by Ken Follett
found a knob with two settings, turned it, and tapped the Morse key.
There was no sound. Perhaps that meant the microphone was now in
circuit.
She pulled it to her and spoke into it.
"Hello, hello, is there anybody there? Hello?"
There was a switch which had "Transmit' above it and "Receive' below.
It was turned to "Transmit'. If the world was to talk back to her,
obviously she had to throw the switch to "Receive'.
She said: Hello, is anybody listening?" and threw the switch to
"Receive'.
Nothing.
Then: "Come in, Storm Island, receiving you loud and clear."
It was a man's voice. He sounded young and strong, capable and
confident and reassuring and alive and normal.
"Come in, Storm Island, we've been trying to raise you all night...
where the devil have you been ?"
Lucy switched to "Transmit', tried to speak, and burst into tears.
THIRTY-SIX
Percival Godliman had a headache from too many cigarettes and too
little sleep. He had taken a little whisky to help him through the
long, worried night in his office, and that had been a mistake.
Everything oppressed him: the weather, his office, his job, the war.
For the first time since he had become a spy catcher he found himself
longing for dusty libraries, illegible manuscripts, and medieval
Latin.
Colonel Terry walked in with two cups of tea on a tray. Nobody around
here sleeps," he said cheerfully. He sat down.
"Ship's biscuit?" He offered Godliman a plate.
Godliman refused the biscuit and drank the tea. It gave him a
temporary lift.
"I just had a call from the man with the fat cigar," Terry said.
"He's keeping the night vigil with us."
"I can't imagine why," Godliman said sourly.
"He's worried."
The phone rang.
"Godliman."
"I have the Royal Observer Corps in Aberdeen for you, sir."
"Yes."
A new voice came on, the voice of a young man.
"Royal Observer Corps, Aberdeen, here, sir."
"Yes."
"Is that Mr. Godliman?"
"Yes." Dear God, these military types took their time.
We've raised Storm Island at last, sir."
"Thank God!"
"It's not our regular observer. In fact it's a woman."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing, yet, sir."
What do you mean?" Godliman fought down the angry impatience that rose
inside him.
"She's just... well, crying, sir."
"Oh." Godliman hesitated.
"Can you connect me to her?"
"Yes. Hold on." There was a pause punctuated by several clicks and a
hum. Then Godliman heard the sound of a woman weeping.
He said: "Hello, can you hear me?"
The weeping went on.
The young man came back on the line to say: "She won't be able to hear
you until she switches to "Receive", sir ah, she's done it. Go
ahead."
Godliman said: "Hello, young lady. When I've finished speaking I'll
say "Over," then you switch to "Transmit" to speak to me and you say
"Over" when you have finished. Do you understand? Over."
The woman's voice came on.
"Oh, thank God for somebody sane. Yes, I understand. Over."
"Now, then," Godliman said gently, 'tell me what's been happening
there. Over."
"A man was shipwrecked here two no, three days ago. I think he's the
stiletto murderer from London. He killed my husband and our shepherd,
and now he's outside the house, and I've got my little boy here ...
I've nailed the windows shut and fired at him with a shotgun, and
barred the doors, and set the dog on him but he killed the dog, and I
hit him with the axe when he tried to get in through the window and I
can't do it any more so please come and save me ... Over."
Godliman put his hand over the phone. His face was white.
"You poor woman," he breathed. But when he spoke to her, he was
brisk.
"You must hold on a little longer," he began.
"There are sailors and coast guards and policemen and all sorts of
people on their way to you, but they can't land until the storm ends.
Now, there's something I want you to do, and I can't tell you why you
must do it because the wrong people may be listening to us, but I can
tell you that it is absolutely essential. Are you hearing me clearly?
Over."
"Yes, go on. Over."
"You must destroy your radio. Over."
"Oh, no, please... must I?"
"Yes," Godliman said, then he realized she was still transmitting.
"I don't... I can't.." Then there was a scream.
Godliman said: "Hello, Aberdeen, what's happening?"
The young man came on.
"The set's still transmitting, sir, but she's not speaking. We can't
hear anything."
"She screamed."
"Yes, we got that."
"Damn." Godliman thought for a minute.
"What's the weather like up there?"
"It's raining, sir." The young man sounded puzzled.
"I'm not making conversation, lad," Godliman snapped.
"Is there any sign of the storm letting up?"
"It has eased a little in the last few minutes, sir."
"Good. Get back to me the instant that woman comes back on air."
"Very good, sir."
Godliman said to Terry: "God only knows what that girl's going through
up there." He jiggled the cradle of the phone.
The Colonel crossed his legs.
"If only she would smash up the radio, then..."
"Then we don't care if he kills her?"
"You said it."
Godliman spoke into the phone.
"Get me Bloggs at Rosyth."
Bloggs woke up with a start, and listened. Outside, it was dawn.
Everyone in the scramble hut was listening, too. They could hear
nothing. That was what they were listening to: the silence.
The rain had stopped drumming on the tin roof.
Bloggs went to the window. The sky was grey with a band of white on
the eastern horizon. The wind had dropped suddenly, and the rain had
become a light drizzle.
The pilots started putting on `;0<3' jackets and helmets, lacing boots,
lighting last cigarettes.
A klaxon sounded, and a voice boomed out over the airfield: "Scramble!
Scramble!"
The phone rang. The pilots ignored it and piled out through the door.
Bloggs picked it up.
"Yes?"
"Percy here, Fred. We just contacted the island. He's killed the two
men. The woman's holding him off at the moment, but she won't last
much longer."
Bloggs said: "The rain has stopped. We're taking off now."
"Make it fast, Fred. Goodbye."
Bloggs hung up and looked around for his pilot. Charles Calder had
fallen asleep over War and Peace. Bloggs shook him roughly. Wake up,
you dozy bastard, wake up!"
He opened his eyes.
Bloggs could have hit him. Wake up, come on, we're going, the storm's
ended!"
The pilot jumped to his feet.
"Jolly good show," he said.
He ran out of the door and Bloggs followed him.
The lifeboat dropped into the water with a crack like a pist
ol and a
wide, V-shaped splash. The sea was far from calm, but here in the
partial shelter of the bay there was no risk to a stout boat in the
hands of experienced sailors.
The captain said: "Carry on, Number One."
The first lieutenant was standing at the rail with three ratings He
wore a pistol in a waterproof holster. He said: "Let's go, chaps."
The four men scrambled down the ladders and into the boat. The first
mate sat in the stern and the three sailors broke out the oars and
began to row.
For a few moments the captain watched their steady progress toward the
jetty. Then he returned to the bridge and gave orders for the corvette
to continue circling the island.
The shrill ringing of a bell broke up the card game on the cutter.
Slim said: "I thought something was different. We aren't going up and
down so much. Almost motionless, really. Makes me quite seasick."
Nobody was listening: the crew were hurrying to their stations, some of
them fastening life-jackets as they went.
The engines fired with a roar, and the vessel began to tremble faintly
but perceptibly.
Up on deck, Smith stood in the prow, enjoying the fresh air and the
spray on his face after a day and a night below.
As the cutter left the harbour Slim joined him.
"Here we go again," Slim said.
"I knew the bell was going to ring then," Smith said. Ton know why?"
"Tell me."
"Know what I had in my hand ? Ace and a king."
"Banker's pontoon," said Slim, "Well I never."
Lieutenant-Commander Werner Heer looked at his watch and said: "Thirty
minutes."
Major Wohl nodded impassively.
"What is the weather like? "he asked.
"The storm has ended," Heer said reluctantly. He would have preferred
to keep that information to himself.
"Then we should surface."
"If your man were there, he would send us a signal."
3 9 "The war is not won by hypothesis, captain," said Wohl.
"I firmly suggest that we surface."
There had been a blazing row, while the U-boat was in dock, between
Beer's superior officer and Wohl's; and Wohl's had won. Heer was still
captain of the ship, but he had been told in no uncertain terms that he
had better have a damned good reason next time he ignored one of Major
Wohl's firm suggestions.
We will surface at six o'clock exactly," he said.
Wohl nodded again and looked away.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The sound of breaking glass, then an explosion like an incendiary
bomb:
Whooomph!
Lucy dropped the microphone. Something was happening downstairs. She
picked up a shotgun and ran down.
The living-room was ablaze. The fire centred on a broken jar on the
floor. Henry had made some kind of bomb with the petrol from the jeep.
The flames were spreading hungrily across Tom's threadbare carpet and
licking up over the loose covers of his ancient three-piece suite. A
feather-filled cushion caught, and the fire reached up toward the
ceiling.
Lucy picked up the cushion and flung it through the broken window,
singeing her hand. She tore her coat off and threw it on the carpet,
stamping on it. She picked it up again and draped it over the floral
settee. She was winning There was another crash of glass.
It came from upstairs.
Lucy screamed: "Jo!"
She dropped the coat and raced up the stairs and into the front
bedroom.
Henry was sitting on the bed with Jo on his lap. The child was awake,
sucking his thumb, wearing his wide-eyed morning look. Henry was
stroking his tousled hair.
Henry said: "Throw the gun on the bed, Lucy."
Her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she did as he said.
"You climbed the wall and got through the window she said, dully.
Henry dumped Jo off his lap.
"Go to Mummy."
Jo ran to her and she lifted him up.
Henry picked up both guns and went to the radio. He was holding his
right hand under his left armpit, and there was a great red bloodstain
on his jacket. He sat down. You hurt me," he said. Then he turned
his attention to the transmitter.
Suddenly it spoke.
"Come in. Storm Island."
Henry picked up the microphone.
"Hello?"
"Just a minute."
There was a pause, then another voice came on. Lucy recognized it as
the man in London who had told her to destroy the radio. He would be
disappointed in her. It said: "Hello, this is Godliman again. Can you
hear me? Over."
Henry said: "Yes, I can hear you, Professor. Seen any good cathedrals
lately?"
"Is that..."
"Yes." Henry smiled.
"How do you do." Then the smile left his face abruptly, as if playtime
was over, and he turned the frequency dial of the radio.
Lucy turned and left the room. It was over, and she had lost. She
walked listlessly down the stairs and into the kitchen. There was
nothing for her to do but wait for him to kill her. She could not run
away she did not have the energy, and he obviously knew it.
She looked out of the window. The storm had ended. The howling gale
had dropped to a stiff breeze, there was no rain, and the eastern sky
was bright with the promise of sunshine. The sea She frowned, and
looked again.
Yes, it was a submarine.
Destroy the radio, the Professor had said.
Last night Henry had cursed in a foreign language.
*7 did it for my country," he had said.
And, in his delirium: Waiting at Calais for a phantom army.
Destroy the radio.
Why would a man take a wallet of photographic negatives on a fishing
trip?
She had known all along he was not insane.
The submarine was a German U-boat, Henry was an enemy agent, and he was
at this very second trying to contact the vessel by radio.
Destroy the radio.
She knew what she had to do. She had no right to give up, now that she
understood; for it was not only her life that was at stake. She had to
do this one last thing for David and for all the other young men who
had died in the war.
She knew what she had to do. She was not afraid of the pain it would
be very painful, she knew, and might well kill her but she had known
the pain of childbirth, and it could not be worse than that.
She knew what she had to do. She would have liked to put Jo somewhere
else, where he could not see it; but there was no time for that, for
Henry would find his frequency at any second, and then it might be too
late.
She knew what she had to do. She had to destroy the radio, but the
radio was upstairs with Henry, and he had both the guns and he would
kill her.
She knew what she had to do.
She placed one of Tom's kitchen chairs in the centre of the room, stood
on it, reached up and unscrewed the light bulb.
She got off the chair, went to the door, and threw the switch.
"Are you changing the bulb ?" Jo said.
Lucy climbed on the chair, hesitated for
a moment, then thrust three
fingers into the live socket.
There was a bang, an instant of agony, and then unconsciousness.
Faber heard the bang. He had found the right frequency on the
transmitter, had thrown the switch to "Transmit', and had picked up the
