Villiers sat down in a leather chair as if his legs had been cut from under him.
Tsao said, ‘I have sent my family to visit friends.’ His dark eyes flashed between them. ‘We will not be disturbed. I will make certain that food is brought.’
Ross had seen several motionless figures at the back of the bungalow. Tsao’s status seemed to increase by the minute.
Villiers rubbed the arms of his chair. He murmured, ‘This used to be my father’s.’ He shook his head. ‘No, don’t worry, I’m all right. I knew what I was getting into.’
Ross said sharply, ‘I’m banking on it!’
Tsao returned and threw his jacket across a chair. ‘I have arranged matters.’
Ross wondered if he had left them alone merely to settle their differences, which might have been apparent to him in the van, or even earlier aboard the Success.
Tsao said bluntly, ‘There is not much time. Here, we come and go to Japanese clocks!’ He took out his cigarettes. ‘I would like to speak with you, Commander Ross, just the two of us for a few minutes.’ Without looking at him, he included Villiers. ‘If you would like to walk in the garden, my man will see that you are safe and left alone.’
Villiers stood up, and Ross said, ‘That O.K. with you?’
Villiers said dully, ‘Yes, it’s O.K.’ Then, ‘I was the one who talked you into this, remember?’
Tsao did not even appear to notice that he had left the room. Watching his cigarette-smoke as it hung almost motionless in the humid air, he said, ‘You were impressed by what you saw in the harbour, Commander?’
Ross nodded. ‘Are you prepared to tell me more? About Operation Monsun, for instance?’
Tsao blew the smoke aside. ‘The Germans came here a year ago. At first we thought it was a token presence, something to prove to the Emperor that they were on the same side. Herr Hitler even presented the Emperor with a U-Boat, and a team of sailors to instruct a Japanese crew.’ He smiled. ‘You do not have the right face for a secret agent, Commander. I can see from your expression that you were told nothing of this, that you knew nothing of it.’
Ross smiled. ‘I will not lie to you.’
Tsao continued, ‘The Germans became more ambitious. They sent their own submarines, not to free the Japanese to fight the Americans in the Pacific as we first thought, but to act as blockade runners, to carry vital cargoes of materials which are either in very short supply or totally unobtainable in Germany. It was this German group which was called Monsun, not an operation as such. Several submarines are known to have been sunk by British and American aircraft before they could reach Singapore, but nobody, not even your Intelligence, knew what they were attempting to do. Since those early days, the group has expanded, and its facilities have been improved by the Japanese, albeit grudgingly. There are docking arrangements here in Singapore and at Tandjok Priok at Batavia, but German headquarters for Monsun is in Georgetown at Penang. There, too, they have improved the dock – it was dismantled by the British during the retreat. It is useful for their mooring and smaller refittings, which are essential in this climate.’ He kept his bombshell to the last. ‘The Germans even have two Arado float planes in Penang, just to oversee who comes and goes.’ He shrugged. ‘But they feel safe, invulnerable. Out of range of bombing aircraft, and separated from their enemies by islands which they dominate, and by the Indian Ocean for good measure.’
Ross waited. ‘Your English is excellent, if I may say so.’
Tsao smiled broadly, perhaps for the first time. ‘When you worked for Mr Charles’s father, it was taken for granted, believe me!’ Then he became businesslike again. ‘I can give you all the information you require for an attack on the German base, or their depot-ship, which is daily expected from Japan. It would be a triumph for you, and create an even deeper rift between the two countries.’
‘You are certain we could do it?’
‘With our help and guidance, I am sure. Without that, you will make no progress, and your future coastal operations against the Japanese will be under constant threat.’
‘And in return?’
Tsao tossed the empty cigarette pack away. ‘I have prepared a list. It would mostly consist of weapons and explosives, and of course transmitters if we are to play a part in the last battle.’
Oddly, Villiers had expected him to ask for money, gold, he had suggested, and a carefully planned escape from this constant danger.
Tsao eyed him calmly. ‘I can see you are surprised, Commander. Again? Is that not so?’
Ross stood up. ‘I’ll fetch Lieutenant Villiers now.’ He looked around the room. ‘I will await your instructions.’ He hesitated at the door. ‘Surprised? Yes.’ He held out his hand. ‘But pleasantly so.’
He walked into the garden and beyond, where fallen bricks and charred wood were partly hidden by pastel orchids, masses of them, perhaps wild, perhaps once cultivated as houseplants. He found Villiers in the hot sunlight, one of Tsao’s servants, perhaps ‘guard’ would be a more fitting description, loitering nearby in the shade.
He said quietly, ‘I’ve finished. I think it was worthwhile, if I can make our people understand what’s needed.’
Villiers stared at him, his eyes very clear. Afterwards, Ross thought it was the best he had looked for some time.
He said, ‘We’re together now, Jamie. My family are here. I know it.’ He stood up as Ross took his arm. ‘They’re at peace now.’
Captain Ralph Pryce pushed open the door of the operations room and very deliberately laid his cap with its peak of gold oak leaves on an empty table. Outside the building it was dark, as black as pitch, the air hot and heavy as though a storm were brewing, although the Met boffins denied it. In here it was peaceful, deserted, the only sounds being the overhead fans and the persistent tap of insects against the sealed windows.
Second Officer Celia Blandford began to rise, but Pryce said curtly, ‘Nobody stands up for rank in here, except perhaps for the admiral – but I think he’s only been here once.’
She stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. ‘All quiet, sir.’
Pryce grunted and glanced at the signals folder. He need not have bothered. A ship wanting this, a commanding officer demanding that, some vague instruction about base security. He said, ‘No news yet.’ She did not answer, and he asked, ‘Settling in all right?’
She shrugged, and he noticed that her shirt was defaced by dark patches of perspiration under her arms. A far cry from England, he thought.
‘Petty Officer Mackenzie still on board?’
She looked up at the revolving fan. ‘I sent her for some tea.’ She almost smiled. ‘I think she resented it.’
‘She has been running things since your predecessor was . . .’ He hesitated, and wondered why she made him so ill at ease when it should be the other way around.
‘Murdered? Well, sir, I have to do it my way. I’m not really a first-name type, not this early.’
Pryce walked around the room, glancing at graphs and lists, maps and notices so faded that they were barely readable. He said, ‘I’ve just been out to the hospital ship. She’ll be weighing in about an hour. Not much you can say on such occasions. I’ve written to his people, of course.’
She nodded. ‘Sub-Lieutenant Napier. How was he taking it?’
Pryce considered. The young face, pinched and lined with pain and drugs. A shadow of the officer Ross had wanted to protect. He should be used to it. He had seen enough men die . . . he glanced at the serious-looking Wren officer. Women too. ‘It’s the end of his career.’ It was like slamming a watertight door. But what other way was there? He thought of Petty Officer Tucker; he had been aboard the white-painted hospital ship, too. Pryce had not asked how he had wangled that. Another odd bird. Could be on his way home for a long and well-deserved leave. He had survived a brief but brutal captivity, and from what Pryce could gather from the secret reports, he had all but carried young Napier most of the way to safety with the Chindit sabotage party. But no, he
had firmly resisted it. I want to stay, sir. I belong here. My family will know about me now, that was my main worry.
Pryce considered Tucker’s views on the Turquoise’s disappearance, and what he had been told by some Burmese headman. Sunk by another submarine. It seemed very unlikely, and he wondered what they would make of it at the Admiralty. He had sent Tucker’s statement, as would be expected, though he had been careful not to offer a private opinion either way. But somebody should have discovered something. He glanced at a wall-map, thinking vaguely of Ross and Villiers. Tybalt’s commanding officer had signalled that he had completed the first part of the mission. Since then, nothing.
The door opened. Petty Officer Victoria Mackenzie walked in with a tray of tea and saw Pryce. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I thought you were out on board the hospital ship.’
Pryce watched her. ‘I’m not in any mood for tea, thank you.’ He noticed that she had brought only one cup, for her officer. It said quite a lot.
‘How was Sub-Lieutenant Napier, sir?’
He replied, ‘As well as can be expected.’ Then, for something to say, ‘No news from Singapore, I’m afraid.’ He tugged out his personal key. ‘Fetch my special file, will you?’ He watched her leave, and tried not to imagine how it might be.
Second Officer Blandford said, ‘I can have a word with her, if you like, sir. I could even arrange a transfer.’
Pryce faced her, tired of waiting, sick of people who did not or would not understand. ‘Actually, you can’t. I wouldn’t like it.’
Surprisingly she smiled, as if she had discovered a weakness and not the other way round.
The girl returned and laid the heavy pack on a table before handing him the key. She glanced only briefly at the tea. It was untouched.
‘Get me the clip of signals from Flag Officer, Submarines. There might be some glimmer amongst all that bumf.’ He added casually, ‘The submarine Tybalt will remain in her selected area until it is time to recover the Singapore chaps.’ He saw the sudden gratitude in her eyes, which he had not suspected.
She said, ‘Thank you, sir.’
He picked up his fine cap and looked at it. The youngest admiral since Nelson. He smiled faintly. Not at this rate, you won’t be. ‘I’ll be in my office for another hour.’
Victoria sat and looked at the signals. Pryce knew exactly what was happening. He was always a jump ahead, everyone said so. She thought of Mike Tucker’s bruised and beaten face, and found strength in the fact that he had refused to leave, and could still raise a grin when it was most needed.
He had understood when she had tried to explain. He had touched her bare arm and had said, ‘Then we’ll wait together.’ The smile had gone just as quickly, and he had murmured, ‘Together. It was what the poor little bugger said to me. And for what?’
A shadow fell across the table, and she looked up at the new officer, feeling the familiar tension between them. Jane Clarke had been difficult at times, always wanting her to stand in for her while she pursued her latest heart-throb. But there had been no side to the girl, no pulling of rank.
Blandford said, ‘I gather you’re pretty fond of the section commander, James Ross? He must be quite a man. A hero.’
Victoria waited. Perhaps it had been a bad start. She might be trying to make amends, and it took two to do that. She replied, ‘I love him. I never thought it could happen like that. I was sitting here when he first walked in. I used him badly . . . even so, something must have told me.’
Blandford smiled, but only briefly. ‘The war has a lot to answer for. It’s something you’ve always got to guard against – it’s so easy to let things slide, to throw it all away. Do you really think you know what you’re doing where he is concerned?’
Victoria felt herself flushing hotly, and was angry with herself. ‘I love him. You must know what I mean?’ She saw Blandford’s sudden impatience and knew the rift was as strong as ever. She looked away. ‘Ma’am?’
Blandford said curtly, ‘I’m going to the S.D.O. I’ll be back in a moment.’ She glanced at the inner door. ‘I’ll be here if Captain Pryce needs anything.’
She went out and slammed the door behind her. Victoria stood up and walked vaguely to the other desk. Suppose she had accepted the offer of a commission? She picked up the second officer’s white hat and stared at it. Do you really think you know what you’re doing where he is concerned? It was as if Jane had come back to taunt her. Maybe someone in Blandford’s life had let her down . . . She hung the hat on the chair again and returned to the table. Another night of anxiety lay ahead, and even when she fell into an exhausted sleep the dreams would still be there. Ross taking the prized medal and saying, ‘No, I want to give it to somebody else!’
She put her face in her hands. ‘Oh God, I do love him so! Don’t let anything hurt him.’
The door banged open and she jerked upright with surprise. But it was Major Trevor Sinclair, his tanned skin very dark against fresh khakis. He seemed to be having difficulty in focusing his eyes. ‘Oh, it’s you! A bit late for such a pretty girl to be on watch?’
She clenched her fists under the table. He was usually so cold and correct. A little like Pryce, or so she had believed. But not this time. His normally neat hair was disordered, and his voice was slightly slurred.
He snapped, ‘Well?’ He seemed to have forgotten what he had been saying, and exclaimed, ‘Where’s the Boss? He wants to see me about something. Needs to see me more likely, what?’
If only somebody else would come in. Anybody. She said, ‘Captain Pryce is in his office, sir. Is there anything I can do?’ She saw the trap immediately, and added quickly, ‘Fetch him for you?’
He walked to the table and leaned on it with both hands, his face just six inches from hers. ‘Oh yes, my little teaser, there’s a lot you can do for me.’ He reached out and touched her shoulder, his hand hot through her shirt. She could smell the gin, just as she could feel the sudden presence of danger. Of fear.
‘Not shy, are you?’ The fingers gripped her shoulder, harder, until she wanted to tear herself away. And yet somehow she knew it was what he wanted. Expected.
‘Please don’t, sir.’
He smiled, and his hand began to move again. ‘You know you like it. Whose word would they take? Come on, don’t play hard to get with me.’
Something rattled against the window and he turned his head, his hand gripping her arm now, so that she could feel her own wild pulse beating against his wrist. She saw his expression change, the wildness replaced by disbelief, shock, so that for a second she believed he was losing his mind.
He was staring at Second Officer Blandford’s hat, the badge very bright in the overhead lights.
‘What? – What?’ He seemed to be choking. ‘Is this some bloody joke? Is that it?’ But his anger was without menace now, and she made herself sit quite motionless until the fingers released her arm, and he straightened his back as if he had been carrying some invisible burden.
She heard herself say coolly, ‘Second Officer Blandford, sir. You didn’t know? She’s the new officer here.’ It was like listening to somebody else. A small, quiet voice, her only defence against the sudden terror and understanding. She could almost hear the redcap, Guest, describing the scene, talking about the missing badge from Jane Clarke’s hat. A souvenir, a trophy.
The door opened, and Second Officer Blandford stared in. ‘I thought I heard voices.’
Victoria touched her arm. Surely there would be bruises? Otherwise she could have put it down to imagination and strain. She had not even seen him leave. She said quietly, ‘Major Sinclair, ma’am. Looking for Captain Pryce.’ Was that all? Could she just leave it and walk away?
The lips flickered again in a smile. ‘You should have called me. I’ve yet to meet him. He’s another hero, isn’t he?’
But the taunt failed to move her, to mean anything.
They had said it was impossible. She recalled his words – how long ago? Minutes, no more than minutes. Whose word w
ould they take?
She thought of Ross, trying to shield her from the girl’s naked body and the stares of the M.P.s while the rain had battered down.
He touched me. Her hand was on her arm again, loathing it, wanting to scour it away. The grip of a murderer.
Blandford said, ‘Well, if you’ve nothing to add . . .’ She snatched up a telephone before it had rung more than twice.
Then she said, ‘Captain Pryce wants you.’ The girl did not move, and she added abruptly, ‘That means now!’
Victoria did not remember walking the length of the corridor, or even if she passed anyone. She was suddenly in Pryce’s office, knuckles pressed hard against her thighs as if she was on parade. Her control was all she had; she knew only that she must not give way.
Sinclair was here, very relaxed in a cane chair, a glass in his hand. He smiled at her, almost indifferently, as he might greet a stranger in his mess. She realized that Commander Crookshank was present also. He too was drinking, and very flushed, as if he had run all the miles from the main base. She shook her head and felt her hair clinging damply to her skin. That was silly. The base was too far away.
Pryce was watching her as though unsure, like that other time in this same office when James Ross had held her and pretended to stab her for Guest’s benefit. He frowned as Crookshank gestured with his glass. ‘You’ve been overdoing it, my dear. I think we can bend the rules. You should have a drink.’
She tried to shake her head, but it was too painful. ‘What is it, sir?’ Perhaps Sinclair had made some allegation against her, then she was certain he had not. He was not even the same man.
Pryce said coolly, ‘You know Commander Crookshank’s mistrust of the teleprinter, or even of science’s latest triumph, the telephone?’ But even he could not prolong it. He said, ‘Signal from Tybalt: Operation terminated. Both passengers recovered safely. Returning to base with all despatch.’
She knew she was falling, just as she knew Pryce had been expecting it. He half carried her to a chair, and somebody held a glass of water to her lips.
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