Jack Higgins - Thunder Point

“Now what?” Guerra asked.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Algaro replied.

Carney switched on the light in the deckhouse and they all crowded in. “Well, Miss Grant,” Ferguson said. “We’re all here, so what have you got to tell us?”

“It’s just an idea.” She turned to Carney. “Bob, what do a lot of divers do after a dive?”

“You mean, check their equipment…”

She broke in. “Something much more basic. What I’m thinking of is the details of the dive.”

Carney said, “Of course.”

“What on earth is she getting at?” Ferguson demanded.

“I think I see,” Dillon said. “Just like pilots, many divers keep logs. They enter details of each dive they make. It’s common practice.”

“Henry was meticulous about it,” she said. “Usually the first thing he did after getting back on board and drying himself. He usually kept it in here.” She opened the small locker by the wheel, reached inside and found it at once. It had a red cover, Baker’s name stamped on it in gold. She held it out to Dillon. “I’m afraid I might be wrong. You read it.”

Dillon paused, then turned the pages and read the last one. “It says here he made an eighty- to ninety-foot dive at a place called Thunder Point.”

“Thunder Point?” Carney said. “I’d never have thought it. No one would.”

“His final entry reads: Horse-eyed jacks in quantity, yellow-tail snappers, angel and parrot fish and one type VII German Submarine, U180, on ledge on east face.”

“Thank God,” Jenny Grant said. “I was right.”

There was a profound silence as Dillon closed the log and Ferguson said, “And now I really could do with that drink.”

Algaro and Guerra watched them return. Algaro said, “She’s told them something, I’m sure of it. You stay here and keep an eye on things while I go down to the public phone and report in.”

Inside, they sat at the same booth and when Billy came over Ferguson said, “This time champagne is very definitely in order.” He rubbed his hands. “Now we can really get down to brass tacks.”

Dillon said to Carney, “You seemed surprised, I mean about the location, this Thunder Point. Why?”

“It’s maybe twelve miles out. That’s close to the edge of things. I’ve never dived there. No one dives there. It’s the most dangerous reef in this part of the world. If the sea is at all rough, it’s a hell of a haul to get there and when you do, the current is fierce, can take you every which way.”

“How do you know this if you’ve never dived it?” Dillon asked.

“There was an old diver here a few years back, old Tom Poole. He’s dead now. He dived it on his own years back. He told me he happened to be that far out by chance and realized it was calmer than usual. From what he said it’s a bit like South Drop. A reef around seventy feet, about a hundred and eighty feet on one side and two thousand on the other. In spite of the weather being not too bad, the old boy nearly lost his life. He never tried again.”

“Why didn’t he see the U-boat?” Ferguson demanded.

“Maybe he just didn’t get that far, maybe it’s moved position since his time. The one thing we know for sure is it’s there because Henry found it,” Carney told him.

“I just wonder why he even attempted such a dive,” Jenny said.

“You know what Henry was like,” Carney told her. “Always diving on his own when he shouldn’t, and that morning, after the hurricane, the sea was calmer than I’ve ever seen it. I figure he was just sailing out there for the pure joy of it, realized where he was and saw that conditions were exceptional. In those circumstances he would have dropped his hook on that reef and been over the side in no time at all.”

“Well, according to Rear Admiral Travers,” Dillon said, “and he talked extensively to Baker, Bormann was using the captain’s cabin except that it wasn’t really a cabin. It just had a curtain across. It’s on the port side opposite the radio and sound room, that’s in the forward part of the boat. The idea of having it there was so the captain had instant access to the control room.”

“That seems reasonably straightforward to me,” Carney said.

“Yes, but the only access from the control room is by the forward watertight hatch and Baker told Travers it was corroded to hell, really solid.”

“Okay,” Carney said, “so we’ll have to blow it. C4 is the thing, the stuff Santiago was going on about when we were at Samson.”

“I’m ahead of you there,” Dillon told him. “I couldn’t get hold of any C4, but I thought Semtex would be an acceptable substitute. I’ve also got chemical detonating pencils.”

“Is there anything you forgot?” Carney asked ironically.

“I hope not.”

“So when do we go?” Ferguson demanded.

Dillon said, “I’d say that’s up to Carney here, he’s the expert.”

Carney nodded, slightly abstracted. “I’m thinking about it.” He nodded again. “The way I see it, we want to be in and out before Santiago even knows what’s going on.”

“That makes sense,” Ferguson agreed.

“They can’t track us any longer because we got rid of the bugs in both boats. We could capitalize on that by leaving around midnight, making the trip under cover of darkness. Dawn at five to five-thirty. We could go down at first light.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dillon said.

“Right, I left Sea Raider at Caneel Bay this evening so we’ll leave from there. You’ll need to pick up that Semtex you mentioned. Any extras we need I can get from the dive shop.”

“But not right now,” Ferguson told him. “Now we eat. All this excitement has given me quite an appetite.”

It started to rain a little and Algaro and Guerra sheltered under a tree. “Mother of God, is this going to take all night?” Guerra demanded.

“It takes as long as is needed,” Algaro told him.

Inside, they had dined well on Mary’s best chowder and grilled snapper, were at the coffee stage when Dillon’s cellular phone rang. He answered it, then handed it across to Ferguson. “It’s for you. Somebody from Special Branch in London.”

The Brigadier took the phone. “Ferguson here.” He listened and suddenly turned very pale and his shoulders sagged. “Just a moment,” he said wearily and got up. “Excuse me. I’ll be back,” and he went out.

“What in the hell is that all about?” Carney asked.

“Well, it’s not good, whatever it is,” Dillon said. Ferguson returned at that moment and sat down.

“Jack Lane, my assistant, is dead.”

“Oh, no,” Jenny said.

“Hit-and-run accident round about midnight. He’d been working late, you see. The police have found the car dumped in a side street off the Strand. Blood all over it. Stolen of course.”

“Another remarkable coincidence,” Dillon said. “You tell him to check up on Pamer and in no time he’s lying dead in a London side street.”

It was the first time he’d seen real anger in Ferguson’s face. Something flared in the Brigadier’s eyes. “That hadn’t escaped me, Dillon. The bill will be paid in full, believe me.”

He took a deep breath and stood up. “Right, let’s get going. Are you coming with us, my dear?”

“I don’t think so,” Jenny told him. “That kind of boat ride is the last thing I need after what I’ve been through, but I’ll come and see you off. I’ll follow you in my jeep. You carry on, I’ll catch you up, I just want a word with Mary.”

She went into the kitchen and Dillon beckoned Billy to the end of the bar. “Do you think you and Mary could spend the night at Jenny’s house?”

“You think there could be a problem?”