Seawitch

Chapter 5

Worth, a glass of scotch in one hand and an illegal Cuban cigar in the other, was comfortably ensconced in a deep armchair in the very plush office of the Assistant Secretary of State, He should have been contented and relaxed: he was, in fact, highly discontented and completely unrelaxed. He was becoming mad, steadily and far from slowly, at the world in general and at the four other people in that room in particular.

The four consisted of Howell, the Assistant Secretary, a tall, thin, keen-faced man with steel-framed glasses who looked like, and in fact was, a Yale professor. The second was his personal assistant, whose name, fittingly enough, Lord Worth had failed to catch, for he had about him the gray anonymity of a top-flight civil servant. The third was Lieutenant-General Zweicker, and all that could be said about him was that he looked every inch a general. The fourth was a middle-aged stenographer who appeared to take notes of the discussion whenever the mood struck her, which didn't appear to be very often: most likely, long experience had taught her that most of what was said at any conference wasn't worth noting anyway.

Lord Worth said: *Tm a very tired man who has just flown up from the Gulf of Mexico. I have spent twenty-five minutes here and appear to have wasted my time. Well, gentlemen, I have no intention of wasting my time. My time is as important as yours. Correction. It's a damn sight more important. 'The big brush-off,' I believe it's called.»

«How can you call it a brush-off? You're sitting in my office and General Zweicker is here. How many other citizens rate that kind of treatment?»

«The bigger the facade, the bigger the brush-off. I am not accustomed to dealing with underlings. I am accustomed to dealing with the very top, which I haven't quite reached yet, but will. The cool, diplomatic, deep-freeze treatment will not work. I am no troublemaker, but Til go any lengths to secure justice. You can't sweep me under your diplomatic carpet, Mr. Howell. I told you recently that there were international threats against the Seawitch, and you chose either to disbelieve me or ignore me. I come to you now with additional proof that I am threatened—three naval vessels heading for the Seawitch—and still you propose to take no action. And I would point out, incidentally, if you still don't know independently of the movements of those vessels, then it's time you got yourselves a new intelligence service.»

General Zweicker said: «We are aware of those movements. But as yet we see no justification for taking any kind of action. You have no proof that what you claim is true. Suspicions, no more. Do you seriously expect us to alert naval units and a squadron of fighter-bombers on the unproven and what may well be the unfounded suspicions of a private citizen?»

«That's it in a nutshell,» Howell said. «And I would remind you, Lord Worth, that you're not even an American citizen.»

« 'Not even an American citizen.' « He turned to the stenographer. «I trust you made a note of that.» He lifted his hand as Howell made to speak. «Too late, Howell. Too late to retrieve your blunder—a blunder, I may say, of classical proportions. Not an American citizen? I would point out that I paid more taxes last year than all your precious oil companies in the States combined—this apart from supplying the cheapest oil to the United States. If the level of competence of the State Department is typical of the way this country is run, then I can only rejoice in the fact that I still retain a British passport. One law for Americans, another for the heathen beyond the pale. Even-handed justice. 'Not an American citizen.' This should make a particularly juicy tidbit for the news conference I» intend to hold immediately after I leave.»

«A news conference?» HoweU- betrayed unmistakable signs of agitation,

«Certainly.» Lord Worth's tone was as grim as his face. «If you people won't protect me, then, by God, Til protect myself.»

Howell looked at the general, then back to Lord Worth. He strove to inject an official and intimidating note into his voice. «I would remind you that any discussions that take place here are strictly confidential.»

Lord Worth eyed him coldly. «It's always sad to see a man who has missed his true vocation. You should have been a comedian, Howell, not a senior member of government. Confidential. That's good. How can you remind me of something you never even mentioned before? Confidential. If there wasn't a lady present Fd tell you what I really think of your asinine remark. God, it's rich, a statement like that coming from the number two in a government department with so splendid a record of leaking state secrets to muckraking journalists, doubless in return for a suitable quid pro quo. I cannot abide hypocrisy. And this makes another juicy tidbit for the press conference—the State Department tried to gag me. Classical blunder number two, Howell.»

Howell said nothing. He looked as if he were considering the advisability of wringing his hands.

«I shall inform the press conference of the indecision, reluctance, inaction, incompetence and plain running-scared vacillation of a State Department which will be responsible for the loss of a hundred-million-dollar oil rig, the stopping of cheap supplies of fuel to the American people, the biggest oil slick in history, and the possible—no, I would say probable—beginnings of a third major war. In addition to holding this news conference, I shall buy TV and radio time, explain the whole situation, and further explain that I am forced to go to those extraordinary lengths because of the refusal and inability of the State Department to protect me.» He paused. «That was rather silly of me. I have my own TV and radio stations. It's going to be such a burning-hot topic that the big three companies will jump at it and it won't cost me a cent. By tonight I'll have the name of the State Department, particularly the names of you and your boss, if not exactly blackened, at least tarnished across the country. I'm a desperate man, gentlemen, and I'm prepared to adopt desperate methods.»

He paused for their reactions. Facially they were all he could have wished. Howell, his assistant and the general all too clearly realized that Lord Worth meant every word he said. The implications were too horrendous to contemplate, But no one said anything, so Lord Worth took up the conversational burden again.

«Finally, gentlemen, you base your pusillanimous refusal to act on the fact that I have no proof of evil intent. I do, in fact, possess such proof, and it's cast iron. I will not lay this proof before you because it is apparent that I will achieve nothing here. I require a decision-maker, and the Secretary has the reputation for being just that. I suggest you get him here.»

«Get the Secretary?» HowelTs ears were clearly appalled by this suggested l$se majeste. «One doesn't 'get' the Secretary. People make appointments days, even weeks, in advance. Besides, he is in a very important conference.»

Lord Worth remained unmoved. «Get him. This conference he'd better have with me will be the most important of his life. If he elects not to come, then he's probably holding the last conference of his political career. I know he's not twenty yards from here. Get him.» «I—I don't really think—» Lord Worth rose. «I hope your immediate successors—and the operative word is 'immediate'—win, for the country's sake, display more common sense and intestinal fortitude than you have. Tell the man who, through your gross negligence and cowardly refusal to face facts, will be held primarily responsible for the outbreak of the next war, to watch TV tonight. You have had your chance—as your stenographer's notebook will show—and you've thrown it away.» Lord Worth shook his head, almost in sadness. «There are none so blind as those who will not see— especially a spluttering fuse leading to a keg of dynamite. I bid you good day, gentlemen.»

«No! No!» Howell was in a state of very considerable agitation. «Sit down! Sit down! I'll see what I can do.»

He practically ran from the room.

During his rather protracted absence—he was gone for exactly thirteen minutes—conversation in the room was minimal.

Zweicker said: «You really mean what you say, don't you?»

«Do you doubt me, General?»

«Not any more. You really intend to carry out those threats?»

«I think the word you want is 'promises/ «

After this effective conversation-stopper an uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Only Lord Worth appeared hi no way discomforted. He was, or appeared to be, calm and relaxed, which was quite a feat, because he knew that the appearance or nonappearance of the Secretary meant whether he had won or lost.

He'd won. The Secretary, John Benton, when Howell nervously ushered him in, didn't look at all like his reputation—which was that of a tough, shrewd-minded, hard-nosed negotiator, ruthless when the situation demanded and not much given to consulting his cabinet colleagues when it came to decision-making. He looked like a prosperous farmer and exuded warmth and geniality—which deceived Lord Worth, a man who specialized in warmth and geniality not a whit. Here, indeed, was a very different kettle of fish from Howell, a man worthy of Lord Worth's mettle. Lord Worth rose.

Benton shook his hand warmly. «Lord Worth! This is a rare privilege—to have, if I may be forgiven the unoriginal turn of speech, to have America's top oil tycoon calling on us.»

Lord Worth was courteous but not deferential. «I wish it were under happier circumstances. My pleasure, Mr. Secretary. It's most kind of you to spare a few moments. Well, five minutes, no more. My promise.»

«Take as long as you like.» Benton smiled. «You have the reputation for not bandying words. I happen to share that sentiment.»

'Thank you.» He looked at Howell. «Thirteen minutes to cover forty yards.» He looked back at the Secretary. «Mr. Howell will have—ah— apprised you of the situation?»

«I have been fairly well briefed. What do you require of us?» Lord Worth refrained from beaming: here was a man after his own heart. John Benton continued: «We can, of course, approach the Soviet and Venezuelan ambassadors, but that's like approaching a pair of powderpuffs. All they can do is report our suspicions and veiled threats to their respective governments. They're powerless, really. Even ten years ago ambassadors carried weight. They could negotiate and make decisions. Not any more. They have become, through no fault of their own, faceless and empty people who are consistently bypassed in state-to-state negotiations. Even their second chauffeurs, who are customarily trained espionage agents, wield vastly more power than the ambassadors themselves.

«Alternatively, we can make a direct approach to the governments concerned. But for that we would have to have proof. Your word doesn't come into question, but it's not enough. We must be able to adduce positive proof of, shall we say, nefarious intent.»

Lord Worth replied immediately. «Such proof I can adduce and can give you the outline now. I am extremely reluctant to name names because it will mean the end of a professional career of a friend of mine. But if I have to, that I will do. Whether I release those names to you or to the public will depend entirely upon the department's reaction. If I can't receive a promise of action after I have given you this outline, then I have • no recourse other than to approach the public. This is not blackmail. Tin in a corner and the only solution is to fight my way out of it. If you will, as I hope you will, give me a favorable reaction, I shall, of course, give you a list of names, which, I would hope, will not be published by your department. Secrecy, in other words. Not, of course, that this will prevent you from letting-loose the FBI the moment I board my helicopter out there.»

«The great warm heart of the American public versus the incompetent bumbling of the State Department.» Benton smiled. «One begins to understand why you are a millionaire—I do apologize, billionaire.»

«Earlier this week a highly secret meeting was held in a lakeside resort out west. Ten people, all of them very senior oilmen, attended this meeting. Four were Americans, representing many of the major oil companies in the States. A fifth was from Honduras. A sixth was from Venezuela, a seventh from Nigeria. Numbers eight and nine were oil sheikhs from the Gulf. The last was from the Soviet Union. As he was the only one there who had no interest whatsoever hi the flow of oil into the United States, one can only presume that he was there to stir up as much trouble as possible.»

Lord Worth looked around at the five people in the room. That he had their collective ear was beyond dispute. Satisfied, he continued.

«The meeting had one purpose and one only in mind. To stop me and to stop me at all costs. More precisely, they wanted to stop the flow of oil from the Seawitch—that is the name of my oil rig—because I was considerably undercutting them in price and thereby raising all sorts of fiscal problems. If there are any rules or ethics in the oil business I have as yet to detect any. I believe your congressional investigative committees agree one hundred per cent with me on that. Incidentally, North Hudson—that's the official name of my company—has never been investigated.

«The only permanent way to stop the flow of oil is to destroy the Seawitch. Halfway through the meeting they called in a professional trouble-shooter, a man whom I know well, and a highly dangerous man at that. For reasons I won't explain until I get some sort of guarantee of help, he has a deep and bitter grudge against me. He also happens—just coincidentally, of course—to be one of the world's top experts, if not the very top, on the use of high explosives.

«After the meeting this troubleshooter called aside the Venezuelan and Soviet delegates and asked for naval cooperation. This he was guaranteed.'* Lord Worth looked at the company with a singular lack of enthusiasm. «Now perhaps you people will believe me.

«I would add that this man so hates me that he would probably do the job for nothing. However, he has asked for—and got—a fee of a million dollars. He also asked for—and got— ten million dollars' 'operating expenses.' What does ten million dollars mean to you—except the unlimited use of violence?»

«Preposterous! Incredible!» The Secretary shook his head. «It has, of course, to be true. You are singularly well-informed, Lord Worth. You would appear to have an intelligence service to rival our own.»

«Better. I pay them more. This oil business is a jungle and it's a case of survival of the most devious.»

«Industrial espionage?»

«Most certainly not.» It was just possible that Lord Worth actually believed this.

«This friend who may be coming to the end of his—»

«Yes.»

«Give me all the details, including a list of the names. Put a cross against the name of your friend. I shall see to it that he is not implicated and that only I will see that list.»

«You are very considerate, Mr. Secretary.»

«In return I shall consult with Defense and the Pentagon.» He paused. «Even that will not be necessary. In return I can personally guarantee you a sufficiency of air and sea cover against any normal or even considerable hazard.»

Lord Worth didn't doubt him. Benton had the reputation of being a man of unshakable integrity. More important, he had the justly deserved reputation of being the President's indispensable right-hand man. Benton delivered. Lord Worth decided against showing too much relief.

«I cannot tell you how deeply grateful I am.» He looked at the stenographer and then at Howell. «If I could borrow this lady's services—»

«Of course.» The stenographer turned a fresh page in her notebook and waited expectantly.

Lord Worth said: «The place—Lake Tahoe, California. The address—»

The telephone jangled. The stenographer gave Lord Worth an «excuse me» smile and picked up the handset. Howell said to the Secretary: «Dammit, I gave the strictest instructions—»

«It's for Lord Worth.» She was looking at Benton. «A Mr. Mitchell from Florida. Extremely urgent.» The Secretary nodded and the stenographer rose and handed the phone to Lord Worth.

«Michael? How did you know I was here . . . Yes, I'm listening.»

He listened without interruption. As he did so, to the considerable consternation of those watching him, the color drained from his tanned cheeks and left them an unhealthy sallow color. It was Benton himself who rose, poured out a brandy and brought it across to Lord Worth, who took it blindly and drained the not inconsiderable contents at a gulp. Benton took the glass from him and went for a refill. When he came back Lord Worth took the drink but left it untouched. Instead he handed the instrument to Benton and held his left hand over Ms now screwed-shut eyes.

Benton spoke into the phone. «State Department. Who's speaking?»

Mitchell's voice was faint but clear. «Michael Mitchell, from Lord Worth's home. Is that—is that Dr. Benton?»

«Yes. Lord Worth seems to have received a severe shock.»

«Yes, sir. His two daughters have been kidnaped.»

«Good God above!» Benton's habitual imperturbability had received a severe dent. No one had even seen him register shock before. Perhaps it was the bluntness of the announcement. «Are you sure?»

«I wish to hell I wasn't, sir.»

«Who are you?»

«We—my partner John Roomer and I—are private investigators. We are not here in an investigative capacity. We are here because we are neighbors and friends of Lord Worth and his daughters.»

«Called the police?»

«Yes.»

«What's been done?»

«We have arranged for the blocking of all air and sea escape routes.»

«You have descriptions?»

«Poor. Five men, heavily armed, wearing stocking masks.»

«What's your opinion of the local law?»

«Low.»

«I'll call in the FBI.»

«Yes, sir. But as the criminals haven't been traced, there's no evidence that they've crossed the state line.»

«Hell with state lines and regulations. If I say they're called in, that's it. Hold on. I think Lord Worth would like another word.» Lord Worth took the receiver. Some color had returned to his cheeks.

«I'm leaving now. Less than three hours, I should say. I'll radio from the Boeing half an hour out. Meet me at the airport.»

«Yes, sir. Commander Larsen would like to know—»

«Tell him.» Lord Worth replaced the phone, took another sip of his brandy. «There's no fool like an old fool, and only a blind fool would have overlooked so obvious a move. This is war, even if undeclared war, and in war no holds are barred. To think that it should come to this before you had incontrovertible proof that I am indeed under siege. Unforgivable. To have left my daughters unguarded was wholly unforgivable. Why didn't I have the sense to leave Mitchell and Roomer on guard?» He looked at his now-empty glass and the stenographer took it away.

Benton was faintly skeptical. «But against five armed men?»

Lord Worth looked at him morosely. «I had forgotten that you don't know those men. Mitchell, for example, could have taken care of them all by himself. He's lethal.»

«So they're your friends, and you respect them. Don't take offense, Lord Worth, but is there any way that they could be implicated in this?»

«You must be out of your mind.» Lord Worth, still morose, sipped his third brandy. «Sorry, I'm not myself. Sure, they'd like to kidnap my daughters, almost as much as my daughters would like to be kidnaped by them.»

«That the way it is?» Benton seemed mildly astonished. In his experience, billionaires' daughters did not normally associate with the likes of private investigators.

«That's the way. And hi answer to your next two questions: yes, I approve and no, they don't give a damn about my money.» He shook his head wonderingly. «It is extremely odd. And I shall forecast this, Mr. Secretary. When Marina and Melinda are brought back to me it won't be through the good offices of either the local police or your precious FBI. Mitchell and Roomer will bring them back. One does not wish to sound overly dramatic, but they would, quite literally, give their lives for my daughters.»

«And, as a corollary, they would cut down anyone who got in their way?»

For the first time since the phone call Lord Worth smiled, albeit faintly. «I'll take the fifth amendment on that one.»

«I must meet those paragons sometime.»

«Just as long as it's not over the wrong end of Mitchell's gun.» He rose, leaving his drink unfinished, and looked round the room. «I must go. Thank you all for your kindness and consideration, not to say forbearance.» He left with the Secretary by his side.

When the door closed behind him General Zweicker rose and poured himself a brandy. «Well. What may be the kidnaping of the century pales into insignificance compared to the likelihood of the Russkies starting to throw things at us.» He took some brandy. «Don't tell me I'm the only person who can see the hellish witches' brew Lord Worth is stirring up for us?»

It was clear that all three listening to him had a very sharp view of the cauldron. Howell said: «Let's give Lord Worth his due. He could even be right when he says he's glad he's got a British passport. The stirrers-up are our own compatriots; the holier-than-thou major American oil companies, who are willing to crucify Lord Worth and put their country at jeopardy because of their blind stupidity.»

«I don't care who's responsible.» The stenographer's voice was plaintive. «Does anyone know where I can get a bomb shelter cheap?»

Benton led Worth down one flight of stairs and out onto the sunlit lawn, where the helicopter was waiting.

Benton said: «Ever tried to find words to tell someone how damnably sorry you feel?»

«I know from experience. Don't try. .But thanks.»

«I could have our personal physician accompany you down to Florida.»

«Thanks again. But I'm fine now.»

«And you haven't had lunch?» Benton, clearly, was finding conversational gambits heavy going.

«As I don't much care for plastic lunches from plastic trays, I have an excellent French chef aboard my plane.» Again a faint smile. «And two stewardesses, chosen solely for their good looks. I shall not want. «

They reached the steps of the helicopter. Benton said: «You've had neither the time nor opportunity to give me that list of names. For the moment that's of no consequence. I just want you to know that my guarantee of protection remains in force.»

Lord Worth shook his hand silently and climbed the steps.

By this time Conde, aboard the Roomer, had arrived at the S&awitch, and the big derrick crane aboard the platform was unloading the heavy weaponry and mines from the Louisiana arsenal It was a slow and difficult task, for the tip of the derrick boom was two hundred feet above sea level and, in all, the transfer was to take about three hours. As each dual-purpose antiaircraft gun came aboard Larsen selected its site and supervised Palermo and some of his men in securing it in position: this was done by drilling holes in the concrete platform, then anchoring the gun-carriage base with sledgehammer-driven steel spikes. The guns were supposed to be re-coilless, but then neither Larsen nor Palermo was much given to taking chances.

The depth charges, when they came, were stacked together in three groups, each halfway between the three apexes of the triangle. That there was an inherent risk in this Larsen was well aware: a stray bullet or shell—or perhaps not so stray—could well trigger the detonating mechanism of one of the depth charges, which would inevitably send up the other charges in sympathetic detonation. But it was a risk that had to be taken if for no other reason than the fact there was no other place where they could be stored ready for immediate use. And when and if the time came for their use the need would be immediate.

The drilling crew watched Palermo and his men at work, their expressions ranging from disinterest to approval. Neither group of men spoke to the other. Larsen was no great believer in fraternization.

Things were going well. The defensive system was being steadily installed. The Christmas tree, the peculiar name given to the valve which controlled the flow of oil from the already tapped reservoir, was wide open and oil was being steadily pumped to the huge storage tank while the derrick drill, set at its widest angle, was driving even deeper into the substratum of the ocean floor, seeking to discover as yet untapped oil deposits. All was going well, there were no overt signs of attack or preparation for attack from air or sea, but Larsen was not as happy as he might have been, even despite the fact that they were still receiving the half-hour regular «on course, on time» reports from the ^prbello.

He was unhappy partly because of the non-existence of the Tiburon. He had recently learned from Galveston that there was no vessel listed in naval or coast guard registries under the name Tiburon. He had then asked that they check civilian registrations and had been told that this was a forlorn hope. It would take many hours, perhaps days, to carry out this type of investigation, and private vessels, unless fully insured, would show up neither in official registries nor in those of the major marine-insurance companies. There was no law which said they had to be insured, and the owners of the older and more decrepit craft didn't even bother to insure: there are such things as tax write-offs.

Larsen was not to know that his quest was a hopeless one. When Mulhooney had first taken over the Tiburon it had been called the Ham-mond, which he had thoughtfully had painted out and replaced by the name Tiburon on the way to Galveston. Since Cronkite had since replaced that by the name Georgia, both the Ham-mond and the Tiburon had ceased to exist.

But what concerned Larsen even more was his conviction that something was far wrong. He was unable to put a finger on what this might be. He was essentially a pragmatist of the first order, but he was also a man who relied heavily on instinct and intuition. He was a man occasionally given to powerful premonitions, and more often than not those premonitions had turned into reality. And so when the loudspeaker boomed «Commander Larsen to the radio cabin, Commander Larsen to the radio cabin,» he was possessed of an immediate certainty that the hour of his premonition had come.

He walked leisurely enough toward the radio cabin, partly because it would never do for Commander Larsen to be seen hurrying anxiously anywhere, partly because he was in no great hurry to hear the bad news he was convinced he was about to hear. He told the radio operator that he would like to take this call privately, waited until the man had left and closed the door behind him, then picked up the telephone.

«Commander Larsen.»

«Mitchell. I promised I'd call.»

«Thanks. Heard from Lord Worth? He said he'd keep in touch, but no word.»

«No wonder. His daughters have been kidnaped.»

Larsen said nothing immediately. Judging from the ivoried knuckles, the telephone hand-piece seemed in danger of being crushed. Although caring basically only for tirmself, he had formed an avuncular attachment toward Lord Worth's daughters, but even that was unimportant compared to the implications the kidnaping held for the welfare of the Seawitch. When he did speak it was in a steady, controlled voice.

«When did this happen?»

«This morning. And no trace of them. We've blocked every escape route in the southern part of the state. And there is no report from any port or airport of any unusual departure since the time of the kidnaping.»

«Vanished into thin air?»

«Vanished, anyway. But not into thin air, we think. Terra firma, more likely. We think they've gone to earth, and are holed up not far away. But it's only a euess.»

«No communication, no demands, from the kidnapers?»

«None. That's what makes it all so odd.»

«You think this is a ransom kidnap?»

«No.»

«The Seawitch.”

«Yes,»

«Do you know why Lord Worth went to Washington?»

«No. I'd like to.»

«To demand naval protection. Early this morning a Russian destroyer and a Cuban submarine left Havana, while another destroyer left Venezuela. They are on converging courses. The point of convergence would appear to be the Seawitch.»

There was a silence, then Mitchell said: «This is for sure?»

«Yes. Well, Lord Worth's cup of woes would seem to be fairly full. The only consolation is that nothing much else can happen to him after this. Please keep me informed.»

In Lord Worth's radio room both Mitchell and Roomer hung up their phones.

Mitchell briefly indulged in some improper language. «God, I never thought his enemies would go to this length.»

Roomer said: «Neither did I. I'm not sure that I even think so now.»

«You mean Uncle Sam's not going to let any foreign naval powers play games in our own backyard?»

«Something like that. I don't think the Soviets would go so far as to risk a confrontation. Could be a bluff, a diversionary move. Maybe the real attack is coming from elsewhere.»

«Maybe anything. Could be a double blwff. One thing's sure: Larsen's right in saying that Lord Worth's cup of woes is fairly full. In fact, I'd say it was running over.»

«Looks that way,» Roomer said absently. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Mitchell said: «Don't tell me you're in the throes of intuition again?»

«I'm not sure. When you were talking to Larsen just now you mentioned 'terra firma.' Firm land, dry land. What if it weren't dry land? What if it were Unfirm land?»

Mitchell waited patiently.

Roomer said: «If you wanted to hole up, really get lost hi Florida, where would you go?»

Mitchell hardly had to think. «You're right! Unfirm laud, infirm land, whatever you want to call it. The Everglades, of course. Where else?»

«Man could hide out for a month there, and a battalion of troops couldn't find him. Which explains why the cops have been unable to find the station wagon.» Between them, MacPherson and Jenkins had been able to give a fairly accurate description of the kidnapers' wagon. «They've been checking the highways and byways. I'll bet they never even thought of checking the roads into the swamps.»

«Did we?»

«Right. We blew it. There are dozens of those roads into the glades, but most of them are very short and right away you reach a point where a wheeled vehicle can't go any further. A few dozen police cars could comb the nearest swamps in an hour.»

Mitchell said to Robertson: «Get Chief Mc-Garrity.»

A knock came on the half-open door and Louise, one of the young housemaids, entered. She held a card in her hand. She said: «I was just making up Miss Marina's bed when I found this between the sheets.»

Mitchell took the card. It was a plain calling card giving Marina's name and address.

Louise said: «Other side.»

Mitchell reversed the card, holding it so that Roomer could see. Handwritten with a ballpoint were the words: «Vacation. Little island in the sun. No swimsuit.»

«You know Marina's handwriting, Louise?» Mitchell had suddenly realized that he didn't.

The girl looked at the card. «Yes, sir. I'm sure.»

«Thanks, Louise. This could be very useful.» Louise smiled and left. Mitchell said to Roomer: «What kind of lousy detective are you? Why didn't you think of searching the bedrooms?» . «Hmm. She must have asked them to leave while she dressed.»

«You'd have thought she'd have been too scared to think of this.»

«The handwriting's steady enough. Besides, she doesn't scare easily. Except, that is, when you point a gun between her eyes.»

«I wish, right here and now, that I was pointing a gun between someone else's eyes. Little island in the sun where you can't go bathing. An overconfident kidnaper can talk too much. You thinking what I'm thinking?»

Roomer nodded. «The Seawitch.»

At thirty-three thousand feet, Lord Worth had just completed a light but delicious lunch accompanied by a splendid Bordeaux wine, specially laid down for him in a Rothschild winery. He had regained his habitual calm. He had, he reckoned, touched his nadir. All that could happen had happened. In common with Larsen, Mitchell and Roomer, he was convinced that the fates could touch him no more. AH four were completely and terribly wrong. The worst was yet to come. It was, in fact, happening right then.

Colonel Farquharson, Lieutenant-Colonel Dewings, and Major Breckley were not in fact the people their ID cards claimed they were, for the sufficient reason that there were no officers of that rank with corresponding names in the U. S. Army. But then, it was a very big army, and nobody, not even the officers, could possibly be expected to know the names of more than a tiny fraction of their fellow officers. Nor were their faces their normal faces, although they could hardly be described as being heavily disguised. The man responsible had been a Hollywood make-up artist who preferred subtlety to false beards. All three men were dressed in sober and well-cut business suits.

Farquharson presented his card to the corporal at the outer reception desk. «Colonel Farquharson to see Colonel Pryce.» «I'm afraid he's not here, sir.» «Then the officer in charge, soldier.» «Yes, sir.»

A minute later they were seated before a young and apprehensive Captain Martin, who had just finished a rather reluctant and very perfunctory scrutiny of the ID cards.

Farquharson said: «So Colonel Pryce has been called to Washington. I can guess why.»

He didn't have to guess. He himself had put through the fake call that had led to Pryce's abrupt departure. «And his second in command?» «Flu, sir.» Martin sounded apologetic. «At this time of year? How inconvenient. Especially today. You can guess why we're here.»

«Yes, sir.» Martin looked slightly unhappy. «Security check. I had a phone call telling me of the break-ins into the Florida and Louisiana depots.» Dewings had put through that one. «I'm sure you'll find everything in order, sir.»

«Doubtless. I have already discovered something that is not in order.»

«Sir?» There was a definite apprehension now in Martin's voice and appearance.

«Security-consciousness. Do you know that there are literally dozens of shops where I cpuld buy, perfectly legally, a general's uniform. Those are the specialty shops that cater primarily to the film and stage industries. If I walked in dressed in such a uniform, would you accept me for what my uniform proclaimed me to be?»

«I suppose I would, sir.»

«Well, don't. Not ever again.» He glanced at his identity card lying on the desk. «Forging one of those presents no problems. When a stranger makes an appearance in a top security place like this, always, always, check his identity with Area Command. And always talk only to the commanding officer.»

«Yes, sir. Do you happen to know his name? Fm new here.»

«Major-General Harsworth.»

Martin had the corporal at the front desk put him through. On the first ring a voice answered. «Area Command.»

The voice did not in fact come from Area Command. It came from a man less than half a mile away, seated at the base of a telephone pole. He had with him a battery-powered transceiver. An insulated copper line from that led up to an alligator clip attached to one of the telephone wires.

Martin said: «Netley Rowan Arsenal. Captain Martin. I'd like to speak to General Harsworth.»

«Hold on, please.» There was a series of clicks, a pause of some seconds, then the same voice said: «On the line, Captain.»

Martin said: «General Harsworth.»

«Speaking.» The man by the telephone pole had deepened his voice by an octave. «Problems, Captain Martin?»

«I have Colonel Farquharson with me. He insists that I check out his identity with you.»

The voice at the other end was sympathetic. «Been getting a security lecture?»

«I'm afraid I have, sir.»

«The colonel's very hot on security. He's with Lieutenant-Colonel Dewings and Major Breck-ley?»

«Yes, sir.»

«Well, it's hardly the end of your professional career. But he's right, you know.»

Farquharson himself took the wheel of the car on the three-mile journey, a chastened, compliant Martin sitting up front beside him. A fifteen-foot-high electrical-warning barbed-wire fence surrounded the arsenal, a squat, gray, windowless building covering almost half an acre of land. A sentry with a machine carbine barred the entrance to the compound. He recognized Captain Martin, stepped back and saluted. Farquharson drove up to the one and only door of the building and halted. The four men got out. Farquharson said to Martin: «Major Breckley has never been inside a TNW installation before. A few illuminating comments, perhaps?» It would be illuminating for Farquharson also. He had never been inside an arsenal of any description in his life.

«Yes, sir, TNW—Tactical Nuclear Warfare, Walls thirty-three inches thick, alternating steel and ferroconcrete. Door ten inches tungsten steels. Both walls and door capable of resisting the equivalent of a fourteen-inch armor-piercing naval shell. This glass panel is recording us on TV videotape. This meshed grill is a two-way speaker which also records our voices.» He pressed a button sunk in the concrete.

A voice came through the grill. «Identification, please?»

«Captain Martin with Colonel Farquharson and security inspection.» «Code?»

«Geronimo.» The massive door began to slide open and they could hear the hum of a powerful electrical motor. It took all of ten seconds for the door to open to its fullest extent. Martin led them inside.

A corporal saluted their entrance. Martin said: «Security inspection tour.»

«Yes, sir.» The corporal didn't seem too happy.

Farquharson said: «You worried about something, soldier?»

«No, sir.»

«Then you should be.»

Martin said: «Something wrong, sir?» He was patently nervous.

«Four things.» Martin dipped his head so that Farquharson couldn't see his nervous swallowing. One thing would have been bad enough.

«In the first place, that sentry gate should be kept permanently locked. It should only be opened after a phone call to your HQ and an electronic link for opening the gate installed in your office. What's to prevent a person or persons with a silenced automatic disposing of your sentry and driving straight up here? Second, what would prevent people walking through the open doorway and spraying us all with submachine guns? That door should have been shut the moment we passed through.» The corporal started to move but Farquharson stopped him with upraised hand.

«Third, all people who are not base personnel—such as we—should be fingerprinted on arrival. I will arrange to have your guards trained in those techniques. Fourth, and most important, show me the controls for those doors.»

«This way, sir.» The corporal led the way to a small console. «The red button opens, the green one closes.»

Farquharson pressed the green button. The massive door hissed slowly closed. «Unsatisfactory. Totally. Those are the only controls to operate the door?»

«Yes, sir.» Martin looked very unhappy indeed.

«We shall have another electronic link established with your HO, which will render those buttons inoperable until the correct signal is sent.» Farquharson was showing signs of irritation. «I would have thought ah* those things were self-evident.»

Martin smiled weakly. «They are now, sir.»

«What percentage of explosives, bombs and shells stored here are conventional?»

«Close to ninety-five per cent, sir.»

«Fd like to see the nuclear weapons first.»

«Of course, sir.» A now thoroughly demoralized Martin led the way.

The TNW section was compartmented off but not sealed. One side was lined with what appeared to be shells, stowed on racks; the other, with pear-shaped metal canisters about thirty inches high, with buttons, a clockface and a large knurled screw on top. Beyond them were stacked suitcases, each with two leather handles.

Breckley indicated the pear-shaped canisters. «What are those? Bombs?»

«Both bombs and land mines.» Martin seemed glad to talk and take his mind off his troubles. «Those controls on top are relatively simple. Before you get at those two red switches you have to unscrew those two transparent plastic covers. The switches have then to be turned ninety degrees to the right. They are then still in the safe position. They then have to be flipped ninety degrees to the left. This is the ready-to-activate position.

«Before that is done, you have to put the time setting on the clock. That is done by means of this knurled knob here. One complete turn means a one-minute time delay which will show up on this clockface here. It registers in seconds, as you can see. Total time delay is thirty minutes— thirty turns.»

«And this black button?»

«The most important of them all. No cover and no turning. You might want to get at it in a hurry. Depressing that stops the clock and, in fact, deactivates the bomb.»

«What's the area of damage?»

«Compared to the conventional atom bomb, tiny. The vaporization area would be a quarter-mile radius. Perhaps less. The blast, shock and radiation areas would, of course, be considerably greater.»

«You mean they can be used as both bombs and mines?»

«Instead of mines, maybe I should have said an explosive device for use on land. As bombs the setting would probably be only six seconds— in tactical warfare they would be carried by low-flying supersonic planes. They'd be about two miles clear by the time the bomb went off and moving too fast for the shock waves to catch up with them. For land use—well, say you wanted to infiltrate an ammunition dump. You'd check how long it would take you to infiltrate there, calculate how long it would take you to get out and clear of the blast zone, and set the timer accordingly.

«The missiles here—»

«We've seen and heard enough,» Farquharson said. «Kindly put your hands up.»

Five minutes later, with the furiously reluctant assistance of Martin, they had loaded two of the bombs, safely concealed in their carrying cases, into the trunk of their car. In the process the purpose of the two carrying handles became clear: each bomb must have weighed at least ninety pounds.

Farquharson went back inside, looked indifferently at the two bound men, pressed the button and slipped through the doorway as the door began to close. He waited until the door was completely shut, then climbed into the front seat beside Martin, who was at the wheel this time. Farquharson said: «Remember, one false move and you're a dead man. We will, of course, have to kill the sentry too.»

There were no false moves. About a mile from the building the car stopped by a thicket of stunted trees. Martin was marched deep into the thicket, bound, gagged and attached to a tree just in case he might have any ideas about jack-knifing his way down to the roadside. Farquhar-son looked down at him.

«Your security was lousy. We'll phone your HQ in an hour or so, let them know where they can find you. I trust there are not too many rattlesnakes around.»