Алистер Маклин - Ice Station Zebra

Swanson looked at Jolly, bleakly and for a long time, then turned to me and shook his head. ‘I can’t wear that, Dr Carpenter. This phone call because a patient just happens to turn sick. Jolly is not the man to leave anything to chance.’

‘He isn’t,’ I agreed. ‘He didn’t. Up in the refrigerator in the sickbay I have an exhibit for the Old Bailey. A sheet of aluminium foil liberally covered with Jolly’s fingerprints. Smeared on this foil is the remains of a salve. That foil was what Jolly had bandaged on to Bolton’s burnt forearm that night, just after he had given him painkilling shots – Bolton was suffering very badly. But before Jolly put the salve on the foil he spread on something else first – a layer of sodium chloride – common or garden household salt. Jolly knew that the drugs he had given Bolton would keep him under for three or four hours; he also knew that by the time Bolton had regained consciousness body heat would have thinned the salve and brought the salt into contact with the raw flesh on the forearm. Bolton, he knew, when he came out from the effects of the drugs, would come out screaming in agony. Can you imagine what it must have been like: the whole forearm a mass of raw flesh – and covered with salt? When he died soon after, he died from shock. Our good healer here – a lovable little lad, isn’t he?

‘Well, that’s Jolly. Incidentally, you can discount most of the gallant doctor’s heroism during the fire – although he was understandably as anxious as any of us that we survive. The first time he went into the engine-room it was too damned hot and uncomfortable for his liking so he just lay down on the floor and let someone carry him for’ard to where the fresh air was. Later–’

‘He’d his mask off,’ Hansen objected.

‘He took it off. You can hold your breath for ten or fifteen seconds – don’t you think Jolly can too? Later on, when he was performing his heroics in the engine-room it was because conditions there were better, conditions outside were worse – and because by going into the engine-room he was entitled to a closed-circuit breathing set. Jolly got more clean air last night than any of us. He doesn’t mind if he causes someone to die screaming his head off in agony – but he himself isn’t going to suffer the slightest degree of hardship. Not if he can help it. Isn’t that so, Jolly?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Where are the films, Jolly?’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ he said in a quiet toneless voice. ‘Before God, my hands are clean.’

‘How about your fingerprints on that foil with the salt on it?’

‘Any doctor can make a mistake.’

‘My God! Mistake! Where are they, Jolly – the films?’

‘For God’s sake leave me alone,’ he said tiredly.

‘Have it your own way.’ I looked at Swanson. ‘Got some nice secure place where you can lock this character up?’

‘I certainly have,’ Swanson said grimly. ‘I’ll conduct him there in person.’

‘No one’s conducting anyone anywhere,’ Kinnaird said. He was looking at me and I didn’t care very much for the way he was looking at me. I didn’t care very much either for what he held in his hand, a very nasty-looking Luger. It was cradled in his fist as if it had grown there and it was pointing straight between my eyes.

‘Clever, clever counter-espionage, Carpenter,’ Dr Jolly murmured. ‘How swiftly the fortunes of war change, old boy. But you shouldn’t be surprised really. You haven’t found out anything that actually matters, but surely you should have found out enough to realise that you are operating out of your class. Please don’t try anything foolish. Kinnaird is one of the finest pistol shots I have ever known – and you will observe how strategically he’s placed so that everyone in the room is covered.’

He delicately patted his still-bleeding mouth with a handkerchief, rose, went behind me and ran his hands quickly down my clothes.

‘My word,’ he said. ‘Not even carrying a gun. You really are unprepared, Carpenter. Turn round, will you, so that your back is to Kinnaird’s gun?’

I turned round. He smiled pleasantly then hit me twice across the face with all his strength, first with the back of his right hand and then with the back of the left. I staggered, but didn’t fall down. I could taste the salt of blood.

‘Can’t even call it regrettable loss of temper,’ Jolly said with satisfaction. ‘Did it deliberately and with malice aforethought. Enjoyed it, too.’

‘So Kinnaird was the killer,’ I said slowly, thickly. ‘He was the man with the gun?’

‘Wouldn’t want to take all the credit, mate,’ Kinnaird said modestly. ‘Let’s say we sorted them out fifty-fifty.’

‘You were the one who went out with the monitor to find the capsule,’ I nodded. ‘That’s why you got your face so badly frostbitten.’

‘Got lost,’ Kinnaird admitted. ‘Thought I’d never find the damned station again.’

‘Jolly and Kinnaird,’ Jeremy said wonderingly. ‘Jolly and Kinnaird. Your own mates. You two filthy murderous–’

‘Be quiet,’ Jolly ordered. ‘Kinnaird, don’t bother answering questions. Unlike Carpenter here, I take no pleasure in outlining my modus operandi and explaining at length how clever I’ve been. As you observed, Carpenter, I’m a man of action. Commander Swanson, get on that phone there, call up your control room, order your ship to surface and steam north.’

‘You’re becoming too ambitious, Jolly,’ Swanson said calmly. ‘You can’t hi-jack a submarine.’

‘Kinnaird,’ Jolly said. ‘Point your gun at Hansen’s stomach. When I reach the count of five, pull the trigger. One, two, three–’

Swanson half-raised a hand in acknowledgment of defeat, crossed to the wall-phone, gave the necessary orders, hung up and came back to stand beside me. He looked at me without either respect or admiration. I looked round all the other people in the room. Jolly, Hansen and Rawlings standing, Zabrinski sitting on a chair by himself with the now disregarded copy of the Dolphin Daze on his knees, all the others sitting round the table, Kinnaird well clear of them, the gun very steady in his hand. So very steady. No one seemed to be contemplating any heroics. For the most part everyone was too shocked, too dazed, to think of anything.

‘Hi-jacking a nuclear submarine is an intriguing prospect – and no doubt would be a highly profitable one, Commander Swanson,’ Jolly said. ‘But I know my limitations. No, old top, we shall simply be leaving you. Not very many miles from here is a naval vessel with a helicopter on its after deck. In a little while, Commander, you will send a wireless message on a certain frequency giving our position: the helicopter will pick us up. And even if your crippled engine would stand the strain I wouldn’t advise you to come chasing after that ship with ideas about torpedoing it or anything of that dramatic ilk. Apart from the fact that you wouldn’t like to be responsible for triggering off a nuclear war, you couldn’t catch it, anyway. You won’t even be able to see the ship, Commander – and if you did it wouldn’t matter, anyway. It has no nationality markings.’

‘Where are the films?’ I asked.

‘They’re already aboard that naval vessel.’

‘They’re what?’ Swanson demanded. ‘How in hell’s name can they be?’

‘Sorry and all that, old boy. I repeat that unlike Carpenter, here, I don’t go around shooting off my mouth. A professional, my dear captain, never gives information about his methods.’

‘So you get off with it,’ I said bitterly. My mouth felt thick and swollen.