Desmond Bagley - Wyatt’s Hurricane / Bahama Crisis

Eumenides waved his hand up and down expressively. ‘’Ills.’

‘Then that’s it,’ said Causton. ‘But you’d better discuss it further with Rawsthorne when he comes.’

‘What about you?’ asked Julie. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Someone has to do a reconnaissance,’ said Causton. ‘We have to find if it’s a practicable proposition to go that way. I’m going to scout around the east end of town. It’s safe enough for one man.’

He rose from his knees and went to the window. ‘There are plenty of civilians out and about now; the police haven’t been able to bottle them all up in their houses. I should be able to get away with it.’

‘With a white skin?’

‘Um,’ said Causton. ‘That’s a thought.’ He went over to his bag and unzipped it. ‘A very little of this ought to do the trick.’ He looked with distaste at the tin of brown boot-polish in his hand. ‘Will you apply it, Julie? Just the veriest touch – there are plenty of light-coloured Negroes here and I don’t want to look like a nigger minstrel.’

Julie smeared a little of the boot-polish on his face. He said, ‘Don’t forget the back of the neck – that’s vital. It isn’t so much a disguise as a deception; it only needs enough to darken the skin so that people won’t take a second look and say “Look at that blanc ”.’

He rubbed some of the polish on his hands and wrists, then said, ‘Now I want a prop.’

Julie stared at him. ‘A what?’

‘A stage property. I’ve wandered all through the corridors of power in Whitehall and got away with it because I was carrying a sheaf of papers and looked as though I was going somewhere. I got a scoop from a hospital by walking about in a white coat with a stethoscope dangling from my pocket. The idea is to look a natural part of the scenery – a stethoscope gives one a right to be in a hospital. Now, what gives me a right to be in a civil war?’

Eumenides grinned maliciously, and said, ‘A gun.’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Causton regretfully. ‘Well, there ought to be plenty of those outside. I ought to be able to pick up a rifle and maybe a scrap of uniform to make it look convincing. Meanwhile, where’s that pop-gun of yours, Eumenides?’

‘In the bar where I lef’ it.’

‘Right – well, I’ll be off,’ said Causton. There was a heavy explosion not far away and the windows shivered in their frames. ‘It’s warming up. A pity this place has no cellars. Eumenides, I think you’d all better move downstairs – actually under the stairs is the best place. And if that Warmington woman gets hysterical, pop her one.’

Eumenides nodded.

Causton paused by the door. ‘I don’t think I’ll be long, but if I’m not back by eleven I won’t be coming back at all, and you’d better push off. With the townspeople coming out now the road might be difficult, so don’t wait for me.’

He left without waiting for a reply and ran down the stairs and into the bar. There were soda-water bottles stacked on the counter but no sign of the gun. He looked about for a couple of minutes then gave up, vaguely wondering what had happened to it. But he had no time to waste so he crossed the foyer and, with a precautionary glance outside, stepped boldly into the street.

Mrs Warmington was still drugged with sleep, for which Julie was thankful. She opened one drowsy eye and said, ‘Wha’ time is it?’

‘It’s quite early,’ said Julie. ‘But we must go downstairs.’

‘I wanna sleep,’ said Mrs Warmington indistinctly. ‘Send the maid with my tea in an hour.’

‘But we must go now,’ said Julie firmly. ‘We are going away soon.’ She began to assemble the things she needed.

‘What’s all that noise ?’ complained Mrs Warmington crossly. ‘I declare this is the noisiest hotel I’ve ever slept in.’ This declaration seemed to exhaust her and she closed her eyes and a faint whistling sound emanated from the bed – too ladylike to be called a snore.

‘Come on, Mrs Warmington.’ Julie shook her by the shoulder.

Mrs Warmington roused herself and propped up on one elbow. ‘Oh, my head! Did we have a party?’ Slowly, intelligence returned to her eyes and her head jerked up as she recognized the din of the guns for what it was. ‘Oh, my God!’ she wailed. ‘What’s happening?’

‘The rebels have started to bombard the town,’Julie said.

Mrs Warmington jumped out of bed, all traces of sleep gone. ‘We must leave,’ she said rapidly. ‘We must go now.’

‘We have no car yet,’ said Julie. ‘Mr Rawsthorne hasn’t come.’ She turned to find Mrs Warmington pushing her overfed figure into a tight girdle. ‘Good grief!’ she said, ‘don’t wear that – we might have to move fast. Have you any slacks?’

‘I don’t believe in women of … of my type wearing pants.’

Julie surveyed her and gave a crooked smile. ‘Maybe you’re right at that,’ she agreed. ‘Well, wear something sensible; wear a suit if it hasn’t got a tight skirt.’

She stripped the beds of their blankets and folded them into a bundle. Mrs Warmington said, ‘I knew we ought to have gone to the Base last night.’ She squeezed her feet into tight shoes.

‘You know it was impossible,’ said Julie briefly.

‘I can’t imagine what Commodore Brooks is thinking of – leaving us here at the mercy of these savages. Come on, let’s get out of here.’ She opened the door and went out, leaving Julie to bring the large bundle of blankets.

Eumenides was at the head of the stairs. He looked at the blankets and said, ‘Ver’ good t’ing,’ and took them from her.

There was a faint noise from downstairs as though someone had knocked over a chair. They all stood listening for a moment, then Mrs Warmington dug her finger into the Greek’s ribs. ‘Don’t just stand there,’ she hissed. ‘Find out who it is.’

Eumenides dropped the blankets and tiptoed down the stairs and out of sight. Mrs Warmington clutched her bag to her breast, then turned abruptly and walked back to the bedroom. Julie heard the click as the bolt was shot home.

Presently Eumenides reappeared and beckoned. ‘It’s Rawst’orne.’

Julie got Mrs Warmington out of the bedroom again and they all went downstairs to find Rawsthorne very perturbed. ‘They’ve started shelling the town,’ he said. ‘The Government troops are making a stand. It would be better if we moved out quickly before the roads become choked.’

‘I agree,’ said Mrs Warmington.

Rawsthorne looked around. ‘Where’s Causton?’

‘He’s gone to find the best way out,’ said Julie. ‘He said he wouldn’t be long. What time is it now?’

Rawsthorne consulted a pocket watch. ‘Quarter to nine – sorry I’m late. Did he say when he’d be back?’

She shook her head. ‘He didn’t think he’d be long, but he said that if he wasn’t back by eleven then he wouldn’t be coming at all.’

There was a violent explosion not far away and flakes of plaster drifted down from the ceiling. Mrs Warmington jumped. ‘Lead the way to your car, Mr Rawsthorne. We must leave now.’

Rawsthorne ignored her. ‘A little over two hours at the most,’ he said. ‘But he should be back long before that. Meanwhile …’ He looked up meaningly at the ceiling.

‘Causton said the best place for us was under the stairs,’ said Julie.

‘You mean we’re staying here?’ demanded Mrs Warmington. ‘With all this going on? You’ll get us all killed.’

‘We can’t leave Mr Causton,’ said Julie.

‘I fix,’ said Eumenides. ‘Come.’

The space under the main staircase had been used as a store-room. The door had been locked but Eumenides had broken it open with a convenient fire axe, tossed out all the buckets and brooms and had packed in all the provisions they were taking. Mrs Warmington objected most strongly to sitting on the floor but went very quietly when Julie said pointedly, ‘You’re welcome to leave at any time.’ It was cramped, but there was room for the four of them to sit, and if the door was kept ajar Rawsthorne found he had a view of the main entrance so that he could see Causton as soon as he came back.