Jack Higgins - Thunder Point

“The little devil.” Dillon wagged a finger at Algaro.

“Now go and chew a bone or something, there’s a good boy.”

Santiago turned and said to Algaro in Spanish, “Your turn will come, go and do as I have told you.”

Algaro went out and Ferguson said, “So, here we are. What now?”

“A little champagne perhaps, a pleasant dinner?” Santiago waved to Prieto, who snapped his fingers at a waiter and escorted him with a bottle of Krug in an ice bucket. “One can be civilized, can’t one?”

“Isn’t that a fact?” Dillon checked the label. “Eighty-three. Not bad, Señor.”

“I bow to your judgment.” The waiter filled the glasses and Santiago raised his. “To you, Brigadier Ferguson, to the playing fields of Eton and the continued success of Group Four.”

“You are well informed,” the Brigadier said.

“And you, Captain Carney, what a truly remarkable fellow you are. War hero, sea captain, diver of legendary proportions. Who on earth could they get to play you in the movie?”

“I suppose I’d just have to do it myself,” Carney told him.

“And Mr. Dillon. What can I say to a man whose only rival in his chosen profession has been Carlos.”

“So you know all about us,” Ferguson said. “Very impressive. You must need what’s in that U-boat very badly indeed.”

“Let’s lay our cards on the table, Brigadier. You want what should still be in the captain’s quarters, Bormann’s briefcase containing his personal authorization from the Führer, the Blue Book and the Windsor Protocol.”

There was a pause and it was Carney who said, “Interesting, you didn’t call him Hitler, you said the Führer.”

Santiago’s face was hard. “A great man, a very great man who had a vision of the world as it should be, not as it has turned out.”

“Really?” Ferguson commented. “I’d always understood that if you counted Jews, Gypsies, Russians and war dead from various countries, around twenty-five million people died to prove him wrong.”

“We both want the same thing, you and I,” Santiago said. “The contents of that case. You don’t want them to fall into the wrong hands. The old scandal affecting so many people, the Duke of Windsor, putting the Royal Family in the eye of the storm again. The media would have a field day. As I say, we both want the same thing. I don’t want all that to come out either.”

“So the work continues,” Ferguson said. “The Kamaraden? How many names are on that list, famous names, old names who have prospered since the War in industry and business, all on the back of Nazi money?”

“Jesus,” Dillon said. “It makes the Mafia look like small beer.”

“Come now,” Santiago told him. “Is any of this important after all these years?”

“It sure as hell must be, either to you or close friends,” Carney said, “otherwise why would you go to such trouble?”

“But it is important, Mr. Carney,” Ferguson said. “That’s the point. If the network continues over the years, if sons become involved, grandsons, people in higher places, politicians, for example.” He drank some more champagne. “Imagine, as I say, just for example, having someone high in Government. How useful that would be and then, after so many years, the kind of scandal that could bring everything down around your ears.”

Santiago waved for the waiter to pour more champagne. “I thought you might be sensible, but I see not. I don’t need you, Brigadier, or you, Mr. Carney. I have my own divers.”

“Finding it is not enough,” Carney said. “You’ve got to get into that tin can and that requires expertise.”

“I have divers, Mr. Carney, an ample supply of C4, is that the name of the explosive? I only employ people who know what they are doing.” He smiled. “But this is not getting us anywhere.” He stood up. “At least we can eat like civilized men. Please, gentlemen, join me.”

The Ford station wagon slowed to a halt at the side of the air strip, Algaro sitting in the rear behind Joseph Jackson. “Is this where you wanted, mister?”

“I guess so,” Algaro said. “Those people you brought in from the plane, what were they like?”

“Nice gentlemen,” Jackson said.

“No, what I mean is, were they curious? Did they ask questions?”

Jackson began to feel uncomfortable. “What kind of questions you mean, mister?”

“Let’s put it this way,” Algaro told him. “They talked and you talked. Now what about?”

“Well the English gentleman, he was interested in the old days. I told him how I was caretaker here in the Herbert place during the big War with my wife.”

“And what else did you tell him?”

“Nothing, mister, I swear.” Jackson was frightened now.

Algaro put a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed. “Tell me, damn you!”

“It was nothing much, mister.” Jackson struggled to get away. “About the Pamers.”

“The Pamers?”

“Yes, Lady Pamer and how she came here at the end of the War.”

“Tell me,” Algaro said. “Tell me everything.” He patted him on the side of the face. “It’s all right, just tell the truth.”

Which Jackson did and when he was finished, Algaro said, “There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

He slid an arm across Jackson’s throat, put his other hand on top of his head and twisted, breaking the neck so cleanly that the old man was dead in a second. He went round, opened the door and pulled the body out. He positioned it with the head just under the car by the rear wheel, took out a flick knife, sprung it and stabbed the point into the rear offside tire so that it deflated. He got the tool kit out, raised the car on the hydraulic jack, whistling as he pumped it up.

Very quickly, he undid the bolts and removed the tire. He stood back and kicked at the jack and the rear of the station wagon lurched to one side and descended on Jackson. He took out the spare tire and laid it beside the other one, then walked across to the Cessna and stood looking at it for quite some time.

The meal was excellent. West Indian chicken wings with blue cheese, conch chowder followed by baked red snapper. No one opted for dessert and Santiago said, “Coffee?”

“I’d prefer tea,” Dillon told him.

“How very Irish of you.”

“All I could afford as a boy.”

“I’ll join you,” Ferguson said and at that moment Algaro appeared in the doorway.

“You must excuse me, gentlemen.” Santiago got up and went and joined Algaro. “What is it?”

“I found out who the Jackson man was, the old fool driving that Ford taxi.”

“So what happened?”

Algaro told him briefly and Santiago listened intently, watching as the waiter took tea and coffee to the table.

“But it means our friends now know that Sir Francis is involved in this business.”

“It doesn’t make any difference, Señor. We know the girl is returning tomorrow, we know she thinks she knows where the U-boat is. Who needs these people any more?”

“Algaro,” Santiago said. “What have you done?”

As Santiago returned to the table, Ferguson finished his tea and stood up. “Excellent dinner, Santiago, but we really must be going.”

“What a pity. It’s been quite an experience.”

“Hasn’t it? By the way, a couple of presents for you.” Ferguson took the two tracking bugs from his pocket and put them on the table. “Yours, I think. Give my regards to Sir Francis next time you’re in touch, or I could give your regards to him.”

“How well you put it,” Santiago said and sat down.

They reached the front entrance to find Prieto standing at the top of the steps looking flustered. “I’m so sorry, gentlemen, but I’ve no idea what’s happened to the taxi.”