Алистер Маклин - Santorini

‘Yes, sir. What else can that list of contacts he has in drug areas mean? Where else has he accumulated his vast wealth – and we haven’t added it all up yet, not by any means.’

‘There’s no actual proof.’

‘All depends on what you call proof. It’s very powerful suggestive evidence. How far are you prepared to stretch the long arm of coincidence? To infinity?’

‘And you’re further suggesting he’s engaged in terrorism. That he’s using his vast profits from drug-smuggling to finance his terrorist activities?’

‘It’s possible, but I don’t think so. I think the two activities are being run in tandem.’

‘A drug-peddler is one thing. A terrorist quite another. Incompatibles. Poles apart. Never the twain shall meet.’

‘One hesitates to contradict a senior officer. But I’m afraid you’re wrong, sir. Vincent, would you enlighten the Admiral? You know what I’m talking about.’

‘All too well, sir. October 1984, Admiral, our last submarine patrol. North Atlantic, about two hundred miles west of the Irish coast. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. We were asked to move into position to observe, but not to intercept, a small American ship en route from the States to Ireland and given its course and estimated time when it would pass a certain point. Neither the crew of this vessel nor its captain, a certain Captain Robert Anderson who, I believe, is still at large, knew that they had been monitored from the moment they had left port by an American spy-in-the-sky satellite. We upped periscope, identified it, then downed periscope. They never saw us. It was a New England trawler, the Valhalla, based on Gloucester, Massachusetts, from which it had sailed a few days earlier. It transferred its cargo to an Irish tug, the Marita Ann, which was duly seized by the Irish Navy.

‘The cargo consisted entirely of military hardware – rifles, machine-guns, shotguns, pistols, hand grenades, rockets and, as I recall, about 70,000 rounds of ammunition, all destined for the IRA. It was to have been the IRA’s biggest gunrunning plot ever, but it was foiled because of what was called “Operation Leprechaun”, where the CIA, our MI5 and Irish Intelligence took a healthy – or unhealthy, it all depends on your point of view – interest in the activities of Noraid, an Irish-American group that specialized – for all I know it may still be specializing – in buying American arms and shipping them to the IRA in Ireland.

‘Round about the same time a Panamanian registered cargo ship by the name of the Ramsland, chartered by the same gang who had organized the Valhalla, put into Boston harbour and was promptly seized by the United States Coast Guard. The Ramsland had secret compartments below decks but the Coast Guard knew all about those secret compartments. They held no less than thirty tons of marijuana, another smuggling record. The proceeds from the sale of those drugs were, of course, intended to fund IRA terrorist activities.’

‘We became quite interested in the drug-terrorist connection,’ Talbot said, ‘and made some discreet enquiries. At least five other drug-terrorist connections had been discovered and broken up. It is believed that considerably more connections have not been discovered and so not broken up. Why should Andropulos be an exception to what appears to be a fairly well established rule?’

‘A suitably chastened admiral sits before you,’ Hawkins said. ‘We live, we learn. You two should join Denholm and offer your services to MI5. Ah, the man himself.’

Denholm entered the cabin with Theodore, who handed over to Talbot some papers he had with him. Talbot looked at them and handed them over to Hawkins.

‘Well, well, well,’ Hawkins said. ‘What an interesting coincidence or, in view of what I’ve just been learning, perhaps not all that much of a coincidence. Fifteen of the towns that Greek Intelligence asterisked – if that’s the word – on their list. Only, in this case – my, my, my! – they give names and addresses. Isn’t that splendid? Captain, a thought has occurred to me. There’s one of those towns marked with an asterisk that you omitted to mention. Washington, DC. Does that come under D for drugs or T for terrorism?’

‘Neither. B for bribery. Are you about through this list, Theodore?’

‘Two-thirds, I would say.’

‘And that will be the end of it?’

‘No, Captain. There’s still a last list.’

‘It would be gratifying if it held some more revelations, but perhaps that would be too much to hope for. How long have you been up and around, Theodore?’

‘Three o’clock this morning. Three-thirty. I’m not sure, I was a bit fuzzy. If I had known what would be required of me this morning I wouldn’t have gone to that birthday celebration last night.’

‘And it’s now noon, or thereabouts. Seven hours of beating your brains out when you weren’t feeling all that hot to begin with. You must be exhausted. But I would appreciate it if you could at least finish this present list off. After that, Jimmy, I suggest that Theodore has a drink, snack and snooze in that order.’ The two men left. ‘If you agree, Admiral, I suggest that Vincent contacts Greek Intelligence after Theodore has finished that list and furnishes them with a list of the towns together with the appropriate names and addresses. Could help.’

‘And what do you imagine Greek Intelligence can do?’

‘Very little, I imagine. But they can forward the list, with utmost urgency, to Interpol. Admittedly, Interpol’s writ doesn’t run worldwide – they would have zero clout in places, say, like Tripoli, Tehran or Beirut – and they are an information gathering and dispensing agency not an executive unit, and they know more about bad people than any other group in the world. And ask them if they suspect – suspect, not have proof – that Andropulos is engaged in drug-running.’

‘Shall be done, sir. Sign it “Admiral Hawkins”?’

‘Naturally.’

Hawkins shook his head. ‘Admiral Hawkins here, Admiral Hawkins there, it seems he’s signing his name everywhere. Or, rather somebody’s signing it for him. I shall have to look to my chequebooks.’

The heavy steel derrick projected upwards and outwards from the midships side of the Kilcharran at an angle of about thirty degrees off the vertical. From the winch at the foot of the derrick the hawser rose upwards through the pulley at the top of the derrick and then descended vertically into the sea. The lower end of the hawser was attached to a heavy metal ring which was distanced about twenty feet above the fuselage of the sunken plane: from the ring, two shorter cables, bar-taut, were attached to the two lifting slings that had been attached fore and aft to the nose and tail of the bomber.

The winch turned with what seemed to most watchers an agonizing and frustrating slowness. There was ample electrical power available to have revolved the drum several times as quickly but Captain Montgomery was in no hurry. Standing there by the winch, he exhibited about as much anxiety and tension as a man sitting with his eyes closed in a garden deckchair on a summer’s afternoon. Although it was difficult to visualize, it was possible that a sling could have loosened and slipped and Montgomery preferred not to think what might happen if the plane should slip and strike heavily against the bottom, so he just stood patiently there, personally guiding the winch’s control wheel while he listened with clamped earphones to the two divers who were accompanying the plane on its ten foot a minute ascent.

After about five minutes the grotesque shape of the plane – grotesque because of the missing left wing – could be dimly discerned through the now slightly wind-ruffled surface of the sea. Another three minutes and the lifting ring came clear of the water. Montgomery centred the winch wheel, applied the brake, went to the gunwale, looked over the rail and turned to the officer by his side.