Shaw hesitated. Tien repeated the order sharply and Shaw realized that the Chinese wouldn’t hold back if he tried anything now. And there was nothing useful that he could do anyway with his hands tied . . . he stepped back and found himself in a small, cupboardlike space, a kind of store probably. Tien pressed the button again and the panel slid across.
Shaw, in complete darkness, felt round with his shoulders.
The compartment was steel-lined all the way round, even on the sliding panel. Air was blown in by a miniature fan whirring in a tiny aperture in one corner of the deckhead and that was the only opening.
They pressed on through the wind-blown seas, heading south for Cape Wellington to run down between the mainland and the group of off-shore islands. Then, after a while, Shaw deduced from the motion and the changed engine-beat that Lubin was heaving her to, letting her ride the gale with just enough power to keep her in position, head to wind and sea. The motion was shocking. The cupboard flew up into the air constantly and came down again in a shuddering series of jerks ending in a swoop, and then up, up again . . . Shaw’s stomach was playing him up badly in the stuffiness of the cupboard; his old trouble had hit him hard. Vomit was on his clothes, on the deck, slippery. He shook all over, felt white and weak and cold, deadly cold. The bile rose up to sting the back of his throat after his stomach was empty of food, and he sagged back against the steel-lined panel. Every now and then he heard movements in the cabin beyond; after a time he heard some one coming through the door from the midship cockpit into the cabin.
A minute later he heard Lubin’s voice speaking again—thick, guttural and yet glutinous. There was something loathsome in it, something oddly flesh-creeping about the mere fact that Lubin was giving tongue again at the last. For Shaw felt now that the last stage had been reached, and when he heard what Lubin had to say he knew he was right.
Lubin said, “Tien, she comes now—the liner. For now she is hull-down, yes, but presently she will be near enough, and I start.”
After that there was a kind of sing-song noise, a voice, and after a moment or two Shaw realized it must be Dr Tien. The man was praying to his gods. The next sounds were those of the bottom-boards in the cabin coming up and then,
very faintly some minutes later, the dit-da, dit-da, dit-da of a Morse key.
Lubin sending A’s, Lubin testing.
Silently, Shaw also prayed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Below in the tween-deck of the New South Wales above Number One hold, the MAPIACCIND man on watch lit an unlawful cigarette and glanced at the time. He would soon be relieved now. He yawned, moved across the deck towards the big crate and checked the steel-wire lashings, the extra lashings which had been secured when the bad weather had been reported.
He sauntered a step or two away, and then he stopped, feeling a curious pricking at his scalp. He’d caught a peculiar sound, a sound which he could have sworn was coining from the crate itself.
He moved nearer and put his ear hard up against the wood.
There was no doubt about it then. Trip, buzz, zing-g-g-g .. .trip, buzz, zing-g-g-g. . . .
The man stood back, frowned. Funny . . . this could be what the Captain had spoken about to him and the rest of the MAPIACCIND party. He felt a sudden weakness in his legs and then, whistling a nameless, nervous tune between his teeth, he went quickly across the tween-deck and rang the bridge.
The New South Wales was, on account of the weather, standing some two miles clear of Wilson’s Promontory as she came round South-East Point with her high, knifing bows cutting through the gale and sending great swathes of water tearing aft along her sides to mingle into the roaring wake. Spray flew above her, streaming in cold cascades over the observation platform and the bridge, reaching almost to masthead height at times. The seas raced along the exposed lower promenade deck on the weather side as the New South Wales almost dipped her rails under on the roll. One of her stabilizers had been torn off during her passage of the Great Australian Bight some days earlier, and this had made the motion extremely uncomfortable. The impression she was giving now from ahead, as she came down enveloped in flung spray and cloven waves, was that of a steam-belching express train, a gigantic runaway engine ripping and snorting along a set track.
Sir Donald Mackinnon, on the bridge as his ship came round the Promontory, was staring out over the heaving water when he heard the buzz of the intercom phone, and a moment later his officer-of-the-watch came up behind him. “Captain, sir—radio office to speak to you.”
“Thank you.” Sir Donald walked across to the phone, said briefly: “Captain here.”
The Radio Officer reported, “We’re being jammed on V.H.F., sir. Could be ham radio, but I think the signals are being directed towards the ship.”
Sir Donald stiffened. “Is there any similarity with the signals you picked up when we were alongside that tanker?”
“Hard to say, sir. This is a lot weaker—I’d say farther off—and it sounds like single letters only.”
“Right. Thank you.” Sir Donald slammed the hand-set back on its bracket, his face white and tense. Back in Melbourne he’d been summoned to the offices of the Navy Board, given Shaw’s news. Now, it looked as though what he’d been warned about might be starting. He was about to ring the tween-deck when another phone buzzed and the REDCAP guard came on the line.
Sir Donald listened for a moment, then said quietly: “Very well. Switch off. Don’t worry about the keys—smash the panel. Report when you’ve done it—I’ll hold on.”
He heard the receiver put down on a ledge. He waited, feeling his stomach turn to water. God—this voyage! That damfool Admiral in Melbourne, who’d passed on Shaw’s warning but had refused to commit himself far enough to give permission for REDCAP to be set in neutral, who had hedged wildly, and hinted that as Master of the ship it would be up to Sir Donald to make his own decisions . . . the arrest, also in Melbourne, of that fellow Markham and the re-opening of the Gresham case ... the desertion of a young engineer called Siggings, in Melbourne again. One damn thing after another . . . and now perhaps the world in mortal danger through the medium of his cargo. He found his hand was shaking uncontrollably on the phone—why didn’t that fellow down below in the tween-deck smack it about a bit more lively?
The voice came unnaturally loud in his ear: “Switched off, sir!”
The Captain let out a long sigh. “Thank you.” Shakily he put the hand-set down. The day was cold, but there was sweat coursing down Sir Donald’s square face, and his legs felt like jelly as he moved back to the for’ard screen of the wheelhouse and glared out unseeingly across the tumbled water.
The New South Wales plunged on for Sydney; and, a little later, right down in her double bottoms, where Siggings had set it in place, the small metal box gave a subdued click-click and began to get just a fraction warm.
But this time there was no one to hear the click or to notice anything unusual.
Away across the racing seas and the wind-blown, icy spray, Shaw, still locked in the cupboard, had heard the tap of the key sending the signals out from the cabin. He had blasphemed viciously, bathed as he was in sweat and vomit. The shorts and longs, the three-letter groups, had been going out, piercing the air, winging out for REDCAP. Dit-da, da-dit-da, dit-dit-da-dit . . . on and on, again and again and again.
And then they had stopped.
Shaw heard the sound of Lubin’s voice, high and angry and scared. Some argument seemed to be going on. Shaw caught something about the check-signal, gathered that Lubin was not receiving it back after his transmission. Then the Morse signals were resumed. Shaw listened eagerly, feeling a wild excitement surge through him like a flood-tide. Once again the signals stopped, and Lubin’s voice came shrilly:
“Tien, I am sure they have neutralized it.”
After that, the loud voice of Karstad: “There’s always the alternative, idiot! It will mean a day’s delay and more fighting for all of us, but I, at least, have done my work properly.
We must go back now—we can do no good here.” There was a note of panic in the voice, and once again Shaw realized that the man was dead scared at being at sea in such conditions. He could hardly blame him for that. And now, presumably, there was no one left at the wheel—that in itself was an act of sheer lunacy. Then Shaw heard a sound as though some one was clumping towards the cupboard and a moment later the panel began to slide open. Shaw, stiff and cramped, swayed forward. But there was a triumphant grin on his face now, and Karstad, who had opened the panel, saw that grin.
The man’s eyes hardened and his mouth twisted with sheer hate. He stepped back, reached out and pushed Shaw over untO he was lying face upwards on the deck. Then he raised his foot, swung it, took Shaw a glancing blow almost in the mouth with his boot. Shaw, trying to struggle up, crashed backwards and hit his head on the bulkhead behind. Dimly, through the pain, he heard Karstad yelling at him:
“You—you will not laugh again . . . listen.” The man’s voice was mad-sounding now. “The New South Wales, she is going to blow up, and she will vanish somewhere between Sydney Heads and the jetty where she was to berth. And that girl will go up too—because of your stupid interference!”
Shaw shook his aching head, cleared it a little. There was a singing noise in his ears and again he felt horribly sick; he couldn’t speak at that moment, but his mind was full of deadly thoughts ... he heard Karstad’s maddened laugh and then saw the foot swinging for him again. He tried to squirm out of the way, but the boot took him in his side and he gave a low groan. He wasn’t conscious of being seized and bundled back into the cupboard, nor of the panel being slid across again, or of the boat, a little later, turning laboriously back to the north.
Dimly, as he struggled back to life some while after, he felt the terrible, frightening labouring of the motor-boat as she headed back for the Franklin Channel, with those roaring seas dead behind her now, giving her headlong speed, or overtaking her at times, lifting her high and throwing her down again with a backbreaking jerk, or rushing along her sides and filling her cockpits with boiling foam and green water. He knew now that she wasn’t going to last much longer, and in fact quite soon after that he heard a coughing splutter from the engine and then sounds of panic from the cabin. There was the crash of the for’ard door being flung back and then Karstad’s voice yelled on a high, screaming note:
“Tien, the engine’s packed up!”
After that, it could only be a matter of time.
As a big roller came down Shaw felt the whole boat lift right up, then smack down in a nasty twisting motion which made his ears sing and brought the terrible sickness into his throat again. Then there were more cries, and a desperate scream which seemed to be torn off short by the gale. Shaw’s prison sagged heavily to one side, sagged until he was almost lying on his back. He knew then, his seamanship sense told him unmistakably, that the end was near; she had broached-to and she was nearly on her beam ends now. It would be— could be—only minutes before she turned over and went down, sank into that boiling sea and vanished.
Once again Shaw sent up a prayer.
As he did so, he felt a trickle of water down the fan aperture, water which was soon coming in a steady stream, slopping around his body, slowly filling the little space.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Just for a moment, listening to the pounding of the seas and feeling the terrible shaking of the vessel as the water dropped aboard, Shaw felt that it was hopeless to go on. He was caught like a rat to drown in what he had always regarded as his own element, locked up and helpless and unable to take a sailor’s fighting revenge on the eternal sea.
But—he was the only person who could give the word that the New South Wales was herself in danger, and so he knew he had to hit back now in whatever way he could. It was only seconds before his spirit came back and took charge. He wriggled over on to his side and with difficulty in the narrow space, brought his knees up to his chin.
He thrust out with all his strength at the sliding panel.
It held firm. There was just a slight straining sound and that was all.
Fresh beads of sweat started out on his bloodied face and body, ran down his hair; the steadily rising water soaked coldly in to him and still he sweated. The small vessel sagged, lurched down into a trough; he heard the roar and rattle of the movable gear crashing in the cabin beyond . . . God, but she must go now, surely she must . . . but no—not quite yet. She righted a little but she wasn’t coming back quite so far after each roll now, as the weight of water swilled about her interior and held her down into the seas. Shaw strained away, giving everything he’d got, every last ounce of strength. Veins stood out like thick, throbbing ropes in his temples and his neck. His heart pounded away, his head felt full to bursting, the sinews of his legs were cracking.
And then it happened.
One moment his legs were pressing like that and the next they were free, jerking into space, and he saw the daylight, grey and weak and filtering through ports which were half under the racing seas. A voice, a voice shaken with the throb of panic, said:
“Come on out. And quickly.”
Shaw lifted his head, looked into Karstad’s eyes. The man was quivering with sheer fright, was clinging on to the centre stanchion. He held a gun pointing towards the cupboard, but his hand was shaking badly. He said wildly, “You are a sailor. You must save us.”
Shaw fell out into the cabin, lay there for a moment getting the strength back into his limbs, feeling the pain from Karstad’s boot still in his face and mouth. He knew he needn’t worry about the man any more now. He said, “I can’t do anything with my hands tied.” Karstad came across, undid the rope. Shaw rubbed at his chafed flesh. Then he remembered the panel of the deck hatch, and he rolled towards it through slopping water, pushed it open; the sea spilled in. Shaw staggered upright, held on to the edge of the settee, lashed out with a foot, jabbed it time and time again into Lubin’s transmitter, smashing dials and connexions, splashing up the sea-water filling the cavity.
Looking up, he caught Karstad’s eye. The man’s mouth hung open; saliva drooled down. Shaw asked, “You aren’t going to shoot, then?”
“You must save us.”
Shaw looked at him sardonically. “You may as well give me that, then.” He reached out and took the revolver. Karstad didn’t resist, didn’t seem to care.
Shaw asked, “Where’re the others?”
Karstad gestured towards the row of ports along the cabin’s starboard side, ports which looked as straight up into scudding cloud as those on the other side looked into turbulent green sea. He said fearfully, “They tried to swim . . . they did not get far. They drowned, Lubin and Tien, they went under—”
“You’re certain of that?”
“I saw them go.” Karstad was shaking violently. “Now it is up to you, that is why I have let you free. You know about these things, about boats and the sea. I do not. You must save us both.”
“Whatever I do,” Shaw said grimly, “I can’t save the boat. We’re going, you and I, the way the others went. Swim. We’re not so far off the shore now, and it’s the only way. She’s going any time.” He stood over Karstad threateningly. “First, you’re going to tell me what the danger to the New South Wales is. Exactly what, Karstad, so I can stop it happening.”
The man looked at him, white-faced and scared. He said,
“I dare not do that—”
“You’ll dare anything now.” Shaw’s eyes were slits; his long jaw came out and he breathed fast. His face showed murder in that moment. He said, “You’ll tell me the whole thing or you go into that rat-trap where Tien put me, Karstad.”
“You . . . would leave me to drown?” Karstad licked his lips.
Shaw said deliberately, “You give me just one good reason why I shouldn’t, you bastard.” He took the man by the throat, shook him savagely. “I’ll give you thirty seconds.”
He began pushing Karstad to the cupboard. The Norwegian swallowed, whimpered. Then he
said, “Very well, I will tell you. But you must promise to give me protection afterwards.”
“You’ll get protection all right—from your friends! I’ll guarantee that, Karstad. Now tell me. And hurry. Remember if you help to save life it may count in your favour.”
Shaw’s face went paler as the boat lurched. Karstad said almost in a whisper, “I told you, the liner will blow up between the Heads and Pyrmont, in Sydney harbour. There is a charge . . . it is set for one o’clock to-morrow afternoon, as near as we could do it.”
Water splashed up on to Shaw’s face, into his eyes. “Where’s it placed?”
“In the double bottom, in Number Five tank.” Shaking, Karstad described the metal box and the way it was fixed by means of its heat-resistant suckers. He went on, “It will blow up the nuclear reactor, you understand, and there will be a big explosion.”
“If they flood the tank, will that stop it going off?”
“No. The box will not be affected—”
“Did you put it there?”
Karstad shook his head. “No. It was a ship’s engineer, called Siggings.”
“Why was it done?”
“Because it will finish REDCAP. It is the alternative which Tien spoke of. Now that the main plan has failed, his country relies on this alternative to give her the opportunity for a normal, full-scale attack without incurring the risk of her own stocks being blown up.”
“So the main threat—an all-out attack—that’s still in fact there, as Tien suggested in the car?”
Karstar nodded. “Yes. And that is all I can tell you.”
“It’s about enough.” Shaw’s lips were tight, a bloodless thin line. But he mustn’t let himself get emotional just now, he was going to need all his reserves of coolness. Somehow in that moment his strength seemed buoyed up, reinforced by the over-riding urgency of preserving his life so that he could reach the New South Wales, or get word through to her, in time. He said, “Outside, Karstad. Out into the cockpit.”
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