Алистер Маклин - Seawitch

Cronkite was furious. ‘You murderous bastard, Worth.’ He was clearly unaware that he was talking in the presence of ladies. ‘Three of my best men dead, all of them harpooned through the back.’ Involuntarily, Marina looked at Mitchell again. Mitchell had the impression that he was either a monster from outer space or from the nethermost depths: at any rate, a monster.

Lord Worth was no less furious. ‘It would be a pleasure to repeat the process – with you as the central figure this time.’

Cronkite choked, then said with what might have been truth: ‘My intention was just temporarily to incapacitate the Seawitch without harming anyone aboard. But if you want to play it rough you’ll have to find a new Seawitch in twenty-four hours. If, that is, you’re fortunate enough to survive the loss of the present Seawitch. I’m going to blast you out of the water.’

Lord Worth was calmer now. ‘It would be interesting to know how you’re going to achieve that my information is that your precious warships have been ordered back to base.’

‘There’s more than one way of blasting you out of the water.’ Cronkite sounded very sure of himself. ‘In the meantime, I’m going to off-load the Torbello ’s oil, then sink it.’ In point of fact Cronkite had no intention of sinking the tanker: the Torbello was a Panamanian-registered tanker and Cronkite was not lacking in Panamanian friends: a tanker could be easily disposed of for a very considerable sum indeed. The conversation, if such an acrimonious exchange could be so called, ended abruptly.

Mitchell said: ‘One thing’s for sure. Cronkite is a fluent liar. He’s nowhere near Central America. Not with that kind of reception. And we heard him talking to his friend Durand. He had elected not to come on this helicopter flight – which lasted only fifteen minutes. He’s lurking somewhere just over the horizon.’

Lord Worth said: ‘How did things go down there?’

‘You heard from Cronkite. There was no trouble.’

‘Do you expect more?’

‘Yes. Cronkite sounds too damn confident for my liking.’

‘How do you think it’ll come?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. He might even try the game thing again.’

Lord Worth was incredulous. ‘After what happened to him?’

‘He may be relying on the unexpected. One thing I’m sure of. If he does try the same again he’ll use different tactics. I’m sure he won’t try an air or submarine approach, if for no other reason that he doesn’t – he can’t – have skilled men. So I don’t think you’ll require your radar or sonar watch-keepers tonight. Come to that, your radio operator may need a rest – after all, he’s got an alarm call-up in his cabin. I’d keep Simpson on duty, though. Just in case our friends try for one of the legs again.’

Palermo said: ‘But they’d be waiting this time. They’d be operating close to the surface. They’d have armed guards ready and waiting to protect the divers, maybe even infra-red search-lights that we couldn’t detect from the platform. You and Sawyers had luck the first time, and luck depends very much on the element of surprise: but there would be no luck this time, because there would be no surprise.’

‘We don’t need luck. Lord Worth wouldn’t have had all those depth-charges stolen and brought aboard unless one of your men is an expert in depth-charges. You have such a man?’

‘Yes.’ Palermo eyed him speculatively. ‘Cronin. Ex-petty officer. Why?’

‘He could arrange the detonator setting so that the depth-charge would explode immediately or soon after hitting the water?’

‘I should imagine so. Again, why?’

‘We trundle three depth-charges along the platform to within, say, twenty-five yards of each of the legs. Your friend Cronin could advise us on this. My distance could be wrong. If Simpson detects anything on his sensors we just push one of the depth-charges over the side. The blast effect could or should have no effect on the leg concerned. I doubt if the boat with the divers would receive anything more than a severe shaking. But for divers in the water the concussive shock effects could hardly fail to be fatal.’

Palermo looked at him with cold, appraising eyes. ‘For a man supposed to be on the side of the law, you, Mitchell, are the most cold-blooded bastard I’ve ever met.’

‘If you want to die just say so. I should imagine you’d find conditions a bit uncomfortable nine hundred feet down in the Gulf. I suggest you get Cronin and a couple of your men and arrange the charges accordingly.’

Mitchell went to watch Palermo, Cronin and two of their men at work. Cronin had agreed with Mitchell’s estimate of placing the depth-charges twenty-five yards from the legs. As he stood there Marina came up to him.

She said: ‘More men are going to die, aren’t they, Michael?’

‘I hope not.’

‘But you are getting ready to kill, aren’t you?’

‘I’m getting ready to survive. I’m getting ready for all of us to survive.’

She took his arm. ‘Do you like killing?’

‘No.’

‘Then how come you’re so good at it?’

‘Somebody has to be.’

‘For the good of mankind, I suppose?’

‘You don’t have to talk to me.’ He paused and went on slowly. ‘Cops kill. Soldiers kill. Airmen kill. They don’t have to like it. In the First World War a fellow called Marshal Foch became the most decorated soldier of the war for being responsible for the deaths of a million men. The fact that most of them were his own men would appear to be beside the point. I don’t hunt, I don’t shoot game, I don’t even fish. I mean, I like lamb as much as the next man but I wouldn’t put a hook in its throat and drag it around a field for half an hour before it dies from agony and exhaustion. All I do is exterminate vermin. To me, all crooks, armed or not, are vermin.’

‘That’s why you and John got fired from the police?’

‘I have to tell you that?’

‘Ever killed what you, what I, would call a good person?’

‘No. But unless you shut up–’

‘In spite of everything, I think I might still marry you.’

‘I’ve never asked you.’

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

Mitchell sighed, then smiled. ‘Lady Marina Worth, would you do me the honour–’

Behind them, Lord Worth coughed. Marina swung round, the expression on her face indicating that only her aristocratic upbringing was preventing her from stamping her foot. ‘Daddy, you have a genius for turning up at the wrong moment.’

Lord Worth was mild. ‘The right moment I would have said. My unreserved congratulations.’ He looked at Mitchell. ‘Well, you certainly took your time about it. Everything ship-shape and secured for the night?’

‘As far as I can guess at what goes on in Cronkite’s devious mind.’

‘My confidence in you, my boy, is total. Well, it’s bed for me – I feel, perhaps not unaccountably, extremely tired.’

Marina said: ‘Me, too. Well, good night, fiancé.’ She kissed him lightly and left with her father.

For once Lord Worth’s confidence in Mitchell was slightly misplaced. He had made a mistake, though a completely unwitting one, in sending the radio officer off duty. For had that officer remained on duty he would undoubtedly have picked up the news flash about the theft of the nuclear weapons from the Netley Rowan Armory: Mitchell could not have failed to put two and two together.

During the third hour of Lord Worth’s conscience-untroubled sleep Mulhooney had been extremely active. He had discharged his 50,000 tons of oil and taken the Torbello well out to sea, far over the horizon. He returned an hour later with two companions and the ship’s only motorized lifeboat with the sad news that, in the sinking of the tanker, a shattering explosion had occurred which had decimated his crew. They three were the only survivors. The ‘decimated crew’ were, at that moment, taking the Torbello south to Panama. The official condolences were widespread, apparently sincere and wholly hypocritical: when a tanker blows up its motorized lifeboat does not survive intact. The republic had no diplomatic relation with the United State and the only things they would cheerfully have extradited to that country were cholera and the bubonic plague. A private jet awaited the three at the tiny airport. Passports duly stamped Mulhooney and his friends took out a flight plan for Guatemala.