' Assuming, that it does just that,' asked MKG. How long will a cyclone take to reach us?'
Three-four days,' answered Peace. ' I'd say that already the Seventh Fleet Navy aviators are casting anxious glances eastwards.'
The morning remained brilliantly clear, but on the eastern
horizon there was a curious opaqueness.
Peace said to Adele, who sat hugging her knees on the
thwart next to me. Ask Andre what he thinks of it'
Andre had been fussing with the lateen-like sail. trimming it to the wind, which had now changed its steady thrust to intermittent, heavier gusts.
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'He says, the great cyclone of 1947, when St. Brandon was
completely submerged, began on a clear day like this.' ` What was the wind-velocity?'
Adele smiled. ` He wouldn't know what you meant, put like that.' She spoke rapidly, circumlocuting. ` The radio
station on Agalega reported one-twenty knots.
MKG gave a low whistle.
Andre went on, indicating MKG, He says it is better to be out in a small boat like this in a cyclone than a big ship,'
translated Adele. ` The waves can break a long ship's back, but this one—never.'
Andre took the radio and Adele said, Andre says there
are radio warning stations on St Brandon and Agalega. Agalega is operated by Chepé, who is a master shipbuilder
and a sailor. He uses his brains to see whether there is really a cyclone coming. He does not merely pass on what some—
some—' she paused= sonofabitch in Chagos thinks.'
The old fisherman shook the radio. Chepé! Chepé!'
Adele's eyes were on mine. He's calling Chepé. He thinks because Chepé can hear Chagos, there is no reason why he cannot hear Andre, who is much closer anyway.'
The old man fiddled angrily with the dials, but with Adele's help we were rewarded by a singsong voice. Andre pointed in triumph and grinned. Chepe'
Adele was puzzled. ' Even I do not know what Chepé is saying: he repeats, the frigate birds are coming in from LoveApple Crossing and the Agalega lagoon is full of noddies.'
Andre looked grave. Adele spoke for him. ' Big cyclone. Chepé is telling the fishermen in the sort of terms they understand.'
A stylized voice came through after a flood of Creole. It
was still Chepé, but he was repeating by rota. AgalegaAgalega met. calling. General gale warning from the northeast. Chagos met. station reports Force Five wind and sea building up.' There was another volley of Creole. Andre shook his head at the eastern horizon.
Adele translated. This morning I saw a giant ray a mile south of Taillevent Head.' Andre pursed his mouth. It is bad—
very bad. A ray going south-west from Taillevent means he is running from the coming cyclone.'
' This could wreck the launch schedule, apart from any
other considerations,' said MKG.
' No,' replied Peace. A cyclone generally lasts no. more than four-five days. We still have eight. Thornton's men
will never find us in a full-scale blow.'
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M K G s m i l e d w r y l y . I g r a n t i t ' s g o o d c o v e r , b u t w h a t about the rest—open sea, tiny boat?'
I'll pick up Bellatrix either tonight or tomorrow before the full force of it hits us,' asserted Peace. And once I have Bellatrix, Semittanté is ours.'
In short, you choose a cyclone rather than the Seventh F l e e t ? ' T h e r e w a s a n u n d e r t o n e o f a d m i r a t i o n i n M K G ' S
voice.
Any day,' replied Peace. The sea is on my side.' It
always has been,' I added.
He looked at me for a long moment. Yes—but, like now,
I am never sure.'
Adele said, Before we find Semittantê, won't the Seventh Fleet fliers come looking for this cutter?'
So what?' asked Peace. Spread over the Sea of Limuria are hundreds of island cutters, pirogues and fishing craft. Even if a Navy plane comes—you can't distinguish us from the others.'
Y e s , y o u c a n , ' r e p l i e d A d e l e . ' I n t h i s , I l o o k l i k e n o other Limuria woman. I . . . I . . .' She smiled delightedly a n d s p o k e t o A n d r e w h o , w o n d e r i n g l y , h a n d e d o v e r h i s knife. Adele seized the material of her pants and hacked round the leg, reducing them to shorts.
And fishermen wear hats.' She spoke again to Andre, who pointed to the forward decking. Adele came back with four enormous latanier-leaf hats, which she crammed down amid laughter on our heads.
No fisherman wears a jersey like yours,' she told Peace. I t m u s t c o m e o f f . Y o u r s t o o , J o h n . A n d — ' s h e w e n t o n shyly= yours also, Mister Vice-President.'
MKG,' he corrected. My by-line on this edition is MKG.'
When we had pulled off our sweaters and concealed our faces under the ragged-edged hats, Andre grinned. Chepe would laugh at this,' Adele translated. He is my cousin and a man to laugh. Maybe you will drive the cyclone away, looking like that.'
MKG checked his watch and asked Adele to switch on the
radio. Limuria is nine hours ahead of Washington. Although s t a t i c m a s k e d t h e V o i c e o f A m e r i c a a n d o t h e r A m e r i c a n stations, there was no mention of the Seventh Fleet's mission. Peace impatiently asked Adele to tune it to the Navy waveb a n d . T h e s e a s s e e m e d t o h a v e a s s u m e d a s i n i s t e r g l a z e a n d I d i d n ' t c a r e f o r t h e l o o k o f t h e e a s t e r n h o r i z o n a n y more than Andre did.
Here it came—a pattern of quickfire Morse. Adele jotted
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down the close letter-groupings and deciphered them with the aid of the Navy code-book.
CIC to Willowtrack x am sending for you for personal report when in range x return with helo to Rio Grande x Willowtrack to CIC x helo pick-up of myself impos-
sible x weather deteriorating rapidly x
I could visualize the big seas smashing against St Brandon's reef. Here, scores of miles away, apart from their strange s h e e n , t h e y h a d t a k e n o n a l o n g s u r g e . T h e g a y b l u e o f Limuria had turned to grey, presaging trouble.
Thornton's reply showed the sandpaper temperament for
which he was famous:
CIC to Willowtrack x stand by x helo will pick you up as ordered x
We drove north.
By afternoon the lateen sail was snugged down to two '
reefs. It was blowing hard from the north-east and the seas had a nasty lop to them. Adele kept radio watch on the Navy wavelength ; only once Peace reluctantly agreed to listen to a newscast, but there was nothing.
W i t h t h e l o w e r i n g s e a s c a m e c l o u d f r o m t h e e a s t . W e thankfully pulled on our jerseys. There was little point in camouflaging ourselves as fishermen in the deteriorating visibility. Peace began to grow anxious lest we should miss Bellatrix. The sun was hidden by overcast and, according to my dead reckoning, we were on a collision course with the yacht. It would, however, be possible not to spot her at a couple of miles in the threatening seas.
After hours of silence, a clatter of Morse came through. Adele, sheltering a scrap of paper from the spray, noted down the groups. It was Tyler:
Willowtrack to CIC x helo last on pick-up attempt x rescued survivors x
CIC to Willowtrack x have dispatched second helo x stand by for pick-up 7600 GMT x
Willowtrack to CIC x submit weather conditions impos- sible x
CIC to Willowtrack x repeat stand by helo pick-up 1600 GMT x
I pictured Tyler's predicament in trying to save the second helo from the fate of the first. At four o'clock GMT--eight p.m. by Limuria time— St Brandon's reef would be a wild h e l l o f d a r k w a t e r . I t s h o w e d t h e s i g n i f i c a n c e T h o r n t o n attached to the news of the disappearance of the Vice-President. Tyler's seamanship must have been magnificent to have 147
rescued the first helicopter's cr
ew. MKG'S face was grim.
1 Another two men were risking their lives for him.
The cutter drove on.
Adele took the radio and wrapped herself in an old blanket
under the for'ard decking out of the spray. The cutter was
making a good nine knots—better than Peace had counted
on. Somewhere ahead in the waste of waters was Bellatrix, merged with the grey gloom. Peace took the sail from Andre
and sent him into the bows to try and spot the yacht. MKG and I took turns at the tiller, but I decided to join Andre. Water burst along the planking, blinding me. In contrast to the grey east, the horizon in the west was still unnaturally bright.
Then I saw it.
The sea seemed to be fashioned from a solid, not fluid,
medium. The wall of it rose up square, about half a mile to windward. Unlike an ordinary wave, its top was not spumewhite and boiling: this was calm, squared-off, confident of its mighty power. Icy fear gripped me, I recognized it, although I had never seen one. I tried to find the three words, but fear strangled my voice.
' Raz de Marées!'
Only Andre, a foot away, heard my terror-deadened cry.
All I knew was that I was pointing frantically at the awesome thing rushing down on the cutter.
' Raz de Marées!' yelled Andre.
Peace turned in disbelief. But MKG saw and the tiller
went hard over so that the bow--our only slight chance—
pointed at the advancing wall of sea. Peace cleated home the sheet and whipped a bight of it round the mast and his chest. I stood staring stupidly at the living grey death bearing down until Andre's hard hand jerked me under the bow decking.
Adele emerged and stared, wide-eyed.
Raz de Marées! I croaked. 'Brace your feet—hang:-on—for God's sake, anything—it's almost here!'
It seemed as if our backs rose vertically. The cutter's bow went up and up. I heard the low moan of the giant wave
before I felt the hammer-blow of the water against the hull. If the boat's head fell off now
-! But MKG had her, holding the tiller amidships with both hands. Up! Up!
She yawed, faltered. MKG's hands worked the rough tiller.
She came back—reluctantly, with awful lethargy. She was
making out!
Then Peace shouted, pointing.
Away to port were the lights of a ship.
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Bellatrix!
The DNI had chosen his man well. Trevor-Davis had put on all the yacht's lights, including the masthead ones, before it was fully dark, in anticipation of being intercepted—as Peace had told him—before Bellatrix reached St Brandon. We watched, awestruck. The graceful yacht canted steeply under the huge wave, shuddered, rose, broke free.
Peace lit the cutter's acetylene light and fired a flare. My admiration for the quiet Trevor-Davis increased still more as Bellatrix swung round towards us—alone in the wheelhouse, he was keeping an eagle's-eye watch all round the compass.
Within half an hour we were drinking Glenfiddich in Bellatrix's sycamore-panelled lounge, the cutter towing safely behind the yacht. Mac had come through on Peace's invitat ion and met MKG. He seemed much better pleased to see Peace than the American leader. I was reminded again of his gutter-gang loyalties, his unquestioning devotion to the submarine ace.
Peace took over from the exhausted Trevor-Davis—except for a few cat-naps while steering on the Sperry auto, he had been almost continuously in the wheelhouse, he told us. The only sign of the long shifts on Mac was his moroseness as he downed a half-tumbler of straight Scotch.
Bellatrix drove north into the wild night—for Semittanté, for Love-Apple Crossing.
1 1 T H E C U T T I N G - O U T O F L I T T L E B E A R A hard hand was on my shoulder. I was awake and sitting up, my reflexes ahead of my senses. For a moment I saw only a man in paint-streaked overalls. It was Mac.
' Skipper's orders,' he said briefly, in his harsh Glasgow
accent. 'It's after midnight. He wants you in the wheelhouse.'
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The tough Scots engineer seemed as tireless as Peace—or was it his devotion to him that would not allow him to let up while the submarine ace still remained on his feet? The only outward sign was his moroseness and hangover-like shadows under his eyes.
What the hell are you doing painting at this time of
night?' I asked.
Air-sea search—hunter-killer group—I've heard it a' till I'
m sick. So the skipper decided to camouflage
Bellatrix—' 149
he spat uninhibitedly on the carpet. 'Paint the bluidy ship in a flippin' cyclone! Aye, so I painted her.'
My watch said a couple of minutes after midnight. A new
day had been born.
February 9th—seven days to go.
' They'd spot the old white for miles,' Mac went on. ' So
now she's grey—mixed with sea-water.' He gave a grunt and went.
Adele, MKG, Trevor-Davis and I had all gone to bed immediately after a lash-up dinner, but Peace, tireless, took command. MKG had insisted on drawing up a message to be signalled to the President via the DNI. Peace had objected to its length—it was only a few sentences—and I felt the undercurrents as MKG was obliged to cut it down. MKG had wanted Adele to send it off right away, but again Peace had intervened. He had reminded MKG that although he had
agreed to send a message, the time was his to choose. Silently MKG had agreed, but it was clear that Peace was hanging on
to the mission, whatever it might cost.
I had taken a liking to Trevor-Davis, and Peace, putting
him in the picture about MKG, had congratulated him on his
insight, for without Bellatrix our plan would have been hamstrung. How exhausted Trevor-Davis had been was apparent over drinks—once or twice his head had fallen forward on
his chest and it was only his will-power which had jerked him awake again. MKG, reserved because of Peace's attitude, went off to the luxurious guest suite in the stern which Peace had allocated him. I was next door and Adele in the adjoining
big cabin.
I pulled on fresh clothes from among those I had left behind when—it seemed years ago—Devastation had intercepted the yacht. The deck vibrated under my feet as the waves jounced her. Peace was pushing her very hard. I was thrown against the lintel as I opened my door. Holding a
grab-rail, I started along the passageway. Adele's door was swinging with the yacht's motion. I reached for it, jamming myself in the opening in order to secure it.
Her cabin, like mine, was panelled in sycamore, but the
colour scheme was pale green and gold. A bed was near the
door. Over its foot the blankets had been thrust back so that only the sheet remained. A pair of red silk pyjamas lay carelessly on the pile. Adele slept on the white pillow, the sunbleach of her hair making an undefined shadow in the darkened room. Her eyes were closed. She was completely naked. The lift of the ship moved her breasts gently. Her knees were drawn up and her hands, palm to palm, were clasped between
150
them. I shut the door and went to her, darkness blurring the sleeping form. I bent over her. The warmth of sleep and
fragrance of her perfume brought the blood drumming in
my ears. I kissed one eyelid, and then the other. She stirred a little and said something in Creole. For a long moment I
stood looking at the lovely, naked body. Then I secured the door behind me and ran quickly for'ard to the wheelhouse.
Peace was steering. The yacht's motion seemed wilder and
all three revolving viewers were on to try and keep the
screen clear. The wheelhouse was dark, except for the concealed compass light. The gyro compass, radar and radio were off. Peace wore his favourite black turtle-necked sweater and black Dacron pants ; stubble emphasized the hard line of his lips.
He said, without prelimin
ary, ' They've got Devastation.' He jerked his head at some signals clipped together. That's u.s. Navy stuff. Take the wheel, will you—mind, she's a bit dicey.'
I took the spokes, kicking and bucking under the cross-sea
from the north-east.
Steer three-four-five degrees magnetic,' said Peace. '
What about the gyro?'
I've got all unnecessary electrics off. I daren't risk any
transmissions being picked up. Same goes for radar. So
you haven't sent MKG's message, then?'
I decide when,' he snapped. The opportune moment
hasn't arrived yet. I don't intend to give away Bellatrix's position as I did Devastation's. You can bet that every direction-finding aerial in the Seventh Fleet is working overtime.'
You're riding him pretty hard,' I went on. MKG can call off his mission any time, remember.'
His eyes blazed in the dark wheelhouse. ' It's my mission
as much as his! Remember that, too!'
I shrugged and checked the log. Thirteen knots—not bad
in this sea, if she'll hold together.'
I'll drive the bitch right under,' he retorted.
' How did Tyler locate Devastation—radar, sonar?'
Neither. Peters simply broadcast here I am—loud and
clear, right into Tyler's ear, who was waiting outside the reef. He made the excuse that Devastation's radio had been damaged during my—er—little escapade in breaking through
the coral.'
Peters might have given us more time'
' No,' he replied. Bob played it right—kept his yardarm
clear. He gave us the maximum opportunity to get away.
He knew that once the helos and search aircraft were over151 head, he didn't stand a chance. By breaking silence this way, he stopped anyone putting the screw on him.'
' What did Peters tell Tyler about MKG?'
Bob's playing dumb, being very formal and proper. Yes,
he said, there was aboard Devastation a man who corresponded to the description of Marvin K. Green, but since he'd never seen the Vice-President, he could not say.'
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