Chapter Six
It was good to be at sea again, pounding along under the unfailing impulse of the trade wind. It would take about six days to sail to Tonga and we soon settled into shipboard routine.
Geordie was up and about. Although his face looked like the map of a battlefield he was fit enough otherwise, and took over the command from a reluctant Ian, who had gloried in his brief spell as skipper. The fresh wind blew away the last taint of Tanakabu and everyone benefited, and Kane's disappearance had lifted the last reserve of secretiveness. They were all in the know now, including Geordie's own crewmen, as we felt that it was only fair to warn them all of possible danger ahead, though none had taken advantage of Geordie's offer to pay their fares home if they wished to leave us.
And Paula was still with us. Somehow that had been taken for granted and she had fitted in so well to shipboard life that there was no sense of surprise in her having agreed to come along. She and Clare set one another off nicely.
I immersed myself in text books and charts. I wanted to study currents, so I asked Geordie for pilot charts of the area. 'Not that they'll be any great help,' I said. 'The currents might have changed considerably in the last fifty thousand years.. That's why Mark worked with Norgaard – he was an expert at that sort of thing.'
The pilot charts only have the surface currents,' said Geordie. 'Who knows what goes on under the surface?'
There are gadgets that can tell that sort of thing, though I haven't one with me. And they can't tell us what went on fifty thousand years ago, more's the pity.' I expounded. 'Here is Fonua Fo'ou. There's a warm offshoot of the South Equatorial Current sweeping south-west past the island. That should mean that any nodule deposits will also be laid down south-west of the island. But it's a surface current – there may be other currents lower down, going in different directions. That we'll have to check, if we can.'
I frowned at my own words. 'The thing is, have those currents changed direction in those last fifty thousand years? I don't know, but I shouldn't think so. It's not very long.'
Geordie snorted.
I put my finger on the chart. 'What I'm really worried about is this spot here. That's the Tonga Trench – our dredge will only go to 30,000 feet, and Horizon Depth in the Trench is nearly 35,000.'
'Quite a bit of water,' said Geordie dryly. 'That's over six and a half miles – a man could drown in that depth of water.'
'If the high-cobalt nodules have formed at the bottom of the Trench we're wasting time,' I said, ignoring his baiting. 'You could dredge them up, but it wouldn't be an economic proposition – it would just amount to pouring money into the sea. By the way, I haven't mentioned this to the boss. It would only cause alarm and despondency, and it might never happen.'
'I won't tell him,' he promised.
But I did seek out Campbell for another reason, and found him on deck in his favourite spot reading a book. We chatted for a few minutes about the ship and the weather, and then I said, 'Is it true what Clare said – that you're a crack shot?'
'I'm not too bad,' he said modestly if a little complacently.
'I'd like to learn how to shoot. I didn't get off a shot back there at Tanakabu, and those bastards were popping off all over the show.'
He grinned. 'What happened?'
'I think I forgot to release the safety catch.'
'I thought that might be it,' he said. 'It's obvious you don't know much about the game.'
'I don't know anything,' I said positively.
'Good. Then you won't have any bad habits to get rid of. Stick around. I'll get the pistols.'
He came back with four guns and laid them on deck. Three I'd seen and one which was new to me, but a twin of the one I'd handled. I didn't ask him where it had been hidden. He said, 'I didn't know what kind of trouble we'd be running into, so I took out insurance and brought along these two. 38s for you and Geordie.'
'What about yours?'
'Oh, I like this, the. 22. They're for me and Clare – she's a pretty good shot, if in need of practice.'
'I've always thought that a. 22 was useless against a man,' I said.
'You're like the cops. They always think you can't use anything but a. 38 or bigger,' said Campbell contemptuously. 'Look at it this way – who are the men who habitually use handguns?'
I thought about it. 'The police, the army, criminals and hobbyists – like yourself.'
'Right. Now, an army officer doesn't get much time for practice, nor the wartime officer – so they give him the biggest gun he can hold, one that packs a hell of a wallop – a. 45. With that gun he doesn't have to be a dead shot. If he only wings his man, that man is knocked flat on his back.'
Campbell picked up a. 38. 'Now the police get more practice and they're usually issued with, or equip themselves with, these. A nice handy gun that will fit inconspicuously into a holster out of sight, but because of that the barrel's too short, resulting in some loss of accuracy. You've got to have a lot of practice to be good with one of these.'
He exchanged it for a. 22. 'With this you have definitely got to be a good shot; the bullet is small and hasn't any inherent stopping power, so you have to be able to put it in the right place. But the gun is deadly accurate – this one is, at any rate. If you meet up with a man who habitually packs a. 22 steer clear of him, especially if he's filed away the front sight, because that means he's a snapshooter – a natural shot.'
I said, 'What's the range of these guns?'
'Oh, they've all got a hell of a range, but that's not the point. What counts is the accurate range, and with any hand gun it's not very much. A guy who is an average shot will stop a man at ten yards with the. 38. A crack shot will stop his man at twenty yards. And I'm not talking about target practice on the range – I'm talking about action where the other guy is shooting back.'
He waved the long-barrelled. 22. 'With this gun I'll kill a man at thirty yards – maybe a bit further.'
I asked curiously, 'You once said you had killed. Was it with this?'
'Yes, in South America once. The jungle Indians don't like trespassers.'
He said no more about it, and I let it lie.
So he began to teach me how to shoot. He started with the basic principles, stripping the guns and explaining the action. Then he showed me how to stand, and eventually how to hold a gun.
'I'm not going to waste time with you on the classic stance,' he said. 'That's for the police and championship target boys. If you tried you'd be filled full of holes before you sighted on your man. I want you to start with snapshooting. It's something you have or you haven't – let's see if you've got it. Point your finger at the mast.'
I did so and he followed the line of direction. 'Not bad. If your finger had been a gun barrel – a steady one – you'd have made a hole in the mast just a little off centre. Do it again.'
So I did it again – and again – and again. Then he gave me a. 38. 'Now do it.'
I pointed the gun at the mast and he shook his head. 'You'd miss by a foot. Put your forefinger alongside the barrel and do it again.'
I pointed the gun again with better results. 'You won't have your finger there when you shoot,' he said. 'It might be cut off by the action. But I want you to be able to point that barrel just like you point your finger.'
He drilled me for four hours every day on the voyage to Tonga. The rest of the crew crowded around at first, all asking for lessons, but Campbell declined, saying that one pupil at a time was his limit and that in any case there were no spar. guns. Geordie endorsed this. Those of the crew who did have guns did a little target practice but no one had much ammunition to spare and soon they left us to get on with it.
I had to learn how to point the gun when standing, sitting lying down and lastly, after a sudden turn. Then he concentrated on the trigger finger, making me squeeze the trigger gently without a jerk. He filed the sear of the trigger until:: clicked at a very slight pressure and then made me practice. draw, snapping off the safety catch, pointing
the gun and squeezing the trigger all in one flowing motion.
On the third day I fired my first shot.
Campbell set up a rough target in the bows and when I stood near the foremast and squeezed that trigger I was certain that I had missed. But he led me to the target and pointed to a hole only two inches off centre. 'You'd make a pretty fair ten yard man,' he said. 'Give me another year or two and I'll make a good shot out of you.'
He took his. 22 and, standing at the same distance, loosed off six shots in as many seconds. 'Now look at the target. he said.
He had put a neat circle of small holes round the larger one made by my bullet. 'Give me time and you'll be able to do that,' he said in reply to my honest praise.
'I doubt if we'll have time. Not if I run up against Kane and company in the near future.'
'You think we will? The Suarez-Navarro ship is still up in Rabaul as far as I know.'
'I don't think it will stay there,' I said. They'll be on out trail.'
Campbell suddenly seemed depressed. 'How do we know it's the right trail? We're only going on a wild hunch – a hunch that a couple of doodled drawings do mean something.'
He turned and went below, the pistols dangling heavily in his hands.* 2*
We raised the island of Tongatapu on the morning of the sixth day out of Papeete. Nuku'alofa, the southern port of entry for the Tongan group, is on the north side of the island, so Geordie changed the heading of Esmerelda. He said to me, There's a paragraph in the Pilot that says you have to keep a sharp lookout for undersea volcanic activity and new shoals in these waters.'
I smiled. 'Sounds good from my point of view.'
'Not so good from mine. I have to skipper this ship.'
But we entered the anchorage without sighting anything unusual, tied up and settled down to wait for the port officials. Nuku'alofa was a typical Pacific island town; the wooden houses with their galvanized iron roofs forever frozen in a late-Victorian matrix. At one time it had looked as though Nuku'alofa was going to be the chief trading port and coaling station of the Western Pacific; but Suva, in the Fiji Islands, eventually came out on top, possibly for no more profound reason than that it was an easier name to pronounce. At any rate, Nuku'alofa lost its chance and relapsed into a timeless trance.
Once free to go ashore Campbell headed for the post office as usual. I went off with the two girls who were going to book in at an hotel. Clare announced that she was tired of salt water showers. 'My hair's in a mess and I can't get the salt out. It needs cutting,' she said. 'I want fresh water and luxury for a while.'
I said thoughtfully, 'It looks as though we may be based on Nuku'alofa for some time. Maybe I'd better do the same – get a room for me and see if Geordie wants one. A ship's all right if you can get off it once in a while.'
Paula felt happier here too, with Hadley a remote risk and nobody else around whom she knew either. It was a lot more relaxing for all of us than our second visit to Papeete. We arrived at the hotel and Clare said, 'My God, look at all that gingerbread!' It was a museum piece sprouting galvanized iron turrets and cupolas in the most unlikely places; inside it was pleasantly cool and dark with big electric fans lazily circulating the air.
At the reception desk we ran into trouble when we asked for five rooms – they had only three, one single and two doubles. I said to Clare, That's all right if you don't mind doubling up with Paula again. Geordie and I will share and your father can have the single.'
The receptionist was most apologetic. There had been an unprecedented rush on accommodation just recently. I left the desk feeling that perhaps Nuku'alofa was going to give Suva a run for its money after all.
I arranged with the girls to meet them in the lounge in an hour or so and went upstairs to soak in a hot bath, and to lay schemes for getting Clare away by myself somewhere that evening – the first chance I would have had since Papeete. When I came downstairs I found them already in the lounge with tall glasses of beer in front of them, frosted on the sides. 'That's a good idea,' I said and looked at the label on the bottle. It was Australian beer – Swan. For a moment I was back in London on a wet dull day a million years ago. 'That's Kane's favourite tipple. Maybe he'll be around for a drink.'
Clare looked past me. 'Here comes Pop.'
Campbell came over to the table with a sheaf of correspondence in his hand and the inevitable worried look on his face. Clare said, 'Have a cold beer, Pop. It's just the thing for this weather.'
He dropped heavily into a cane chair which creaked protestingly. 'I think we've come to the wrong place,' he said abruptly.
I signalled to a hovering waiter and ordered a couple of beers. 'What's the trouble?'
He unfolded a cable. The Suarez-Navarro crowd have moved again to Noumea in New Caledonia.'
I raised my eyebrows, 'Interesting, but not very informative. I wonder what they're doing there?'
'I don't know but it doesn't look too good to me. According to what we've figured they don't know where the stuff is, so what the hell are they drifting round the Pacific for? It looks as though they're as lost as we are.'
Clare said thoughtfully, 'Maybe Mark gave them a bum steer before he died.'
I shook my head. 'No, if he'd done that they would have been out testing for it, and we know they haven't. But we're not lost – at least we don't think so. We're here for a purpose.'
I glanced through the door of the lounge and saw the receptionist working at his accounts. I said, 'Excuse me for a minute,' and went into the foyer where I had an interesting little five-minute chat with him, which included the passing of a discreet backhander across the counter. I went back into the lounge, sat down and took a long, lingering draught of cold beer. Then I said, 'We're in the right place.'
They all stared at me. 'How do you know? How can anyone know?'
I said, 'One Ernesto Ramirez has booked half a dozen rooms in this hotel. He hasn't turned up yet.'
Campbell looked startled and Clare let out a yelp of pure joy. Paula, on the other hand, visibly shrank back in her chair, and I made a quick mental note of that. I said, 'I thought it a bit odd that the hotel should be so full right now, so I checked up on it. Ramirez booked the rooms and paid handsomely for them in advance; he wrote that he didn't know exactly when he was coming, but that the rooms must be kept free.'
'I'll be damned,' said Campbell. 'But what's he been doing in Noumea?'
'I think he's been stooging around in this area all the time, getting slowly closer to wherever we were, and waiting to see where we'd go without being too close, so that he could follow easily from a distance.'
'But now he is coming here, and we've not been in a day,' said Clare. 'How could he know? And why come so close now?'
'We saw several ships as we came across, and we made no secret of our destination. My guess is that he's been fed the information somehow. As to why he's closing with us, that I can't guess. But what he doesn't know is that we know he's coming, and we have a head start on him – we're here.'
'He must know we've arrived,' said Campbell soberly. 'He's sure to have left a man here. I'll bet they're in touch right now.'
'We're not going to be in for long,' I said. 'We'll be off dredging soon. But we could put it about that we are leaving for somewhere else – that might help draw him into the net. At close quarters we can at least do something.' It was all very dubious though, and we weren't at all sure what was happening around us.
'What kind of a ship have they?' I asked.
'Pretty much the same as ours – a bit bigger. Her name is Sirena.' Then if he leaves now it'll be over a week before he gets here.'
Campbell put down his empty glass with a click. Then we've got to get going as soon as we can,' he said.
I saw Geordie coming into the foyer and waved to him, and he came to the table. He was dirty and looked tired, and the half-healed scars on his face didn't make him look any better. He put a little glass pot on the table with a hand stained black with grease, and said, 'We've got tr
ouble.'
I said, 'Sit down and have a beer.'
'What's the trouble?' Campbell asked.
Geordie sat down and sighed. 'I would like a beer,' he admitted. He unscrewed the top of the jar and showed that it was full of grease. He pushed it over to me and said, 'Rub some of that between your fingers and tell me what it feels like.'
I dipped up some of the grease on my forefinger and rubbed it with my thumb. It wasn't slick and smooth as grease should be but seemed gritty. Campbell reached over and tested it for himself.
'Where did you get this?' he demanded.
'It came from the main bearings of the winch motor,' said Geordie. 'And the grease in the bearing of the winch drum is the same – all doctored with carborundum.'
'Christ!' I said. 'If we'd have used the winch the whole damn thing would have seized up. What put you on to it?'
'Partly routine maintenance. But I also thought about what I'd do if I were Kane and I wanted to put a stop to Mr Campbell here. I wasn't looking for anything definite, mind you, but I thought I'd have a look at the winch. I never thought I'd find grinding powder mixed with the bearing grease.'.
Campbell swore violently, then looked at Paula. 'Sorry,' he mumbled.
That's all right. I know those words.'
I said, 'How long will it take to fix?'
'A week,' said Geordie definitely. 'We'll have to strip the winch right down, and that's a big job. But it's not what I'm worried about.'
'Isn't it enough?' grumbled Campbell. 'What else is on your mind?'
'I'm thinking of things Kane might have done that we haven't found yet. I don't think he got at the engine – but what else has he done?'
I said, 'He can't have done much. He was under observation all the time.'
'He got at the winch,' said Geordie obstinately.
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