”
“I think so. That was a damned near thing, though.”
She smiled thinly.
“Shall 1 get out the chart and see if I can spot a suitable mooring?”
“Sure. But look, I am going to turn northwards, so that our friends on shore can report which way we are heading. Then, once we are below the horizon, I mean to double back southwards and come in further down the coast. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” she agreed, “But it will take us several hours. Does Harry have that much time?”
Conroy glanced at his watch.
“I’m sure that Sneque won’t do anything until he has checked in with Serafini,” he replied, not feeling totally assured.
“Those voodoo men are evil men, Jimmy,” the girl said. “They can be pretty powerful.”
“They’re just men, Jess. I wouldn’t worry about their power. They just work for Serafini to help scare unwelcomed visitors off the island. This is the twentieth century, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but you aren’t in Europe. You can’t judge things here by European standards.”
“Even so…voodoo, black magic!” He gave a humorous grimace.
“You don’t know just how much of a hold voodoo can have on people here. Like any religion, it offers people hope, especially when they are in a hopeless situation.”
Conroy pursed his lips.
“Any minute now you’ll be echoing Karl Marx and talking about the opium of the masses.”
Jessie frowned as she sought to interpret his meaning. “If Marx meant that religion can act as a drug so that people can hope while existing in their miserable lives, in their hardship, homelessness and poverty, then I’ll agree. Voodoo was a slave
religion, just like early Christianity. Harry used to tell me that.”
“Well, for the moment it looks as though Serafini might be helping these islanders with a little religious hope. And maybe some artificial hope at that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d say that some of those fellows back there were pretty high on something and not just rum.”
Jessie fell silent except, from time to time, to advise him on his handling of the Eleuthera.
It was four hours later when they sighted land, having sailed north-easterly until they were out of sight of Cat Island before turning and doubling back, south-westerly, keeping the coastline just below the horizon. With several problems to contend with, Conroy still found it exhilarating to hold the wheel of the Eleuthera and, with Jessie to help him navigate and identify smaller problems as they arose, he found himself enjoying the experience. He had not experienced such exhilaration for a long time. It was a sense of freedom, of comforting liberty from the difficulties of the last few years. Some lines of a poem entered his mind, lines he had not heard since he was a schoolboy.
“Come my friends,
‘tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the paths
Of all the western stars, until I die.”
Where did that come from? He mused awhile. He thought it might be Tennyson.
It was now late afternoon and Jessie pointed landward.
“That’s Columbus Point in the distance. Just before that is Port Howe.”
The major problem which irritated Conroy was discovering that only Adams knew how to raise Nassau Station. While Conroy could work the radio, he did not know the local codes and it would be counter-productive to send out a general alert at this stage.
Jessie was pointing again. “There’s a little cove about a mile or two north of Port Howe which should be suitable to moor in. There are no headlands to betray us. Trees grow all the way down to a river opening. We can anchor in the mouth of the river.”
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