Алистер Маклин - Seawitch

Larsen was not to know that his quest was a hopeless one. When Mulhooney had first taken over the Questar it had been called the Hammond , which he had thoughtfully had painted out and replaced by the name of Questar on the way to Galveston. Since Cronkite had since replaced that by the name Georgia , both the Hammond and the Questar had ceased to exist.

But what concerned Larsen even more was his conviction that something was far wrong. He was quite unable to put a finger on what this might be. He was essentially a pragmatist of the first order, but he was also a man who relied heavily on instinct and intuition. He was a man occasionally given to powerful premonitions, and more often than not those premonitions had turned into reality. And so when the loudspeaker boomed ‘Commander Larsen to the radio cabin. Commander Larsen to the radio cabin,’ he was possessed of an immediate certainty that the hour of his premonition had come.

He walked leisurely enough towards the radio cabin, partly because it would never do for Commander Larsen to be seen hurrying anxiously anywhere, partly because he was in no great hurry to hear the bad news he was convinced he was about to hear. He told the radio operator that he would like to take this call privately, waited until the man had left and closed the door behind him, then picked up the telephone.

‘Commander Larsen.’

‘Mitchell. I promised I’d call.’

‘Thanks. Heard from Lord Worth? He promised to keep in touch, but no word.’

‘And no wonder. His daughters have been kidnapped.’

Larsen said nothing immediately. Judging from the ivoried knuckles, the telephone handpiece seemed in danger of being crushed. Although caring basically only for himself, he had formed an avuncular attachment towards Lord Worth’s daughters, but even that was unimportant compared to the implications the kidnapping held about the welfare of the Seawitch. When he did speak it was in a steady, controlled voice.

‘When did this happen?’

‘This morning. And no trace of them. We’ve blocked every escape route in the southern part of the State. And there is no report from any port, airport, or heliport of any unusual departure from any of those since the time of the kidnapping.’

‘Vanished into thin air?’

‘Vanished, anyway. But not into thin air, we think. Terra firma, more likely. We think they’ve gone to earth, and are holed up not all that far away. But it’s only a guess.’

‘No communication, no demands, from the kidnappers?’

‘None. That’s what makes it all so odd.’

‘You think this is a ransom kidnap?’

‘No.’

‘The Seawitch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know why Lord Worth went to Washington?’

‘No. I’d like to.’

‘To demand naval protection. Early this morning a Russian destroyer and a Cuban submarine left Havana, while another destroyer left Venezuela. They are on converging courses. The point of convergence would appear to be the Seawitch.’

There was a silence, then Mitchell said: ‘This is for sure?’

‘Yes. Well, Lord Worth’s cup of woes would seem to be fairly full. The only consolation is that nothing much else can happen to him after this. Please keep me informed.’

In Lord Worth’s radio room both Mitchell and Roomer hung up their phones.

Mitchell briefly indulged in some improper language. ‘God, I never thought his enemies would go to this length.’

Roomer said: ‘Neither did I. I’m not sure that I even think so now.’

‘Uncle Sam’s not going to let any foreign naval powers play ducks and drakes in his own backyard?’

‘Something like that. I don’t think the Soviets would go so far as to risk a confrontation. Could be a bluff, a diversionary move. Maybe the real attack is coming from elsewhere.’

‘Maybe anything. Could be a double bluff. One thing’s sure: Larsen’s right in saying that Lord Worth’s cup of woes is fairly full. In fact I’d say it was over-spilling.’

‘Looks that way,’ Roomer said absently. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Mitchell said: ‘Don’t tell me you’re in the throes of intuition again?’

‘I’m not sure. When you were talking to Larsen just now you mentioned “terra firma”. Firm land, dry land. What if it weren’t dry land? What if it were un firm land?’

Mitchell waited politely.

Roomer said: ‘If you wanted to hole up, really get lost in Florida, where would you go?’

Mitchell hardly had to think. ‘We are bright. Unfirm land, infirm land, whatever you want to call it. The swamps, of course. Where else?’

‘Man could hide out for a month there, and a battalion of troops couldn’t find him. Which explains why the cops have been unable to find the station wagon.’ Between them MacPherson and Jenkins had been able to give a fairly accurate description of the kidnappers’ estate wagon. ‘They’ve been checking the highways and byways. I’ll bet they never thought of checking the roads into the swamps.’

‘Did we?’

‘As you said, we’re bright. There are dozens of those roads into the swamps, but most of them are very short and in no time you reach a point where no wheeled vehicle can go any further. A few dozen police cars could comb the nearest swamps in an hour.’

Mitchell said to Robertson: ‘Get Chief McGarrity.’

A knock came on the half-open door and Louise, one of the young housemaids, entered. She held a card in her hand. She said: ‘I was just making up Miss Marina’s bed when I found this between the sheets.’

Mitchell took the card. It was a plain calling card giving Marina’s name and address.

Louise said: ‘Other side.’

Mitchell reversed the card, holding it so that Roomer could see. Handwritten with a ball-point were the words: ‘Vacation. Little island in the sun. No swim-suit.’

‘You know Miss Marina’s handwriting, Louise?’ Mitchell had suddenly realized that he didn’t.

The girl looked at the card. ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure.’

‘Thank you, Louise. This could be very useful.’ Louise smiled and left. Mitchell said to Roomer: ‘What kind of lousy detective are you, then? Why didn’t you think of searching the bedrooms?’

‘Hmm. I can only guess that she asked them to leave while she dressed.’

‘You’d have thought she’d have been too scared to think of this.’

‘The handwriting’s steady enough. Besides, she doesn’t scare easily. Except, that is, when you point a pistol between her eyes.’

‘I wish, right here and now, that I was pointing a pistol between someone else’s eyes. Little island in the sun where you can’t go bathing. An overconfident kidnapper can talk too much. You thinking what I’m thinking?’

Roomer nodded. ‘The Seawitch.’

At 33,000 feet Lord Worth had just completed a light but delicious lunch accompanied by a splendid Bordeaux wine, specially bottled for him in a Rothschild vinery. He had regained his habitual calm. He was almost philosophical. He had, he reckoned, touched his nadir. All that could happen had happened. In common with Larsen, Mitchell and Roomer he was convinced that the Fates could touch him no more. All four were completely and terribly wrong. The worst was yet to come. It was, in fact, happening right then.

Colonel Farquharson, Lieutenant-Colonel Dewings and Major Breckley were not in fact the people their ID cards claimed they were, for the sufficient reason that there were no officers of that rank with corresponding names in the US army. But then it was a very big army, and nobody, not even the officers, could possibly be expected to know the names of more than a tiny fraction of their fellow officers. Nor were their faces their normal faces, although they could hardly be described as being heavily disguised. The man responsible had been a Hollywood make-up artist who preferred subtlety to false beards. All three men were dressed in sober and well-cut business suits.