Jack Higgins - Thunder Point

He heard his door open and Ferguson came in. “Ah, there you are.” He too wore a robe, but also had a towel around his neck. “I’ll take a glass of that, dear boy, and also the phone. What time is it?”

“Just coming up to midnight.”

“Five o’clock in the morning in London. Time to get up,” and Ferguson dialed the number of Detective Inspector Jack Lane’s flat.

Lane came awake with a groan, switched on the bedside lamp and picked up the phone. “Lane here.”

“It’s me, Jack,” Ferguson told him. “Still in bed, are we?”

“For God’s sake, sir, it’s only five o’clock in the morning.”

“What’s that got to do with it? I’ve got work for you, Jack. I’ve discovered how our friend Santiago has managed to stay so well informed.”

“Really, sir?” Lane was coming awake now.

“Would you believe Sir Francis Pamer?”

“Good God!” Lane flung the bedclothes to one side and sat up. “But why?”

Ferguson gave him a brief account of what had happened, culminating in old Joseph Jackson’s revelations and the plane crash.

Lane said, “It’s difficult to believe.”

“Isn’t it? Anyway, give the Pamer family the works, Jack. Where did old Sir Joseph’s money come from, how does Sir Francis manage to live like a prince? Use all the usual sources.”

“What about the Deputy Director, sir, do I inform him in any way?”

“Simon Carter?” Ferguson laughed out loud. “He’d go through the roof. It would be at least a week before he could bring himself to believe it.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll get moving on things right away.”

Ferguson said, “So, that’s taken care of.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Dillon said. “You were right when you said earlier that you didn’t think Santiago was ready to kill us yet because he needed us. So, assuming the crash was no accident, I wonder what made him change his mind?”

“I’ve no idea, dear boy, but I’m sure we’ll find out.” Ferguson punched the numbers on the cellular phone again. “Ah, Samson Cay Resort? Mr. Prieto, if you please.”

A moment later a voice said, “Prieto here.”

“Charles Ferguson calling from Caneel. Wonderful evening, excellent meal. Do thank Mr. Santiago for me.”

“But of course, Brigadier, it was kind of you to call.”

Ferguson replaced the phone. “That will give the bastard pause for thought. Give me another drop of champagne, dear boy, then I’m off to my bed.”

Dillon filled his glass. “Not before you tell me something.”

Ferguson swallowed half the champagne. “And what would that be?”

“You knew you’d be coming to St. John from the beginning, booked your accommodation at the same time you booked mine and that was before I got here, before it became apparent that Santiago knew my name and who I was and why I was here.”

“Which means what?”

Dillon said, “You knew Pamer was up to no good before I left London.”

“True,” Ferguson said. “I just didn’t have any proof.”

“But how did you know?”

“Process of elimination, dear boy. After all, who knew about the affair at all? Henry Baker, the girl, Admiral Travers, myself, Jack Lane, you, Dillon, the Prime Minister. Every one of you could be instantly discarded.”

“Which only left Carter and Pamer.”

“Sounds like an old-fashioned variety act, doesn’t it? Carter, as I told you earlier and based on my past experience of the man, is totally honest.”

“Which left the good Sir Francis?”

“Exactly and that seemed absurd. As I’ve said before, a baronet, one of England’s oldest families, a Government Minister.” He finished his champagne and put the glass down. “But then, as I think the great Sherlock Holmes once said, when you’ve exhausted all the possibilities, then the impossible must be the answer.” He smiled. “Goodnight, dear boy, I’ll see you in the morning.”

The following morning Santiago went for a swim in the sea, then sat in the stern under the awnings, had coffee and toast and a few grapes while he thought about things. Algaro waited by the rail patiently, saying nothing.

“I wonder what went wrong,” Santiago said. “After all, it would be unusual for you to make a mistake, Algaro.”

“I know my business, I did what was necessary, Señor, believe me.”

At that moment Captain Serra presented himself. “I’ve just had a call from my man in Cruz Bay, Señor. It appears the Cessna crashed in Reef Bay last night, that’s on the south coast of St. John. It finished up forty feet down on the bottom. Ferguson, Carney and Dillon all survived.

“Damn them to hell!” Algaro said angrily.

“Soon enough.” Santiago sat there, frowning.

Serra said, “Have you any order, Señor?”

“Yes.” Santiago turned to Algaro. “After lunch, you take Guerra and go to St. John in the launch. The girl should arrive at around six in the evening.”

“You wish us to bring her to you, Señor?”

“That won’t be necessary. Just find out what she knows, I’m sure that’s not beyond your capability.”

Algaro’s smile was quite evil. “At your orders, Señor,” and he withdrew.

Serra waited patiently while Santiago poured more coffee. “How long will the launch take to make the run to Cruz Bay?” Santiago asked.

“Depending on the weather, two to two and a half hours, Señor.”

“About the same time as the Maria Blanco would take?”

“Yes, Señor.”

Santiago nodded. “I may want to return to our mooring at Paradise some time tonight. I’m not sure. It depends on events. In any case, get me Sir Francis in London.”

It took twenty minutes for Serra to run Pamer to earth and he finally located him at a function at the Dorchester. He sounded rather irritated when he came to the phone. “Who is this? I hope it’s important, I’ve got a speech to make.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do marvelously, Francis.”

There was a pause and Pamer said, “Oh, it’s you, Max, how are things?”

“We succeeded in locating the old man you mentioned, Jackson. What a mind. Quite remarkable. Remembered everything about nineteen forty-five in sharpest detail.”

“Oh, my God,” said Pamer.

Santiago, who had never seen any point in not facing up to the facts of any situation, carried on, “Luckily for you, he had an accident when changing a wheel on his car and has gone to a better place.”

“Please, Max, I don’t want to know this.”

“Don’t be silly, Francis, this is hold-on-to-your-nerves time, particularly as the old boy told everything he knew to Ferguson before my man helped him on his way. Unfortunate that.”

“Ferguson knows?” Pamer felt as if he were about to choke and tore at his tie. “About my mother and father, Samson Cay, Martin Bormann?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But what are we going to do?”

“Get rid of Ferguson obviously, Dillon as well, and Carney. The girl arrives this evening and my information is that she knows where the U-boat is. She’ll be of no further use after that, of course.”

“For God’s sake, no,” Pamer implored and suddenly turned quite cold. “I’ve just thought of something. My secretary asked me if there was anything wrong with my financial affairs this morning. When I asked her why, she told me she’d noticed a trace being run through the computer. I didn’t think anything of it. I mean, when you’re a Minister, they keep these various checks going for your own protection.”

“Right,” Santiago said. “Have the source checked at once and report back to me.”

He handed the phone to Serra. “You know, Serra,” he said, “it’s a constant source of amazement to me, the frequency with which I become involved with stupid people.”