Jack Higgins - Thunder Point

“I always heard that was a bad time,” Dillon said.

“Toward the end of his service he was with the 2nd Combined Action Group. He was wounded, received two Purple Hearts, the Vietnamese Cross of Valour and was recommended for a Bronze Star. That one got lost in channels.”

“And afterwards he took to diving?”

“Not at first. He went to Georgia State University, courtesy of the Marine Corps, and did a bachelor’s degree in Philosophy. Did a year in a graduate school in Oceanography.”

“Is there anything else?”

Lane consulted the file. “He has a captain’s ticket up to sixteen hundred tons, ran supply boats in the Mexican Gulf to the oil rigs, was a welder and diver in the oilfields. Went to St. John in seventy-nine.” Lane closed the file.

“So there’s your man,” Ferguson said. “You’ve got to get him on our side, Dillon. Offer him anything, money no object, within reason, that is.”

Dillon smiled. “I’m surprised at you, Brigadier. Money is never number one on the list to men like Carney.”

“That’s as may be.” Ferguson got up. “That’s it then, I’ll see you again before you leave in the morning. What time is his plane, Jack?”

“Nine o’clock, sir, gets into Antigua just after two in the afternoon their time.”

“Then I certainly won’t see you.” Ferguson sighed. “I suppose I must see you off in the right style. Bring him to the Garrick for dinner at seven-thirty, Garth, but now you must excuse me.”

“He’s all heart, isn’t he?” Dillon said to the Admiral as they emerged onto the pavement.

“Never would have thought of describing him in quite that way,” Travers said and raised his umbrella at a passing cab.

It was perhaps an hour later that Ferguson met Simon Carter in the snug of a public house called the St. George not too far from the Ministry of Defence.

He ordered a gin and tonic. “Thought I’d better bring you up to date,” he said. “There’s a lot happened.”

“Tell me,” Carter said.

So Ferguson did, the attack on Jenny by Smith and Johnson, Santiago, Jenny’s flight, everything. When he finished, Carter sat there thinking about it.

“The Santiago thing – that’s very interesting. Your chap Lane may have a point, the Fascist angle, General Franco and all that.”

“It would certainly fit, but Dillon’s right. None of it explains how Santiago seems to be so well informed.”

“So what do you intend to do about him?”

“Nothing I can do officially,” Ferguson said. “He’s an American citizen, a multi-millionaire businessman and in the eyes of the world, highly respected. I mean, that stuff on the FBI and CIA files is confidential.”

“And there is the fact that we don’t want to involve the Americans in this in any way,” Carter pointed out.

“Heaven forbid, the last thing we want.”

“So we’re in Dillon’s hands,” the Deputy Director said.

“I know and I don’t like it one little bit.” Ferguson stood up. “You’ll let Pamer know where we’re at.”

“Of course,” Carter told him. “Perhaps this Carney chap, the diver you mentioned, can give Dillon a lead.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” Ferguson said and went out.

In Paris, Santiago, who was going to a black-tie dinner at the American Embassy, was adjusting his tie in the mirror when the phone rang. It was Pamer, and Santiago listened while he brought him up to date.

“So they know your name, Max.” Pamer was very agitated. “And all thanks to those damned men who were working for you.”

“Forget them,” Santiago said. “They’re yesterday’s news.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be stupid, Francis, you’re a big boy now. Try to act like one.”

Pamer was horrified. “All right, Max, but what are we going to do?”

“They can’t lay a finger on me, Francis, I’m an American citizen, and they won’t want to include the American Government in this thing. In fact, Ferguson is acting quite illegally in sending Dillon to operate in another country’s sovereign territory. The U-boat is in American waters, remember?”

“So what will you do?”

“I’ll fly to Puerto Rico in the morning, then sail down to Samson Cay and operate from there. Dillon must stay at either the Hyatt or at Caneel Bay if he uses a hotel, and a simple phone call will confirm that. I suspect Caneel Bay if he wishes to cultivate the diver, this Carney.”

“I suppose so.”

“A pity about the girl. She’ll turn up eventually though, and I still feel she could be the key to this thing. She could know more than she realizes.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“For your sake particularly, I hope so too, Francis.”

Dillon, suitably attired in his blazer and a Guards tie, followed Travers up the imposing stairway at the Garrick Club. “Jesus, they’ve got more portraits here than the National Gallery,” he said and followed Travers through to the bar where Ferguson waited.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’m one ahead of you. Thought we’d have a spot of champagne, Dillon, just to wish you bon voyage. You prefer Krug as I recall.”

They sat in the corner and the barman brought the bottle over in an ice bucket and opened it. He filled three glasses and retired. Ferguson thanked him, then took an envelope from his pocket and passed it across. “Just in case things get rough, there’s the name of a contact of mine in Charlotte Amalie, that’s the main town in St. Thomas. What you might call a dealer in hardware.”

“Hardware?” Travers looked bewildered. “What on earth would he need with hardware?”

Dillon put the envelope in his pocket. “You’re a lovely fella, Admiral, and long may you stay that way.”

Ferguson toasted Dillon. “Good luck, my friend, you’re going to need it.” He emptied his glass. “Now let’s eat.”

There was something in his eyes, something that said there was more to this, much more, had to be, Dillon told himself, but he got up obediently and followed Travers and the Brigadier out of the bar.

And at Briac at the Convent of the Little Sisters of Pity, Jenny sat alone in the rear pew of the chapel, resting her arms on the backrest of the pew in front of her, gazing at the flickering candlelight at the altar and brooding. The door creaked open and Sister Maria Baker entered.

“There you are. You should be in bed.”

“I know, Sister, but I was restless and wanted to think about things.”

Sister Maria Baker sat down beside her. “Such as?”

“Dillon for one thing. He’s done many terrible things. He was a member of the IRA, for example, and when those two men attacked me last night…” She shivered. “He was so coldly savage, so ruthless, and yet to me he was kindness itself and so understanding.”

“So?”

Jenny turned to her. “I’m not a good Christian. In fact, when Henry found me, I was a very great sinner, but I do want to understand God, I really do.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Why does God allow violence and killing to take place at all? Why does he allow the violence in Dillon?”

“The simplest thing to answer, my child. What God does allow is free will. He gives us all a choice. You, me, and the Dillons of this world.”

“I suppose so.” Jenny sighed. “But I will have to go back to St. John and not just to help Dillon, but somehow for Henry too.”

“Why do you feel so strongly?”

“Because Henry really didn’t tell me where he discovered that U-boat, which means the secret must have died with him, and yet I have the oddest feeling that it didn’t, that the information is back there in St. John, but I just can’t think straight. It won’t come, Sister.”