Jack Higgins - Thunder Point

“Don’t worry, Señor,” Serra told him. “We’re faster than they are. There’s no way they can get back to St. John without us overtaking them,” and he turned to the ladder and went up to the bridge as Noval and Mugica hauled Algaro’s body in through the chain port.

At Shunt Bay, Ferguson leaned anxiously over the stern of Sea Raider as the inflatable coasted in out of the darkness.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Dillon passed the Bormann briefcase up to him. “That’s what happened. Now let’s get out of here.”

He stepped on to the diving platform and Carney passed him the inflatable line and Dillon tied it securely, then went to the deckhouse and worked his way round to the prow and started to pull in the anchor. It came free of the sandy bottom with no difficulty. Behind him, Carney had already gone up to the flying bridge and was starting the engines.

Ferguson joined him. “How did it go?”

“He doesn’t take prisoners, I’ll say that for him,” Carney said. “But let’s get out of here. We don’t have any kind of time to hang about.”

Sea Raider plowed forward into the night, the wind freshening four to five. Ferguson sat in the swivel chair and Dillon leaned against the rail beside Carney.

“They’re faster than we are, you know that,” Carney said. “And he’s going to keep coming.”

“I know,” Dillon told him. “He doesn’t like to lose.”

“Well, I sure as hell can’t go any faster, we’re doing twenty-two knots and that’s tops.”

It was Ferguson who saw the Maria Blanco first. “There’s a light back there, I’m sure there is.”

Carney glanced round. “That’s them all right, couldn’t be anyone else.”

Dillon raised the night sight.

“Yes, it’s the Maria Blanco .”

“He’s got good radar on that thing, must have,” Carney said. “No way I can lose him.”

“Oh, yes there is,” Dillon said. “Just keep going.”

Serra, on the bridge of the Maria Blanco , held a pair of night glasses to his eyes. “Got it,” he said and passed the glasses to Santiago.

Santiago focused them and saw the outline of Sea Raider . “Right, you bastards.” He leaned over the bridge rail and looked down at Mugica, Noval and Pinto, who all waited on the forward deck, holding M16 rifles. “We’ve seen them. Get yourselves ready.”

Serra increased speed, the Maria Blanco raced forward over the waves and Santiago raised the glasses again, saw the outline of Sea Raider and smiled. “Now, Dillon, now,” he murmured.

The explosion, when it came, was instantaneous, tearing the bottom out of the ship. What happened was so catastrophic that neither Santiago, Captain Serra nor the three remaining crew members had time to take it in as their world disintegrated and the Maria Blanco lifted, then plunged beneath the waves.

On the flying bridge of Sea Raider what they saw first was a brilliant flash of orange fire and then, a second or two later, the explosion boomed across the water. And then the fire disappeared, extinguished, only darkness remaining. Bob Carney killed the engine instantly.

It was very quiet. Ferguson said, “A long way down.”

Dillon looked back through the night sight. “U180 went further.” He put the night sight in the locker under the instrument panel. “He did say they were carrying explosives, remember?”

Carney said, “We should go back, perhaps there are survivors.”

“You really think so after that?” Dillon said gently. “St. John’s that way.”

Carney switched on the engines, and as they plowed forward into the night Dillon went down the ladder to the deckhouse. He took off his diving suit, pulled on his tracksuit, found a pack of cigarettes, went to the rail.

Ferguson came down the ladder and joined him. “My God!” he said softly.

“I don’t think he had much to do with it, Brigadier,” Dillon said and he lit a cigarette, the Zippo flaring.

It was just after ten the following morning when a nurse showed the three of them into the private room at the St. Thomas Hospital. Dillon was wearing the black cord slacks, the denim shirt and the black flying jacket he’d arrived in on the first day, Ferguson supremely elegant as usual in his Panama, blazer and Guards tie. Jenny was propped up against pillows, her head swathed in white bandages.

Mary, sitting beside her, knitting, got up. “I’ll leave you to it, but don’t you gentlemen overtire her.”

She went out and Jenny managed a weak smile. “My three musketeers.”

“Now that’s kind of fanciful.” Bob Carney took her hand. “How are you?”

“I don’t feel I’m here half the time.”

“That will pass, my dear,” Ferguson said. “I’ve had a word with the Superintendent. Anything you want, any treatment you need, you get. It’s all taken care of.”

“Thank you, Brigadier.”

She turned to Dillon, looked up at him without speaking. Bob Carney said, “I’ll be back, honey, you take care.”

He turned to Ferguson, who nodded, and they went out.

Dillon sat on the bed and took her hand. “You look terrible.”

“I know. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“How did it all go?”

“We’ve got the Bormann briefcase. The Brigadier has his Learjet waiting at the airport. We’re taking it back to London.”

“The way you put it, you make it sound as if it was easy.”

“It could have been worse. Don’t go on about it, Jenny, there’s no point. Santiago and his friends, that animal, Algaro, they’ll never bother you again.”

“Can you be certain of that?”

“As a coffin lid closing,” he said bleakly.

There was a kind of pain on her face. She closed her eyes briefly, opened them again. “People don’t really change, do they?”

“I am what I am, Jenny,” he said simply. “But then you knew that.”

“Will I see you again?”

“I don’t think that’s likely.” He kissed her hand, got up, went to the door and opened it.

“Dillon,” she called.

He turned. “Yes, Jenny?”

“God bless and take care of yourself.”

The door closed softly, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

They allowed Carney to walk out across the tarmac to the Lear with them, a porter pushing a trolley with the luggage. One of the two pilots met them and helped the porter stow the luggage while Dillon, Ferguson and Carney stood at the bottom of the steps.

The Brigadier held up the briefcase. “Thanks for this, Captain Carney. If you ever need help or I can do you a good turn.” He shook hands. “Take care, my friend,” and he went up the steps.

Carney said, “What happens now, in London, I mean?”

“That’s up to the Prime Minister,” Dillon said. “Depends what he wants to do with those documents.”

“It was a long time ago,” Carney said.

“A legitimate point of view.”

Carney hesitated, then said, “This Pamer guy, what about him?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Dillon said calmly.

“Oh, yes you have.” Carney shook his head. “God help you, Dillon, because you’ll never change,” and he turned and walked away across the tarmac.

Dillon joined Ferguson inside and strapped himself in. “A good man that,” Ferguson said.

Dillon nodded. “The best.”

The second pilot pulled up the steps and closed the door, went and joined his colleague in the cockpit. After a while, the engines fired and they moved forward. A few moments later, they were climbing high and out over the sea.

Ferguson looked out. “St. John over there.”

“Yes,” Dillon said.

Ferguson sighed. “I suppose we should discuss what happens when we get back.”