Алистер Маклин - Seawitch

‘Called the police?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s been done?’

‘We have arranged for the blocking of all air and sea escape routes.’

‘You have descriptions?’

‘Poor. Five men, heavily armed, wearing stocking masks.’

‘What’s your opinion of the local law?’

‘Low.’

‘I’ll call in the FBI.’

‘Yes, sir. But as the criminals haven’t been traced there’s no evidence that they’ve crossed the state line.’

‘Hell with state lines and regulations. If I say they’re called in, that’s it. Hold on. I think Lord Worth would like another word.’ Lord Worth took the receiver. Some colour had returned to his cheeks.

‘I’m leaving now. Less than four hours, I should say. I’ll radio from the Boeing half an hour out. Meet me at the airport.’

‘Yes, sir. Commander Larsen would like to know–’

‘Tell him.’ Lord Worth replaced the receiver, took another sip of his brandy. ‘There’s no fool like an old fool and only a blind fool would have overlooked so obvious a move. This is war, even if undeclared war, and in war no holds are barred. To think that it should come to this before you had incontrovertible proof that I am indeed under siege. Unforgivable. To have left my daughters unguarded was wholly unforgivable. Why didn’t I have the sense to leave Mitchell and Roomer on guard?’ He looked at his now-empty glass and the stenographer took it away.

Belton was faintly sceptical. ‘Five armed men?’

Lord Worth looked at him morosely. ‘I had forgotten that you don’t know these men. Mitchell, for example, could have taken care of them all by himself. He’s lethal.’

‘So they’re your friends, and you respect them. Don’t take offence, Lord Worth, but is there any way that they could be implicated in this?’

‘You must be out of your mind.’ Lord Worth, still morose, sipped his third brandy. ‘Sorry. I’m not myself. Sure they’d like to kidnap my daughters, almost as much as my daughters would like to be kidnapped by them.’

‘That the way?’ Belton seemed mildly astonished. In his experience, billionaires’ daughters did not normally associate with the lower orders.

‘That’s the way. And in answer to your next two questions: yes, I approve and no, they don’t give a damn about my money.’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘It is extremely odd. And I shall forecast this, Mr Secretary. When Marina and Melinda are brought back to me it won’t be through the good offices of either the local police or your precious FBI. Mitchell and Roomer will bring them back. One does not wish to sound overly dramatic, but they would, quite literally, give their lives for my daughters.’

‘And, as a corollary, they would cut down anyone who got in their way?’

For the first time since the phone call Lord Worth smiled, albeit faintly. ‘I’ll take the fifth amendment on that one.’

‘I must meet these paragons some time.’

‘Just as long as it’s not over the wrong end of Mitchell’s gun.’ He rose, leaving his drink unfinished, looked round the room. ‘I must go. Thank you all for your kindness and consideration, not to say forbearance.’ He left, with the Secretary by his side.

When the door closed behind them General Zweicker rose and poured himself a brandy. ‘Well. What may be the kidnapping of the century pales into insignificance compared to the likelihood of the Russkies starting to throw things at us.’ He took some brandy. ‘Don’t tell me I’m the only person who can see the hellish witches’ brew Lord Worth is stirring up for us.’

It was clear that all three listening to him had a very clear view of the cauldron. Howell said: ‘Let’s give Lord Worth his due. He could even be right when he says he’s glad he’s got a British passport. The stirrers-up are our own compatriots; the holier-than-thou major American oil companies, who are willing to crucify Lord Worth and put their country at jeopardy because of their blind stupidity.’

‘I don’t care who’s responsible.’ The stenographer’s voice was plaintive. ‘Does anyone know where I can get a nuclear shelter, cheap?’

Belton led Worth down one flight of stairs and out on to the sunlit lawn, where the helicopter was waiting.

Belton said: ‘Ever tried to find words to tell someone how damnably sorry one feels?’

‘I know from experience. Don’t try. But thanks.’

‘I could have our personal physician accompany you down to Florida.’

‘Thanks again. But I’m fine now.’

‘And you haven’t had lunch?’ Belton, clearly, was finding conversational gambits heavy going.

‘As I don’t much care for plastic lunches from plastic trays, I have an excellent French chef aboard my plane.’ Again a faint smile. ‘And two stewardesses, chosen solely for their good looks. I shall not want.’

They reached the steps of the helicopter. Belton said: ‘You’ve had neither the time, inclination nor opportunity to give me that list of names. For the moment that is of no consequence. I just want you to know that my guarantee of protection remains in force.’

Lord Worth shook his hand silently and climbed the steps.

By this time Conde, aboard the Roamer , had arrived at the Seawitch , and the big derrick crane aboard the platform was unloading the heavy weaponry and mines from the Louisiana armoury. It was a slow and difficult task, for the tip of the derrick boom was 200 feet above sea level and in all the transfer was to take about three hours. As each dual-purpose anti-aircraft gun came aboard Larsen selected its site and supervised Palermo and some of his men in securing it in position: this was done by drilling holes in the concrete platform, then anchoring the gun-carriage base with sledgehammer-driven steel spikes. The guns were supposed to be recoilless, but then neither Larsen nor Palermo were much given to taking chances.

The depth-charges, when they came, were stacked together in three groups, each half-way between the three apexes of the triangle. That there was an inherent risk in this Larsen was well aware: a stray bullet or shell – or perhaps not so stray – could well trigger off the detonating mechanism of one of the depth-charges, which would inevitably send up the other charges in sympathetic detonation. But it was a risk that had to be taken if for no other reason than the fact that there was no other place where they could be stored ready for immediate use. And when and if the time came for their use the need would be immediate.

The drilling crew watched Palermo and his crew at work, their expressions ranging from dispassion to approval. Neither group of men spoke to the other. Larsen was no great believer in fraternization.

Things were going well. The defensive system was being steadily installed. The Christmas Tree, the peculiar name given to the valve which controlled the flow of oil from the already tapped reservoir, was wide open and oil was being steadily pumped to the huge storage tank while the derrick drill, set at its widest angle, was driving ever deeper into the sub-stratum of the ocean floor, seeking to discover as yet untapped new oil deposits. All was going well, there were no overt signs of attack or preparation for attack from air or sea, but Larsen was not as happy as he might have been, even despite the fact that they were still receiving the half-hour regular ‘on course, on time’ reports from the Torbello.

He was unhappy partly because of the nonexistence of the Questar. He had recently learned from Galveston that there was no vessel listed in naval or coastguard registries under the name of Questar. He had then asked that they check civilian registrations and had been told that this was a forlorn hope. It would take many hours, perhaps days, to carry out this type of investigation and private vessels, unless fully insured, would show up neither in official registries nor in those of the major marine insurance companies. There was no law which said they had to be insured, and the owners of the older and more decrepit craft didn’t even bother to insure: there are such things as tax write-offs.