Desmond Bagley - Wyatt’s Hurricane / Bahama Crisis

‘Safe!’ Wyatt almost lost his voice. ‘In his job he’s about as safe as a rattlesnake.The man has lives in his hands.’

‘Most Navy officers have men’s lives in their hands at one time or another,’ said Hansen. ‘Look, Dave, let me tell you the way to handle guys like Schelling. He’s got a closed mind, and you can’t go through him – he’s too solid. So you go round him.’

‘It’s a bit difficult for me,’ said Wyatt. ‘I have no status. I’m not a Navy man – I’m not even an American. He’s the chap who reports to the Weather Bureau, and he’s the chap they’ll believe.’

‘You’re getting pretty steamed up about this, aren’t you? What’s on your mind?’

‘I’m damned if I know,’ admitted Wyatt. ‘It’s just that I’ve got a funny feeling that things are going to go wrong.’

‘You’re worried about Mabel?’

‘I think it’s Mabel – I’m not too sure.’

‘I was worried about Mabel when I was rumbling about in her guts,’ said Hansen. ‘But I’m pretty relaxed about her now.’

Wyatt said, ‘Harry, I was born out here and I’ve seen some pretty funny things. I remember once, when I was a kid, we had news that a hurricane was coming but that we’d be all right, it would miss Grenada by two hundred miles. So nobody worried except the people up in the hills, who never got the warning anyway. There’s a lot of Carib Indian in those people and they’ve had their roots down in the Caribbean for thousands of years. They battened down the hatches and dug themselves in. When that hurricane came up to Grenada it made a right-angle swerve and pretty near sank the island. Now how did those hill people know the hurricane was going to swerve like that?’

‘They had a funny feeling,’ said Hansen. ‘And they had the sense to act on it. It’s happened to me. I was once flying in a cloud when I got that feeling, so I pushed the stick forward a bit and lost some height. Damned if a civilian ship – one of those corporation planes – didn’t occupy the air space I’d been in. He missed me by a gnat’s whisker.’

Wyatt shrugged. ‘As a scientist I’m supposed to go by the things I can measure, not by feelings. I can’t show my feelings to Schelling.’

‘To hell with Schelling,’ said Hansen. ‘Dave, I don’t think there’s a competent research scientist alive who hasn’t gone ahead on a hunch. I still say you should bypass Schelling. What about seeing the Commodore?’

‘I’ll see how Mabel behaves tomorrow,’ said Wyatt. ‘I want to see if she’s a really bad girl.’

‘Don’t forget your feelings about her,’ said Hansen.

Julie’s cool voice spoke from behind Wyatt. ‘Do you really have feelings for this bad girl, Mabel?’

Hansen laughed and began to get up, but Julie waved him down. ‘I’m having my feet danced off, and I haven’t had a drink yet. Let’s sit this one out.’ She looked at Wyatt. ‘Who’s Mabel?’

Hansen chuckled. ‘One of Dave’s girls. He’s got a string of them. Dave, remember Isobel last year? You certainly had fun and games with her.’

Wyatt said, ‘She roughed you up a bit, if I remember rightly.’

‘Ah, but I escaped from her clutches.’

Causton snapped his fingers and said with sudden perception, ‘You’re talking about hurricanes, aren’t you?’

Julie said with asperity, ‘Why must they give girls’ names to hurricanes?’

‘They’re easy to remember,’ said Wyatt with a straight face. ‘And so hard to forget. I believe the Association of Women’s Clubs of America put in an objection to the Weather Bureau, but they were overruled. One round won in the battle of the sexes.’

‘I’d be interested to see your work,’ said Causton. ‘From a professional point of view, that is.’

‘I thought you were on holiday.’

‘Newspapermen are never really on holiday – and news is where you find it.’

Wyatt discovered that he rather liked Causton. He said, ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t come up to the Base.’

Hansen grinned. ‘Schelling won’t object; he’s a sucker for publicity – of the right kind.’

‘I’d try not to write any unkind words,’ said Causton. ‘When could I come?’

‘What about tomorrow at eleven?’ said Wyatt. He turned to Julie. ‘Are you interested in my hurricanes? Why don’t you come too?’ He spoke impersonally.

‘Thank you very much,’ she said, equally impersonally.

‘That’s fixed, then,’ said Causton. ‘I’ll bring Miss Marlowe with me – I’m hiring a car.’ He turned to Hansen. ‘Do you have any trouble with the island government at the Base?’

Hansen’s eyes sharpened momentarily, then he said lazily, ‘In what way?’

‘I gather that Americans aren’t entirely popular here. I also understand that Serrurier is a rough lad who plays rough games and he’s not too particular about the methods he uses. In fact, some of the stories I’ve heard give me the creeps – and I’m not a particularly shivery man.’

Hansen said shortly, ‘We don’t interfere with them and they don’t interfere with us – it’s a sort of unspoken agreement. The boys on the Base are pretty firmly disciplined about it. There have been a few incidents and the Commodore cracked down hard.’

‘What kind of –’ Causton began, but a booming voice drowned his question. ‘Say, weren’t you the hostess on my plane to Puerto Rico?’

Wyatt looked up, shadowed by the bull-like figure of Dawson. He glanced at Julie, whose face was transformed by a bright, professional smile. ‘That’s right, Mr Dawson.’

‘I didn’t expect to find you here,’ roared Dawson. He seemed incapable of speaking in a normal, quiet tone, but that could have been because he was a little drunk. ‘What say you an’ me have a drink?’ He gestured largely. ‘Let’s all have a drink.’

Causton said quietly, ‘I’m in the chair, Mr Dawson. Will you have a drink with me?’

Dawson bent and looked at Causton, squinting slightly. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

‘I believe we met – in London.’

Dawson straightened and moved around so he could get a good view of Causton. He pondered rather stupidly for a moment, then snapped his fingers. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I know you. You are one of those smart-aleck reporters who roasted me when The Fire Game was published in England. I never forget a face, you know. You were one of the guys who came an’ drank my liquor, then stuck a knife in my back.’

‘I don’t believe I had a drink that morning,’ observed Causton equably.

Dawson exhaled noisily. ‘I don’t think I will have a drink with you, Mr Whatever-your-name-is. I’m particular of the company I keep.’ He swayed on his feet and his eyes flickered towards Julie. ‘Not like some people.’

Both Wyatt and Hansen came to their feet, but Causton said sharply, ‘Sit down, you two; don’t be damn’ fools.’

‘Aw, to hell with it,’ mumbled Dawson, passing a big hand over his face. He blundered away, knocking over a chair and heading for the lavatories.

‘Not a nice man,’ said Causton wryly. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

Wyatt picked up the fallen chair. ‘I thought you were a foreign correspondent?’

‘I am,’ said Causton. ‘But I was in London a couple of years ago when half the staff was down with influenza, and I helped out on local stuff for a while.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not a literary critic, so I wrote a story on the man, not the writer. Dawson didn’t like it one little bit.’

‘I don’t like Dawson one little bit,’ said Hansen. ‘He sure is the Ugly American.’

‘The funny thing about him is that he’s a good writer,’ said Causton. ‘I like his stuff, anyway; and I’m told that his critical reputation is very high. The trouble is that he thinks that the mantle of Papa Hemingway has fallen on his shoulders – but I don’t think it’s a very good fit.’