Sad Wind from the Sea (v5)

by Jack Higgins

  Something flickered in Mason's eyes and then a smile came to his lips. 'Sure! I get you. Don't get yourself worked up.'

  Hagen was trembling when they came out on to the cliff top. As they paused for breath Rose shouted from the terrace: 'Hurry up, you two. Lunch is ready.'

  Hagen started forward and Mason gripped him by the arm and swung him round. 'Just one thing, pal. I'd be obliged if you'd keep your hands off me in future.' For a moment they stood, toe to toe, and then Hagen smiled slowly and turned away.

  The lunch was pleasant enough though spoiled for Hagen by the company. Mason deliberately cultivated Rose and by the end of the meal she was calling him Steve. After lunch Charlie had drinks served on the terrace and Hagen helped himself liberally to the gin and sat scowling at Mason and Rose who occupied a double swing-chair together. He felt irritated and annoyed and for some indefinable reason he longed to rush over and smash his fist into Mason's face. Charlie was joining in with them and must have related some funny story because suddenly they all burst into roars of laughter. Hagen's grip tightened on the stem of his glass and he said roughly, 'Don't you think we ought to go over the situation, Charlie, now that everyone is present?'

  They went into the sun lounge and Charlie produced a map and Hagen indicated the route and explained the difficulties and dangers. He told them that he calculated the trip would take twenty-four to twenty-six hours. Charlie began to work out figures on a sheet of paper. After a while he gave a satisfied grunt and said: 'I reckon you should be there sometime tomorrow night. If Miss Graham can find the spot where the launch sank without any trouble you should be in the right lagoon on Friday. You might even be able to start diving on that day. Whatever happens you should be ready to leave during darkness on Saturday night.'

  'But that will mean a run back to Macao in daylight,' Hagen said. 'We'd never get through the Straits of Hainan.'

  Charlie grinned knowingly. 'This is where the clever bit comes in. I have a ship which is passing through that region from Haiphong to Macao. I've instructed the captain to rendezvous a mile off-shore on Sunday morning. He should be there about six. He'll give you a couple of hours to get out of those marshes. If you don't make it by eight o'clock then you won't be coming and he'll leave.'

  There was a pregnant silence and Mason said, 'Thanks for being so cheerful.'

  Charlie led the way into the next room and made a sweeping gesture with one hand. Spread out on the floor on a groundsheet were two Thompson sub-machine-guns, a couple of Garrand automatic rifles and a box of grenades. There were several clips of ammunition and all the stuff looked new and unused. 'Are we starting a war?' Mason said.

  Hagen nodded with satisfaction. 'Just one more thing, Charlie,' he said. 'Dynamite. I might have to do some blasting.'

  Charlie grinned. 'I figured on that,' he said, 'and I've got you something better.' He opened a drawer and took out a belt with several pouches in it. 'This stuff was used by Commandos in the war. It's plastic, waterproof, and can't go off unless it's detonated.'

  'That's the stuff for me,' Hagen said. Mason had picked up one of the Garrands and was explaining how it worked to Rose. For a moment Hagen watched them moodily and then he turned to O'Hara and said: 'Come on! There's plenty for you and me to do on the boat.'

  He imagined, as he went out on to the terrace, that she had called his name, but in his sudden blind, unreasoning anger he strode furiously to the cliff edge and began to descend the path. O'Hara hurried protestingly after him, cursing all the way. When they reached the beach he said, 'What's got into you, lad?'

  Hagen shook his head. 'I don't know. I really don't know. Maybe I'm just scared now that we're actually going. Forget it and let's get things ship-shape round here.'

  They slaved until five o'clock in the engine-room, stripped to the waist, sweat pouring from them. The house-boys came down carrying the guns and equipment, making several trips. There was no sign of Rose or Mason and, as he toiled in the heat, Hagen imagined them sitting in the air-conditioned lounge, sipping cool drinks and talking - perhaps even making love. He swore violently and went up on deck. He stood at the rail breathing deeply, looking down at the green water, and then she called his name and he turned to see her struggling along the jetty, preceded by the two house-boys carrying several boxes.

  She looked cool and crisp in her linen suit and Hagen turned quickly to go below. 'Mark!' she called. 'Hang on a minute. I haven't had a chance to talk to you since lunch.' She stood on the jetty and looked down at him. 'What have you been doing?'

  He spread his hands and said sarcastically: 'Oh, a few unimportant little jobs. I hope you and Mason have been enjoying yourselves.'

  A shadow crossed her face and she said to the two house-boys, 'Take the boxes through into the galley.' She turned again to Hagen. 'That's the food. I've been preparing it. Mr Beale and Steve went into Macao. They'll be back at seven.'

  He was thunderstruck and filled with self-loathing and yet, in his childish desire to hurt her, said: 'Well, you seem to prefer his company to mine. That's pretty evident.' He turned and dived over the rail into the water.

  He swam down to the sandy bottom, which at that point was about three fathoms deep, and the water was of a coolness he had forgotten existed. As he floated upwards all the heat and the itch and the sweat were washed away and he suddenly knew what a fool he was. He broke surface and floated for a moment, wondering what he could say, and then he saw her, running along the sands on the far side of the inlet. He began to swim with a fast crawl-stroke that carried him across the narrow waters of the inlet in a few seconds. She dodged into the rocks that lined the long passage that led out to the sea but her skirt hampered her and she fell in the soft sand. She scrambled to her feet and continued to run. Hagen swam through the passage and when she came out of the rocks and faced the sea he was standing, ankle deep in the soft sand, waiting for her.

  She was crying bitterly. She backed away from him into a little sand-filled hollow surrounded by rocks, tears coursing down her cheeks. He moved forward and gripped her by the shoulders. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean it. It's the heat. It's enough to drive a man mad.'

  'Oh, Mark,' she cried brokenly. 'I love you so much.'

  For a moment his grip relaxed and then his arms enfolded her, crushing her against his chest. Water dripped from his face, and he said, 'This isn't going to do your suit much good, is it?'

  Her hands pulled his head down and her mouth sought his and then he lifted her and gently laid her down in the soft sand. For a while he held her close while her body trembled and then she began to strain against him convulsively and her arms tightened about his neck. For a moment his mind struggled against what was happening and then his control snapped. It was as though a great wind gathered them up and swept them away on a journey to the other end of time.

  When they returned to the boat they walked hand in hand like children. O'Hara was lolling on deck smoking his pipe. The linen suit was badly crumpled and stained with salt water but there was no way they could hide it. O'Hara tried to look unconcerned and said: 'Charlie was looking for you. He wants you up above for dinner at eight.'

  'Thanks,' Hagen said. 'We'll be there.'

  The old man made a great play of taking out a silver pocket-watch and looking at it. 'Well, now,' he said. 'If I were you, I'd hurry. It's half past seven now.' Rose gave a startled yelp and fled below. The old man winked solemnly at Hagen. 'Amazing how time passes in certain situations,' he observed. Hagen pushed his cap down over his eyes and went below to change.

  The dinner was superb. Charlie had obviously decided to make it something of an occasion. Hagen felt warmly content and as he watched Rose chatting animatedly to Mason he no longer felt jealous. She was bound to him now. He knew that with a sureness that was absolute. Once or twice she turned and looked at him and wrinkled her nose and a tiny smile played around the corners of her mouth.

  Afterwards they gathered for drinks on the terrace and sat in the dusk chatting quie
tly. Hagen felt calm and warm inside. It was one of those moments of peace that sometimes come before periods of stress and danger. He had experienced them during the war and now, as then, was grateful.

  Charlie and the two house-boys came down to the jetty to see them off. It was a warm, soft night with a luminosity shining from the sea. There was no moon for heavy cloud banked low over the horizon as though a storm were in the offing. Hagen pressed the starter and the engine roared and spluttered into life as if angry at being awakened from a sound sleep. The house-boys cast off for them and O'Hara and Mason hauled in the lines. The boat drifted away from the jetty and poised, almost motionless, for a moment. 'Good luck!' Charlie's last hail sounded detached and unreal and far away.

  Hagen was aware of Rose standing at his shoulder. He grinned. 'Well, angel. Here we go.' She smiled back at him, confidently and in complete trust. He opened the throttle and as Hurrier strained forward with a sudden surge of power, he took her through the passage out into the China Sea.

  7

  Rose went below and after a while Hagen called Mason into the wheelhouse and told him to take over. He spent a thoughtful twenty minutes with charts and navigational instruments and then gave Mason a course. 'I'll get O'Hara to relieve you in a couple of hours,' he told him and went below.

  He rummaged about in his duffel-bag until he found the Colt automatic which he had cleaned and oiled and replaced in the polished leather holster that still bore the legend USN. He strapped the holster to his waist and went into the galley and found Rose making coffee. There was a smudge of soot on her face. He laughed and said, 'So you cook as well.'

  She grimaced. 'I'll have you know this cooker blew back in my face twice before I managed to find out how the thing works.'

  He picked up a damp cloth and wiped the smudge carefully from her face and she reached up and kissed him. 'There, that's better,' he said. As she poured coffee into two mugs he leaned back against the door and lit a cigarette.

  'Here's your coffee, darling,' she said and handed him a mug. At the same moment she noticed the holstered gun on his hip. 'Oh, Mark! Do you expect trouble so soon?' she said anxiously.

  He raised a reassuring hand. 'Don't go getting flustered,' he said. 'I always expect trouble in these waters. We're not far from Bias Bay which is crawling with pirates - some of them led by women.'

  She laughed and threw back her head. 'You're kidding me.'

  He shook his head. 'No, I'm in deadly earnest. If you happen to be on deck and you notice any innocent-looking motor sampans or junks call me quickly. They have a nasty habit of sailing close and suddenly about a hundred men appear on deck, all screaming for blood.'

  She cut sandwiches as he talked and he watched her over the rim of his mug. She was wearing old denims and a polo-necked sweater and somehow managed to look more feminine than ever. The memory of what had happened that afternoon suddenly came into his mind and he felt acutely uncomfortable. He put down the mug and said: 'I've got things to do. I'll see you later. Don't forget to get plenty of sleep.'

  He went down to the engine-room and found O'Hara oiling various parts of the engine in the pale, oil-sick light of an inspection lamp. The noise was so deafening that he had to tap the old man on the shoulder and point upwards with his thumb. They scrambled up on deck and Hagen said, 'Everything all right?'

  'Fine,' the old man said. 'Those engines will run from now till Domesday.'

  'Good, I've decided to increase to top speed now.'

  O'Hara's eyes widened in surprise. 'But I thought you wanted to maintain a constant speed,' he said. 'You worked it all out.'

  Hagen nodded. 'Yes, I know, but I've been thinking. If we maintain a cruising speed we'll pass through the Hainan Straits about noon tomorrow. There's usually a lot of light naval craft around there and a small boat like ours would excite their damned curiosity. Another thing; what if Kossoff has alerted the Red naval base at Kiung Chow on Hainan Island? He's a smart man. He'd give them orders to let us through but to tip him off that we were on the way. That's no good. I want to take the bastard by surprise.'

  O'Hara nodded. 'Sounds fine to me but what about the rest of the trip? We can't approach the marshes in daylight.'

  Hagen nodded. 'We won't need to. After we're through the straits I'll reduce speed and we can take it easy tomorrow.'

  O'Hara suddenly exploded with laughter and took out his pipe. 'My God, but 'tis a hell of a thing we're trying to get away with this time, lad, and I'm only just beginning to realize it. Ah, well. They say the divil looks after his own.'

  Hagen went into the wheelhouse and told Mason to increase speed and then he went down to the cabin and flopped down on his bunk. He lay staring at the bulkhead and thinking about the gold and the marshes and the girl. He could hear a low rumble of voices from the galley and knew that O'Hara must be sampling some of Rose's coffee. Once she laughed quite distinctly and he found himself smiling with her and then the sound of the voices began to merge with the throb of the engine and the splashing of the sea.

  He was not conscious of having slept, only of being suddenly awake and looking at his watch and realizing, with a sense of shock, that it was three in the morning. He pulled on a heavy reefer coat and as he buttoned it up around his throat he heard a grunt as someone turned in his sleep. He struck a match and discovered Mason, a sardonic quirk on his lips even in sleep. He quietly left the cabin and went up on deck.

  There was a slight sea-mist lifting off the water and Hurrier was kicking along at a tremendous pace. There was no moon but the night sky was a jewel-studded delight and there was still that peculiar luminosity to the water. He walked along the heaving deck and opened the glass-panelled door of the wheelhouse. O'Hara was standing at the wheel and a fine, weird figure he cut. The only illumination was the compass light which, being directly beneath his face, shone upwards, so that the first hurried impression was of a disembodied face floating five and a half feet above the ground. 'How are things going?' Hagen said.

  'Couldn't be better. You'd think the old girl had an engagement with a gentleman at the other end, the way she's lifting along.'

  As he slipped to one side to allow Hagen to take over the wheel there was a distinct aroma of rum. For a moment anger welled in Hagen and then he restrained it. After all, the old man had done a good day's work. As O'Hara went out Hagen called: 'Go easy on that rum. I don't want you starting a jag.'

  'Now you know you can depend on me, lad,' O'Hara said in a hurt voice. He moved away along the deck whistling a sadly gay little jig.

  Hagen put a cigarette in his mouth and, pulling a hinged seat down from the wall, settled his back comfortably and sat holding the wheel lightly in his hands, watching the foam curl alongside the prow. Occasionally, spray spattered against the windows and gradually his mind wandered away on old and long-forgotten paths. He thought of incidents and people long since past with a sort of measured sadness. This was a period he looked forward to on a voyage. To be alone with the sea and the night and the boat. It was as if the world did not exist. During such quiet spaces time had no meaning and an hour had the habit of passing like a minute. He checked his watch and saw that it was ten past four. The door opened softly, coinciding with a spatter of rain against the windows. He smelt the aroma of coffee, heavy on the morning air, and there was another more subtle fragrance that by now he was so well accustomed to. 'What's wrong with bed at this time in the morning?' he asked her.

  She chuckled. 'The first real chance to be alone together and the man asks silly questions. Is there anywhere I can sit?' He pulled down another seat for her and she settled herself. She handed him a mug of coffee. 'Like a sandwich?'

  They ate in a companionable and intimate silence, their knees touching. Afterwards he gave her a cigarette and they smoked and talked quietly as rain hammered forcefully against the window. After one particular interlude of silence she said, 'You love the sea, don't you?'

  He considered the point and then answered: 'I suppose I do. You see fo
r me it's always been a refuge, whether I was running as a boy from my father's anger to the sailing dinghy I sailed on the sound in Connecticut, or standing out to sea in Hurrier from some unwelcome port. The sea is home in a way. She's rather like a woman, capricious, unreliable, at times even cruel and treacherous, but that doesn't mean you love her any the less or that she ceases to fascinate.'

  Rose laughed from the darkness. 'Thank you for the extremely apt analogy. There are hidden depths in you.'

  He grinned wryly. 'The secret soul of Mark Hagen. I'm getting sentimental in my old age.' He swivelled to the small chart table and switched on a tiny, hooded light. He checked his calculations again and said: 'Well, angel, unless I miss my guess we should be entering the Straits of Hainan within the next fifteen minutes. Should be pretty tricky.'

  'Shall I wake the others?'

  He shook his head. 'No, they wouldn't be able to help.' He strained his eyes through the darkness and, as for a brief moment the rain lifted, he thought he could see Hainan. 'I want you to look to starboard,' he told her, 'and keep looking. The starboard side of the straits is formed by the Lui-Chow Peninsula. There should be a lighthouse but you know what the Commies are like - still, it might be working.'

  They continued at full throttle for half an hour and Hagen knew that they must be well into the straits by now. The inference was obvious. The lighthouse lamp was out. Suddenly to port he saw a lighthouse and several lights, like a string of yellow beads thrown down carelessly, and then the rain curtain dropped back into place and hid them from sight. His spirits lifted. 'Everything's fine,' he told the girl. 'That was Kiung Chow, a port on Hainan. We're dead on course.'

  'Now what?' she said.

  'Now we sit tight and go like a bat out of hell for about an hour and a half and then look for a light to starboard. Thank God for this weather. It really gives us a sporting chance.'