Seawitch

by Alistair MacLean

  ‘They must have been carrying a mile of rope,’ Mitchell said absently. He was figuring out how much not to tell the chief of police.

  Roomer nodded to the operator. ‘Who’s he trying to contact?’

  ‘McGarrity.’

  ‘That hypocritical old time-server.’

  ‘Most people would regard that as a charitable description. But he has his uses.’

  Robertson looked up. ‘On the line, Mr Mitchell. That phone.’ He made discreetly to replace his own but Roomer took it from him and listened in.

  ‘Chief of Police McGarrity?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Please listen very carefully. This is extremely important and urgent, and the biggest thing that’s ever come your way. Are you alone?’

  ‘Yes. I’m quite alone.’ McGarrity’s tone held an odd mixture of suspicion and aroused interest.

  ‘Nobody listening in, no recorder?’

  ‘Goddam it, no. Get to the point.’

  ‘We’re speaking from Lord Worth’s house. You know of him?’

  ‘Don’t be a damned fool. Who’s “we”?’

  ‘My name is Michael Mitchell. My partner is John Roomer. We’re licensed private investigators.’

  ‘I’ve heard of you. You’re the pair who give the local law so much trouble.’

  ‘I’d put it the other way round, but that’s hardly relevant. What is relevant is that Lord Worth’s two daughters have been kidnapped.’

  ‘Merciful God in heaven!’ There ensued what could fairly have been described as a stunned silence at the other end of the line.

  Roomer smiled sardonically and covered his mouthpiece. ‘Can’t you see the old twister grabbing his seat, eyes popping, big signs saying “Promotion” flashing in front of him?’

  ‘Kidnapped, you said?’ McGarrity’s voice had suddenly developed a certain hoarseness.

  ‘Kidnapped. Abducted. Snatched.’

  ‘Sure of this?’

  ‘Sure as can be. The girls’ rooms have every sign of a hurried unpremeditated departure. Ten of the staff bound and gagged. What would you conclude from that?’

  ‘Kidnap.’ McGarrity made it sound as if he’d made the discovery all by himself.

  ‘Can you put a block on all escape routes? They haven’t taken their passports, so that rules out international flights. I hardly think the kidnappers would have taken any commercial internal flight. Can you see Lord Worth’s daughters passing through the crowded concourse of any terminal without being recognized? I suggest a stop order and permanent guard on every private airfield and heliport in the southern part of the state. And that goes for every port, big and small, in the same area.’

  McGarrity sounded bemused, befuddled. ‘That would call for hundreds of policemen.’

  The tone of anguished protest was unmistakable. Mitchell sighed, cupped the mouthpiece, looked at Roomer and said: ‘Man’s out of his depth. Can I call him lunk-head?’ He removed his hand. ‘Look, Chief McGarrity, I don’t think you quite realize what you’re sitting on. It’s the daughters of Lord Worth that we’re talking about. You could lift your phone and have a thousand cops for the asking. You could call out the National Guard if you wanted–I’m sure Lord Worth would recoup every cent of expenses. Good God, man, there’s been nothing like this since the Lindbergh kidnapping.’

  ‘That’s so, that’s so.’ It wasn’t difficult to visualize McGarrity licking his lips. ‘Descriptions?’

  ‘Not much help there, I’m afraid. They all wore stocking masks. The leader wore gloves, which may or may not indicate a criminal record. All were big, well-built men and all wore dark business suits. I don’t require to give you a description of the girls, I suppose?’

  ‘Lady Marina? Lady Melinda?’ McGarrity was a classic snob of awesome proportions, who followed with avid interest the comings and goings of alleged society, of the internationally famous and infamous. ‘Good heavens, no. Of course not. They must be the most photographed couple in the State.’

  ‘You’ll keep this under wraps, tight as possible, for the moment?’

  ‘I will, I will.’ McGarrity had his baby clutched close to his heart, and nobody, but nobody, was going to take it away from him.

  ‘Lord Worth will have to be informed first of all. I’ll refer him to you.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t told him yet?’ McGarrity could hardly believe his good fortune.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tell him to rest easy, well, as easy as he can, that is. Tell him I’m taking complete and personal charge of the investigation.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Chief.’

  Roomer winced and screwed his eyes shut.

  McGarrity sounded positively brisk. ‘Now, about the local law.’

  ‘I suppose I’ve got to call them in. I’m not too happy about it. They’re biased against us. Suppose they refuse to keep the wraps on this–’

  ‘In which case,’ McGarrity said ominously, ‘just put the person concerned directly on the line to me. Anyone else know about this yet?’

  ‘Of course not. You’re the only man with the power to authorize the closing of the escape routes. Naturally we contacted you first.’

  ‘And you were perfectly right, Mr Mitchell.’ McGarrity was warm and appreciative, as well he might have been, for he had a very shaky reelection coining up and the massive publicity the kidnapping was bound to generate would guarantee him a virtual shoe-in. ‘I’ll get the wheels turning this end. Keep me posted.’

  ‘Of course, Chief.’ Mitchell hung up.

  Roomer looked at him admiringly. ‘You are an even bigger and smarmier hypocrite than McGarrity.’

  ‘Practice. Anyway, we got what we wanted.’ Mitchell’s face was sombre. ‘Has it occurred to you that the birds may have flown?’

  Roomer looked equally unhappy. ‘It has. But first things first. Lord Worth next?’ Mitchell nodded. ‘I’ll pass this one up. They say that, under provocation, he has a rich command of the English language, not at all aristocratic. I’d be better employed interviewing the staff. I’ll ply them with strong drink to help them overcome the rigours of their ordeal and to loosen their tongues–Lord Worth’s reserve Dom Perignon for choice–and see what I can extract from them. I have little hope. All I can ask them is about descriptions and voices and Whether or not they touched anything that might yield up fingerprints. Not that that will help if their prints aren’t on file.’

  ‘The brandy sounds the best part of your programme. Would you ask Jenkins to bring a large one–’ he looked at Robertson–‘two large ones?’

  Roomer was at the door when he turned. ‘Do you know what happened in ancient times to the bearers of bad news?’

  ‘I know. They got their heads cut off.’

  ‘He’ll probably blame us for carelessness and lack of foresight–and he’ll be right, too, even although he’s just as guilty as we are.’ Roomer left.

  ‘Get me Lord Worth, Jim.’

  ‘I would if I knew where he was. He was here last night when I left.’

  ‘He’s on the Seawitch.’

  Robertson raised an eyebrow, lowered it, said nothing and turned his attention to the switchboard. He raised the Seawitch in fifteen seconds. Mitchell took the phone.

  ‘Lord Worth, please.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  Another voice came on, a rasping gravelly voice, not as friendly.

  ‘What is it that you want?’

  ‘Lord Worth, please.’

  ‘How do you know he’s here?’

  ‘How do I–what does that matter? May I speak to him?’

  ‘Look, mister, I’m here to protect Lord Worth’s privacy. We get far too many oddball calls from oddball characters. How did you know he was here?’

  ‘Because he told me.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last night. About midnight.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Mitchell. Michael Mitchell.’

  ‘Mitchell.’ Larsen’s tone had quite change
d. ‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’

  ‘Because I didn’t expect a Gestapo investigation, that’s why. You must be Commander Larsen?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Not very bloody civil, are you?’

  ‘I’ve a job to do.’

  ‘Lord Worth.’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘He wouldn’t lie to me.’ Mitchell thought it impolitic to add that he’d actually seen Lord Worth take off.

  ‘He didn’t lie to you. He was here. He left hours ago to go to Washington.’

  Mitchell was silent for a few moments while he re-adjusted himself. ‘Has he got a number where he can be reached?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I didn’t ask you why he’d gone to Washington. It’s an urgent, private and personal matter. From what I’ve heard of you from Lord Worth, and that’s quite a bit, you’d react in exactly the same way. Give me the number and I’ll call you just as soon as Lord Worth gives me clearance.’

  ‘Your promise?’

  So Mitchell gave him his promise and Larsen gave him the number.

  Mitchell replaced the receiver. He said to Robertson: ‘Lord Worth has left the Seawitch and gone to Washington.’

  ‘He does get around. In his Boeing, I presume?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. I took that for granted. Do you think you can reach him?’

  Robertson didn’t look encouraging. ‘When did he leave the Seawitch?’

  ‘I don’t know. Should have asked, I suppose. Hours ago, Larsen said.’

  Robertson looked even more discouraged. ‘I wouldn’t hold out any hope, Mr Mitchell. With this set I can reach out a couple of thousand miles. Lord Worth’s Boeing can reach any airport not quite as far away, just as the airport can reach him. But the receiving equipment aboard the Boeing hasn’t been modified to receive long-range transmissions from this set, which is a very specialized set indeed. Short-range only. Five hundred miles, if that. The Boeing is bound to be well out of range by now.’

  ‘Freak weather conditions?’

  ‘Mighty rare, Mr Mitchell.’

  ‘Try anyway, Jim.’

  He tried and kept on trying for five minutes, during which it became steadily more apparent that Lord Worth was going to have another brief spell of peace before being set up for his coronary. At the end of five minutes Robertson shrugged his shoulders and looked up at Mitchell.

  ‘Thanks for the try, Jim.’ He gave Robertson a piece of paper with a number on it. ‘Washington. Think you can reach that?’

  ‘That I can guarantee.’

  ‘Try for it in half an hour. Ask for Lord Worth. Emphasize the urgency. If you don’t contact him try again every twenty minutes. You have a direct line to the study?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be there. I have to welcome the law.’

  Lord Worth, still happily unaware of his disintegrating world, slept soundly. The Boeing, at 33,000 feet, was just beginning its descent to Dulles airport.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lord Worth, a glass of scotch in one hand and an illegal Cuban cigar in the other, was comfortably ensconced in a deep armchair in the Assistant Secretary of State’s very plush office. He should have been contented and relaxed: he was, in fact, highly discontented and completely unrelaxed. He was becoming mad, steadily and far from slowly, at the world in general and the four other people in that room in particular.

  The four consisted of Howell, the Assistant, a tall, thin, keen-faced man with steel-rimmed glasses who looked like, and in fact was, a Yale professor. The second was his personal assistant, whose name, fittingly enough, Lord Worth had failed to catch, for he had about him the grey anonymity of a top-flight civil servant. The third was Lieutenant-General Zweicker, and all that could be said about him was that he looked every inch a general. The fourth was a middle-aged stenographer who appeared to take notes of the discussion whenever the mood struck her, Which didn’t appear to be very often: most likely, long experience had taught her that most of what was said at any conference wasn’t worth noting anyway.

  Lord Worth said: ‘I’m a very tired man who has just flown up from the Gulf of Mexico. I have spent twenty-five minutes here and appear to have wasted my time. Well, gentlemen, I have no intention of wasting my time. My time is as important as yours. Correction. It’s a damn sight more important. “The big brush-off”, I believe it’s called.’

  ‘How can you call it a brush-off? You’re sitting in my office and General Zweicker is here. How many other citizens rate that kind of treatment?’

  ‘The bigger the façade, the bigger the brush-off. I am not accustomed to dealing with underlings. I am accustomed to dealing with the very top, which I haven’t quite reached yet, but will. The cool, diplomatic, deep-freeze treatment will not work. I am no trouble-maker, but I’ll go to any lengths to secure justice. You can’t sweep me under your diplomatic carpet, Mr Howell. I told you recently that there were international threats to the Seawitch, and you chose either to disbelieve me or ignore me. I come to you now with additional proof that I am under threat–three naval vessels heading for the Seawitch—and still you propose to take no action. And I would point out, incidentally, if you still don’t know independently of the movements of those vessels, then it’s time you got yourselves a new intelligence service.’

  General Zweicker said. ‘We are aware of those movements. But as yet we see no justification for taking any kind of action. You have no proof that what you claim is true. Suspicions, no more. Do you seriously expect us to alert naval units and a squadron of fighter-bombers on the unproven and what may well be the unfounded suspicions of a private citizen?’

  ‘That’s it in a nutshell,’ Howell said. ‘And I would remind you, Lord Worth, that you’re not even an American citizen.’

  Lord Worth, his voice gone very soft, pounced. ‘“Not even an American citizen.”’ He turned to the stenographer. ‘I trust you made a note of that.’ He lifted his hand as Howell made to speak. ‘Too late, Howell. Too late to retrieve your blunder, a blunder, I may say, of classical proportions. Not an American citizen? I would point out that I paid more taxes last year than all your precious oil companies in the States combined–this apart from supplying the cheapest oil to the United States. If the level of competence of the State Department is typical of the way this country is run, then I can only rejoice in the fact that I still retain a British passport. One law for Americans, another for the heathen beyond the pale. Even-handed justice. “Not an American citizen.” This should make a particularly juicy titbit for the news conference I intend to hold immediately after I leave.’

  ‘A news conference?’ Howell betrayed unmistakable signs of agitation.

  ‘Certainly.’ Lord Worth’s tone was as grim as his face. ‘If you people won’t protect me then, by God, I’ll protect myself.’

  Howell looked at the General then back at Lord Worth. He strove to inject an official and intimidating note into his voice. ‘I would remind you that any discussions that take place here are strictly confidential.’

  Lord Worth eyed him coldly. ‘It’s always sad to see a man who has missed his true vocation. You should have been a comedian, Howell, not a senior member of government. Confidential. That’s good. How can you remind me of something that you never even mentioned before? Confidential. If there wasn’t a lady present I’d tell you what I really think of your asinine remark. God, it’s rich, a statement like that coming from the number two in a Government department with so splendid a record of leaking State secrets to muckraking journalists, doubtless in return for a suitable quid pro quo. I cannot abide hypocrisy. And this makes another juicy titbit for the press conference–the State Department tried to gag me. Classical blunder number two, Howell.’

  Howell said nothing. He looked as if he were considering the advisability of wringing his hands.

  ‘I shall inform the press conference of the indecision, reluctance, inaction, incompetence and plain running-scared vacillation of
a State Department which will be responsible for the loss of a hundred million dollar oil rig, the stopping of cheap supplies of fuel to the American people, the biggest oil slick in history and the possible–no, I would say probable–beginnings of a third major war. In addition to holding this news conference, I shall buy TV and radio time, explain the whole situation and further explain that I am forced to go to those extraordinary lengths because of the refusal and inability of the State Department to protect me.’ He paused. ‘That was rather silly of me. I have my own TV and radio stations. It’s going to be such a burning hot topic that the big three companies will jump at it and it won’t cost me a cent. By tonight I’ll have the name of the State Department, particularly the names of you and your boss, if not exactly blackened at least tarnished across the country. I’m a desperate man, gentlemen, and I’m prepared to adopt desperate methods.’

  He paused for their reactions. Facially they were all he could have wished. Howell, his assistant and the General all too clearly realized that Lord Worth meant every word he said. The implications were too horrendous to contemplate. But no one said anything, so Lord Worth took up the conversational burden again.

  ‘Finally, gentlemen, you base your pusillanimous refusal to act on the fact that I have no proof of evil intent. I do, in fact, possess such proof, and it’s cast-iron. I will not lay this proof before you because it is apparent that I will achieve nothing here. I require a decision-maker and the Secretary has the reputation for being just that. I suggest you get him here.’

  ‘Get the Secretary?’ Howell was clearly appalled by this suggested lese-majesty. ‘One doesn’t “get” the Secretary. People make appointments days, even weeks in advance. Besides, he is in a very important conference.’

  Lord Worth remained unmoved. ‘Get him. This conference he’d better have with me will be the most important of his life. If he elects not to come then he’s probably holding the last conference of his political career. I know he’s not twenty yards from here. Get him.’