by Colin Forbes
"Then the skipper has kept his mouth shut. Any sign of the ship being watched?'
'None at all, sir. At this time of night most folk are in their beds. Frankly, begging your pardon, I wish I was.'
Moloch kept a retort which sprang to his mind to himself. He needed this cretin to get him safely aboard. By now the launch had reached the exit and the Venetia came into view. It seemed to Moloch further out than he had expected. Which was probably a good thing - it meant the ship could sail into the open sea more swiftly.
He watched the huge vessel coming closer and closer. As the launch drew near, a staircase was slung over the starboard side to receive its master. In the moonlight it looked to be the most beautiful vessel in the world. As the launch bumped alongside the landing stage Morton warned his passenger to wait until the launch was securely moored.
As if I'd take a chance now, Moloch said to himself.
He reached up to adjust his cap which was tight round his head. The skipper, a Greek, was waiting to help Moloch on to the platform at the foot of the steps.
'Welcome aboard, sir. We are ready to sail when you give the order. The Harbour Master has been informed of our destination.'
'Good.'
Moloch stepped on to the platform, aided by the skipper. He had reached the top of the staircase when he decided he could stand wearing the tight cap no longer.
Reaching up with his left hand, he took hold of it, tossed it into the water. Then he hurried to his stateroom. The moment he entered the luxurious apartment he tore off the shabby raincoat, threw it into a valuable Ali Baba pot which served as a trash bin.
Now, for the first time in hours, he felt safe. But until the vessel sailed he kept the briefcase chained to his wrist. On an antique table, laid with a fine lace cloth, was an array of the finest drinks. The engines were humming, causing a faint vibration, as the skipper entered the room.
'A double Scotch, sir? With ice?'
'Just straight. No ice, no water.'
He was glad to get away from the iniquitous American habit of serving drinks with icebergs. They had, of course, no idea that it killed the taste of the drink.
"Thank you.' he said to the skipper. 'Pity you couldn't join me.'
'Never on duty, sir. There is the menu. A waitress, very good-looking, will come to take your order when you press the bell. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must hurry to the bridge.'
Aboard his powerboat, Marler had watched with interest then with growing disappointment as the launch came into view, headed for the Venetia. Through his monocular glass he had studied the three men inside the craft. At the stern was huddled an obvious working man, wearing a scruffy raincoat and an old peaked cap. Presumably a member of the crew being taken aboard.
Later, still watching through the monocular, he frowned as he saw the staircase lowered over the side of the big yacht. A stocky man in a blue blazer and a nautical cap was descending the staircase to receive the new arrival. To Marler he had all the appearance of being the skipper.
Why all the ceremony? he said to himself.
But for this incident, he might have lowered his glass. Instead, he continued to focus it on the launch's arrival at the platform. He followed the ascent of the crew member up the staircase, then stood very still. Through the glass he saw the cap being thrown over the side, exposing the face of the man who had worn it, the high forehead, the pale face.
He had a flashback to Grenville's party in California, to the time when he had stayed in the background, watching Moloch sitting at a corner table. He gave a low whistle.
"That was clever, chum. You damned near got away with it.'
'Vincent Bernard Moloch has just boarded the Venetia,' Tweed reported to his companions as he held the field glasses glued to his eyes. 'He arrived dressed as a workman, but then got overconfident at the last minute. He threw his cap overboard and I had a clear view of him.'
'He's going to get away,' Paula protested. 'I can hear the very faint hum of the engines starting up.'
'We'll just have to go after him in Beirut.' Newman responded.
'Not a healthy place these days, the Lebanon,' Tweed warned.
'Then, as Paula said, he's slipped through our clutches. Bet he never returns to Britain.'
'No, he won't,' Tweed agreed. 'He'll make the Thames Valley the new Silicon Valley of the world - which will give him even more power.'
'It's so frustrating,' Paula snapped. 'After all the risks we took in California.'
'And over here.' Newman reminded her.
'So evil triumphs.' Paula groaned. 'I feel so helpless -just standing here and watching him sail away.'
'Unless, of course.' Tweed remarked, the glasses still pressed against his eyes, 'my secret weapon works c'
Inside the control cabin of the powerboat Marler had started up the engine. He was careful not to make any dramatic dash towards the Venetia, which would have attracted attention immediately.
Instead he manoeuvred the powerboat out into the open sea slowly, chugging along at a sedate pace. At that moment he had a bit of luck. Another powerboat, driven by a young man who had two girls on board, came racing round Rosemullion Point, tearing towards the harbour, close to the Venetia.
The girls aboard were waving bottles, clad only in skimpy swimsuits despite the cold. As they were passing the yacht they threw the empty champagne bottles against the hull. One of them waved her fingers in a suggestive gesture at members of the crew peering over the rails.
'Stoned out of their skulls.' Marler said to himself.
But he took advantage of the diversion to edge his powerboat closer to the yacht. He was still careful to keep his distance. His approach had so far gone unnoticed -the crew were too interested in the girls aboard the racing powerboat, now zigzagging across the water, leaving behind a snake of ruffled surf.
Marler cut his engine out. Leaning down, he extracted from the golf bag the Armalite rifle it had concealed. Attaching the sniperscope, he then inserted an explosive bullet into the weapon, laid it along a banquette, and waited.
* * * *
"That ship is escaping.' Paula said bitterly. 'You can see it's on the move. Moloch has made it. Nothing can stop him now.'
'Listen.' said Tweed.
The silence of the night was broken by the beat-beat of aircraft engines. Three helicopters appeared from an inland direction. One by one they swooped low over the retreating vessel, so low they were barely above the level of the complex radar system perched on top of the mast above the bridge.
"The crew is removing the canvas covers from those mysterious objects on the decks.' Tweed reported, holding the glasses to his eyes. 'Oh, my Lord, they have ground-to-air missile launchers.'
Appalled, he watched as two of the helicopters returned to buzz the vessel again. One was diving low over the sea when they all heard a sinister whoosh! A missile had been fired off the deck, it struck the incoming helicopter. The machine turned sideways, nose-dived into the sea. Paula watched with growing horror as the second helicopter tried to take evasive action. There was a second whoosh! The helicopter turned over sideways, its main rotor blown to pieces, then it soared downwards, hit the water with a tremendous splash, vanished under the sea.
'Moloch has gone mad.' Newman burst out.
Paula was watching the third helicopter, further away. It had time to turn away, heading out to sea before it curved and disappeared inland. There was a sense of deep shock as Tweed and his companions watched the Venetia getting up speed. Newman was the first to break the silence.
"Those were choppers from Culdrose, the RAF training base for trainee pilots. Culdrose is an airfield beyond Constantine - it's near the top of the Lizard.'
'See that powerboat with the red pennant at its stern?' Tweed said. 'It has Marler on board.'
'What on earth can he do?' Paula asked vehemently. 'Not a thing. I notice he's keeping his distance from the Venetia. Thank Heaven for that. Let's hope he keeps away.'
'So that was what How
ard was keeping from me on the phone.' Tweed said quietly. "The MoD had ordered helicopters to buzz the ship. They didn't know it was heavily armed with missile launchers. It's a tragedy. Young pilots uselessly slaughtered so that man can build up even more power.'
'I can hear a different kind of aircraft coming.' Paula told them. 'Its engine sounds so different from those of the choppers ...'
She stopped speaking as an advanced supersonic warplane appeared from high up in the sky. Tweed guessed it had been standing by, had been summoned by the third chopper which had escaped. Moving with incredible speed the new plane suddenly started to descend from a great height. Tweed caught sight of it for a brief moment in his glasses.
'It's armed with missilesRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET' he began.
He stopped speaking as they all heard a more high-pitched whoosh! A missile from the supersonic plane landed in the water, no more than fifty yards from the bow of the Venetia. Exploding, it erupted a huge column of water near the ship.
'A deliberate miss, that one.' Tweed said. 'What they used to call a shot across its bows c'
Inside his stateroom aboard the vessel Moloch had seen the missile land close to the Venetia. He jumped up from the table so suddenly he upset his meal. With the briefcase dangling from his wrist, he ran out and up a companionway on to the deck where a Sikorsky rested on its helipad. Climbing the ladder, he leapt through the doorway the co-pilot had opened when he saw him coming.
'Get me off this vessel now!' he shouted. 'You have extra fuel tanks so you can reach France. Roscoff is your destination. We'll radio ahead for a car to pick me up. But for God's sake get this thing into the air!'
Marler had stood in the stern of his powerboat, watching everything that had happened through his monocular glass. He had even seen Moloch scrambling up the ladder with the briefcase chained to his wrist. Time to take a hand in the proceedings.
He opened up the throttle and the powerboat surged forward, only slowing down, then stopping when he was much closer to the hull of the Venetia. The skipper of the luxury yacht, scared witless by the missile which had landed just ahead of his bows, slowed the engines, then stopped the ship.
Marler calmly picked up his Armalite, went towards the stern, perched the barrel of the rifle on the top of the cabin, looked through his sniperscope. The rotors on the Sikorsky were whirling madly. It suddenly took off, climbing vertically up from the helipad.
Marler elevated his rifle. The crosshairs closed on one of the extra fuel tanks. The Sikorsky was hovering for a few seconds, prior to flying off out over the sea. Marler pressed the trigger. The explosive bullet burst inside the fuel tank.
There was a terrific explosion, heard onshore. Fire engulfed the Sikorsky, turned it into a fireball. It fell as it had risen. Vertically onto the deck close to a missile which had not been fired. There was a second even more tremendous detonation. The Sikorsky vanished inside the scorching flames which soared up the full length of the vessel. The exploding missile had torn a huge hole in its starboard side. The Venetia was transformed into an even more gigantic fireball from stem to stern. Slowly, it heeled over to starboard. There was a terrible hissing, boiling sound and then the ship sank, vanishing altogether.
Epilogue
At Park Crescent everyone was present except for Vanity, who was waiting in Newman's car by the kerb outside the front door.
'I've had a long chat with Vanity,' Tweed explained. 'She said she'd prefer to wait outside. She's really a very modest lady. And she is a lady. That story about how she had prowled the States, living with one rich man after another, was only a cover story. It gave her charisma to become Moloch's assistant. Cord Dillon cooperated fully. He was responsible for her apparently not having any real identity. Cord and I decided that was the best way to protect her.'
'Protect her?' queried Paula.
'Yes. She is actually one of the bravest undercover agents I have ever dealt with. Her father was English, her mother French. Which is how she came to work for counter-espionage in Paris. I borrowed her because she was least likely to be known in America. She was Hoarse Voice.'
'You mean,' Monica said in a tone of amazement, 'that you had infiltrated her inside Moloch's organization?'
'I, with Cord's help, did exactly that. Which explains why, whenever I met her, I ignored her, appeared to dislike her. More cover for her. And Cord arranged, unofficially, for Alvarez to continue helping us. Vanity warned me, among many other things, about the Xenobium bomb.'
'Now happily, I assume, non-existent.' Marler drawled.
"That's right. You told me Moloch carried aboard the Sikorsky a briefcase chained to his wrist. I'm sure that contained the know-how for making the bomb.'
'What about Grenville?' Paula asked. 'Why was the Ministry of Defence so close-mouthed about him?'
'My contact there at last agreed to be frank. Grenville was a major in the Channel Regiment. He was thrown out quietly for embezzling large sums of money. The Army never did like its dirty linen being washed in public - or even in private.'
'And the mysterious Maurice?' Paula persisted.
'He was unofficially on leave. Actually his job was to find out what Moloch was up to. He's returning to his old job with them.'
'He's asked me out to dinner.'
'I should accept,' Newman said with a smile.
'I'll think about it. I wonder how Mrs Benyon is getting on?'
'She's settling down in Cheltenham very quickly.' Tweed said. 'I had a long chat with her on the phone. She's rejoined a bridge club and several charities she belonged to long ago. I gathered she was very relieved to be back in Britain.'
'Then that about wraps it up.' said Butler, speaking for the first time.
'Not quite. Vanity gave me a list of MPs, et cetera in this country who accepted payments from Moloch, plus another list of senators in the States who accepted even larger sums. I sent it on to Cord. They'll all have to answer some pretty awkward questions. And Cord has found evidence that Joel Brand murdered all Moloch's missing women assistants.'
'But what will happen to AMBECO?' Newman wanted to know.
'I've heard moves are afoot to break up the whole conglomerate. It will probably be sold off bit by bit to other firms. No one will get a big slice of it. Both Washington and London have had enough of too much power in the hands of one huge organization.'
'I'd better get off.' Newman said, standing up. 'Otherwise Vanity will start kicking up.'
'Don't forget her real name is Vanessa,' Tweed warned. 'She was the one who invented Vanity - to build up the false image of herself she had created. And her other name is Julie. So make your choice. Taking her out to dinner?'
'Yes. I know rather a nice restaurant in Paris...'
He was followed out by Marler, Butler and Nield. Paula and Monica remained behind their desks.
'So everything is cleared up in the end,' remarked Paula.
'Everything except the catastrophic ravages of the earthquake.' Tweed was glancing at more pictures of the disaster in a newspaper. 'It will take a long time before what Ethan Benyon caused to happen in his madness becomes only a distant memory.'
