Jack Higgins - Thunder Point

When Ferguson, Dillon and Carney drove down to Reef Bay in Carney’s jeep, they could see the Cessna suspended on the end of the crane at the stern of the salvage boat, clear of the water. There were three men on deck in diving suits and one in a peaked cap, denim shirt and jeans. Carney whistled, the man turned, waved then, dropped into an inflatable at the side of the boat, started the outboard and aimed for shore.

He came up the beach holding Ferguson’s Malacca cane, and said to Carney, “This belong to somebody?”

Ferguson reached for it. “I’m deeply indebted to you. Means a great deal to me.”

Carney introduced them. “What’s the verdict, or haven’t you had time yet?”

“Hell, it’s open and shut,” the salvage captain said and turned to Dillon. “Bo tells me your oil pressure gauge went wild?”

“That’s true.”

“Not surprising. The filler cap was blown off. That kind of pressure is usually only generated when there’s a substantial amount of water in the oil. As the engine heats up, the water turns to steam and there you go.”

“Wouldn’t you say it was kind of strange to have that much water in the oil?” Carney asked.

“Not for me to say. What is certain is some vandal or other intended you harm. Somebody went to work on the bottom of the floats with what looks like a fire axe, that’s why your landing was fouled. The moment you hit the water, it poured into those floats.” He shrugged. “The rest, you know. Anyway, we’ll haul her back to St. Thomas. I’ll arrange repairs and keep you posted.” He shook his head. “You guys were real lucky,” and he went back to the inflatable and returned to the salvage boat.

They sat in a booth at Jenny’s Place and Mary Jones brought them chowder and hunks of French bread. Billy supplied the beer, ice-cold, and shook his head. “You gents must live right. I mean, you shouldn’t be here.”

He walked away and Dillon said, “So you were wrong, Brigadier, he did try to have us killed. Why?”

“Maybe it had something to do with what that old guy Jackson said,” Carney put in.

“Yes, that would be part of it, but I’m still surprised,” Ferguson said. “I still thought we had our uses.”

“Well, we sure will have when Jenny gets in,” Carney told him.

“Let’s hope so.” The Brigadier raised his arm. “Let’s have some more beer, innkeeper, it really is quite excellent.”

When Pamer called Santiago back it was six o’clock in the evening in London.

“It couldn’t be worse,” he said. “That computer trace has been authorized by Detective Inspector Lane, he’s Ferguson’s assistant at the moment, on temporary loan from Special Branch. It’s a check on my family’s financial background, Max, searching way back. I’m finished.”

“Don’t be a fool. Just stay cool. Just think of the time scale. If you consider when Ferguson found out about you, he can only have had time to speak to this Lane and tell him to start digging.”

“But what if he’s spoken to Simon Carter or the P.M.?”

“If he had, you’d know by now, and why should he? Ferguson’s played this whole thing very close to his chest and that’s the way he’ll continue.”

“But what about Lane?”

“I’ll have him taken care of.”

“For God’s sake no,” Pamer moaned. “I can’t take any more killing.”

“Do try to act like a man occasionally,” Santiago said. “And you do have one consolation. Once we have the Bormann documents in our hands, the Windsor Protocol should prove a very useful tool to have in your possession, and there must be people whose fathers or grandfathers appear in the Blue Book who’d give anything to prevent that fact coming out.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, Francis, we’ll have lots of fun with this one.”

He replaced the phone, thought about it, then picked it up again and dialed another London number. He spoke in Spanish. “Santiago. I have a major elimination for you which must be carried out tonight. A Detective Inspector Jack Lane, Special Branch. I’m sure you can find the address.” He handed the phone back to Algaro. “And now, my friend, I think it’s time you and Guerra departed for St. John.”

It was half-past five when Jenny came in on the ferry to Cruz Bay. It was only a few hundred yards along the front to Jenny’s Place and when she went in there were already a few people at the bar, Billy Jones standing behind. He came round to meet her.

“Why, Miss Jenny, it’s so good to see you.”

“Is Mary here?”

“She sure is. In the kitchen getting things right for this evening. Just go through.”

“I will in a moment. Did you speak to Dillon? Did you give him my message?”

“I did. He and that friend of his and Bob Carney have been as thick as thieves these past few days. I don’t know what’s going on, but something sure is.”

“So Dillon and Brigadier Ferguson are still at Caneel?”

“They sure are. You want to get in touch with him?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Well you know they don’t have telephones in the cottages at Caneel, but Dillon has a cellular phone. He gave me the number.” He went behind the bar, opened the cash register drawer and took out a piece of paper. “Here it is.”

Mary came through the kitchen door at that moment and came to a dead halt. “Jenny, you’re back.” She kissed her on the cheek, then held her at arm’s length. “You look terrible, honey, what you been doing?”

“Nothing much.” Jenny gave her a tired smile. “Just driving halfway across France, then catching a plane to London, another to Antigua, a third to St. Thomas. I’ve never felt so tired in my life.”

“What you need is food, a hot bath and a night’s sleep.”

“That’s a great idea, Mary, but I’ve things to do. A cup of coffee would be fine. Let me have it in the office, I want to make a telephone call.”

Algaro and Guerra had obtained the address of the house at Gallows Point from the fisherman who was Captain Serra’s contact in Cruz Bay. They had already paid the place a visit, although Algaro had decided against a forced entry at that time. They went back to the waterfront, watched the ferry come in from St. Thomas and the passengers disembark. Out of the twenty or so passengers only five were white and three of those were men. As the other woman was at least sixty, there was little doubt who the younger one with the suitcase was. They followed her at a discreet distance and saw her go up the steps to the cafe.

“What do we do now?” Guerra asked.

“Wait,” Algaro told him. “She’ll go to the house sooner or later.”

Guerra shrugged, took out a cigarette and lit it and they went and sat on a bench.

Dillon was actually swimming off Paradise beach, had left the cellular phone with his towel on a recliner on the beach. He heard the phone and swam as fast as he could to the shore.

“Dillon here.”

“It’s Jenny.”

“Where are you?”

“At the bar, I just got in. How have things been?”

“Well, let’s say it’s been lively and leave it at that. There were people waiting for me the moment I got here, Jenny, the wrong sort of people. There’s a man called Santiago, who was responsible for the break-in at Lord North Street, and those two thugs who tried to jump you by the Thames. He’s been hanging around here in a motor yacht called the Maria Blanco causing us as much trouble as possible.”

“Why?”

“He wants Bormann’s briefcase, it’s as simple as that.”

“But how did he know about the U-boat’s existence?”

“There was a leak at the London end of things, someone connected with Intelligence. You were right about Bob Carney. Quite a guy, but he’s not been able to come up with a solution. Do you really think you can help, Jenny?”