Passage by Night (v5)

by Jack Higgins

  'Under the circumstances, I believe I would.'

  Manning turned to Orlov, who had been keeping the guards under constant observation. 'What's happening out there?'

  'Nothing much. They've got a bottle of whiskey. Must have drunk half of it between them. The native can stand it better than Paco.'

  'Have they said anything interesting?'

  Orlov shrugged. 'The usual things. Their experiences with women and so on. Paco seems to have taken a fancy to Anna. Charlie's just been pointing out how unpleasant the consequences would be if the colonel ever found out he'd touched her.'

  'Thank God for that,' Manning said and at that moment, a step sounded on the stairs.

  As he went to the grille and peered out, Viner entered and spoke to Charlie, who hastily picked up his submachine gun and went upstairs. The German walked across and stopped just outside the door.

  'I thought I'd let you know that we're leaving now, Harry. No need to worry. We'll be back before noon.'

  'I wouldn't count on that,' Manning said and the German chuckled and walked away.

  A few minutes later, Manning heard the dull rumble of diesel engines breaking into life. When the muffled throbbing faded into the distance, a sudden unnatural quiet descended. Paco produced the whiskey bottle which he had hurriedly hidden on Viner's entrance and held it to his lips.

  Manning turned and sat down beside Morrison. 'For God's sake give me a cigarette.'

  As they sat there in the darkness, he felt the strength drain out of his tired body. There was nothing they could do. Nothing at all - and then Paco started to sing.

  He was very drunk. As they crowded the grille to watch him, he placed the neck of the bottle to his lips and laughed as whiskey slopped over his face and shirt.

  When the bottle was empty, he smashed it against the wall, staggered across the floor and stood swaying in front of Anna's cell.

  'Querida, my little darling. Be nice to Paco. Come out.'

  Manning's hands gripped the bars tightly and he struggled to hold back his rage. Sweat mingled with the whiskey, trickling over the fat, foolish face. Paco laughed suddenly, fumbled in his pocket and produced the bunch of keys.

  'But of course. How foolish of me.'

  Anna hadn't uttered a sound and he lurched forward to unlock the door. It crashed against the wall, the iron facings ringing against the stone and he moved inside.

  Anna called out something unintelligible and he gave a cry of rage. A moment later, she stumbled out of the cell. Her dress was torn from the shoulder to the waist, but she held the Smith & Wesson in her right hand. As Paco came after her, she turned, flung up her arm and shot him through the head.

  He must have died instantly and she stepped over his body without looking down and pulled the bunch of keys from the door. It took four attempts before she found the right one and her fingers trembled slightly. As the lock clicked, she glanced up. For one brief moment Manning looked through the grille into her eyes and then he was outside and running across the cellar.

  He picked up the submachine gun, cocked it and moved to the bottom of the stairs. The swarthy Cuban who had been on the terrace outside Maria's room was already halfway down, his machine-pistol ready. Manning jumped back, poked the barrel of the submachine gun round the wall and fired. The Cuban screamed and pitched headfirst down the stairs, somersaulting into the cellar.

  Morrison picked up the machine-pistol. 'Now what?'

  'There's a radio transmitter in a room off the hall. Want to try for it?'

  'Sounds like a good idea.'

  Manning went up the stairs on the run and peered cautiously round the corner. The hall was deserted and he waved on the others. As they joined him, he crossed quickly to the door of the room containing the transmitter. Morrison joined him, standing on the side. Manning turned the handle gently and flung the door open.

  The man at the transmitter was alone. As he turned in alarm, Morrison moved inside. 'Do as you're told and you won't get hurt.'

  The Cuban didn't hesitate. His hand grabbed for the automatic on the desk beside him, giving Morrison no choice. He loosed off a burst that spun the man around, smashing the set in a dozen places.

  At the same moment, heavy firing broke out from the far end of the corridor. As Manning turned to reply, bullets peppered the wall. Papa Melos gave a cry of pain and clutched his arm.

  'Get them out of here,' Manning yelled to Orlov. 'Try for the boat. We'll cover you.'

  He fired a long burst as a head peered round the wall at the end of the corridor. Behind him. Orlov and Seth dragged the old man away, Anna running ahead of them.

  A few moments later, the Russian called from the open doorway. Manning and Morrison fired together, backing slowly, then turned and darted into safety.

  The door bolted on the inside and they followed the others down through the cellars until they came out on the steps that gave access to the jetty. The green light still blinked monotonously and the Grace Abounding rocked slightly in the water as waves slapped in through the entrance to the cavern.

  As they went down the steps, a heavy pounding sounded on the door behind them. Orlov and Seth lowered the old man gently to the deck and Manning tossed his submachine gun to the Russian and ran into the wheelhouse.

  As the engines rumbled into life, there was a sudden cry and several men appeared at the top of the steps. Manning took her away with a surge of power as they started to fire. A bullet shattered one of the glass panels in the wheelhouse, showering him with splinters, and Orlov and Morrison fired in reply. A moment later, they were moving out to sea.

  There was a heavy swell running and spray surged in through the shattered window, soaking his head and shoulders. The coldness of it and the taste of the salt on his mouth filled him with new life and he gradually took the engines up to full power.

  The door banged open and Seth entered. 'I've given her a quick check, Harry. Can't see any damage to the hull. The wheelhouse seems to have caught it worst.'

  'How's the old man?'

  'Could be worse. Bullet passed clean through his forearm. His daughter and Mr Orlov, they're fixing him up fine.'

  'What about Morrison?'

  'He trying to raise Nassau on the radio. Last I saw, he wasn't having much success.'

  Manning flicked on the chart light and leaned over. Immediately, bright spots of blood splashed across the chart and Seth gave an exclamation of dismay.

  Manning put a hand to his face and winced, suddenly aware of the pain. A splinter of flying glass had sliced across his cheek.

  'I'll get you a plaster from the first-aid box,' Seth told him and went out on deck.

  Manning leaned over the chart again, fixed their position and plotted a course quickly. As he finished his calculations, Morrison came in.

  'Any luck with the radio?'

  The American shook his head. 'I've just had a look inside. Couple of valves missing. Somebody was obviously playing it very safe. What happens now?'

  'That's up to you. I've chartered a course for Lyford Cay which passes about fifteen miles east of Johnstown Harbour. If I altered course, you could always raise Nassau from there.'

  'And bring them out into the open?' Morrison shook his head. 'I'm not too happy about that and I'm not keen on wasting time in altering course. I've got un uneasy feeling they might be up to something. I think we should keep after them.'

  'I agree,' Manning said. 'If the weather stays like this, we stand a fair chance of catching up before dawn. We should certainly get there before they've finished whatever it is they intend doing.'

  'Are you sure about that? They've got nearly an hour's start on us, remember.'

  Manning touched the side of the wheelhouse lightly with one hand. 'I've been concerned with boats since I was a boy, Morrison. You name it, I've sailed on it. The Grace Abounding is the finest craft I've ever known. She'll get you there.'

  Seth came in at that moment and cut into the conversation. 'Take the wheel for a moment, Mr Morris
on, while I fix him up.'

  Manning sat down and turned his face to the light. Seth swabbed it quickly with a piece of lint soaked in antiseptic and affixed a plaster along the deep cut.

  'Good as new,' he said.

  Manning took over the wheel again and Morrison lit a cigarette. 'What if they're already on the job when we get there? She told you she was going skin diving, remember.'

  'We'll go down after them.' Manning turned to Seth. 'You can break out all the diving equipment and check it. How about aqualungs?'

  'We got three, but I ain't sure about spare bottles and Mr Morrison used one for an hour the other day.'

  'Better check and let me know how things stand.'

  Seth nodded and went out and Morrison leaned over the chart to trace their course with a nervous finger. He looked up, face strained and anxious. 'If we do have to go down after them, things could get nasty.'

  Manning shrugged. 'Can you think of a better way of handling it? Out in the open and official, it would be the biggest international stink since the Cuban crisis.'

  Morrison nodded. 'You're right, this is the only way.'

  'Of course I'm right,' Manning grinned. 'Go and give Seth a hand with the equipment and stop worrying.'

  The wind kicked spray against the window and he rubbed the weariness from his eyes and sat down, the wheel gripped tightly in his hands. There was no moon, but visibility was excellent and he strained his eyes into the distance. The door opened and Orlov entered.

  'How's Papa Melos?' Manning said.

  'Indestructible. He's having a sleep.'

  'Thank God for that. He's been hurt enough by this business.'

  'So, the stern sea chase begins?'

  Manning glanced at him quickly. 'You've been talking to Morrison?'

  The Russian nodded. 'I'd like to make up the party if you have to go down. I'm a useful man with an aqualung.'

  'How useful?'

  Orlov shrugged. 'The study of marine life is a sideline of mine. I've been at it for five years or so now. Mostly in the Black Sea, but I've put in a lot of time underwater since my posting to Cuba.'

  Manning grinned. 'Looks like you're elected.'

  Orlov smiled charmingly. 'I'm so glad you agree. I'd have insisted on going anyway. I'll take over for an hour if you like. Anna's got the coffee going below.'

  Manning didn't even try to refuse. His eyes were sore and the nagging pain in his face seemed to drag him down. He went along the deck and paused at the rail for a moment before going below.

  Seth and Morrison had the diving gear spread out on the floor and table of the saloon. There were a couple of brand new spear guns and Manning picked one up and frowned.

  'Where did these come from?'

  'Mr Morrison bought them while you were away.'

  'What about the spare bottles?'

  Seth shook his head. 'Not too good. About forty minutes for one of the aqualungs, that's all.'

  'Should be ample.' Manning turned to Morrison. 'By the way, Orlov's coming with us if we have to go down. Apparently he's something of an expert.'

  'So he informed me,' Morrison said. 'He's quite a guy, that Russian.'

  'An understatement,' Manning said.

  He moved into the galley as Anna came out of the forward cabin. Her face was white and strained and there were dark circles under her eyes.

  'You look terrible,' he told her. 'You ought to get some sleep.'

  She poured coffee into a cup for him. 'I heard Morrison and Sergei talking. I know what you're going to do. You mustn't.'

  He frowned. 'I don't understand.'

  'Can't you see?' she said desperately. 'You're making a personal issue out of this. She fooled you, that woman, and now you're going to risk your life again because your stupid vanity's been hurt.'

  She was close to tears and he shook his head slowly. 'She doesn't mean a thing to me, not any more. As far as I'm concerned, Maria Salas was drowned off the Blackstone Reef five days ago.'

  She turned abruptly and fled into the cabin, shutting the door after her. Manning finished his coffee, went back into the saloon and stretched out on one of the bench seats.

  Five days ago. Was that all? What was time, but events turning endlessly in a circle that brought one to an ending that was ordained from the beginning of time. He closed his eyes and plunged into the dark waters of sleep.

  20

  Into an Indigo Dusk

  The dawn came grey and cold with mist rolling in heavy patches across the water and the sea heaved in an oily swell. Seth was at the wheel and Manning stood beside him drinking hot coffee.

  Under his denim pants and heavy sweater, he was dressed for diving, a heavy cork-handled knife at his belt, pressure gauge and compass strapped to his wrists. He put down his cup, picked up a pair of binoculars and looked ahead.

  'Not a damned thing. This would have to happen.'

  Morrison came along the deck wearing an old duffle coat, his face grey. 'I thought they were supposed to be the sunny Bahamas?'

  'So they are at the right time. Whoever saw a tourist up this early in the morning?'

  The American glanced at his watch. 'Five A.M. I'd forgotten there was such a time.' He peered out anxiously into the grey mist. 'Ten hours to zero.'

  Manning turned to the chart, worked out their dead reckoning based on miles logged and course sailed, and threw down the pencil.

  I'd say we're no more than a couple of miles south-southwest of Lyford Cay. Cut the engines, Seth.'

  He went out on deck as Anna and Orlov came up from the saloon. She was wearing one of his heavy sweaters, the sleeves rolled back. The Russian wore swimming shorts and a windcheater.

  'Why have we stopped?' Anna said. 'Are we there?'

  Manning nodded. 'Everybody quiet. Let's see if we can hear anything.'

  The boat lifted on the swell and then subsided and he stood at the rail listening intently. A seagull flew low over the deck and skimmed the water with a shrill cry and somewhere in the distance there was a rumble like thunder.

  'What's that noise?' Orlov asked.

  'Sea breaking over the reef closer to the cay,' Manning told him.

  Morrison was standing a few feet away, the binoculars to his eyes. He gave a startled exclamation and pointed ahead excitedly.

  'I think I saw something. The mist seems to clear for a moment. About a half-mile ahead.'

  Manning took the glasses and climbed on top of the wheelhouse. The wind was beginning to freshen, thinning the mist considerably in places. It would probably clear completely within an hour.

  On the crest of a wave, he thought he saw a spar. The Grace Abounding dipped into a great hollow and then lifted high on the swell. As he focused the binoculars, the boat jumped at him through the ragged hole in the mist, the red band above the waterline contrasting vividly with the cream-painted hull. He took a rough fix with his wrist compass and jumped to the deck.

  'She's there all right.' He looked into the wheelhouse and gave Seth the new course. 'Half-speed till I give you the word. When we get close, let her have everything she's got and kill the engines as we drop across their stern.' He turned to Morrison and Orlov. 'We'd better get ready.'

  They went down into the saloon. Papa Melos was sitting at the table drinking coffee, his right arm in a sling. Manning opened the chart drawer, took out a box of .38 cartridges and tossed it across to Morrison.

  'You take the Smith and Wesson and stay in the wheelhouse with Seth in case things turn sour.' He glanced at Orlov. 'What about the other guns?'

  'A couple of good bursts left in each, that's all.'

  'Then we'll have to make sure they count. When we hit, you go over for'ard. I'll jump from the stern.'

  He picked up his submachine gun. As he turned, Anna laid a hand on his arm. 'What about Papa and me?'

  'You stay down here,' he said. 'And I mean that. We've got enough to worry about up top.'

  She waited for a word, some sign, but he gave her none. The fingers that grip
ped his arm so tightly relaxed and she turned away.

  'Don't worry about us, son,' Papa Melos said. 'We'll be fine.'

  Manning went up the companionway quickly and passed along the deck to the wheelhouse. The sound of the engines was only a muffled gentle throbbing as they moved steadily forward.

  He altered course a half-point and stood at Seth's shoulder, his eyes straining into the opaque mist. He was aware of a sudden gust of wind through the shattered window, the boat heeled a little and the grey curtain was snatched away.

  The Cuban boat was a couple of hundred yards to starboard, her colours standing out vividly against the grey morning. Behind her, the sea heaved over the reef, breakers and white water stretching into the mist. Manning slapped Seth on the shoulder.

  The whole boat shuddered and lifted suddenly as he took her forward at full power. The noise of the engines deepened into a steady roar and Manning ran along the deck to the stern, his submachine gun ready.

  A sailor in a black jersey stood in the waist of the Cuban ship, coiling a rope. As they emerged from the mist, he glanced over his shoulder and cried out in alarm. He ran along the deck and started to climb the short ladder to the wheelhouse.

  Manning was aware of Orlov crouching at the rail, his machine-pistol ready, and then the gap seemed to shorten rapidly. Seth cut the engines and the Grace Abounding veered sharply to starboard as he swung the wheel, grazing the stern of the other vessel.

  Manning went over the rail, slipped on the wet deck and stumbled to one knee. At the same moment, Charlie emerged from the companionway firing a machine-pistol from the hip. Manning caught him with a full burst that drove the native backwards into the cabin.

  The engines coughed once as the man in the wheelhouse desperately tried to start them. Orlov ran along the windows with two short bursts. There was a terrible cry and the man collapsed in the doorway, one arm dangling down to the deck.

  Manning approached the head of the companionway and called in Spanish, 'Better come out.'

  Orlov joined him and stood on the other side of the door. 'Last warning,' Manning called.