Jack Higgins: Passage by Night

‘Don’t worry, Mr Morrison. We’ve done this sort of thing before.’

They kept on shirts and pants as some protection against the coldness of the water. When Seth brought the equipment up from the saloon, he and Saunders helped them into it quickly.

No one bothered to talk. For Manning, there was a desperate unreality about everything. It was a bad dream. A dream from which he might awaken at any moment, stretch out his hand in the darkness and find her there beside him.

When he went over the rail, the sharp coldness of the water was like a physical blow, bringing him back to reality. He hovered just below the surface to adjust his air supply and went down through the opaque grey water without waiting for his companion.

The plane loomed out of the shadows almost at once. It had settled on a bank of sea grass which stretched to the base of the reef and as he swam towards it he was aware of the undertow tugging at his body, pulling him towards the great rock face and the caverns beneath.

The main fabric of the Walrus was still intact, but the tail and the baggage compartment had completely disappeared leaving a great ragged hole at one end of the fuselage, the metal twisted and blackened as if by some tremendous explosion. As Manning hovered beside it, Joe Howard arrived.

There was a slight frown on his face and he looked worried. Manning patted him on the shoulder reassuringly and they swam inside. The seats were still there and the door to the pilot’s cabin swung gently in the current, but there were no bodies. The passengers and crew had vanished without a trace.

Howard went into the cabin and Manning swam outside and waited for him, clinging to the fuselage. The sun was rising and the first pale rays slanted down through the grey water, but there was still that strange absence of life.

Seth had been right. There was nothing for him here. Maria Salas had vanished along with her companions as completely as if she had never existed. He was about to kick out towards the surface when Joe appeared beside him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He pointed to the pale fronds stretched towards the base of the reef, pulled by the undertow. Manning realized at once what he meant. Over the years, the action of the sea had scoured away the base of the cliff, creating a great cavern underneath. There was always the possibility that one or more of the bodies, caught in the undertow, had been sucked inside before the sharks could get them.

He let go of the plane, moving towards the base of the cliff, and the current pulled him along. The entrance was a dark slash in the rock no more than three feet high and he ducked inside and waited for Joe Howard to join him.

The cave was full of small, rainbow-coloured fish and arched above his head like a cathedral. The early morning sun streamed out of the blow-hole in the roof and filtered down through the water in great translucent rays.

It was strangely peaceful and somehow cut off from the world outside and then Joe Howard appeared beside him and the cloud of fish disintegrated in alarm, exposing a body pinned to the roof of the cavern.

It was Jimmy Walker. He was wearing an inflated life jacket and floated there against the roof, face down. His eyes were closed, his limbs perfectly relaxed. There was no mark on him anywhere. Manning and Howard rose together, the fish scattered to avoid them. They each took an arm and swam back towards the entrance.

They paused at twenty feet for several minutes to decompress and surfaced slightly astern of the Grace Abounding . Saunders was the first to see them. He cried out excitedly and the sound died in his throat as he saw their burden.

Seth had put the ladder over the side in readiness and he came down it quickly and took a firm grip on Walker’s life jacket. Morrison leaned over to help him. When Manning climbed over the rail, the body was laid on its back beside the wheelhouse.

‘Not a mark on him,’ Saunders said in awe. ‘How come they missed him?’

Manning pushed up his mask and spat out his rubber mouthpiece. ‘We found him under the reef. He must have still been at the controls when the plane touched bottom. That undertow must have been tremendous last night. The moment he emerged from the cabin, it would have taken him straight under.’

‘How come his life jacket’s inflated?’

‘Probably a reflex action as he went under. Maybe he realized what was happening and hoped to come up through the blow-hole.’

He shivered, thinking of Jimmy Walker down there in the darkness with no one to help him, and Morrison said, ‘What about the others?’

‘Nothing left to find,’ Joe Howard told him. ‘Looked to me as if there’d been some sort of explosion.’

The American frowned. ‘What was it? One of the engines?’

Joe Howard shook his head. ‘Whatever it was, it was in the baggage compartment. Blew the tail clean off. She must have gone down like a stone.’

There was silence and Saunders drew in his breath. After a moment, Seth said slowly, ‘You mean it wasn’t no accident, Joe?’

Manning dropped his aqualung to the deck, picked up a towel and draped it over Jimmy Walker’s face. When he straightened, he looked incredibly calm.

‘That’s exactly what he means,’ he said.

4

When Manning opened the door the bed was still rumpled and unmade as he had left it and he moved across and gently touched the dent in the pillow where her head had lain. He shivered involuntarily and opened the French windows, allowing the early morning sun to come flooding in.

He searched the room thoroughly, starting with the wardrobe and going through every drawer and cupboard. He found plenty of his own things, but there was nothing of hers. Not even a handkerchief. It was as if she had never existed.

He stood there listening to the stillness for a moment and then stripped to the waist, went into the bathroom and washed the salt from his face and body. He was pulling a clean shirt over his head when the door opened and Joe Howard came in.

He sat on the end of the bed and took a slip of paper from the breast pocket of his tunic. ‘I’ve got the passenger list here. There were only four of them: Maria, an American businessman called Fallon, Mrs Norah Hamilton, an English tourist, and a man called Perez.’

Manning turned slowly, a slight frown on his face. ‘Cuban?’

‘He was staying at the Old Ship Tavern. Been here for maybe two weeks. Small, middle-aged man with a walkingstick.

Manning nodded. ‘I remember him. Limped badly on his right foot.’

‘It wasn’t surprising,’ Howard said. ‘He was lucky to have one. A Castro agent tossed a bomb at him in Vera Cruz a couple of months back. Real name was Dr Miguel de Rodriguez, a prominent Cuban refugee. He’d been having too much success in the Central American states whipping up opposition to the Castro regime.’

‘What was he doing here?’

‘Recuperating quietly, which explains the assumed name. Nassau informed me as a matter of course when he came in. I didn’t know he was leaving last night. Obviously someone else did.’

‘And planted a bomb in the baggage compartment?’

‘Easily enough done. The Walrus was moored out there beyond the point on her own for several hours after dark. Hard luck on the other passengers, but then I suppose these people never give that side of it a thought.’

Manning found that his hands were trembling. He lit a cigarette and stood at the window. ‘What happens now?’

‘The Commissioner wants me in Nassau right away. With luck I should be back by this evening. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.’ He moved to the door and hesitated. ‘She was a nice girl, Harry. I’m sorry! Damned sorry!’