Medusa

CHAPTER ONE

I remember standing by the taula on Bloody Island watching as the minute hand of my watch crept towards the vertical. Clouds were forming to the south over St Felip, the day already hot and airless, as I had known it would be, and the frigate lay to her reflection in the oily water, nothing moving on her deck, everything very still and silent. I was alone, and had been since Medusa'slaunch returned me to the island shortly after eight that morning. Gareth had accompanied me to the head of the ship's ladder. 'You'll be going ashore, will you?' By that he had meant, of course, going across to Mahon. 'Give my love to Soo.' He smiled then, a funny, crooked little smile, and then he had said, 'Pray for me, both of you.' A perfunctory salute and he had turned on his heel and disappeared back up to the bridge.

It wasn't until after I had landed and the launch was on its way back to Medusathat the full import of what he had said began to sink in. By then I had discovered, not only that Petra's inflatable wasn't at the landing place, but there was also no sign of Lennie's semi-rigid diving boat. I was on my own and plenty of time to think about it. Also, I had no means of knowing what was going on ashore.

The odd thing was that everything seemed normal enough, the usual volume of traffic along the waterfront, so shops and businesses must be opening as usual. But on the water itself virtually nothing moved. As for the outside world, now that I was off the frigate all I had was Petra's little portable radio, and listening to the news bulletins I got the impression the media was deliberately playing down events in Mahon. The unilateral declaration of inde pendence was referred to, but only briefly, and even the Overseas Service relegated it to a late spot in the World News. This could, of course, be the result of a local clampdown. It could equally be political pressure at home.

Sitting there in the sun, stripped to the waist as the day advanced, there was something quite uncanny about the brooding ruins of the hospital, the sense of isolation, and that lonely British warship riding there so peacefully to her reflection. She looked puny against the shimmering sprawl of La Mola and it was hard to realise that inside the battered plates of that grey hull the Communications Room must be humming with messages bounced off satellites as the well-known names of international politics, roused from their beds at an unaccustomed hour or called to their offices unexpectedly, endeavoured to grapple with the possible repercussions of Fuxa's seizure of power on a small island in the Western Mediterranean. Was Gareth right when he had said it was all because of this four and a half miles of deep, sheltered water that stretched away on either side of me?

Shortly after eleven a single mobile gun took up a position in the garden of a villa above Gala Llonga. Now, as I waited by the beacon beyond the dig, periodically checking my watch as the seconds ticked away to noon, I wondered whether it would actually open fire, whether there were other guns ranged on the frigate. La Mola had been very quiet since that early morning explosion.

Noon. And nothing happened. The sun blazed down, everything very still, the frigate's anchor chain hanging slack, the water flat like polished brass. Fearing the worst it was almost an anti-climax. Away to the south a plane rose from the airport. It looked like a military plane, but it flew west towards Ciudadela.

I stayed there, watching, and shortly after twelve-thirty alaunch moved out from the commercial quay heading straight for Bloody Island. It was the same launch that had brought the new harbour master out to Medusa.I turned the glasses on to the naval quay. Still the same three ships there — a fast patrol boat, one of the big fishery protection launches and the old minesweeper that had escorted Medusain. The launch came through the narrows, making for the frigate, and as it passed I could see a little group of three men in the stern of it. One was Romacho. He was now wearing an official cap and beside him was a man in uniform, an Army officer by the look of it. The third man was in civilian clothes and I wondered who it was. He had his back to me and it wasn't until he turned to speak to Romacho that I realised it was Fuxa himself.

So the RN presence was that important. The launch swung alongside the frigate's accommodation ladder where they were met by one of the officers, Mault I think, certainly not Gareth, and all three of them went on board.

I stayed there by the beacon, watching through the glasses, waiting to see what would happen now. They were on board exactly seventeen and a half minutes by my watch and it was Gareth himself who escorted Fuxa and his two companions to the head of the ladder, saluting perfunctorily, then turning away. The Army officer did not salute and there were no handshakes, the three of them hurrying down the ladder to the waiting launch without looking back.

I watched them all the time through the glasses, and all the way through the narrows they stood silent and grim-faced, none of them saying a word.

Nothing happened after the launch had returned to the inner harbour. Nobody else came out to the frigate, so I presumed the deadline had been extended. It was siesta time anyway. The day dragged on, no sign of Petra or Lennie, with the result that I was marooned in the midst of what now seemed something of a non-event, everything so quiet, so peaceful it was almost unbelievable, and only the absence of any movement in or out of the harbour to convince me of the reality of it.

I had time then to think about myself — my own life and how sailing, and a fascination for the precision of target shooting, had given me the means to live by my wits in a world that seemed to be getting everlastingly richer as more and more successful businessmen decided to make the Mediterranean their playpen. It had seemed so easy. Exciting too. Then I had met Soo and the urge to build something solid, a business of my own, a family, had brought me here.

And now?

I went over it all in my mind, sitting in the blazing sun beside the half-cleared outline of that fallen taula — the night of that Red Cross barbecue in the Quarries, the cave and the loss of the child, the murder of Jorge Martinez, that big beautiful catamaran and the blind stupidity of my desire to own it.

And Soo. My mind kept coming back to Soo. The only sheet anchor I had ever had. And I had lost her. Give my love to Soo,he had said with that funny little smile. And he was there, on that frigate, and she could see the ship from her bedroom window. Pray for me,he had said.

Hell! It was I who needed praying for, sitting alone beside a religious monument fashioned by Bronze Age men some three thousand years ago, and wanted by the police.

Shortly after four, with Mahon active again after the three-hour break, a convoy of over half a dozen yachts left. There was activity in the port area now. But still no sign of either Petra or Lennie, and no means of crossing the water to Mahon. The narrows on the north side of Bloody Island are barely three hundred metres wide and I was greatly tempted to swim across, but it would undoubtedly be under observation, and apart from the Naval Base, I was certain the whole peninsula that formed the northern arm of the harbour was in the hands of the new regime. How much of Menorca they held, outside of the Mahon area, I had no means of knowing. Not all of it probably. Several times I thought I heard firing away to the south-west, in the direction of the airport. Then suddenly there was the sound of engines, a distant rumble from the far end of the port, by the new cargo quay.

It was the Libyan freighter getting under way, the harbour tug pulling her bows clear and swinging them round, so that they were pointed straight towards me. At the same time, the harbour master's launch left the Estacion Maritima, accompanied by two other launches. I was standing by the red-flashing beacon again when they passed through the narrows, but I couldn't see who was on board the harbour launch. It was flanked by what looked like a harbour police launch and a customs launch. Only the harbour master's launch went alongside Medusa'sladder, and though somebody attempted to go on board, his way was blocked by a burly petty officer standing immovably halfway up it.

The little tableau remained motionless for some time, the man on the grating gesticulating very energetically and an officer, Sykes probably, on the deck above. I watched them arguing through the glasses until my attention was distracted by the increasing rumble of ships' engines. The freighter, with the tug leading it, was approaching the narrows. It was low in the water, not yet unloaded, so it could hardly be intending to leave port. And behind me, just visible beyond the rocks above Petra's landing place, I could see the bows of the small oil tanker lying in Cala Figuera beginning to swing as she fetched her anchor.

The tug was through the narrows by then and headed direct for Medusa.The beat of the freighter's engines slowed as she passed so close to me I could see that the Arabic letters of her name had been painted over some earlier name, the outline of which suggested that she had originally been Greek, possibly Russian, for the faint lettering appeared to be Cyrillic. The rusty plates slid by, the bridge housing at the stern seeming to tower over me.

In the distance I could just hear the tug exchanging words with the harbour launch over loudhailers, and at the same time Gareth appeared on the frigate's bridge wing. He had his hand to his mouth, holding a mike I think, because even at that distance I could hear his voice quite clearly, it was so powerfully amplified. He spoke in English, very simply: 7 have to warn you that any ship coming within two hundred metres of my anchorage will be regarded as having committed a hostile act.'He turned then and I think he must have given an order, for as Lieutenant Sykes hurried to his side and began repeating what he had said in Spanish, the turret of the two 4.5-inch guns slowly swivelled, the barrels no longer aimed at the heights above Gala Llonga, but being lowered, slowly and menacingly, to point directly at the freighter.

It flashed through my mind then what a chance he was taking — or was he bluffing? For a British warship to open fire on the ship of a country we were not at war with, however unfriendly that country might be, and to do it while anchored in the harbour of a Nato ally… It didn't bear thinking about and I almost held my breath as I waited to see what the freighter would do, wondering whether Gareth was acting on his own initiative or whether he was covered by explicit orders. I hoped, for his sake, that it was the latter.

Everything now was in slow motion. The launch had pulled away from Medusa'sside to join the others, the three' of them in a close huddle as though the vessels themselves were discussing the situation. The frigate's guns stayed implacably levelled at the approaching superstructure of the freighter, which was now barely moving. A sudden swirl of water at her stern and she was stationary, everything held motionless as in a still picture.

The sun had begun to set, a lovely golden glow lighting up the grey slab-plated side of the frigate. Time passed, nothing happening, but the tension seeming steadily to increase as the sunset glow deepened to red so that the I

villas above Cala Llonga and Gala Lladro were all aflame, the bare scrubland above taking fire.

The police launch was the first to break away, ploughing back through the narrows at full speed. At the same time the harbour launch went alongside the tug. It was there for several minutes, then it made across to the freighter, going alongside on the port hand where I couldn't see it. Meanwhile, the customs launch had passed astern of Medusaand disappeared in the direction of Cala Llonga, or perhaps further along the peninsula, by Lazareto Island. I couldn't follow its movements because it was hidden from me by the frigate.

By now lights had begun to appear along the Mahon waterfront and in the town above. The clouds had thickened, darkness closing in early. I could still just see the harbour launch. It paused briefly to turn and run parallel with the tanker, which was already approaching the narrows. Then, when it had resumed course for the Estacion Maritima, the tanker changed direction to pass out of my sight to the south of Bloody Island. At that moment Medusaleapt suddenly into fairy-like outline, her deck, upperworks and mast all picked out by strings of light bulbs — Gareth Lloyd Jones cocking a snook at the waiting ships and the shore. It was as if he was saying, 'Here I am, still anchored here and my guns ready. What are you going to do about it?'

After that I didn't stay much longer by the beacon. There was no point. It was already too dark to see what was going on ashore. The tug and the freighter had been joined by the tanker, all three of them anchored astern of the frigate and well beyond the two-hundred-metre protection zone Gareth had declared for himself. Stiff and tired, I went back to the camp, where I lit the pressure lamp, raided Petra's drink cupboard for a glass of brandy, and got the paraffin stove going to heat up one of her packets of instant food.

The sound of an engine sent me tumbling back to my lookout point by the red-flashing beacon. It was the harbour launch, back again, and I watched as the dim shape of it passed through the narrows, making straight for Medusa.The frigate had swung with the slight movement of the tide, so that through the glasses I had an even clearer view of the launch as it went alongside the ladder. One man only got off and was escorted to the bridge. It wasn't Romacho, and it certainly wasn't Fuxa. This was a much taller man wearing a seaman's cap and dark jersey.

A stone clinked behind me and I swung round as a voice spoke out of the darkness — 'Your grub's boiling over, mate.'

It was Lennie. He had rowed across in a borrowed dinghy from the little gut in the cliffs below Villa Carlos known as Gala Corb. 'I turned the stove off. Better eat it now, then if you wanter go ashore I'll take yer.' He was staggering off towards the dark bulk of the hospital ruins. 'They've kicked most of the prisoners out of the jail and locked up half a dozen senior officers of the Guardiaand the national police instead, including your friends Menendez and Molina. You'll be safe enough.' His voice was slurred and he moved with care for he had spent most of the day in the waterfront cafe-bars. No, he didn't know where Petra was, and he hadn't been near the chandlery nor seen anything of Soo. 'Wouldn't go near 'er, mate. I told yer. She fired me. Just like that. She can go to hell.' He was very drunk, holding himself stiff and erect.

His news, gathered at second hand in the waterfront cafe-bars, was that as yet the new regime controlled barely half the island. But they had the key points — La Mola and Punta de Santo Carlos to the south of the Mahon entrance, both airports, the radio and radar station on El 'For o, also the town of Alayor. But in the country south and west of Alayor there were rumours of fighting between local factions. They say the Russians are coming.' But he admitted that was just bar talk. 'They're full of talk over in the port, wild talk.'

He waved away my suggestion that he joined me and get some food into himself. 'Don't wan' food — 'nuther drink.' He had found the cupboard with the Soberano in it. 'Their own bloody fault, yer know. Didn't think it through.'

'How do you mean?'

But his mind had switched to something else. 'Pinched my boat.' He slopped the brandy into the glass, the bottle clinking on the rim, then slumped into a chair. 'Left it at the Club pontoon, only gone an hour — well, mebbe two. Bloody bastards!' His eyes focused on me with difficulty. 'What was that you asked? Oh yes. Didn't cotton on, the fools — all that bombing. Two nights ago. An' next day, orders of the Military Governor over in Palma they say, all them raw young conscripts spread around the island to protect the urbanizationsand foreign property. Clever! Did the job, yer see. One night's bombing and it got them La Mola. Hardly any military left in the barracks there.' And he added after a moment's thought, 'But there's talk of some regulars over to Ciudadela that could act as a rally — a rallying point. Talk, talk, talk… In one bar — yer know, the one by the commercial quay — there was a trucker came in said he'd seen military vehicles moving towards Alayor, told us Fuxa wouldn't be able to hold the airport for long. Then some silly bastard starts talking about the Russians. Snow on their boots!' He snickered. 'That was a long time ago.' His voice trailed away, the hiss of the pressure lamp making him sleepy. 'Didn't think it through,' he said again. 'All part of the plan an' they fell for it. Clever!' His head was lolling. 'An' now that Navy ship, boxed in with a Libby bloody freighter sitting on 'er tail.'

He didn't seem to have anything more to tell me, so I asked him why he had slipped away from the petty officers' mess that morning. 'You left me stranded.'

He nodded, mumbling something about, 'It's all right for you'.

'You should have checked the chandlery, had a word with my wife and made certain Petra was all right.' His head was sinking into his arms. I reached out across the table and shook him. 'It wasn't the Australian Navy you deserted from, was it? It was the Royal Navy.'

'Wot if it was?'

'And that's why you got pissed.'

'Well, wouldn't you, mate?' There was a note of belligerence in his voice now. 'I do'n want ter think back to them days. And those petty officers — Chris'sakes! They could've picked me up jus' like that.'

I told him he was a bloody fool. All those years ago.. But he was fast asleep, his head fallen sideways on to his arm. I finished my meal, then put what clothes I had on, turned the pressure lamp off and went down to the landing point. It was a plastic dinghy, and though he had been drunk, he had still hauled it out on to the rocks, stowed the oars neatly and made fast the painter.

The water looked inky black as I floated it off and stepped in, Mahon a blaze of light as though nothing had happened and it was just a normal evening. Fortunately there was no wind, for the boat was no better than a plastic skimming dish. Clear of Bloody Island the brightly lit shape of the frigate blazed like a jewel, the tug and the freighter in black silhouette, the tanker barely visible and no sign of the launches. I made straight for Gala Figuera and our own quay. My car was there, but nothing else, no sign of Petra's Beetle. No lights on in the windows of the house either and when I crossed the road I found the door to the chandlery standing half-open.

I think I knew by then there was nobody there. I called, but there was no answer, the only sound a sort of scratching as though a net curtain was flapping in the breeze from an open window. It came from above and as I climbed the stairs I had an unpleasant feeling there was something in the house, something alive.

I reached the landing and stopped. The scratching sound came from the bedroom, and suddenly I knew. The dog! 'All right, Benjie.' The poor little beast couldn't bark and as I pushed open the door I could smell it, a mixture of urine and excreta. He flung himself at me, making that extraordinary singing noise in the head. I switched on the light. He was shivering uncontrollably. Apart from the messes and the smell, the bedroom looked much as usual. I got a bowl of water from the kitchen and he drank it straight off, lapping with desperate urgency. Clearly he had been shut in that room for some considerable time and Soo would never have done that. She doted on the animal.

I went through into the front room then, and as soon as I switched on the light my heart sank — a chair tipped over, Soo's typewriter on the floor, its cable ripped out as though somebody had tripped over it, a jug of flowers lying in a litter of papers, a damp patch on the Bokhara rug and an occasional table on its side with one leg smashed. There had been a struggle and I stood, staring helplessly at the evidence of it, asking myself why — why for God's sake should anybody want to attack Soo, and what had they done with her? Anger, a feeling of desperation, of inadequacy almost, came over me, not knowing where she was or what to do. I got some food for the dog. He was hungry as well as thirsty. The fact that he hadn't been able to contain himself might be partly nerves, but clearly he'd been shut up for some time, so whatever had happened to Soo had happened quite a few hours back. I cleared up the mess in the bedroom, moving about in a daze, wondering all the time where she was, what had happened. I found myself back in the front room, in the office, staring out at the dark glimmer of the water. The dog was pawing at my trousers.

I took it down the stairs and out into the road, where it did what it had to while I stared across the water to the lit outline of the frigate. A bell sounded above the cliffs in Villa Carlos. I glanced at my watch, scooped up the dog and ran back up the stairs. The news was already being read as I switched on the radio, the announcer in the middle of saying that the self-styled President of Menorca bad called upon Moscow to recognise the new island republic and provide immediate assistance in dealing with dissident elements endeavouring to impose what was described as 'a reactionary fascist regime centred on the old capital, Ciudadela'.

I switched to the World Service where it was now the lead story, the announcer listing a whole series of countries who had been asked to recognise the island republic. So far only Libya and Albania had complied. Madrid had still not taken any positive action, but there was clearly intense activity on the political front. The Spanish ambassador had been to the Kremlin and it was reported that the Government had called upon all EEC countries to assist in maintaining Spanish sovereignty over the Balearic Islands. More practically, Spanish Navy ships in Barcelona had been put on alert and parachutists were standing by.

But, listening to that news, it was clear everybody was waiting upon Moscow, and Moscow was saying nothing, for the moment. Towards the end there was a reference to a British frigate being on a courtesy visit to the island, and the Foreign Secretary, in answer to a question in the House, had made a statement to the effect that if the ship was molested in any way the Captain would be fully entitled to take any action he felt appropriate. In other words, the responsibility for anything which might happen was Gareth's. No wonder the poor devil had asked us to pray for him!

Comments followed from BBC reporters in various capitals, but by then I was on the phone, enquiring about Soo. The Renatos first, but they were out and the others I contacted knew nothing. In desperation I tried the hospital, but the line was either engaged or out of order. I went down the stairs again. The store was locked and no sign of Ramon. But he had been there that morning for he had signed out paint, varnish and anti-fouling to Rodriguez who was the only one left working on the boats. Life went on, it seemed.

I returned to the office, put the typewriter back on the desk and sat there staring out of the window to the lit frigate, wondering what the hell had happened here, where they had taken her, and why — why, for God's sake? Until I knew that… A door slammed, feet on the stairs, and before she burst in I knew who it was. 'Thank God you're here,' she cried. 'I've been searching everywhere. Have you found her?'

'No. When did you discover she had gone?'

'This afternoon. Some time around four.' And she added, speaking breathlessly, 'Soo was all right this morning. We had breakfast together.' She had come straight here, she said, after leaving Lennie and myself at the pontoon and had phoned, first the Military HQ, then the Naval Base. 'I don't think it did any good. It took so long to get hold of anybody in authority.' She sank into the armchair by the window. 'God! I'm tired now. What do you think happened? The typewriter was on the floor, that chair broken, everything a mess. She'd put up a fight before they could drag her away. Who were they? Have you any idea?' Her eyes bulged as she stared at me. 'No, of course you haven't.'

'Did you go into the bedroom?' I asked.

'Yes, of course. I searched the whole house.'

'You didn't see the dog?'

'No.'

So the poor little beast had been so scared at what had happened it must have hidden itself under the bed. 'And there was no mess?' She shook her head. 'Then it looks as though they came for her late morning, around lunchtime.'

'Yes, but who?' She was slumped there, staring miserably at the water below, her big capable hands folded in her lap. One of the side zippers of her jeans had slipped to show a little bulge of brown flesh. She was as swarthy as an Indian. 'The police or these new people? Do they know you're back, here in Mahon? There must be a reason. There's always a reason.'

'We'll know in due course.' A note of resignation had crept into my voice.

'I'll make some tea.' She bounced to her feet, her face suddenly alive again, the relief of something positive revitalising her. 'Or would you prefer a drink?'

'No,' I said. Tea will do fine.' I didn't care what I had.

When she came back I was still sitting there. 'Noon,' I said.

'You think that's when it happened?' She poured a cup and passed it to me.

'No, he was given till noon.' I told her about the new harbour master, his visit to Medusaand how, after the deadline was up, Fuxa himself had gone out to see Gareth. 'But he hasn't moved. He's still there and lit up like a Christmas tree.'

'What are those ships doing there?' She had poured herself a cup and was sitting down again, lying half back in the chair.

'Waiting to tow him out,' I said.

'Well, why don't they?' She was staring out of the window towards the fairy outline of the frigate bright against the dark bulk of the peninsula behind. 'Oh, I see. They're anchored.' She turned and looked at me. 'Why?'

'Because he's threatened to blow them out of the water if they come any nearer.' And as I told her what I thought the purpose of his presence here in Mahon was I could see the same thought was in both our minds.

'What are you suggesting? That they've taken Soo because… Oh no, surely not. How would they know?' She was leaning forward now, staring at me, her eyes wide and appalled. We both knew what she meant.

'There was gossip,' I said. 'There must have been gossip.'

'Oh yes, there was plenty of that — after she lost the baby. In a place like this, a tight little circle, tongues wag all the time. Gareth here, a British naval officer — they would have had their eyes on him anyway, but after what happened… And there was you and me. Our friends made a meal of it.' And she added, frowning, 'But are you really suggesting Soo could be used as a hostage in that way, to force Gareth to take his ship out of Mahon?'

'I don't know. They might think it a possibility.' I shook my head, the warmth of the tea comforting. 'Anyway, it's the only motive that occurs to me.'

'So who do we contact?'

There was only one person I could think of. 'Evans.' But how to reach him? 'Where's Fuxa established himself, do you know?'

'Esmerelda said he'd taken over the Military Government Headquarters block on Isabel II.'

That makes sense. I'll phone there.' I drank the rest of my tea and was just getting to my feet when Petra leaned forward, peering intently through the window.

'Wait a minute. There's a boat coming in.'

As it came alongside our quay I saw it was Medusa'slaunch. A young midshipman jumped ashore. It was a boy named Masterton. He glanced quickly left and right as though to make certain he wasn't going to be challenged, then scuttled quickly across the road. The bell sounded and I went down. 'Good evening, sir. Captain's compliments and would you be good enough to join him on board. He says it's important.' And he handed me a note.

It was very short and had clearly been dashed off in a hurry: / am sending the launch for you. Something has occurred that you should know about. It concerns Soo. Hurry, it's urgent. Gareth.Petra was at my elbow and I passed it on to her. 'It's what we feared.' I grabbed my anorak. 'Look after the dog, will you? Take it round to the restaurant if you're not spending the night here. They look after it sometimes.' I found a key for her, checked that I had my own, and then I was across the road and into the launch. 'Is there somebody with the Captain?' I asked the youngster as we swung away from the quay and headed for the lit outline of the frigate.

'Not at the moment, sir. But I think he's expecting someone.'

'Who? Do you know?'

But he couldn't tell me that. 'There's been quite a bit of coming and going. First of all it was the President's personal aide in a speedboat out of Gala Llonga, then it was the President himself. That was just after midday.' There had apparently been other visitors, but they had come out from Gala Llonga, which was why I had not seen them. None of them, except Fuxa, had been allowed on board. 'The Captain says that's because we don't recognise the new government here.'

'What about the three launches that came out from Port Mahon just as it was getting dark?' I asked him. 'One man was allowed on board. Do you know who he was?'

'No, sir. A seaman of some sort.'

'Is he still there?'

'No. He went off towards Gala Llonga in the harbour launch. I heard him say he was going to fetch somebody. The other boats have gone, but we've still got three ships anchored near. They wanted to tow us out, but our Captain wasn't having that.' And he added, 'What's it like ashore, sir? It all looks very normal from where we're anchored, though we can hear firing sometimes away to the south, towards the airport.'

Excited to be caught up in an event that was world news, he chatted on like that all the way out to the green-flashing beacon on the south side of Bloody Island. It slid past us very close, the bulk of the hospital a solid backdrop, the tower outlined against the stars, and I was wondering what Gareth intended to do, how I could persuade him that Soo's life was more important than his career. I was leaning against the canopy, the beat of the engine pulsing through my body and the launch already swinging in a wide arc to come alongside, the lit outline of the frigate growing larger.

There was no other reason that I could see for what had happened. If somebody had told them the commander of the British frigate was in love with my wife… But did they really believe the man would take his ship to sea without specific orders? Thinking it over, it seemed barely possible, but then men who live by violence often find it difficult to accept that others are governed by a code of social behaviour and operate within the framework of a disciplined order. I had seen something of that myself. The idea that every man has his price is mirrored in the belief that violence is totally effective in changing people's minds. Why else use torture?

It was that thought that was in my mind as we slid alongside the frigate's accommodation ladder and I stepped out on to the wooden grating. The sudden rush to leave Malta, the way Gareth had dropped his anchor in about the most conspicuous position in the whole long inlet, the blazing lights above my head — the ship was there for a purpose, and that purpose could only be to act as a block to any power thinking of supporting a rebel regime unopposed. If I was right, then Soo's life was of total unimportance as compared with the job Lieutenant Commander Lloyd Jones RN had been sent here to do. Her death, even her torture, could make no difference, and knowing that, I felt sick with fear as I climbed the gangway.

I was met at the top by one of the officers, I can't remember who. He took me to the Captain's day cabin where we had breakfasted — was it only that morning? I barely heard him tell me the Captain would be with me shortly as I tried to marshal my arguments, my mind perversely concentrated on all the forms of torture I had heard and read about, a picture there as vivid as the day I had seen it — on a beach in Mali, a palm-frond hut, and lying there in his own excreta with the flies crawling, the only man I have ever seen tortured to death. His face — I could see his face still, the lips chewed to ribbons, the teeth protruding white and the eyes starting from his head. And then I was thinking of Soo as I had last seen her, laughing as she had left meon the quay at Addaia.

I went over to the settee and sat down, suddenly tired, the two images merging, so that in my mind's eye I saw them as one, the Arab's tortured features superimposed on Soo's. I don't remember how long I sat there, numbed at the vision of what might happen to her if Gareth didn't take his ship out of Mahon. This wasn't just a matter of Ismail Fuxa and his personal ambitions. It was bigger than that, much bigger, Fuxa just a pawn in a game being played far away from Menorca behind closed doors. Political figures with hot lines and satellites at their disposal. A young woman, held as a hostage — that was nothing. A unit of flesh. Disposable. Just as this ship was disposable, the men I had lived with on the hurried run from Malta…

'Glad we were able to contact you.' His voice was flat. It seemed tired, and he didn't smile as he crossed the cabin, pulled up a chair and sat down facing me. 'I don't know how long we've got. Not long.' He sounded resigned, his face grey as though he hadn't slept for a long time. I thought he had aged since I had seen him that morning, the broad forehead puckered deeper, the lines at the corners of eyes and mouth more pronounced, and he just sat there staring at me dumbly.

'Where is she?' I asked.

He gave a little shrug. But he didn't say anything. It was as though he didn't know how to begin.

They've contacted you, have they?'

He nodded.

'So where is she? Where is she being held?'

Then you know.' He seemed relieved, the knowledge that he hadn't got to break the news to me releasing his tongue. 'I sent across to Bloody Island for you as soon as it was dark, but you weren't there. Then we saw lights in your place at Gala Figuera, so I took a chance and sent young Leslie Masterton in to see if you were there. I'm glad you were.' His eyes were fixed on me. 'What happened? Do you know?'

I told him briefly of the scene that had greeted me, and then, unable to restrain myself, I burst out, 'It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't pushed your way into our lives. It's your bloody fault. All your fault.' And seeing that image again in my mind's eye, I leaned forward and grabbed hold of him. 'Who was it came for her? Who were they that grabbed her so brutally. Benjie — that little dog of ours — was shit scared. He's always so clean, and a brave little beast normally. Those bastards must have been rough with her.'

'All right, all right.' He was holding up his hand, pleading with me. 'You've told me how they took her, and you're right, it's because of me. I'm sorry. It's my fault.' And then, his voice suddenly stronger, 'But it's happened. You have to accept that. We both do.' His tone took on a note of authority. The question now is how we handle the situation. They started piling on the pressure for me to take the ship out shortly after two o'clock local time, an emissary from some.sort of military commander. He came out in a speedboat from Cala Llonga. I wouldn't allow him on board, of course, and I told him my position was unchanged I could only put to sea when I had orders to do so. The same thing I had told that man Fuxa. Until then I would remain here. He came out once more, threatening to open fire on me, and I warned him that if he did so I had the authority of the British Government to take what action I considered necessary to defend my ship. In short, I asked him to tell his general not to be a bloody fool and push me that hard.'

'Soo,' I said. 'What about Soo?' My voice was too high and I tried to get a grip on myself. 'All you've talked about so far is your problem. I'm not interested. It's my wife I'm concerned about.'

'Do you think I'm not concerned? What the hell do you take me for?' He straightened his shoulders, his hands clasped tightly. 'I'm sorry.' The anger was gone from his voice. 'My problems are my own. I agree. But they do concern you.'

'No, you/ I said. 'Not me. My concern — '

He suddenly banged the coffee table between us. Will you listen, for God's sake. I've told you. We haven't much time. And my position, as Captain of one of HM ships, is very relevant to what has happened to Soo. I have my orders, and the fact that she's a hostage — ' He was interrupted by a knock and his eyes flicked to the doorway. 'Come in, Leading Seaman Stanway.' He was always very punctilious about rank and I had to sit silent while he went through a whole sheaf of messages.

'We may be an old ship,' he said, as he dismissed the young seaman, 'but they've fitted us out with a pretty sophisticated communications set-up so I'm getting a steady stream of messages, news briefs, and of course we're picking up secret naval information and orders. Besides Victor Sykes, who is not only fluent in Spanish, but also speaks French, German and Italian, I have a man on loan from one of the oil companies who speaks a number of the Arab languages, also a PO who has recently completed a Russian language course.' He was still looking down at the messages in his hand. 'That Russian cruiser was sighted visually just south of Spartivento at 16.03- She was steaming at thirty knots plus. The course and speed of the other ships I mentioned suggest that they will rendezvous with her fourteen miles east of La Mola shortly after midnight. So it's like I said, we haven't much time.'

'Time for what?' I was losing patience with him. 'It's Soo I'm worried about. I want to know where she is, whether she's all right, and I want her back — safe.'

He didn't say anything, his hands clasped tight on the wadge of papers, his shoulders stooping forward. God! he looked tired, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders and it was too much for him. 'There's a signal here says a D-20 class destroyer, two frigates and some fast attack craft have just left Barcelona. They'll be joined by a couple of subs.' Even his voice sounded tired. 'There's some French warships about to sail from Toulon. They're too far away, of course, and they're not members of Nato. The Italians are even further. The earliest any of those ships can be off the entrance here is 03.00. That'll be at least two hours too late.'

'Why are you telling me this?' But I knew why. I had been right about his role. 'You're going to stay here. Is that what you're saying?'

He shrugged, an almost Gallic gesture, the palms of his hands spread.

Silence then, both of us thinking our own thoughts. He got slowly to his feet and began pacing up and down. Could Instill persuade him? 'If you could pretend to leave. A gesture. Enough at least to get them to return her…'

He turned on me then, his voice rising on a note of anger as he said, 'Don't be a fool, man. You're not dealing with amateurs.' And he added, 'You don't know Pat. I do. He's cold-blooded, ruthless. That's his nature, and all his adult life he's lived in the cold-blooded, ruthless world of violence and terrorism.'

'But he let you go,' I said. 'That's what you told me, sitting right here at your desk. You said he dropped you overboard up-tide of the buoy, so you'd drift down on it. And you promised you wouldn't tell anyone who he was.'

He nodded, standing in the centre of the cabin, a silhouette against the light so that I couldn't see the expression on his face. 'Yes.' His voice was toneless. 'He gave me my life, and I made a promise.'

'Why? The blood tie? The fact that you share the same father. Is that why he saved your life?'

'No.' And after a moment he went on slowly, 'No, I don't think it was that, more a matter of putting me in his debt. I've never been a part of Pat's world, so I can't be sure, but I have an idea that, besides the ruthlessness, there's a primitive sense of loyalty. You do somebody a good turn, then you're in credit with him and some day you can make a claim on him.' He glanced at his watch. 'I'll find out about that soon enough. Won't be long now.'

'You're expecting him?'

'Yes.'

'So what are you going to do?'

He sat down opposite me again and I thought for a moment he had reached a decision. But all he said was, 'Have you any idea of the average age of this ship's company?' He was interrupted again. More messages. He flicked through them, nodded briefly to Stanway, turning back to me and saying, 'Well, have you? The average age.' He slapped his hand on the table. 'You won't believe this, but it's not quite twenty-three and a half. That's the averageage of everybody, officers, senior rates, the lot. They're kids, most of them, with mothers and fathers, girlfriends, quite a few of them married, and I'm responsible. Not just for them, for their lives, but to all those people I've never met.'

'All right,' I said. 'So what areyou going to do?'

'What can I do?' He got suddenly to his feet. 'You don't seem to realise — this potty little island is the centre of the world. Just for the moment. For the next few hours.' He started to pace up and down. 'There are warships converging on it, the whole apparatus of military confrontation beginning to be put in motion. The heads of half a dozen of the world's most powerful countries will be consulting their advisers, despatching envoys with cautionary notes, even talking to each other direct, and all because of a little jumped-up peasant farmer called Ismail Fuxa, a bunch of disaffected locals and a couple of hundred highly trained professional soldiers, commandos probably, and almost certainly from an Arab country. In these circumstances, speed and ruthlessness, a willingness to take chances — hit the other fellow before he knows what's happening. God! I've had plenty of instruction on this. If you strike fast enough and hard enough you can change the face of the world. And you're asking me..'

The loudspeaker interrupted him. "There's a boat coming out from Gala Llonga, sir. The speedboat again, I think.'

He picked up the mike. 'Very well. It should be a man named Evans. Have him met at the ladder and if it is bring him straight to my cabin.'

'Very good, sir.'

He turned back to me. 'You're worried about your wife, and so am I. But just try to get this clear in your mind — you, me, Soo, all the boys on this ship, we're just pawns in a game that is being played on a world board.' He turned away, staring out to the lights of the waterfront. 'It will all depend now on whether I can persuade Pat.' He gave a little shrug. 'Frankly I doubt it. This must surely be the biggest thing he's ever been involved in.' He looked at his watch. 'Cape Spartivento is about two-forty miles from here — eight hours' steaming, something like that, and it's nearly nine already. Five hours gone. By midnight a whole fleet of ships could be gathering off the entrance here. An hour after that they could be steaming in past Villa Carlos, and if they were able to do that unopposed.. Then it would be a case of possession being nine-tenths of the law. International law, that is, and Fuxa has appealed to Moscow for help. Belatedly Spain has called upon her EEC partners to assist in maintaining her sovereignty here.'

He was running over it again for his own benefit, not mine. 'And on our side — ' He was at the port hole. 'Mahonnaise!That's what Richelieu's chef called his version of the local allioli.You know what that was for?' He was talking for the sake of talking. 'For the banquet. The French were holding a banquet here at Mahon after their victory over Byng. We'd held the islands for almost fifty years, from 1708 till 1756. Mahonnaise!'he said again. 'Poor Byng!' His voice had dropped to a whisper. 'We were here for another nineteen years, from 1763, and then yet again for four very important years during the Napoleonic Wars. That was when Nelson was supposed to have stayed up there at Golden Farm.'

He turned back to me, smiling sardonically. 'You see, I've been well briefed on the naval background. Grand Harbour, Marion, Gibraltar, a string of naval strongholds stretching across the Western Mediterranean. We've held them all, and I wouldn't be surprised if there aren't quite a number of people back home, people who are in a position to influence events, who still hanker after them. So you see — ' He hesitated. 'What I'm trying to make you understand, Mike, is that we're all just pawns — all of us who are here on the spot where it's happening. Pat included. I don't know what he gets out of it, but there's nothing you or I could offer him — ' He swung round at the sound of the loudspeaker again. 'Yes?'

'It is Mr Evans, sir. I'll send him up, shall I?'

'Is he on his own?' Gareth's voice sounded suddenly nervous.

'There's three of them altogether, but he's the only one who's come aboard and he's asking to see you personally.'

'Then have him sent up right away.'

'Very good, sir.'

The loudspeaker clicked off, Gareth standing by his desk fiddling with a ruler. Was he scared of the man? The spate of words he had been pouring out to me was in itself a sign of nerves. 'Better let me do the talking.' He was on edge and I Wondered how much of a hold this half-brother of his had on him. The years at Ganges,then on that houseboat in the mud gut at Felixstowe Ferry. And Evans — he must be very sure of himself, to come on board this ship.

The knock came sooner than I had expected. Gareth sat himself down abruptly at his desk. 'Come in.'

It was Davison. 'Mr Evans, sir.'

'Show him in. Then draw the curtain and wait outside.'

He seemed taller, the face more craggy, and the neck solid as a stone column. He wore no hat, his dark hair rumpled, and his shirt and the camouflage jacket were open at the neck. He was smiling, but no warmth in it, just an indication that he was prepared to be reasonable — or was he nervous, too, was there a certain insecurity under that tough exterior?

'Come in, Pat.' Gareth had risen to his feet. 'Sit down.' He waved him to a chair. 'Mike Steele you know.'

'Yeah, we've met before.' He sat down, smiling at me, his voice low key. 'How's the boat behaving?' But he didn't expect an answer for he turned to Gareth, the smile gone from his face. 'Well, when do you leave?' And he added, 'It better be soon. Very soon.'

Gareth sat down opposite him. 'Didn't they tell you, about the engines?'

'Don't give me that crap.'

'We have condenser trouble.'

'I said, don't give me that crap.' The voice had hardened. 'The oldest gimmick there is — can't move because the engines don't work.' He laughed, his voice a sneering mockery. 'Considering why you're here, it's hardly likely their fucking Lordships would have let you to sea with engines that were on the blink. So you get your fancy marine engineer on the blower and tell him to start up.'

'Unfortunately, you're wrong about the engines.' The trembling of his lower lip somehow made the statement unconvincing. 'You should know how mean things can be in the Royal Navy. This is an old ship and she was fitted out in a hurry.'

'So that you, and the rest of them on board, could be blown to hell. You always were a soft option, boy. You sit here for another two or three hours… Look, the bastards who give the orders, they aren't going to be here to hold your hand when Fuxa gets the support he's asked for and all hell breaks loose.' He leaned suddenly forward, his voice softer, more urgent. 'Don't be a sucker. You're expendable, the whole lot of you. Nobody cares about you. So be sensible. And if you want to stick to that fiction about the engines, then there's a tug and two other ships waiting out there to give you a tow.'

'If I go at all I'll go under my own steam. Not under tow. And what I do depends on my orders.'

There was a long silence after that, the two of them staring at each other, and in that silence I heard my own voice, sounding like a stranger, as I said, 'And what about my wife?'

There was no answer, both of them apparently locked in their own thoughts.

'Where is she?'

Evans turned slowly and looked at me. 'Not far away.' He said it so reasonably, as though kidnapping a woman was the most ordinary thing in the world. 'I'll come to her in a moment.' He glanced at his watch. 'It's nine forty-seven. I'll give you until ten p.m. to sort your engines out and get under way. Fifteen minutes. Okay?' He had risen to his feet.

'And if I don't?' Gareth hadn't moved from his chair and the silence stretched between them as they stared at each other like a pair of gladiators.

'It's been a long time,' Evans said. 'Must be four years now.'

'Just on five.'

'Yeah. Well, you would remember, wouldn't you. Moira wrote me you'd been picked up. Sent me a copy of the East Anglianwith a picture of you tied to the buoy.' His mouth stretched to something close to a grin, the teeth bared. 'And now they've landed you with something that looks to me like a bloody suicide mission.' He leaned forward again. 'Look, boy, you owe it to yourself, to the men you've got cooped up in this tin can they've given you get out now, before it's too late.'

Gareth stared at him as though hypnotised.

'Well, say something, for Christ's sake. What's it to be? Stay here and get pulverised to nothing, or up your hook and get to hell out before it's too late?'

A funny little half-smile showed on Gareth's face. He shook his head. 'Come off it, Pat. You're not here just to try and save my life again. You're here because you know damn well the presence of one of HM ships in Mahon harbour makes the whole thing impossible. Your plan of operations depends on two things for success — surprise and unimpeded access to the harbour here. The first you've achieved. In fact, your people exploited the element of surprise so well that you were able to seize control of all the key positions at this end of the island. What you didn't expect was that there would be a Nato warship anchored in Port Mahon. Your coup now needs the backing of a major power and I doubt very much whether you'll get it as long as this tin can, as you call it, remains anchored here. At least that's my reading of all the flurry of signals my Communications Office is picking up.'

His voice had become stronger, more authoritative as he developed his argument. Now he leaned forward, both elbows on the desk, his eyes fixed on his half-brother. 'My advice to you — it's the same advice as you've just been giving me — get out now, while you can.' Abruptly his right hand came up, jabbing a finger. Time is against you, man. You know it. I know it.'

'You'll be smashed to hell, boy.'

'Maybe. But I don't think so.' Somehow his voice managed to carry conviction. 'By dawn you'll be faced with crack Spanish troops and the arrival of the first of their naval units.'

'And how will they get into Mahon? We'll blast them out of the water with those big guns on La Mola. As for troops — what troops? They can't land…'

'Paratroops,' Gareth said quietly. 'I've just heard they'll be taking off about an hour before dawn.'

'Thank you. I'll pass the information on. But I think Madrid may have second thoughts. Landing paratroops anywhere on Menorca would amount to invasion of the new republic's territory, and with the powerful support we shall then have — '

'That's provided you can get Medusaout of the way/ Gareth cut in. 'That's why you're here, isn't it?' And he repeated his previous argument: 'Because you know damn well that support won't be forthcoming so long as there's a Nato presence in Port Mahon.'

'So you won't listen to reason.' The line of the man's mouth had hardened, so had his voice. There was anger in it now as he said, 'Then I'll have to use another form of persuasion. The woman. We're holding her hostage for your departure.' He turned to me. 'Your wife, Steele. You haven't said much so far, but I'm telling you now, if you don't want her death on your hands, you'd better start persuading young Gareth here to get the hell out of Mahon.'

'Where is she?' I asked.

'I told you, not far from here.'

'Was it you who broke into the house and took her?'

He shook his head. 'Not me. Two of my crew. You met them the day you agreed to swap Thunderflashfor that fishing boat of yours. They say she fought like an alley cat.'

'Is she all right? Is she hurt?'

'They had to tie her down, that's all.' He was looking straight at me. 'No, she's not hurt. Not yet.' He turned back again to Gareth and added, 'But she will be if you don't get out of here fast.'

'I have my orders.'

Then get some new ones. Tell them there's a woman hostage and you're in love with her. You arein love with her, aren't you?' Gareth's eyes flicked in my direction and he passed his tongue over his lips. Evans was grinning, knowing now that his information was correct. 'You can have her back the instant you're clear of Port Mahon. I'll hand her over to Steele here. That suit you?'

Gareth half shook his head, his hands locked, the fingers moving. I thought I detected a new mood, one of indecision. Evans saw it, too, and it was then that I heard him say, 'Look, Gareth, the people I'm with aren't squeamish, you know. Nor am I. But they'rereal hard. You know what I mean?'

Gareth half shook his head again, his eyes slitted as though wincing in advance of what he seemed to know was coming.

'Good. I think you do.' Evans swung round on me. 'But for your benefit I'll spell it out. If your wife's lover — ' the words were spoken quite viciously, so that it was obvious he got a vicarious pleasure out of his shock use of them — 'doesn't shift his ship out of here within quarter of an hour, you could be getting her back in bits and pieces. Okay?' He got to his feet.

I had an instant ghastly picture in my mind of Soo laid out on a wooden slab while a man stood over her with an axe, her arms stretched out and pinioned ready for the blow. I felt sickened, and glancing across at Gareth I saw his face was ashen. What must have been going on in his mind at that moment I cannot think, Soo's life balanced against those years of being trained to carry out the orders of his naval superiors, and all the time the knowledge that forces beyond his control were moving inexorably to a point of crisis. And if he gave in to Evans's demands I had the feeling he would be doing so on the basis that, whatever he did, he and his men were doomed to extinction.

Evans glanced at the clock on the wall, then at his watch. 'Okay, so you're on local time. It's now 21.53. If you're not fetching your anchor by 22.10 — '

'I can't do it. Not to an exact deadline.' Once again he was arguing that the state of the ship's engines made an immediate move impossible. I don't know when he decided to do what he finally did, but it must have been at about this point, and he must have been something of a natural actor — maybe that was the Celt in him — but he did manage eventually to convince Evans there was a problem with the engines. I think what finally did it was an open discussion over the telephone with Robin Makewate, his Marine Engineer Officer, which ended with him saying, 'Half an hour then. I'll have them standing by the anchor at 22.15. I want power on that one engine by 22.15 at the latest. Without fail, Robin… Yes, that's an order. Do it how you like, but get one of them going by then or we're in trouble.'

He put the phone down and turned to Evans. 'That's the best I can do. I presume you didn't come on board without making some provision against my detaining you here?'

'Correct. VHP contact.' He patted the sagging pocket of his camouflage jacket. 'If I don't report in on the hour…' He gave a little shrug. 'But don't worry, I'll be on to them in a minute. Meantime, you want to know how we hand the woman back. Since you've got Steele here, and she's his wife, it better be to him.'

They discussed it between themselves, no reference to me and Soo treated as though she was some sort of parcel that was proving difficult to deliver. In the end it was agreed that Evans and I should be landed on Bloody Island to await the frigate's departure. As soon as it was out past the island of Lazareto, Evans would radio his base contact and Soo would be delivered to me in exchange for Evans. 'I'll have the Sergeant of Marines issue you with a gun,' Gareth said to me. 'You'll have to sign for it, of course, and somehow it will have to be returned.' He turned back to Evans. 'I take it you're not armed.'

Evans laughed. 'Not much point, one man against a whole ship's company.'

Gareth nodded and dabbed a number on the intercom system. 'Have Sergeant Simmonds report to my cabin and tell the First Lieutenant I want a word with him.' He went to the curtain and pulled it back. 'Escort Mr Evans to the head of the ladder,' he told Davison. 'He'll be sending his boat back to Cala Llonga. And have our own launch stand by to take both these gentlemen across to Bloody Island.

After that have it brought on board and stowed.' He turned to Evans. 'Whilst you're out in the open I suggest you take the opportunity to report in to your base that you're okay.'

Evans stood there for a moment, frowning, his eyes fixed on Gareth who had already turned back at the sound of a voice calling him over the intercom. It was Mault and he told him, 'I want the ship closed up ready for sea, Number One. We'll be getting under way as soon as MEO can give us the necessary power.'

'We've received new orders, have we?' Mault's voice was a mixture of curiosity and doubt.

'You've just received myorders, Number One, so get on with it.' There was a crisp finality in the way he said it that even the thickest-skinned could not fail to understand. 'We'll be out of here by 22.15 at the latest.' He switched off before his second-in-command could ask any more awkward questions and turned back to Evans. 'When you report in, tell your people to bring Mrs Steele down to Cala Llonga ready to take her out to Bloody Island. I don't know how far away she is, but I'd like her down on the beach there before we sail.'

Evans nodded. 'No problem. We'll have her waiting for you there. Then you can see her and identify her through your glasses. Okay?' And he added, There's some countries I been in where death is a way of life, as you might say. So don't fool around with me, either of you, see.' He turned on his heel then and left the cabin just as Sergeant Simmonds arrived.

Gareth told him to take me down to the armoury and issue me with whatever weapon he thought most suitable for holding a dangerous man hostage for half an hour or so. He was quite close to me when he said that and he gripped hold of my arm. 'Don't let him jump you. Just keep your distance and the gun on him the whole time.' His ringers were digging into me, his hand trembling. God help me, I thought, he was scared of the man. 'fust keep your distance/ he said again. 'All the time you're alone with him on the island. Particularly at the moment of exchange. If it gets to that, if they actually bring her out to the island, then he'll have those two thugs of his to back him up, so don't let your eyes stray. He'll be waiting for that, the moment when Soo moves towards you.' And he added, 'Both of you held as hostage would complicate things.'

His hand relaxed his grip on my arm. He turned and picked up his cap. 'I'm going up to the bridge now. When you're armed, you can join Pat at the gangway. By then the launch will be waiting to run you over to the island. And remember — watch him, every moment.'

CHAPTER TWO

'Zulu One Zero, this is Zulu One. Come in, Zulu One Zero. Over… Yes, I've been put ashore as agreed on the island. You can bring the woman down as soon as the frigate starts to fetch its anchor… Yes, of course they did. It's the husband. That fellow Steele… Sure he's got a gun, one of those Stirling sub-machine pistols, but I don't know how good he is with it…' He glanced across at me, his teeth gleaming in the light of my torch. 'That's right, wait till you see the frigate's stern light disappear beyond Lazareto, then put her in the speedboat. You can come out for me soon as the Colonel reports he is locked on. Okay?.. Good. Out.'

He turned to me, his teeth still showing white in that strange smile of his. 'Relax, for Chris'sake. Another half-hour and with any luck you'll have your wife back and I'll be gone.' He slipped the radiophone back into the pocket of his jacket and came down from the ruined wall on which he had been standing. I backed away, watching him, and he laughed as he came towards me. 'Think I'm going to jump you? No way. I've seen the silverware in that room of yours above the chandlery.' He walked right past me, out into the open where he had a clear view of the frigate. The launch was just going alongside and at the same moment all the upper-deck lights that gave the outline of the ship such a fairy look went suddenly out.

He walked past the dig, out to the northern end of the hospital's long seaward-facing block. From there the frigate was no more than three cables away and we could hear the voices of the men on the fo'c's'le as they waited for the order to weigh anchor. Evans lit a cigarette, his features picked out in the flare of the match. 'Suppose Gareth boy takes his tin can out and you don't get your wife back — what then, eh?' He blew out a stream of smoke, watching me.

I didn't say anything. The man was built like a tank, all hard bone and muscle. How many shots would it take to kill him? I had never fired a machine pistol before and I tried to remember what I'd been told. Was it high they fired, or low?

'Well?' He was grinning at me, but his eyes were cold and calculating in the torchlight, as though he were trying to make up his mind whether I was capable of shooting him down in cold blood.

A searchlight stabbed out from somewhere by the radio mast on the high point of La Mola, the beam blinding me. He could have rushed me then, but he had turned his head away and was staring out towards the frigate, now a black shape in silhouette. The clank of the anchor cable sounded loud in the stillness as they shortened in. The clanking stopped and in the searchlight's brilliant beam I could see the chain itself hanging straight up and down from the bows. Shortly after that the hum of machinery told us they had got one of the two turbines going again.

'Any minute now,' I said, my voice sounding strained. I only said it to relieve the tension.

Evan's was still staring intently at the ship and I heard him mutter, 'It's against all his training..' He swung round on me. 'You reck'n he'll take her out, or is he up to something?' He started towards me. 'If you and he…'

I told him to stay where he was, my finger back on the trigger. 'Don't make me fire this thing.'

I don't think he heard me, for he had turned and was staring out again across the dark water. 'Like I said, it's against all his training. And if he thinks he's going to lie off the entrance till you've got your wife back — '

'You've been over all that,' I said. 'Once those guns can be brought to bear…'

'The guns — yes.' He nodded. 'A direct hit and he'd be blown out of the water.' He shook his head, standing very still. 'To throw it all away for that woman.' He glanced round at me, the teeth showing white again. 'No offence, but Christ! I don't understand.'

'Then you've never been in love,' I said.

He laughed. It was more like a guffaw. 'A four-letter word or a three-letter word, what the hell? It's sex, isn't it, and my mother taught him about that on board the Betty Ann.Didn't he tell you?' The clank of the anchor chain started up again. 'In a mud berth.' He seemed to find that funny, laughing still as he watched the ship. 'Quite a girl, my mother. But to throw away his whole career, everything he's worked for… Or is he scared? Is that why he's getting his anchor up, scared of being blown to hell if he stays?'

He looked at me for a moment, then his gaze switched back again to the black shape of the ship, his body quite still, almost tense. The navigation lights were on now, the anchor just coming, clear of the water. The frigate was beginning to move. 'Poor little bugger!' I heard him murmur. Then he turned on me suddenly. 'Suppose I don't let her go? You going to gun me down?' The searchlight was switched off and I heard him laugh, everything suddenly very dark. I stepped back, expecting him to rush me, and tripped over a stone.

'He's going astern/ Evans said.

I switched on my torch again. He hadn't moved, but now his head was turned back, his gaze fixed on the dim shape out there on the water. The frigate's bows were swinging, the stern coming towards us. The sound of the engines suddenly increased. Or was it just one engine? The sound died abruptly as the ship lost way. Was there really something wrong with her machinery after all? The sound increased again, the bows swinging. It was as though they were having difficulty with the steering. I could see the stern light, the ship again coming straight towards us and growing steadily larger.

Several times she started to go ahead, but each time she veered to port, finally entering the narrows on the north side of Bloody Island stem-first. It wasn't exactly the most direct route if he was making out to sea, but it seemed it was only at slow astern they could steer a reasonably straight course.

Evans followed them back along the north shore of the island as far as the dig. I kept about twenty paces behind him. By this time the frigate was so close I was looking straight into the bridge, and in the brief moments I dared take my eyes off him, I could actually identify individual officers. Gareth was there and I saw him slip out of the captain's chair and move to the front of the bridge. Mault followed him.

The next time I glanced at the bridge the two of them seemed to be arguing, and they had been joined by Peter Craig. Evans had now crossed the dig and was standing by the beacon, staring at the frigate, which was then level with us, the slightly waved metal side of her gliding past within biscuit-toss. I stopped, and as the bridge came level with me I saw Robin Makewate had joined the other three. At that moment Mault turned and walked off the bridge.

I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and half turned. Evans had shifted his position and was looking behind him, towards Cala Figuera. I heard it then, the buzz-saw sound of an outboard coming nearer. At the same time Medusa'sstem came clear of the narrows and began to swing towards us. There was a great threshing under the counter and she checked just in time, moving slowly ahead, her bows swinging all the time to port.

Evans left his post by the beacon and came towards me. 'I should have stayed on board.'

I motioned him to keep his distance, the gun pointed at his stomach. 'Why?'

Then I'd have some idea what the hell's going on.'

The sound of the outboard died, but I was barely conscious of it, my eyes half on Evans, half on the frigate, which was now going astern again and swinging more sharply. In this way it turned itself completely round until it was lying just off the landing place with its bows pointing almost directly at the big hotel above our house. 'Has he really got engine trouble?'

I didn't say anything, wondering about that glimpse I had had of Mault arguing with Gareth on the bridge.

The frigate was beginning to go ahead again. I thought she was endeavouring to round the island and head seaward through the wider southern passage, but the bows started to swing again so that it looked as though the whole grey bulk of her would land up stern-first in the hospital ruins.

Evans was hurrying now as he skirted the dig, took the path to the landing place, then turned off on the track that circled the old hospital building. It was brighter here, the frigate outlined against the lights of Villa Carlos. Water swirled at her stem, small waves rushing against the rocks. Evans had stopped. I think, like me, he was too astonished to do anything but stare at the dark shape coming closer, the bows swinging clear, but the low flat stem, with its flight deck and hangar, closing the rocks just south of our boat landing. She was coming towards us with no check, the hum of the one engine, the suck of the prop, the waves beating at the shore, all getting louder.

The grinding crunch of her grounding on the rocks was a rising cacophony of sound that seemed to go on and on, the stern rising till it was so close it looked from where I stood as though Evans could step across on to the deck itself. Then suddenly everything was still, a quietness gradually descending over the scene, the propeller bedded against rock, the water subsiding to the stillness of a balmy Mediterranean night. The silly bloody idiot!' The anger of Evans's voice was tinged with something else.

Resignation? I wasn't sure. And there were other voices now, from on board the frigate. Men tumbling up from below, out on to the deck to see what had happened, and Gareth standing there in the open wing door of the bridge on the port side, standing still as stone as though shocked into immobility.

It was like that for a moment, a blurred picture of disaster recorded by the eye's retina and made strange by the darkness and the lights beyond, the ruined hospital standing over it all like the mirror image of the stranding. Then Gareth moved, the upper-deck broadcast system blaring orders. The lights came on again, the ship's outline illuminated for all the world to see that she was ashore, her stern smashed into the rocks. God! What he must be feeling!

I knew who it was running up from the landing point before she reached me. I heard her panting and at the same time Evans had whipped out his radiophone and was talking into it, passing the word that the frigate was aground.

'He did it on purpose.' She caught hold of my arm. 'I saw it, Mike. I was right there in the boat. Christ! I thought he was going to drive her straight over me.' Her mouth was wide, her teeth white in the frigate's lights and those big eyes of hers almost starting out of her head. 'Why? Why did he do it?'

'Where have you been?' I asked her.

'Looking for Soo. But why for God's sake?' She was staring at me. 'I didn't find her. I don't know where they've taken her. Nobody seems to know.' And she said urgently, 'What will happen to him? It's a court martial, isn't it — running your ship aground? The Navy won't stand for that.'

'Probably not,' I said. The ship's decks were alive with men now and Gareth was down at the hangar doors, Mault with him. The sense of activity and purpose was fascinating to watch as the hangar door was slid back to reveal the dark interior of it stacked with wooden cases and all sorts of weapons, some that looked like rocket-launchers.

That was when he grabbed her. Fool that I was, I hadn't registered the fact that he should have been standing in dark silhouette against the light. But instead of being in full view, he suddenly appeared out of the shadows to my right. I heard Petra gasp, and as I turned and flashed my torch, the blade of a knife flicked in the beam, a steely glint pointing straight at her throat, his face, hard as rock, right beside hers as she opened her mouth wide and began to scream, her left arm twisted up behind her as he frogmarched her slowly backwards.

He didn't bother to tell me to drop the gun. He knew I wouldn't shoot as long as he was holding her as a shield. 'Don't move.' The order was hissed at me through those big teeth. 'Stay where you are and she'll be all right.' He was backing on to the path leading to the landing. 'And tell your wife's lover, he's just signed his death warrant. Hers too.'

He kept Petra between himself and me all the way back to the track that ran past the tent and down to the landing place. I didn't dare move. I had a feeling he was a desperate man now and capable of anything, even cold-blooded murder if it served his purpose. And then the incredible happened. The flap of the tent was pushed aside and Lennie appeared.

He stood there, stretching and yawning. I don't know whether he was still drunk, or just half-asleep, but it took a moment for the scene to register with him. Then his eyes were suddenly wide with shock as he saw, first the ship, then Petra in the grip of Evans as he backed down the path.

He was like that for an instant, his eyes wide. Then they narrowed, and in the same instant he moved, an instinctive, almost reflex action, moved with extraordinary speed, so that Evans was quite unprepared, Lennie's fist slamming into his face, knocking him backwards. 'Out of the way, girl!' He was moving after Evans and she just stood there in a daze, blocking his path.

It almost cost him his life. She moved, but too late, Evans pulling himself to his feet again and brushing past her in a crouching run. The knife flashed as Lennie lashed out at him, and the next thing I saw was the Australian staggering backwards, clutching at his face and blood spurting between his fingers.

The knife slashed again and he went down, a strangled screaming like a trapped rabbit. Then Evans turned and ran, dropping out of sight almost immediately as he made for the landing place. I didn't shout. I didn't go after him. My concern was for Lennie. I couldn't tell whether he was alive or dead. He just lay there on a bed of wild flowers at the edge of the path, blood spurting from the loose flap of his cheek, where the knife had slashed it open, and a dark patch beginning to spread over his shirt as blood welled up from somewhere not far from his heart.

Petra moved to my side, her eyes wild as she grabbed at my arm. She was sobbing. But then she was suddenly silent, squatting down, her bare knee bent against a rock, still as a statue, horror-struck as she stared at the blood on Lennie's face, the ghastly cheek flap. 'Oh, my God!' He was no longer screaming, his body quite still. 'Is he dead?'

I shook my head. Blood was welling out over his shirt and I thought I could detect a slight movement of his chest. 'You look after him,' I said. 'I'll see if the ship will take him.'

It was then, as I rose to my feet, that I heard the outboard start, the sound of it rising as Petra's inflatable shot into view, hugging the rocks. I glimpsed it briefly as Evans skidded it round the north-western bulge of the island. Then it was lost to view as he ran it under the beacon and into the narrows. I turned back to the ship then, and as I hurried up the path under the hospital walls, I met two naval ratings lugging a case of rockets. Others passed me as I ran to the frigate's stern, shouting for the Captain.

Nobody took any notice of me for a moment. They had rigged a gangway from the stern to the top of a flat rock close by the path, the scene chaotic as almost the whole crew swarmed like ants from ship to shore, humping equipment from the hangar, listening gear and telephones, as well as rocket-launchers and ammunition. Orders were being shouted, arms issued, cases ripped open and ammunition got ready.

hi the end it was Peter Craig who answered my call for help and, after some delay, he managed to find the medical orderly who finally got Lennie on to a stretcher and carried him on board. I wasn't allowed to go with him. Craig was adamant about that. And when I asked for Gareth, he told me the Captain was in the Communications Office and there was absolutely no chance of my seeing him until the situation had clarified itself.

They'll do what they can for him,' he assured me. 'We've no doctor on board. You know that, I think, but those two did a good job on John Kent. Looked after him until we could get him ashore. They'll do the same for your man, and we'll get him ashore and into the military hospital as soon as possible. That is,' he added, 'if any of us are alive by morning.'

He smiled at me a little uncertainly. 'Remember what I said to you on the bridge that night, about the Captain carrying a weight of responsibility few of the officers realised. Well, now they do. We're in the thick of it, and if you or I are around in the morning, then by God I'll stand you a drink.' He tried to smile again, to make a joke of it, but it didn't work. Instead, he clapped me on the back before hurrying off up the gangway to continue supervising the unloading.

Back at the camp I found Petra busy preparing a meal. I think she was doing it more to distract herself from what was happening than from any want of food. 'Is he all right?'

'He's alive,' I said. 'They'll get him ashore when things have sorted themselves out. Some time tomorrow presumably. Meanwhile, I imagine they'll stitch him up as best they can.'

She poured me some wine. It was good dark Rioja, the colour of blood. I drank it down at a gulp. 'They're a bit preoccupied right now,' I told her, and at that moment, as though to emphasise the point, the lights that lit the outline of the frigate went suddenly out, everything dark again.

She nodded. All around us we could hear voices, the clink of metal on metal, the tramp of feet. 'They've started to dig in,' she said.

I nodded and poured myself some more wine. I was suddenly very tired. Tension probably. I had never really contemplated death before. At other times, when I had been in danger, it had all happened too fast. Even that time Ahmed Bey had been killed, it had been very sudden, the Italian boat coming at us out of the darkness, and later, the day? at sea and the heat, the trek along the African shore, getting weaker and weaker, it hadn't been the same at all.

Now I had been given virtually the exact time of death, the rendezvous approximately midnight fourteen miles off the coast. Fourteen miles. Just over half an hour at full speed. Say another half-hour while they argued it out over radio. I was remembering suddenly that Gareth had said he had a civilian on board who was fluent in Russian. Probable time of engagement, therefore, would be around 01.00. And my watch showed it was already almost midnight.

An hour to live! Perhaps a little more. But not another dawn.

If the decision had been taken to occupy Mahon harbour, then the opposition of a puny and obsolete RN frigate would be brushed aside in a holocaust of missiles. The whole of Bloody Island would be blasted to hell. Evans was right. His half-brother and the crew of his ship were doomed to extinction. So was I. So was Petra.

I looked across at her, wondering if she understood. 'Have you got any more brandy?' I asked her. 'Lennie finished that bottle of Soberano.'

She stared at me dully, her mouth turned slightly down at the corners, the big capable hands gripped on the edge of the table. I think she knew all right, for after a moment she nodded and got to her feet, opening the lid of a store box and rummaging around inside. She came up with a bottle, looked at the label, and said, 'No Soberano. It's Fundador. Will that do?' She was suddenly smiling. She knew damn well anything would do. 'You going to get drunk?' She handed me the bottle.

I shrugged as I screwed the cap off. 'Possibly.'

She sat down again, finished her wine and pushed the glass across to me. 'How long have we got?'

'Long enough.' I wasn't going to tell her how long it would be. 'In any case, a lot can happen…' I poured us both a good measure. 'Salud!'And I added under my breath, 'Here's to the dawn!'

We were on our second brandy, and I was wondering in a vague sort of way whether it would be better to die in a drunken stupor or whether the two of us should lie together and die naked with the warmth of our bodies to give us comfort at the moment of impacting oblivion, when there was the sound of footsteps outside the tent and a voice said, 'Mr Steele?'

'Yes?' I went to the flap and pulled it back. Petty Officer Jarvis was standing there. 'Captain says if you and the lady would care to go ashore, he'll have the launch sent round to the landing point.'

I looked at my watch. It was now well past midnight -00.37. The Russian ships could already be off La Mola, approaching the entrance to Port Mahon. Any moment things would start happening and he was giving Petra and myself a way out. And yet I stood there, feeling as though I'd been struck dumb. It was a lifeline he was offering us and I hesitated. Having braced myself for what was about to happen, having come to terms, or something very near to it, with the fact that I was about to die and would not live to see the sun rise, the offered reprieve seemed an affront to my manhood. Perversely, I found myself on the point of refusing. It was as though I would be running away, revealing myself to be a coward. It was only the thought of Petra that stopped me. Or was it? Was I really a coward seeking justification, an excuse for acceptance?

'Please thank him,' I told Jarvis. My mouth felt dry. Tell him I accept his offer. I have to find my wife. Tell him that. And Miss Callis should undoubtedly be got off the island.' And I added, 'Is there any chance I can have a word with him before we leave?'

'I doubt it, sir. He's in the Ops Room. At least that's where he phoned me from. And I gathered from his manner things were a bit hectic. A lot going on, if you understand my meaning, sir.'

'Yes, of course,' I said. 'Only to be expected.'

'Five minutes, sir. The launch will be there in five minutes, probably less. Okay?' He didn't wait to see my nod, but hurried off back to the ship.

Petra was already searching around frantically for her archaeological material, scrabbling up notebooks, rolls of film, dumping them in a holdall. I grabbed a sweater and told her to hurry. 'We've no time to lose.'

'My thesis,' she said. 'There's a draft of my thesis somewhere. I must have it.' And then she stopped. 'Oh, my God! it's in the hypostile. I left it there. Won't be a minute.'

She was ducking out of the tent when I seized hold of her arm. 'Forget it,' I told her. They'll hit this island any minute now. Alive, you can redraft it. Dead, it won't matter anyway.'

She was trying to wrench herself free, but at my words she stopped struggling and stared at me, appalled. 'D'you mean that? D'you mean it's — now?'

'Any minute,' I said. There's a Russian cruiser, several other warships. They should be off the entrance now.'

She came with me then, pulling on a loose cardigan as we hurried down to the landing point. The launch was already there, two sailors holding it alongside the rock with boathooks, Leslie Masterton in the stern, the engine ticking over. He took Petra's holdall, helped her in, and as I followed her, he gave the order to push the launch clear.

What's the latest news?' I asked him as we pulled away from the rocks.

'I don't know, sir. Everybody's at action stations — ' He rolled the words off his tongue as though savouring them with excited anticipation. For a moment he concentrated on swinging the launch under the frigate's bows. Then, when we were headed for Gala Figuera, he added, 'But the Captain hasn't said anything. There's been no announcement. So I don't know anything really, nobody does. All we've been told is to stay on maximum alert until we're ordered otherwise. A lot of the boys are off the ship and among the ruins of that hospital. But you know that. Seems the Captain's expecting some sort of an attack.' He was strung up, the words pouring out of him. 'I've been allocated the launch.' He grinned. 'Didn't expect the opportunity of a run ashore.'

I glanced at Petra and she smiled. I think we were both wondering whether Gareth had done it purposely, an excuse for getting this pleasant kid out of the firing line. I pulled back the sleeve of my sweater and looked at my watch. It was already 01.11. Eleven minutes after the time I thought they might be steaming in through the entrance.

It was then that one of the sailors said quietly, 'Ship on the port bow, sir. Close inshore.' He pointed and I could see it then, a dim shape under the Villa Carlos cliff line momentarily outlined by the double red flash of the light on the point. It was a small vessel, moving slowly and very low in the water. 'Looks like that customs launch,' Masterton said and throttled back until we were barely moving. Even so, the vessel, heading in towards Mahon itself, would cut right across our bows. We lay there without lights, waiting. And when I suggested that we make a dash for it, the young midshipman said, without even hesitating to consider the possibility, 'Sorry, but my orders are to take no chances and return immediately if challenged.'

We could see the launch quite clearly now each time the Villa Carlos light flashed red. She was low in the water because she was crowded with people. Soon we could hear the sound of the engine. She would cross our bows at a distance of about two hundred metres, and lying quite still, with no lights behind us, there was just a chance we would remain unseen.

But then, as the launch was approaching the point where she would cross our bows and we could see that the pack of men standing on the deck were most of them armed, a string of lights appeared behind us on the road above Gala Lladro. We were suddenly in silhouette against them. Somebody on the customs launch shouted, several of them were pointing at us, and then there was the flash and crack of a rifle fired. I didn't hear the bullet whistle past. It was lost in the roar of our engine as Masterton gunned it and swung the wheel, turning the launch round and heading back towards Bloody Island. I caught a glimpse of some sort of struggle on the deck of the customs launch. There was the crackle of small-arms fire, spurts of flame, splinters flying off the woodwork of our stern, a glass window shattered, and little geysers bouncing past us as bullets slapped the water close alongside.

The moment of shock passed, the customs launch receding into the distance until it was finally lost in the dark of Mahon's harbour. There seemed no reason then why we shouldn't resume our course for Gala Figuera, but when I suggested this to Masterton I found myself faced, not by a kid, but by Midshipman Masterton, a budding officer to whom orders were orders. He had been told to take no chances and return if he was challenged. He had been challenged. Not only that, he'd been fired on, and though I argued that the customs launch was now out of sight and no danger, he said, 'I don't know who they were on that launch, but they were armed and they opened fire. Before we can make your quay at Gala Figuera they could be ashore and somebody on the phone to the military.'

Nothing I or Petra could say would change his mind. The nice cheerful face had suddenly become obstinate, his manner indicating the implacability of naval training. I think he was quite capable of initiative, but not when he had been given specific orders. 'I'll have to report back.' He said that twice. 'Then, if I'm instructed to proceed…'

But he received no such instructions. We ran straight alongside Medusaand it was the First Lieutenant, looking down on us from the bridge wing, who received his report. 'Are you sure it was the customs launch?'

'I think so, sir.'

'And crowded with men. How many would you say?'

'Can't be sure, sir.' Masterton's voice was pitched a little higher now that he was being de-briefed by his senior officer. 'Fifty. Sixty. Quite a lot, sir.'

Mault asked me then. 'What do you say, Mr Steele?'

'No idea,' I replied. 'It was too dark. But she was low in the water so I should think Mr Masterton's estimate is about right.'

'Good.' He seemed pleased, but when I suggested that we could now proceed to Gala Figuera, he shook his head. 'Sorry. No time now. We may need our launch.' And he ordered Masterton to land us, then return and tie up alongside pending further orders. I tried to argue with him, but he turned on me and said, 'If you're so urgent to get away from here..' He checked himself, then leaned out and said, 'Has it occurred to you, Mr Steele, that if it weren't for you and that wife of yours we wouldn't be in the mess we are?' He stared down at me, then turned abruptly and disappeared inside the bridge, leaving me wondering how he knew about Soo. Had Gareth let it slip out, arguing with the man as he backed the frigate through the narrows, or later when he'd put her on the rocks?

I was thinking about that as the sailors pushed off and we manoeuvred round the rocks and into the loading point. Five minutes later we were back at the tent and as I held the flap back for Petra, I noticed the lights of at least half a dozen vehicles moving west along the main road from Villa Carlos. They were evenly spaced and looked like a military convoy. I thought perhaps they were reinforcements for the defence of the airport, or perhaps for a dawn offensive towards Ciudadela. Their real significance never occurred to me.

In the dim interior of the tent it was as though we had never left it, the chairs, the table, the unwashed plates, the glasses and the bottle of Fundador. 'Damn that bastard Mault.' I reached for my glass, which still had some brandy in it. I was angry and frustrated, and when Petra said, 'It's not his fault, everybody must be very tense by now,' I told her to go to hell, downed the rest of my drink and walked out. I wasn't only angry with Mault, I was angry with myself. I should have handled it better. I should have insisted on seeing Gareth. I had the chance then, whilst we'd been tied up alongside, but I'd been so shattered by Mault's words, his obvious hostility, that I hadn't thought of it. And there was an element of truth in what he had said. That's what made it so hard to swallow. Putting his ship aground had been the one action Gareth could take that would effectively make Soo totally ineffective as a hostage, the one way he could save her life and at the same time carry out his orders to stay in Mahon under all circumstances. The only other thing he could have done was to put to sea, and that was out of the question.

Thinking about it, I almost fell into a newly dug slit trench. A Scots voice cursed me for a clumsy bastard, a hand gripping hold of my ankle. 'Luke where ye're fuckin' goin', laddie. There's some of us doon here that are still alive, ye noo.'

I was in the graveyard area and there were four of them sprawled on the ground with a couple of hand-held rocket-launchers. From where they lay they could see into the steep-sided little bay draped with the pale glimmer of villas that was Cala Llonga. I asked them if any vessel had put out in the last half-hour. But they had seen nothing, so clearly the customs launch had come either from Lazareto Island or from the La Mola peninsula itself. Perhaps even from Cala Pedrera on the other side of the Mahon entrance.

I squatted there talking to them for several minutes. Two of them were leading seamen whom I had met on the bridge during the trip out from Malta, one of them had brought me kai that night. But they couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know. They had had a word with the Captain, they said, just after midnight. Apparently Gareth had made a tour of all the positions established round the island and in the hospital ruins, but it had been more of a morale booster. He hadn't told them anything very much, only warned them that if they were attacked, it would all happen very quickly. He had also said jokingly that if they weren't attacked, they'd probably be stuck out there all night. 'I asked him straight oot,' the Scots lad said, 'wha' are we expectin' then, but he was no' verra communicative. He just said, if it comes, make cairtin ye've said yer prayers. An' he wasna jokin'. He was daid sairious.'

The time was then ten minutes short of two o'clock and still nothing had happened. I started back towards the tent, but just before I reached it, I saw a little group coming down the gangway from Medusa'sstern. With no lights, I couldn't see who they were, but they headed towards me along the path under the hospital walls, so I waited. It was Gareth, setting out on a second tour of inspection. Mault was with him, and Sergeant Simmonds. I don't think he saw me at first. He was walking with his head bent, not saying anything to his companions, as though lost in his own thoughts, and when I spoke his head came up with a startled jerk and he looked at me, tight-lipped and very tense. 'Sorry you didn't make it ashore/ he said.

I asked him what was going on in the outside world and he just shook his head. He would let me know, he said, as soon as he had any definite news. And he added that, until he knew for certain what the situation was, there was no question of his risking the launch in another attempt to take us into Gala Figuera. And when I pressed him, saying that something had to be done about Soo, he just looked at me and said in a voice that was dead and without emotion, 'Your wife is only one of many factors I have to take into consideration.' And he added, in that same dead tone, as though he were talking about something quite remote and impersonal, 'In the overall scale of things I'm afraid she ranks very low, however important she may be to you, and to me.' He muttered something about being in a hurry — 'A lot on my plate at the moment.' And he nodded briefly, brushing past me.

I went back to the tent then. Nothing else I could do. With no boat, Petra and I were marooned on the island, and we just sat there, waiting. It was long past the time when the warships that were supposed to be supporting Fuxa's coup d'etat should have been entering Mahon harbour, and though I fiddled around with Petra's little radio, all I could get was dance music. God knows what was going on in the world outside of Bloody Island.

All around us there were the sounds of men settling in for the night in improvised trenches or in the stone walls of the hospital itself. And though I went out and talked to some of them, I couldn't find anyone who knew any more than we did. In fact, I suppose the only people who could have told us what was going on in the outside world were Gareth and his communications team. I learned afterwards that, apart from those two quick tours of the island's makeshift defences, he spent the whole night there, sifting endlessly through the mass of reports, signals, news flashes, and speculative comment from all around the world picked up by the ship's antennae.

Back in the tent again I found Petra sitting there, not drinking, not doing anything, just sitting there with a shut look on her face. I said something to her. I don't remember what. But she didn't answer. She had withdrawn into some secret world of her own. And then, suddenly, she got to her feet, a quick, decisive movement. 'I'm tired,' she said. 'God! I'm tired. No point in sitting here waiting for something to happen. I'm going to bed.'

I was desperately tired myself, my mind seemingly no longer capable of constructive thought. The picture of that room, the little dog, and Evans — the way he had talked about sending her to Gareth in bits and pieces. Christ! What a hell of a mess! All I could think of was the poor girl out there somewhere in the hands of those bastards.

In the end I found a spare sleeping bag and followed Petra's example. But before curling myself up in it, I went outside again. It was quite chill now, a whisper of a breeze coming down from the high ground above the harbour, the scent of wild flowers on the air, and as I stood there, relieving myself, I was conscious of the bodies all around me. It was very strange, hearing nothing, but knowing they were there, like the ghosts of all those buried dead.

But then the glow of a cigarette, showing for an instant under the hospital wall, brought my mind back to reality. Away to the right I could just make out the dim shape of a sailor standing in silhouette against the stars, and when I climbed to the top of a rock there was the outline of the frigate, stem-on and not a light showing. Somebody coughed, a hastily suppressed sound, and as I went back into the tent I heard a clink of metal on stone somewhere out beyond the dig.

It was almost four. Another hour and dawn would be starting to break. Perhaps it was the coffee, or perhaps I was just too damned tired, but I couldn't seem to sleep, my mind going round in circles, worrying about Soo, about the future, about what it would be like if she were killed.

Then suddenly I was being shaken violently and Petra's voice was saying, 'Wake up! Wake up, Mike! It's all over.'

'What the devil are you talking about? What's all over?' I sat up so abruptly my head caught her on the chin. The flap of the tent was drawn back, the sun blazing in. Blinking in the glare of it, I asked her what time it was.

'fust after ten and there's three Spanish warships steaming past us.'

I wriggled out of the sleeping bag, slipped my shoes on and went outside. They made a brave sight, two destroyers and what looked like some sort of a logistic ship, the sun blazing full on them, outsize Spanish flags streaming from the ensign staffs on the ships' sterns and the water of the harbour mirror-calm ahead of them, Mahon blindingly white above. The tanker was back in Gala Figuera, moving in to the fuel depot with the tug in attendance.

It really did look as though Petra was right and it was all over. But the Navy was clearly taking no chances, the frigate lying there against the rocks, silent and watchful, no movement on deck and only the hum of machinery to show that the inside of it was alive with men. No movement on the island either, only the occasional whisper of a voice to indicate that there were sailors there, standing to their weapons and waiting.

I clambered up on to the ruined wall above the dig, where I had an uninterrupted view eastwards towards La Mola. 'No sign of the Libyan freighter, the water flat calm and empty of anything except a small boat trawling for fish. The slit trench with the Scots leading seaman I had talked to in the night was quite close, but all they could tell me was that they had heard the freighter fetching its anchor sometime around three-thirty, just after they had seen the lights of a dozen or more vehicles moving away from La Mola along the road above Gala Llonga. They couldn't tell me whether the freighter had headed seaward or gone back to Mahon.

They were far more relaxed than when I had talked to them in the early hours. Medusa'sgalleys had produced a hot breakfast for them at the usual time, the ground still strewn with mess tins and eating irons. They thought it wouldn't be long now before they were allowed to stand down.

I was still in my underpants and I went back to the tent to get myself dressed. Petra was cooking us some breakfast. I remember that very distinctly, the smell of bacon and eggs, and sitting there in the sunshine, neither of us talking. I don't know how many men there were around us, but the sense of hushed expectancy was almost overpowering.

Then suddenly the frigate's broadcast system was blaring out Rule Britannia,men erupting on to the deck, the island around us coming alive as word was passed to stand down, everybody talking at once, a roar of voices mingled with the high quick laughter that comes of nervous relief.

I joined a party lugging equipment and the debris of a meal down to the stern of the ship. There was an officer there, a man I hadn't seen before. He refused to let me on board and I was forced to scribble a note to Gareth on a message pad. But even as a seaman went for'ard to deliver it, I saw Gareth, dressed in what looked like his best uniform, scrambling down a rope ladder and jumping into the launch, which then headed for the harbour where the Spanish warships were anchored close off the Naval Base. I would now have to wait until he had paid his respects to the Spanish naval commander, and even then he might not feel able to send me ashore.

Shortly after that I walked out to the dig and stood by the red-flashing beacon, staring across the narrow strip of water to the steep rise of the land beyond with villas perched white on the slopes. Where would they have taken her? Pulling out suddenly like that, what for Christ's sake would they have done with her? They would hardly have taken her in that convoy of vehicles that had left from La Mola in the dark of night. Or would they?

I sat down on a rock, my mind going round and round, gnawing at the problem. And in the sunshine, with wild flowers in every crevice, I saw her as she had been back in Malta when I had first met her. A picnic on Gozo, her body lying on a rock all golden warm like the limestone of the buildings on the hill above caught in the slanting rays of a glorious sunset. And in that little trellis garden of her mother's, bougainvillaea and morning-glory, and the two of us dancing to that old portable gramophone, our bodies close and the moon full above the curved roof tiles. A world apart, the two of us hopelessly in love in the moonlight, not another thought in our heads, not a care in the world, our bodies tingling to the touch of our fingers, the ache for each other growing.

God in heaven! What had happened to us? To me? What had changed it?

Questions, questions, the result emotional torment and my heart reaching out to her. Surely to God two people who had been as close to each other as we had been then could make contact across the distance that now separated us. If I thought hard enough, if I could concentrate my mind sufficiently, surely I could evoke some response from her, some telepathic indication of where she was.

I was there by that beacon for a long time, alone with my thoughts, and right above me the Golden Farm to remind me of two other lovers. And then Petra came to say the launch had finally returned.

'Any message from the ship?' I asked her.

She shook her head and I stared at that narrow strip of water, wondering whether I could make it, picturing him back in his day cabin, his desk piled with urgent messages. In the circumstances, my note would hardly seem of great importance. Soo would either be dead or abandoned somewhere. Whichever it was, he had every reason to think a few more hours would make little difference.

I was in the tent, stripped to my underpants and stuffing my clothes, pipe, matches, keys, money, everything I might need ashore, into a plastic bag, when the flap was pulled back and I looked up to find Petty Officer Jarvis standing there. 'Captain's compliments, sir, and the launch is waiting to take you ashore.'

I shall always bless him for that. In the midst of all his problems he had read my note and understood my urgency, the depth of my feeling. I didn't attempt to see him. I just scribbled a note of thanks and handed it to Jarvis as he led me up the gangway on to the stern and for'ard to where the rope ladder was rigged. The same midshipman was in charge of the launch, and as we swung away from the frigate's side, I asked him what the news was. He looked at me, wide grey eyes in a serious face. 'News, sir? You haven't heard?' And when I told him it had been a long night and I had slept late, he grinned at me and said, 'They miffed off. The revolutionaries and those mercenaries who put that Fuschia chap in. The fleet, too — the fleet that was going to support the new government. It just faded off the radar screen. And all because of Medusa.''A Russian fleet, do you mean?'

'Yes, the Russians. The American Sixth Fleet is shadowing them.'

'Is that official?' I asked him. 'About the Russian and American fleets?' We had swung away from the ship's side and were heading for Cala Figuera, the note of the engine making it difficult to talk. 'Did you hear it on the news?'

He shook his head. 'I haven't had a chance to listen to the BBC, but that's what they're saying — saw them off all on our own, long before those Spanish ships arrived.' And he added, 'Now that he's back from seeing the Spanish admiral, I've no doubt the Captain will be making an announcement. I'd like to have heard that.' He gave an order to the helm, then turned back to me. 'You know him well, don't you, sir?' It was more a statement than a question and he didn't wait for me to answer. 'He's a super man. Never batted an eye all night, going the rounds, chatting and joking with everybody and all of us expecting to be blown out of the water any minute. Then, when it's all over, he has a thanksgiving in the wardroom.'

'When was that?'

'It was early, about 04.30. Just those on the ship. A few prayers, a hymn or two. All he told us then was that the situation had improved and we should give thanks to God.' The boy was smiling to himself, remembering the scene. 'Lead kindly light… I can still hear him singing it in that fine voice of his. He's Welsh, you see.' And he grinned apologetically, embarrassed at being carried away and forgetting I would have known that. And when I asked him how the ship had come to land up on Bloody Island, he looked at me uncertainly, suddenly hesitant. But the excitement of events and his admiration for his Captain got the better of him. 'The buzz is he put her aground himself,' he said brightly.

'Deliberately?'

'I couldn't say, sir. I wasn't on the bridge. But that's what they're saying — so that there was no way they could shift us. We were committed then, you see, a Nato ship stuck there and prepared to fire at anything that didn't support the legitimate Spanish government and the Spanish King.'

I nodded. He wouldn't know about Soo, of course. None of them would, except Mault. At least I hoped he was the only one. For the time being anyway. The midshipman saw it solely in terms of naval tactics, the sort of move Nelson or Cochrane might have made, not realising that what Gareth had done was to take the one positive action that could nullify absolutely his half-brother's threats. God knows what it had cost him in mental anguish to take such a gamble, not just with Soo's life, but with his own, and with the lives of all his men. He had called Evans's bluff and he had won, and I was hearing it from this kid of a midshipman, who was standing there, starry-eyed and bubbling with excitement, as he told me how he had spent the first half of the night in charge of half a dozen seamen on the hospital tower, acting as lookouts and armed with hand-held rocket-launchers.

It was hot as the launch slowed to run alongside our quay, the sun blazing out of a blue sky, the surface of the water oily-calm, and traffic moving on the steep road from the Martires Atlante to the Carrero Blanco. Everything looked so normal it was hard to believe that there had been several hours during the night when the future of Menorca had hung in the balance, the threat of hostilities looming.

And then I was ashore, the chandlery door open and Ramon coming out of the store in answer to my call. No, he had no news of the senora. I raced up the stairs. Somebody had cleared the place up, the maid I suppose. The telephone was still working. I sat down at the table by the window and rang the Renatos, but Manuela had no information about her. She suggested I ring the Gobierno Militar.Gonzalez had been there since early morning and might have heard something. But her husband was no longer there, and when I finally tracked him down at the ayuntamiento,he had heard nothing. I tried the policia,the Guardia Civil,finally in desperation I rang the Residencia Sanitaria. They had quite a few casualties in, but they were all men, including an Australian who had just been brought in from the English warship. When I asked how serious his injuries were, they said he had not yet been fully examined. If I liked to enquire a little later…

I said I would ring back in an hour's time, and then as a last resort tried to get through to Perez at the Naval Base, but the phone was engaged and when I finally did manage to reach his office, he was out and the officer who answered the phone had no idea when he would be back. I rang the Army then, out at La Mola, and to my surprise I was connected immediately with some sort of duty officer. He put me through to somebody in one of the casements, who said a woman had been seen with a group of the 'soldadi del revolucion',but where they had taken her he did not know. Needless to say he was not prepared to discuss what had happened the previous day nor even where she had been held.

All this took time and it was late afternoon before I had exhausted all possible sources of information and was forced to the conclusion that I would have to go out to Addaia, or wherever it was they had embarked, in the hope of finding somebody who had actually witnessed their departure. But first I needed a car. Mine had disappeared. I tried to borrow one, but everybody I rang was either out or their car was in use, and I couldn't hire one because my driving licence was in the pocket of my own car. In the end I persuaded the people who provided cars for tourists staying at the Port Mahon Hotel to let me have one of their little Fiats on the understanding that I applied immediately for a copy of my licence.

I tried the hospital again while I was waiting for one of their drivers to bring it round. After some time I was able to speak to one of the sisters, who told me Lennie's cheek had been stitched up and the knife wound in the chest, which had narrowly missed the heart, had pierced the lung. He was under sedation at the moment, so no point in my trying to see him. She advised me to ring again in the morning.

As I put the phone down Ramon called to me from below. I thought it was to say the car had arrived, but he shouted up to me that it was Miguel Gallardo's wife, asking to see me.

She was waiting for me in the chandlery, her large, comfortable-looking body seeming to fill the place, but all the vivacity gone out of her, a worried look on the round, olive-complexioned face, her large eyes wide below the black hair cut in a fringe. She had been trying to phone me, she said. About Miguel. She was speaking in a rush and obviously in a very emotional state. He hadn't been home for two nights and she wondered whether I had seen him or had any idea where he might be. She had been to the Guardia,of course, and the hospitals, but everything was so confused following all the happenings of the last two days… And I just stood there, listening to her, a sickening feeling inside me, remembering how her husband had driven up to that villa in his battered estate car. Christ! I'd forgotten all about it until that moment.

What the hell could I tell her? That Miguel, innocent and unsuspecting, had driven straight into a bunch of men loading arms and ammunitions from an underground cache and on the brink of a desperate coup? And then, as I stood there, speechless and unable to give her a word of encouragement, it hit me. That cellar, that hole in the floor. An oubliette. Oh, God!

I told her he might have had business somewhere, and in the circumstances he might not have been able to let her know he was delayed in some other part of the island. She nodded, drinking in my words, clutching at hope — and my own heart thumping. Would I know — if she were alive, or if she were dead? Would Miguel's wife, her hands folded and on the verge of tears, know if he were alive?

The car arrived and thankfully I escaped into the routine of taking it over. 'I've got to go now,' I told her. 'But I'll keep an eye open and if I see him..' I left it at that, the sickening feeling with me again as I offered her a lift. But she was all right. Her daughter had a shoe shop just by the Club Maritimo. She would take her home. Her hands were warm and pudgy as she clasped mine, thanking me profusely, her lips trembling. 'You will telephone me plees.' She was very near to tears now. 'If you hear anything. Plees, you promise.'

I promised, escaping quickly out to the car, close to tears myself as I thought of what might have happened. Evans wouldn't have taken any chances. He wouldn't have left her body lying about. And the villa of that absent German businessman was barely four miles from Addaia, ten minutes by car. Less if the Santa Mariahad been shifted to the seaward end of the inlet and had been waiting for him at Macaret. The villa wasn't two miles from Macaret, and I had been so busy trying to find somebody in Mahon who might have seen her or know where she was that I hadn't thought of it.

I dropped the driver off at his garage on the Villa Carlos road, then took the shortest route to the waterfront, cutting down the General Sanjurjo to the Plaza Espana. It was getting dark already, the lights on in the shops and the narrow streets thronged with people, most of whom seemed there just to meet their friends and express their pleasure at the return to normality. And when I finally reached the waterfront even the Passo de la Alameda was full of people come to look at the Spanish warships anchored off.

There was considerable activity at the three Naval Base jetties, a coastal minesweeper coming alongside with what looked like a fishing boat in tow and a fishery protection launch pulling out. Standing off was a fierce little warship that I knew, the Barcelo-class fast attack patrol boat that Fernando Perez had taken me over one hot September day the previous year. All this, and the destroyers, with the Manuel Soto,the big white ferry from Barcelona, towering over the Muelle Commercial, was enough to give the Menorquins back their confidence. There was a lot of drinking going on in the port, an air of gaiety, and at the bottom of the Abundancia I had threaded my way through a crowd of about a hundred dancing in the street to a guitar,'

Past the turning off to the right that led to the Naval Base and La Mola, I was suddenly on my own, the road ahead empty. Nothing now to distract my mind as I put my foot down, pushing the little car fast towards the crossroads and the turning to Macaret and Arenal d'en Castell. There is a garage on the right going towards Fornells. Its lights were on and I stopped there briefly to obtain confirmation from Senora Garcia that a convoy of vehicles had in fact passed along this road in the early hours of the morning. She had been woken up by several very noisy motor bikes ridden flat out and was actually standing at her window looking out when the line of vehicles passed. She had counted them — nineteen Army trucks and over thirty private cars, all heading towards Fornells. The Guardia Civiland the Army had already, questioned her about the numbers and she had told them that all the vehicles had been crowded with men. I asked her if she had seen a woman in any of them, but she said no, it had been too dark.

Back in the car it seemed an age before I reached the crossroads. The scent of pines filled the night air. I passed the turning down to Addaia, swung left into a world of gravel and heath littered with the desolate dirt tracks of the tentative urbanization,and then, suddenly, there was the half-finished villa that Miguel had built and I had bartered for that catamaran. It stood four-square like a blockhouse on the cliff edge, the desolate heathland dropping away below it to the sea.

It was there for an instant in my headlights, the window openings of the upper storey still boarded up, a forlorn sense of emptiness about it. I didn't stop. He wouldn't have left her there. I was already on the slope of the dirt road we had driven down to leave Petra's Beetle at the Arenal d'en Castell hotel. The villa where we had watched them arming up was so crouched into the slope that I was almost past it before I glimpsed the wrought-iron gate in the low wall.

I slammed on the brakes, then backed. But when I got out of the car, I didn't go straight in. I just stood there, too scared to move. The windows, opaque in the starlight, were like blank eyes in a stucco skull and I was scared of what I'd find. The blackness of the heath, the sound of the sea snarling at the rocks, and the villa silent as the grave. What would they have done to her? For Christ's sake…

I braced myself and reached for the latch of the gate. Only one way to find out. But God help me, what wouldI find? I tried to still the thumping of my blood, blot out my too-imaginative fears. I was never in any doubt, you see, that she was there. The house, with just its upper floor peering over the rim of the slope, its silence, its air of watchfulness — it seemed to be telling me something.

I jabbed my elbow against the largest window, the crash of glass loud in the night, the stillness afterwards more pronounced. I put my hand in, feeling for the catch. The window swung open. I had to go back to the car then for the torch I had left on the passenger seat. After that I moved quickly down through the villa's three levels and on down the steps into the cellar. I stopped there, the beam of my torch directed at the rack of bottles and the flat metal sheet on which it stood. Was that how we had left it? I couldn't be sure.

The rack was almost too heavy for me on my own, but emptying the bottles out of it would have taken time and by now I was desperate to know what waited for me in that rock passage below. The air in the cellar was still and very humid. I was sweating by the time I had managed to shift the rack clear and I stood there for a moment, gasping for breath and staring down at that metal sheet. I thought I could smell something. The dank air maybe. I took a deep breath, stooped down and pulled the corrugated iron clear of the hole.

I was certain then. It was the sweet, nauseous smell of decay. I called, but there was no answer.

I bent down, my head thrust into the hole, and shouted her name, the echo of it coming back to me with the soft slop of the sea. No answer, and the passage below empty for as far as the torch would reach. It was ten feet or more to the floor of it and no way of climbing out if I made the jump. I tried to remember what Lennie had done with the rope we had used. I was certain he hadn't had it with him when we had left the villa to run back to the car.

In the end I found it up in the top level, lying under a chest. He must have kicked it there just before we left. I grabbed it up and ran back with it down the stairs, back into that cellar, fastening it to the bottle rack as we had done before. In a moment my foot was in the first of Lennie's loops and I had dropped through the hole and was in the water-worn rock passage below shouting her name again. And when there was no reply, I followed my nose, the blood pounding in my veins as I turned a bend, the blowhole passageway narrowing to finish abruptly in the pale yellow of the matchboarding where we had heard the sound of their voices and the truck's engine as it backed up to the garage doors.

One of the lengths of boarding was splintered now. It had clearly been prised off and then nailed roughly back into place. But it wasn't the splintered boarding that held my gaze. It was Miguel's body.

He was lying just as he had fallen after being stuffed through the hole in the boarding, his eyes open and staring and the back of his head smashed in. There was blood mingled with the rock dust of the floor, smears of it on the fresh wood of the boarding, and his eyes reflected dully the light of my torch. The sight of him, and the smell… I turned away, feeling suddenly sick. And then I was hurrying back along the blowhole passage, doubt mingled with dread, wondering what they would have done with her. If they had killed her, then no point in bringing the body here. A weight tied to the feet, then overboard and the Balearic lobsters would do the rest.

I ducked past the rope and when I reached the second expansion chamber and could see the water-worn passage falling away and the scaffold poles rigged over the blowhole, I stopped. There was nobody there. I was shouting her name again, but it was a futile gesture, only sepulchral echoes answering me and the slop of the sea loud in my ears.

I was turning away when I thought I heard something. It was a high sound, like the scream of a gull. I stood there for a moment, listening. But all I heard was the sea, and nobody would go down into the cave itself without diving gear, for the entrance to it was deep under water and in a gale… And then it came again, high and quavering.

I flung myself down the slope, slamming into the scaffold poles and gripping tight as I leaned out over the hole, the beam of my torch almost lost in the expanse of water that flooded the cavern below. The tide seemed higher than when Lennie and I had looked down at it, the beach no more than a narrow strip and only the upper fluke of the rusty anchor above water. I didn't see her at first. She had retreated to the far end of the beach, her body pressed back against the rock wall of the cavern, so that all I could see of her was a vague shadow in the yellowing beam.

'Soo! Is that you?'

She was too far away and she had her hands up to her face. I couldn't be sure. I called again, but she shrank back, scared that one of the men who had held her captive had returned. It wasn't until I called my own name several times that she finally moved. She came across the beach very slowly, her face growing clearer and whiter as she approached, her black hair turned almost grey with rock dust, her eyes large and wild-looking. She wouldn't believe it was really me till I shone the torch on my face, and then she suddenly collapsed.

There was nothing for it but to go down to her. Fortunately the rope on the pulley was a long one, so that I was able to fasten one end of it round my body and use the other part to lower myself to the beach. She had passed out completely, her body limp, her eyes closed. There was a nasty bruise on her cheek and a gash on the back of her right wrist that had left the whole hand tacky with half-congealed blood. I bathed her face in sea water, the hand too, but it only caused the bleeding to start again.

The sting of it must have brought her round, for when I had scooped up some more water in my cupped hands, I came back to find her staring up at me. 'Who are you?' The words were barely audible, her body stiff and trembling uncontrollably.

It's Mike/ I said and reached out for the torch, shining it on my face again.

'Oh, my God!' She reached out, gripping hold of me, her fingers digging into my flesh so violently they hurt.

I don't know how long I sat there on that wet uncomfortable beach holding her in my arms, trying to comfort her. Not long I suppose, but long enough for my mind to try to grapple with the future and what this meant to us. 'I love you.' She said that twice, like an incantation, her voice very quiet as though the words meant a great deal to her, and holding her tight, I thought, well, maybe we could try again.

I got her up and put her foot in the looped end of the rope, passing it round her body under the arms. I was just pressing her hands on to the standing part of it, imploring her to hold tight while I was hoisting her up to the scaffolding above, when she began to giggle. The barrel..' she murmured.

'Barrel?' I had been on the point of putting my weight on the tail end of the rope, but now I hesitated, letting go of it and shining the torch on her face. Her eyes looked enormous, the whites catching the light, and her mouth was open, bubbling with uncontrollable laughter.

It was reaction, of course. Not hysteria, just reaction from the strain of all she had been through in the last thirty-six hours or so. 'Don't you remember? That record. And then the barrel…'She had deepened her voice, tears welling in her eyes, tears of laughter.

And suddenly I remembered. 'Hoffnung. Gerard Hoffnung.' The silly saga of that barrel full of bricks.

'And then I met the barrel coming down.'Her laughter became a giggle again. 'For a moment I thought I was the barrel. If I pulled you off your feet… We could be yo-yoing up and down…' She put her hand to her mouth, stilling her giggles. And after that she gripped the rope again. 'When I get to the top, don't let go, please.' She smiled at me, both of us remembering what had happened when the bricky had hoisted the barrel back up to the top of the chimney.

I hesitated, not sure whether I could trust her to reach for the scaffolding and haul herself out. But she seemed to have steadied herself. 'Okay,' I said. 'You're the barrel and you're going up.'

She was more of a weight than I had realised, and when her legs finally disappeared into the blowhole I began to wonder if I could hold her. Then suddenly I was on the floor, the rope slack in my hands. 'You all right, Mike?' Her voice, remote and strangely hollow, seemed to come from the roof of the cavern.

'Yes, I'm all right.' I got to my feet and stood there for a moment, letting the rope end down and getting my breath back. The height I had to hoist myself looked further than I had reckoned and if I couldn't make it… I swept the beam of my torch over the rock roof of the cavern where it came down to meet the water. Not a nice place to spend hours waiting for rescue, plagued by the thought that a gale might spring up from the north-west and the sea level rise. I knew then what it had been like for Soo, and she had lowered herself down on to the beach with no torch and no certainty that anybody would ever find her there.

I tied the end of the rope round my chest, put my foot in the loop and hauled down on the other end of it. For a moment I didn't think I would ever get off the ground, then suddenly I was swinging free, and after that it was a little easier. I didn't realise it at the time, but Soo was hauling too and it was her weight that made the difference.

It was when we were back in the first expansion chamber that she said, 'You know about Miguel?' The whisper of her voice trembled on the dank air.

'Yes.'

'You saw him?'

It wasn't something I wanted her to dwell on, so I didn't answer.

'I only had matches. Book matches from the Figuera Restaurant. I used five of them. Poor Miguel. He looked terrible. After that I had barely half a dozen left. I used the last after I'd lowered myself into the cave. I think if you hadn't come… It was so dark and damp, and the sound of the water… I think a few hours more and I would have gone for a swim. I couldn't have stood it much longer.' Her words came in a rush, her body trembling again. The smell was there in our nostrils and I think it was that more than anything that had brought back her fears.

We had reached the rope hanging from the hole in the cellar floor and when I had hauled her up the trembling had stopped. I took her back the way I had come and out through the door in the villa's top level. She stopped there, staring up at the stars, breathing deeply. I shall never forget that moment, the ecstatic smile on her face, the tears in her eyes. 'My God!' she whispered, her hand gripping my arm. 'I never realised what life meant before, not really. Freedom and the smell of plants growing, the stars, being able to see. And you,' she added, looking up at me, wide-eyed. 'Oh, God, Mike!' And she was in my arms and I was kissing her. 'Let's go somewhere,' she said. 'Not home. I'd have to cook something. I'm hungry. My God! I'm hungry. Let's pretend we've only just met. Let's go out somewhere and celebrate. Just the two of us.'

I knew she couldn't settle now, she was too keyed up, so I drove her to Fornells, to a favourite restaurant of ours that stood back from the waterfront. We knew the people there and she was able to clean herself up, telling them we had been exploring a cave and she had fallen down a hole.

It was past midnight when we left Fornells and she was asleep before we reached the old salt pans and the end of the shallow inlet. We had shared a bottle of Rioja tintoover the meal and she had had a large La Ina before it and two brandies with the coffee. She had every reason to sleep, but as soon as I turned the car on to the quay she was awake. Petra's inflatable was lying alongside and she saw it before I could switch the lights off. 'What's Petra doing here?'

I thought I detected a note of hostility in her voice, so I said nothing. Somebody must have recovered the boat from Gala Llonga, or wherever Evans had beached it, somebody from Medusapresumably. The lights were on in our flat upstairs, the chandlery door ajar, and as we went in Petra appeared at the top of the stairs. 'You found her.' She was looking down at Soo. 'Thank God for that. We've been waiting here — hours it seems, waiting and wondering. You all right, Soo?'

'Yes. I'm all right.' Her voice shook slightly.

'Who's with you?' I asked. 'You said we.' Ithink I knew the answer, but when she said 'Gareth', Soo gave a little gasp and I cursed under my breath. It wasn't the moment. 'What the hell's he want?'

'You'd better come up,' Petra said. 'It's been a long couple of hours, and not knowing didn't help.' Her voice was a little slurred.

I told her to get Soo to bed and pushed past her, taking the stairs two at a time. I wanted to get shot of him, to save Soo the emotional strain of meeting him face-to-face. I didn't know what the effect on her would be.

He was in the front room, sitting in the wing chair I normally used with a glass in his hand and a bottle of brandy open on the table beside him. He was dressed in a white open-necked shirt and grey flannels, his face gleaming with perspiration, and his eyes had difficulty in focusing on me. 'Ah, M-Mike.' He hauled himself to his feet, clutching the back of the chair. He was very, very tight. He started to say something, but then he stopped, his eyes narrowing as he stared past me.

I turned to find Soo in the doorway, her eyes wide and fixed on Gareth as he tried to pull himself together. 'Y'rorlright-th'n,' he mumbled.

She nodded and they stood there, the two of them, gazing at each other. Then abruptly Soo turned away, walking blindly into Petra, who had been standing just behind her in the doorway. 'Get her to bed,' I told her again, and she took Soo's arm and led her off to the bedroom. But she was back almost immediately. 'She's asking for Benjie.'

I'd forgotten about the dog. Tell her I'll get it for her.'

Gareth had subsided back into my chair, his arms slack, his eyes closing. 'Where did you find her?' he asked. And when I told him, he muttered, 'That's like Pat. Leave it to the sea, anything so long as he doesn't have to do it himself.' He hesitated. 'Impersonal,' he went on reflectively. 'Couldn't stand close contact, y'know. Didn't like to touch people, women especially.' And he added, 'Strange sort of man.'

Those last words were mumbled so softly I could barely hear them, and when I told him how he had seized hold of Petra and held a knife at her throat, he didn't seem to take it in, muttering something about he'd been thinking, his eyes half-closed.

I picked up the bottle and poured myself a drink. As I put it back on the side table, he reached out for it. 'B'n thinking,' he said again, leaning forward and staring down at his glass, which was half-full. 'Abou' what they did to poor ol' Byng.' He shook his head, picking up his glass. He stared at it for a moment, then put it down again, carefully. 'Had enough, eh?' He collapsed back in his chair. 'Byng. And now me. Know what they'll do to me?' He was leaning back, his black hair limp against the wing of the chair, deep furrows creasing his forehead, and his dark eyes staring into space. 'I b'n wress-wrestling all afternoon with a bloody form, man. S two three t-two — report on collision and grounding. I grounded my ship, y'see.' The eyes fixed suddenly on me. 'How the hell do I explain that?' And then, leaning suddenly forward, 'Bu' I di'n run.' He was peering up at me. 'I di'n run like poor oP Byng. Shot him,' he added. 'On the quarterdeck of the ol' Monarch — in Portsmouth Harbour with the whole Fleet gawping at it.' And then he quoted, speaking slowly, groping for the words: 'II est bon de tuei de temps en temps un amiral pour encrug-encourager les autres — that's what Voltaire said. F-fortunately I'm not an admiral. Tuer, non, mais…' He paused, staring at me sombrely. 'You ever b'n at a court martial?' He didn't wait for me to shake my head, but went straight on: That's what'll happen to me, y'know. They'll fly me to Portsmouth, an' just inside the main gate, ther'shpeshul room for poor buggers like me who've run their ships aground, an' you go back in with the prisoner's friend an' there's your sword with the b-blade pointing at you.' He shook his head angrily. 'An' all because I can't tell them the truth about why I ran Medusaashore. All because of that devil Pat…' His voice trailed away. 'If Pat hadn't got hold of her… I can't tell them that, can I? So I'll be shot — figuratively, you un'erstand. They'd never…' His head was nodding. 'Never admit personal reason as legit-gitimate defence.' He reached out his hand to the side table, groping for his glass.

That's the second bottle.' Petra had come back and was standing looking at him. 'I've given her something to make her sleep. She'll be all right now.' She nodded towards Gareth. 'After they'd recovered the inflatable he insisted on coming ashore with me. Said he wanted to see you. But I think it was Soo really. He wanted to make certain she was all right.' And she added, 'He's been here ever since — waiting. What are we going to do with him? He can't go back to his ship in that state. And he's worried sick about the future.' She touched my arm. 'Why did he do it, Mike? I was there. I saw it. He ran his ship aground — deliberately. Why?'

That was the question the Board of Enquiry was to ask him four days later. Not because Mrs Suzanne Steele was being held as hostage, they didn't know about that at the outset. Their primary concern was whether he could have achieved his purpose of holding fast in the approaches to Mahon without the need to ground his ship. But that was before they called Lieutenant Commander Mault to give evidence.