by Jack Higgins
“That seems reasonably straightforward to me,” Carney said.
“Yes, but the only access from the control room is by the forward watertight hatch and Baker told Travers it was corroded to hell, really solid.”
“Okay,” Carney said, “so we’ll have to blow it. C4 is the thing, the stuff Santiago was going on about when we were at Samson.”
“I’m ahead of you there,” Dillon told him. “I couldn’t get hold of any C4, but I thought Semtex would be an acceptable substitute. I’ve also got chemical detonating pencils.”
“Is there anything you forgot?” Carney asked ironically.
“I hope not.”
“So when do we go?” Ferguson demanded.
Dillon said, “I’d say that’s up to Carney here, he’s the expert.”
Carney nodded, slightly abstracted. “I’m thinking about it.” He nodded again. “The way I see it, we want to be in and out before Santiago even knows what’s going on.”
“That makes sense,” Ferguson agreed.
“They can’t track us any longer because we got rid of the bugs in both boats. We could capitalize on that by leaving around midnight, making the trip under cover of darkness. Dawn at five to five-thirty. We could go down at first light.”
“Sounds good to me,” Dillon said.
“Right, I left Sea Raider at Caneel Bay this evening so we’ll leave from there. You’ll need to pick up that Semtex you mentioned. Any extras we need I can get from the dive shop.”
“But not right now,” Ferguson told him. “Now we eat. All this excitement has given me quite an appetite.”
It started to rain a little and Algaro and Guerra sheltered under a tree. “Mother of God, is this going to take all night?” Guerra demanded.
“It takes as long as is needed,” Algaro told him.
Inside, they had dined well on Mary’s best chowder and grilled snapper, were at the coffee stage when Dillon’s cellular phone rang. He answered it, then handed it across to Ferguson. “It’s for you. Somebody from Special Branch in London.”
The Brigadier took the phone. “Ferguson here.” He listened and suddenly turned very pale and his shoulders sagged. “Just a moment,” he said wearily and got up. “Excuse me. I’ll be back,” and he went out.
“What in the hell is that all about?” Carney asked.
“Well, it’s not good, whatever it is,” Dillon said. Ferguson returned at that moment and sat down.
“Jack Lane, my assistant, is dead.”
“Oh, no,” Jenny said.
“Hit-and-run accident round about midnight. He’d been working late, you see. The police have found the car dumped in a side street off the Strand. Blood all over it. Stolen of course.”
“Another remarkable coincidence,” Dillon said. “You tell him to check up on Pamer and in no time he’s lying dead in a London side street.”
It was the first time he’d seen real anger in Ferguson’s face. Something flared in the Brigadier’s eyes. “That hadn’t escaped me, Dillon. The bill will be paid in full, believe me.”
He took a deep breath and stood up. “Right, let’s get going. Are you coming with us, my dear?”
“I don’t think so,” Jenny told him. “That kind of boat ride is the last thing I need after what I’ve been through, but I’ll come and see you off. I’ll follow you in my jeep. You carry on, I’ll catch you up, I just want a word with Mary.”
She went into the kitchen and Dillon beckoned Billy to the end of the bar. “Do you think you and Mary could spend the night at Jenny’s house?”
“You think there could be a problem?”
“We’ve had too many for comfort,” Ferguson told him.
Dillon took the Belgian semi-automatic from his pocket. “Take this.”
“That bad?” Billy inquired.
“That bad.”
“Then this is better.” Billy took a Colt.45 automatic from under the counter.
“Fine.” Dillon slipped the Belgian semi-automatic back in his pocket. “Take care. We’ll see you in the morning.”
In the kitchen Mary was working hard at the stove. “What you doing now, girl?”
“I’ve got to go up to Caneel, Mary, Bob Carney is taking the Brigadier and Mr. Dillon on a special dive. I want to see them off.”
“You should be in bed.”
“I know. I’ll go soon.”
She went out through the bar and hurried down the steps. Algaro said, “There she is. Let’s get after her.”
But Jenny started to run, catching Ferguson, Dillon and Carney at Mongoose Junction. Algaro and Guerra watched as their quarry got into her jeep, Carney at her side, and followed Dillon and Ferguson out of the car park.
“All right,” Algaro said. “Let’s get after them,” and they ran toward their own vehicle.
At the cottage, Dillon got the olive-green army holdall, took everything out, the Semtex and fuses, the AK, and the Walther and its silencer. Ferguson came in as he was finishing, wearing cord slacks, suede desert boots and a heavy sweater.
“Are we going to war again?” he asked.
Dillon stowed everything back in the holdall. “I hope not. Carney and I are going to have enough on our plate just making the dive, but you know where everything is if you need it.”
“You think you can pull it off?”
“We’ll see.” Dillon found his tracksuit top. “I’m sorry about Lane, Brigadier.”
“So am I.”
Ferguson looked bleak. “But our turn will come, Dillon, I promise you. Now let’s get on with it.”
As they made for the door, Dillon paused and opened the bar cupboard. He took out half a bottle of brandy and dropped it into the holdall. “Purely medicinal,” he said and held the door open. “It’s going to be bloody cold down there at that time of the morning.”
Carney had brought the Sea Raider in to the end of the dock at Caneel. Jenny was sitting on a bench looking down at the boat as he checked the air tanks. A three-piece band was playing in the bar, music and laughter drifting over the water on the night air. Ferguson and Dillon walked along the front, passed the Beach Terrace Restaurant and came along the dock. Ferguson stepped on board and Dillon passed him the holdall.
He turned to Jenny. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she said.
“Not long now,” Dillon told her. “As some poet put it, ‘all doubts resolved, all passion spent.’ ”
“And then what will you do?” she asked.
Dillon kissed her briefly on the cheek. “Jesus, girl, will you give a man a chance to draw breath?”
He took the Belgian semi-automatic out of his pocket. “Put that in your purse and don’t tell me you don’t know what to do with it. Just pull the slider, point and fire.”
She took it reluctantly. “You think this is necessary?”
“You never can tell. Santiago has been ahead of us too many times. When you get back to the bar you’ll find that Billy and Mary intend to spend the night with you.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“I try to. It would take a good man to mess with Billy.”
He stepped on board and Carney looked down at them from the flying bridge. “Cast off for us, Jenny.”
He switched on the engines, she untied the stern line and handed it to Dillon, went and did the same with the other. The boat drifted out, then started to turn away.
“Take care, my dear,” Ferguson called.
She raised an arm as Sea Raider moved out to sea. Dillon looked back at her, standing there under the light at the end of the dock, and then she turned and walked away.
She went past the bar and the shop, and started up the path past the Sugar Mill Restaurant to the car park where the taxis waited. Algaro and Guerra had watched the departure from the shadows and now they followed her.
“What shall we do?” Guerra whispered.
“She’s bound to go home sooner or later,” Algaro said. “The best place to deal with her,
all nice and quiet and we don’t even need to follow her.”
Jenny got into her jeep and started the engine and they waited until she was driving away before moving toward their own vehicle.
There were still a few people in the bar when she went in and Mary was helping one of the waitresses to clear the tables. She came to the end of the bar and Billy joined them.
“They got off all right then?” Billy asked.
“That’s right.”
“Are we going to be told what they’re up to, Miss Jenny? Everyone is sure acting mighty mysterious.”
“Maybe one of these days, Billy, but not right now.”
She yawned, feeling very tired, and Mary said, “Don’t you hold her up with any damn fool questions, she needs her sleep.” She turned to Jenny. “Mr. Dillon asked us to spend the night with you and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“All right,” Jenny said. “I’ll go on up to the house.”
“Maybe you should wait for us, Miss Jenny,” Billy told her. “It will only take us five minutes to close.”
She opened her purse and took out the Belgian semi-automatic. “I’ve got this, Billy, and I know how to use it. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon.”
She’d parked the jeep right outside at the bottom of the steps and she slid behind the wheel, turned on the engine and drove away, so tired that for a moment she forgot to switch on the lights. The streets were reasonably quiet now as she drove out toward Gallows Point and she was at the house in five minutes. She parked in the driveway, went up the steps, found her key and unlocked the front door. She switched on the porch light, then went in.
God, but she was tired, more tired than she had ever been, and she mounted the stairs wearily, opened her bedroom door and switched on the light. It was hot, very hot in spite of the ceiling fan, and she crossed to the French windows leading to the balcony and opened them. There were a few heavy spots of rain and then a sudden rush, the kind of thing that happened at night at that time of year. She stood there for a moment enjoying the coolness, then turned and found Algaro and Guerra standing just inside the room.
It was as if she was dreaming, but that terrible face told her otherwise, the cropped hair, the scar from the eye to the mouth. He laughed suddenly and said to Guerra in Spanish, “This could prove interesting.”
And Jenny, in spite of her tiredness, surprised even herself by darting forward and around them to the door, almost made it, and it was Guerra who caught her right wrist and swung her around. Algaro struck her heavily across the face, then hurled her back on the bed. She tried to pull the gun from her purse. He took it from her, turned her on her face, pulling her left arm up, twisted and applied some special kind of leverage. The pain was terrible and she cried out.
“You like that, eh?” Algaro was enjoying himself and tossed the gun across the room. “Let’s try some more.”
And this time, the pain was the worst thing she’d ever known and she screamed at the top of her voice. He turned her over, slapped her heavily again and took a flick knife from his pocket. When he jumped the blade she saw that it was razor sharp. He grabbed a handful of her hair.
“Now I’m going to ask you some questions.” He stroked the blade across her cheek and pricked it gently with the needle point so that blood came. “If you refuse to answer, I’ll slit your nose and that’s just for starters.”
She was only human and terrified out of her mind. “Anything,” she pleaded.
“Right. Where would we find the wreck of U180?”
“Thunder Point,” she gasped.
“And where would that be?”
“It’s on the chart. About ten or twelve miles south of St. John. That’s all I know.”
“Dillon, the Brigadier and Carney, we saw them leave from the dock at Caneel Bay. They’ve gone to Thunder Point to dive on the U-boat, is that right?” She hesitated and he slapped her again. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she said. “They’re diving at first light.”
He patted her face, closed the knife and turned to Guerra. “Lock the door.”
Guerra seemed bewildered. “Why?”
“I said lock the door, idiot.” Algaro walked past him and swung it shut, turning the key. He turned and his smile was the cruellest thing Jenny had ever seen in her life. “You did say you’d do anything?” and he started to take his jacket off.
She screamed again, totally hysterical now, jumped to her feet, turned and ran headlong through the open French windows on to the balcony in total panic, hit the railings and went over, plunging down through the heavy rain to the garden below.
Guerra knelt beside her in the rain and felt for a pulse. He shook his head. “She looks dead to me.”
“Right, leave her there,” Algaro said. “That way it looks like an accident. Now let’s get out of here.”
The sound of their jeep’s engine faded into the night and Jenny lay there, rain falling on her face. It was only five minutes later that Billy and Mary Jones turned into the drive in their jeep and found her at once, lying half across a path, half on grass. “My God.” Mary dropped to her knees and touched Jenny’s face. “She’s cold as ice.”
“Looks like she fell from the balcony,” Billy said.
At that moment Jenny groaned and moved her head slightly. Mary said, “Thank God, she’s alive. You carry her inside and I’ll phone for the doctor,” and she ran up the steps into the house.
14
Algaro spoke to Santiago from a public telephone on the waterfront. Santiago listened intently to what he had to say. “So, the girl is dead? That’s unfortunate.”
“No sweat,” Algaro told him. “Just an accident, that’s how it will look. What happens now?”
“Stay where you are and phone me back in five minutes.”
Santiago put the phone down and turned to Serra. “Thunder Point, about ten or twelve miles south of St. John.”
“We’ll have a look on the chart, Señor.” Santiago followed him along to the bridge and Serra switched on the light over the chart table. “Ah, yes, here we are.”
Santiago had a look, frowning slightly. “Dillon and company are on their way there now. They intend to dive at first light. Is there any way we could beat them to it if we left now?”
“I doubt it, Señor, and that’s open sea out there. They’d see the Maria Blanco coming for miles.”
“I take your point,” Santiago said, “and, as we learned the other day, they’re armed.” He examined the chart again and nodded. “No, I think we’ll let them do all the work for us. If they succeed, it will make them feel good. They’ll sail back to St. John happy, maybe even slightly off-guard because they will think they have won the game.”
“And then, Señor?”
“We’ll descend on them when they return to Caneel, possibly at the cottage. We’ll see.”
“So, what are your orders?”
“We’ll sail back to St. John and anchor off Paradise Beach again.” The phone was ringing in the radio room. “That will be Algaro calling back,” and Santiago went to answer it.
Algaro replaced the phone and turned to Guerra. “They intend to let those bastards get on with it and do all the work. We’ll hit them when they get back.”
“What, just you and me?”
“No, stupid, the Maria Blanco will be back off Paradise Beach in the morning. We’ll rendezvous with her then. In the meantime, we’ll go back to the launch and try to catch a little shut-eye.”
Jenny’s head, resting on the pillow, was turned to one side. She looked very pale, made no movement even as the doctor gave her an injection. Mary said, “What do you think, Doctor?”
He shook his head. “Not possible to make a proper diagnosis at this stage. The fact that she’s not regained consciousness is not necessarily bad. No overt signs of broken bones, but hairline fractures are always possible. We’ll see how she is in the morning. Hopefully she’ll have regained consciousness by then.” He shook his head. “That was a long
fall. I’ll have her transferred to St. Thomas Hospital. She can have a scan there. You’ll stay with her tonight?”
“Me and Billy won’t move an inch,” Mary told him.
“Good.” The doctor closed his bag. “The slightest change, call me.”
Billy saw him out, then came back up to the bedroom. “Can I get you anything, honey?”
“No, you go and lie down, Billy, I’ll just sit here with her,” Mary said.
“As you say.”
Billy went out and Mary put a chair by the bed, sat down and held Jenny’s hand. “You’ll be fine, baby,” she said softly. “Just fine. Mary’s here.”
At three o’clock they ran into a heavy squall, rain driving in under the canopy over the flying bridge, stinging like bullets. Carney switched off the engine. “We’ll be better off below for a while.”
Dillon followed him down the ladder and they went into the deckhouse where Ferguson lay stretched out on one of the benches, his head propped up against the holdall. He yawned and sat up. “Is there a problem?”
Sea Raider swung to port, buffeted by the wind and rain. “Only a squall,” Carney said. “It’ll blow itself out in half an hour. I could do with a coffee break anyway.”
“A splendid idea.”
Dillon found the thermos and some mugs and Carney produced a plastic box containing ham and cheese sandwiches. They sat in companionable silence for a while eating them, the rain drumming against the roof.
“It’s maybe time we discussed how we’re going to do this thing,” Carney said to Dillon. “For a no-decompression dive at eighty feet, we’re good for forty minutes.”
“So a second dive would be the problem?”
Ferguson said, “I don’t understand the technicalities, would someone explain?”
“The air we breathe is part oxygen, part nitrogen,” Carney told him. “When you dive, the pressure causes nitrogen to be absorbed by the body tissues. The deeper you go, the increase in pressure causes more nitrogen to be absorbed. If you’re down too long or come up too quickly, it can form bubbles in your blood vessels and tissues, just like shaking a bottle of club soda. The end result is decompression sickness.”