Seawitch

by Alistair MacLean

  ‘I–I don’t really think–’

  Lord Worth rose. ‘I hope your immediate successors–and the operative word is “immediate”–will, for the country’s sake, display more common sense and intestinal fortitude than you have. Tell the man who, through your gross negligence and cowardly refusal to face facts, will be held primarily responsible for the outbreak of the next war, to watch TV tonight. You have had your chance–as your stenographer’s notebook will show–and you’ve thrown it away.’ Lord Worth shook his head, almost in sadness. ‘There are none so blind as those who will not see–especially a spluttering fuse leading to a keg of dynamite. I bid you good day, gentlemen.’

  ‘No! No!’ Howell was in a state of very considerable agitation. ‘Sit down! Sit down! I’ll see what I can do.’

  He practically ran from the room.

  During his rather protracted absence–he was gone for exactly thirteen minutes–conversation in the room was minimal.

  Zweicker said: ‘You really mean what you say, don’t you?’

  ‘Do you doubt me, General?’

  ‘Not any more. You really intend to carry out those threats?’

  ‘I think the word you’re searching for is “promises”.’

  After this effective conversation-stopper an uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Only Lord Worth appeared in no way discomforted. He was, or appeared to be, calm and relaxed, which was quite a feat, because he knew that the appearance or non-appearance of the Secretary meant whether he had won or lost.

  He’d won, The Secretary, John Belton, when Howell nervously ushered him in, didn’t look at all like his reputation–which was that of a tough, shrewd-minded, hard-nosed negotiator, ruthless when the situation demanded and not much given to consulting his cabinet colleagues when it came to decision-making. He looked like a prosperous farmer, and exuded warmth and geniality–which deceived Lord Worth, a man who specialized in warmth and geniality, not a whit. Here, indeed, was a very different kettle of fish from Howell, a man worthy of Lord Worth’s mettle. Lord Worth rose.

  Belton shook his hand warmly. ‘Lord Worth! This is a rare privilege–to have, if I may be forgiven the unoriginal turn of speech, to have America’s top oil tycoon calling on us.’

  Lord Worth was courteous but not deferential. ‘I wish it were under happier circumstances. My pleasure, Mr Secretary. It’s most kind of you to spare a few moments. Well, five minutes, no more. My promise.’

  ‘Take as long as you like.’ Belton smiled. ‘You have the reputation for not bandying words. I happen to share that sentiment.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He looked at Howell. ‘Thirteen minutes to cover forty yards.’ He looked back at the Secretary. ‘Mr Howell will have–ah–apprised you of the situation?’

  ‘I have been fairly well briefed. What do you require of us?’ Lord Worth refrained from beaming: here was a man after his own heart. John Belton continued. ’We can, of course, approach the Soviet and Venezuelan ambassadors, but that’s like approaching a pair of powder-puffs. All they can do is to report our suspicions and veiled threats to their respective governments. They’re powerless, really. Even ten years ago ambassadors carried weight. They could negotiate and make decisions. Not any more. They have become, through no fault of their own, faceless and empty people who are consistently bypassed in State-to-State negotiations. Even their second chauffeurs, who are customarily trained espionage agents, wield more power than the ambassadors themselves.

  ‘Alternatively, we can make a direct approach to the governments concerned. But for that we would have to have proof. Your word doesn’t come into question, but it’s not enough. We must be able to adduce positive proof of, shall we say, nefarious intent.’

  Lord Worth replied immediately. ‘Such proof I can adduce and can give you the outline now. I am extremely reluctant to name names because it will mean the end of the professional career of a friend of mine. But if I have to, that I will do. Whether I release those names to you or to the public will depend entirely upon the Department’s reaction. If I can’t receive a promise of action after I have given you this outline, then I have no recourse other than to approach the public. This is not blackmail. I’m in a corner and the only solution is to fight my way out of it. If you will, as I hope you will, give me a favourable reaction, I shall, of course, give you a list of names, which, I would hope, will not be published by your department. Secrecy, in other words. Not, of course, that this will prevent you from letting loose the FBI the moment I board my helicopter out there.’

  ‘The great warm heart of the American public versus the incompetent bumbling of the State Department.’ Belton smiled. ‘One begins to understand why you are a millionaire–I do apologize, billionaire.’

  ‘Earlier this week a highly secret meeting was held in a lakeside resort out west. Ten people, all of them very senior oilmen, attended this meeting. Four were Americans, representing many of the major oil companies in the States. A fifth was from Honduras. A sixth was from Venezuela, a seventh from Nigeria. Numbers eight and nine were oil sheikhs from the Gulf. The last was from the Soviet Union. As he was the only one there who had no interest whatsoever in the flow of oil into the United States, one can only presume that he was there to stir up as much trouble as possible.’

  Lord Worth looked around the five people in the room. That he had their collective ear was beyond dispute. Satisfied, he continued.

  ’The meeting had one purpose and one only in mind. To stop me and to stop me at all costs. More precisely, they wanted to stop the flow of oil from the Seawitch– that is the name of my oil rig–because I was considerably undercutting them in price and thereby raising all sorts of fiscal problems. If there are any rules or ethics in the oil business I have as yet to detect any. I believe your congressional investigative committees would agree one hundred per cent with me on that. Incidentally, Worth Hudson–that’s the official name of my company–has never been investigated.

  ’The only permanent way to stop the flow of oil is to destroy the Seawitch. Halfway through the meeting they called in a professional trouble-shooter, a man whom I know well, and a highly dangerous man at that. For reasons I won’t explain until I get some sort of guarantee of help, he has a deep and bitter grudge against me. He also happens–just coincidentally, of course–to be one of the world’s top experts–if not the very top–on the use of high explosives.

  ‘After the meeting this trouble-shooter called aside the Venezuelan and Soviet delegates and asked for naval cooperation. This he was guaranteed.’ Lord Worth looked at the company with a singular lack of enthusiasm. ’Now perhaps you people will believe me.

  ‘I would add that this man so hates me that he would probably do the job for nothing. However, he has asked for–and got–a fee of a million dollars. He also asked for–and got–ten million dollars “operating expenses”. What does ten million dollars mean to you–except the unlimited use of violence?’

  ‘Preposterous. Incredible.’ The Secretary shook his head. ‘It has, of course, to be true. You are singularly well-informed, Lord Worth. You would appear to have an intelligence service to rival our own.’

  ‘Better. I pay them more. This oil business is a jungle and it’s a case of the survival of the most devious.’

  ‘Industrial espionage?’

  ‘Most certainly not.’ It was just possible that Lord Worth actually believed this.

  ‘This friend who may be coming to the end of his–’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give me all the details, including a list of the names. Put a cross against the name of your friend. I shall see to it that he is not implicated and that only I will see that list.’

  ‘You are very considerate, Mr Secretary.’

  ‘In return I shall consult with Defence and the Pentagon.’ He paused. ‘Even that will not be necessary. In return I can personally guarantee you a sufficiency of air and sea cover against any normal or even considerable hazard.’

  Lord Worth didn’t doubt him
. Belton had the reputation of being a man of unshakeable integrity. More important, he had the justly-deserved reputation of being the President’s indispensable right-hand man. Belton delivered. Lord Worth decided against showing too much relief.

  ‘I cannot tell you how deeply grateful I am.’ He looked at the stenographer, and then at Howell. ‘If I could borrow this lady’s services–’

  ‘Of course.’ The stenographer turned to a fresh page in her notebook and waited expectantly.

  Lord Worth said: ‘The place–Lake Tahoe, California, The address–’

  The telephone jangled. The stenographer gave Lord Worth an ‘excuse-me’ smile and picked up the receiver. Howell said to the Secretary: ‘Dammit, I gave the strictest instructions–’

  ‘It’s for Lord Worth.’ She was looking at Belton. ‘A Mr Mitchell from Florida. Extremely urgent.’ The Secretary nodded and the stenographer rose and handed rest and receiver to Lord Worth.

  ‘Michael? How did you know I was here? … Yes, I’m listening.’

  He listened without interruption. As he did so, to the considerable consternation of those watching him, the colour drained from his tanned cheeks and left them an unhealthy sallow colour. It was Belton himself who rose, poured out a brandy and brought it across to Lord Worth, who took it blindly and drained the not inconsiderable contents at a gulp. Belton took the glass from him and went for a refill. When he came back Lord Worth took the drink but left it untouched. Instead he handed the receiver to Belton and held his left hand over his now screwed-shut eyes.

  Belton spoke into the phone. ‘State Department. Who’s speaking?’

  Mitchell’s voice was faint but clear. ‘Michael Mitchell, from Lord Worth’s home. Is that–is that Dr Belton?’

  ‘Yes. Lord Worth seems to have received a severe snock.’

  ‘Yes, sir. His two daughters have been kidnapped.’

  ‘Good God above.’ Belton’s habitual imperturbability had received a severe dent. No one had ever seen him register shock before. Perhaps it was the bluntness of the announcement. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I wish to hell I wasn’t, sir.’

  ‘What are you?’

  ‘We–my partner John Roomer and I–are private investigators. We are not here in an investigative capacity. We are here because we are neighbours and friends of Lord Worth and his daughters.’

  ‘Called the police?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s been done?’

  ‘We have arranged for the blocking of all air and sea escape routes.’

  ‘You have descriptions?’

  ‘Poor. Five men, heavily armed, wearing stocking masks.’

  ‘What’s your opinion of the local law?’

  ‘Low.’

  ‘I’ll call in the FBI.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But as the criminals haven’t been traced there’s no evidence that they’ve crossed the state line.’

  ‘Hell with state lines and regulations. If I say they’re called in, that’s it. Hold on. I think Lord Worth would like another word.’ Lord Worth took the receiver. Some colour had returned to his cheeks.

  ‘I’m leaving now. Less than four hours, I should say. I’ll radio from the Boeing half an hour out. Meet me at the airport.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Commander Larsen would like to know–’

  ‘Tell him.’ Lord Worth replaced the receiver, took another sip of his brandy. ‘There’s no fool like an old fool and only a blind fool would have overlooked so obvious a move. This is war, even if undeclared war, and in war no holds are barred. To think that it should come to this before you had incontrovertible proof that I am indeed under siege. Unforgivable. To have left my daughters unguarded was wholly unforgivable. Why didn’t I have the sense to leave Mitchell and Roomer on guard?’ He looked at his now-empty glass and the stenographer took it away.

  Belton was faintly sceptical. ‘Five armed men?’

  Lord Worth looked at him morosely. ‘I had forgotten that you don’t know these men. Mitchell, for example, could have taken care of them all by himself. He’s lethal.’

  ‘So they’re your friends, and you respect them. Don’t take offence, Lord Worth, but is there any way that they could be implicated in this?’

  ‘You must be out of your mind.’ Lord Worth, still morose, sipped his third brandy. ‘Sorry. I’m not myself. Sure they’d like to kidnap my daughters, almost as much as my daughters would like to be kidnapped by them.’

  ‘That the way?’ Belton seemed mildly astonished. In his experience, billionaires’ daughters did not normally associate with the lower orders.

  ‘That’s the way. And in answer to your next two questions: yes, I approve and no, they don’t give a damn about my money.’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘It is extremely odd. And I shall forecast this, Mr Secretary. When Marina and Melinda are brought back to me it won’t be through the good offices of either the local police or your precious FBI. Mitchell and Roomer will bring them back. One does not wish to sound overly dramatic, but they would, quite literally, give their lives for my daughters.’

  ‘And, as a corollary, they would cut down anyone who got in their way?’

  For the first time since the phone call Lord Worth smiled, albeit faintly. ‘I’ll take the fifth amendment on that one.’

  ‘I must meet these paragons some time.’

  ‘Just as long as it’s not over the wrong end of Mitchell’s gun.’ He rose, leaving his drink unfinished, looked round the room. ‘I must go. Thank you all for your kindness and consideration, not to say forbearance.’ He left, with the Secretary by his side.

  When the door closed behind them General Zweicker rose and poured himself a brandy. ‘Well. What may be the kidnapping of the century pales into insignificance compared to the likelihood of the Russkies starting to throw things at us.’ He took some brandy. ‘Don’t tell me I’m the only person who can see the hellish witches’ brew Lord Worth is stirring up for us.’

  It was clear that all three listening to him had a very clear view of the cauldron. Howell said: ‘Let’s give Lord Worth his due. He could even be right when he says he’s glad he’s got a British passport. The stirrers-up are our own compatriots; the holier-than-thou major American oil companies, who are willing to crucify Lord Worth and put their country at jeopardy because of their blind stupidity.’

  ‘I don’t care who’s responsible.’ The stenographer’s voice was plaintive. ‘Does anyone know where I can get a nuclear shelter, cheap?’

  Belton led Worth down one flight of stairs and out on to the sunlit lawn, where the helicopter was waiting.

  Belton said: ‘Ever tried to find words to tell someone how damnably sorry one feels?’

  ‘I know from experience. Don’t try. But thanks.’

  ‘I could have our personal physician accompany you down to Florida.’

  ‘Thanks again. But I’m fine now.’

  ‘And you haven’t had lunch?’ Belton, clearly, was finding conversational gambits heavy going.

  ‘As I don’t much care for plastic lunches from plastic trays, I have an excellent French chef aboard my plane.’ Again a faint smile. ‘And two stewardesses, chosen solely for their good looks. I shall not want.’

  They reached the steps of the helicopter. Belton said: ‘You’ve had neither the time, inclination nor opportunity to give me that list of names. For the moment that is of no consequence. I just want you to know that my guarantee of protection remains in force.’

  Lord Worth shook his hand silently and climbed the steps.

  By this time Conde, aboard the Roamer, had arrived at the Seawitch, and the big derrick crane aboard the platform was unloading the heavy weaponry and mines from the Louisiana armoury. It was a slow and difficult task, for the tip of the derrick boom was 200 feet above sea level and in all the transfer was to take about three hours. As each dual-purpose anti-aircraft gun came aboard Larsen selected its site and supervised Palermo and some of his men in securing it in position: this was done by drillin
g holes in the concrete platform, then anchoring the gun-carriage base with sledgehammer-driven steel spikes. The guns were supposed to be recoil-less, but then neither Larsen nor Palermo were much given to taking chances.

  The depth-charges, when they came, were stacked together in three groups, each half-way between the three apexes of the triangle. That there was an inherent risk in this Larsen was well aware: a stray bullet or shell–or perhaps not so stray–could well trigger off the detonating mechanism of one of the depth-charges, which would inevitably send up the other charges in sympathetic detonation. But it was a risk that had to be taken if for no other reason than the fact that there was no other place where they could be stored ready for immediate use. And when and if the time came for their use the need would be immediate.

  The drilling crew watched Palermo and his crew at work, their expressions ranging from dispassion to approval. Neither group of men spoke to the other. Larsen was no great believer in fraternization.

  Things were going well. The defensive system was being steadily installed. The Christmas Tree, the peculiar name given to the valve which controlled the flow of oil from the already tapped reservoir, was wide open and oil was being steadily pumped to the huge storage tank while the derrick drill, set at its widest angle, was driving ever deeper into the sub-stratum of the ocean floor, seeking to discover as yet untapped new oil deposits. All was going well, there were no overt signs of attack or preparation for attack from air or sea, but Larsen was not as happy as he might have been, even despite the fact that they were still receiving the half-hour regular ‘on course, on time’ reports from the Torbello.

  He was unhappy partly because of the nonexistence of the Questar. He had recently learned from Galveston that there was no vessel listed in naval or coastguard registries under the name of Questar. He had then asked that they check civilian registrations and had been told that this was a forlorn hope. It would take many hours, perhaps days, to carry out this type of investigation and private vessels, unless fully insured, would show up neither in official registries nor in those of the major marine insurance companies. There was no law which said they had to be insured, and the owners of the older and more decrepit craft didn’t even bother to insure: there are such things as tax write-offs.