Seawitch

Chapter 8

JIT was due only to cruel ill luck and the extremely jittery state of Durand's nerves that John Roomer and Melinda Worth found themselves the first patients in Dr. Greenshaw's sick bay.

Durand was in a highly apprehensive state of mind, a mood that transferred itself all too easily to his four subordinates. Although he held control of the Seawitch, he knew that his hold was a tenuous one: he had not bargained on finding Palermo and his cutthroats on board, and even though he held the master keys to both the occidental and oriental quarters in his pocket— the drilling crew was in the former quarters, Palermo and his men in the latter—he was acutely aware that there were far too many windows in both quarters and he didn't have the men to cover every possible exit. He had broadcast a message over the external loud-speaker that anyone found on the platform would be shot on sight and had two men on constant patrol round the oriental quarters—he had no fear of the unarmed drilling-rig crew—and another two constantly patrolling the platform. He had no fear of Lord Worth, his seismologists and the girls—as sources of danger he held them in contempt. Besides, they were unarmed. Even so, the two men patrolling the platform had been instructed to do so in such a fashion as to make sure that at least one had an eye on the doors to the suite of Lord Worth, the laboratory and the sick bay, all three of which had intercommunicating doors.

No one inside those three places had heard the warning broadcast—and this, ironically, because Lord Worth was not above indulging in what he regarded as the bare minimum of basic creature comforts. Oil rigs can be uncommonly noisy places, and those quarters he had heavily insulated.

Mitchell had been in his tiny cubicle of the laboratory at the time, reading the complete plan of the layout of the Seawitch over and over until he was certain that he could have found his way around the rig blindfolded. This had taken him about twenty minutes. It was in the fifth minute of his studying that the shots had been fired, but again, because of the soundproofing, the sound had not reached him. He had just put the plans away in a drawer when his door opened and Marina entered. She was white-faced and shaking and her face was streaked with tears. He put his arms round her and she grabbed him tightly.

«Why weren't you there?» she sobbed. «Why weren't you there? You could have stopped them. You could have saved them!»

Mitchell took no time out to dwell upon the injustices of life. He said gently: «Stopped what? Saved who?»

«Melinda and John. They've been terribly hurt.»

«How?»

«Shot.»

«Shot? I didn't hear anything.»

«Of course you didn't. This area is all soundproofed. That's why Melinda and John didn't hear the broadcast warning.»

«Broadcast warning? Tell it to me slowly.»

So she told him as slowly and coherently as she could. There had been such a warning but it had gone unheard in Lord Worth's suite. The rain had stopped, at least temporarily, and when Mitchell had retired to study the plans, Melinda and Roomer had elected to go for a stroll. They had been wandering around the foot of the drillinig rig, where most of the lights had been turned off since Durand had ordered the abandonment of drilling, and it was there that they had been gunned down without warning.

«Terribly hurt, you said. How bad?»

'Tm not sure. Dr. Greenshaw is operating in the sick bay. I'm not a coward, you know that, but there was so much blood that I didn't want to look.»

Arrived in the sick bay, Mitchell could hardly blame her. Melinda and Roomer lay in adjacent cots and both were saturated with blood. Melinda already had her left shoulder heavily bandaged. Roomer had bandages swathing his neck and Dr. Greenshaw was working on his chest.

Lord Worth, his face a mask of bitter fury, was sitting in a chair. Durand, his face a mask of nothingness, was standing by the doorway. Mitchell looked speculatively at both, then spoke to Dr. Greenshaw. «What can you tell so far, Doctor?»

«Would you listen to him?» Roomer's voice was a hoarse whisper and his face creased with near-agony. «Never think of asking us how we feel.»

«In a minute. Doctor?»

«Melinda's left shoulder is bad, Tve extracted the bullet but she needs immediate surgery. I'm a surgeon, but I'm not an orthopedic surgeon, and that's what she must have. Roomer hasn't been quite so lucky. He got hit twice. The one through the neck missed his carotid artery by a whisker, but the bullet passed straight through and there's no worry there. The chest wound is serious. Not fatal but very serious. The bullet struck the left lung, no doubt about that, but the internal bleeding isn't that much, so I think it's a nick, no more. The trouble is, I think the bullet is lodged against the spine.»

«Can he wiggle his toes?»

Roomer moaned. «My God, what sympathy.»

«He can. But the bullet should be removed as soon as possible. I could do it but I have no X-ray equipment here. I'll give them both blood transfusions in a moment.»

«Shouldn't they be flown to a hospital as soon as possible?»

«Of course.»

Mitchell looked at Durand. «Well?»

«No.»

«But it wasn't their fault They didn't hear the warning.'*

«Tough. There's no way I'll fly them ashore. Think I want a battalion of U. S. Marines out here in a few hours?»

«If they die it'll be your fault.»

«Everybody's got to die sometime.» Durand left, slamming the door behind him.

«Dear, dear.» Roomer tried to shake his head, then winced at the pain in his neck. «He shouldn't have said that.»

Mitchell turned to Lord Worth. «You can be

Seawitch

of great help, sir. Your suite is in direct contact with the radio room; can you hear what is being said in the radio room?»

«That's no problem. Two switches and I can hear both sides of any conversation, either on the telephone, earphones or wall receivers.»

«All right—go, and don't stop listening for a second.'* He looked at the two patients on the cots. «We'll have them airborne for the hospital within a half hour.»

«How can that be possible?»

«I don't know.» Mitchell sounded vague. «But we'll think of something.»

Lord Worth left. Mitchell pulled out a slender pencil flashlight and started to flick it on and off in apparent aimlessness. His complexion had gone pale and the hands that held the pencil light trembled slightly. Marina looked at him first uncomprehendingly, then in dismay, finally in something approaching contempt. Incredulously, she said: «You're frightened.»

«Your gun?» Mitchell said to Roomer.

«When they went off for help I managed to drag myself a bit nearer the edge. I unclipped the belt and threw the whole thing over the side.»

«Good. We're still in the clear.» He seemed to become aware of the tremor in his hands, put away his flash and thrust his hands into his pockets. He said to Melinda: «Who shot you?»

«A pair of very unpleasant characters named Kowenski and Rindler. We had trouble with them before.»

«Kowenski and Rindler,» Mitchell repeated. He left the sick bay.

Marina said, half in sadness, hah* in bitterness: «My idol with the feet of clay.»

Roomer said huskily: «Put out the light and then put out the light.»

«What did you say?»

«I didn't say it. Man named Othello. That's the trouble with you millionaires* daughters. Illiterate. First Mitchell puts out the lights. He's got cat's eyes. He can see in almost total darkness where an ordinary man is blind. Did you know that?»

«No.»

«Gives him a tremendous advantage. And then he puts out other lights.»

«I know what you mean and I don't believe you. I saw him shaking.»

«Ahh ... you don't deserve him.»

She stared at him hi disbelief. «What did you say?»

«You heard me.» Roomer sounded tired and the doctor was looking at him in disapproval. He went on in a somber voice: «Kowenski and Rindler are dead men. They have just minutes to live. He loves Melinda almost as much as he does you, and I've been his closest friend and partner since we were kids. Mitchell looks after his own.» He smiled faintly. «I'm afraid he takes care of things in a sort of final way.»

«But he was shaking . . .» Her voice was now lacking in conviction.

«He isn't afraid of anything that lives. As for the shaking—he's a throwback to the old Scandinavian berserkers: he's just trying to hold in his rage. He usually smiles.» He smiled. «You're shaking now.»

She said nothing.

Roomer said: «There's a cupboard in the vestibule. If there's anything in it, bring it to me.»

She looked at him uncertainly, left and returned in a few minutes, carrying a pair of shoes. She held them at arm's length and from the look of horror on her face might have been holding a cobra.

Roomer said: «Mitchell's?»

«Yes.»

«Okay. Better return them. He'll be needing them pretty soon.»

When she came back, Melinda said to her: «Do you really think you could marry a man who kills people?»

Marina shivered and said nothing. Roomer said sardonically: «Better than marrying a coward, I'd say.»

In the generator room, Mitchell found what he wanted right away—a circuit breaker marked «Deck Lights.» He pulled the lever and stepped out onto the now darkened platform. He waited a. half minute until his eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, then moved in the direction of the derrick crane where he could hear two men cursing in far from muted voices. He approached on soundless stockinged feet until he was less than two yards away. Still soundlessly, he held his pencil flash on top of the barrel of the Smith & Wesson and slid forward the flash switch.

The two men swung round in remarkably swift unison, hands reaching for their guns.

Mitchell said: «You know what this is, don't you?»

They knew. The deep-bluish sheen of a silencer-equipped .38 is not readily mistakable for a popgun. Their hands stopped reaching for their guns. It was, to say the least, rather unnerving to see an illuminated silenced gun and nothing but blackness beyond it.

«Clasp your hands behind your necks, turn round and start walking.»

They walked until they could walk no more, for the good reason that they had reached the end of the platform. Beyond that lay nothing but the 200-foot drop to the Gulf of Mexico.

Mitchell said: «Keep your hands clasped and turn round.»

They did so. «You're Kowenski and Rindler?»

There was no reply.

«You're the two who gunned down Melinda and Mr. Roomer?»

Again there was no reply. Vocal cords can become paralyzed when the mind is possessed of the irrevocable certainty that one is but one step, one second, removed from eternity. Mitchell squeezed the trigger twice and was walking away before the dead men had hit the waters of the Gulf. He had taken only four steps when a flashlight beam struck him in the face.

«Well, well, if it isn't smart-ass Mitchell, the scared scientist.» Mitchell couldn't see the man— and the gun undoubtedly behind the flashlight— but he had no difficulty in recognizing the voice of Heifer, the one with the sharp nose and ratlike teeth. «And carrying a silenced gun. Whatcha up to, Mr. Mitchell?»

Heffer had made the classic blunder of all incompetent would-be assassins. He should have shot Mitchell on sight and then asked the questions. Mitchell flicked on his pencil torch and spun it upward, where it spiraled around like a demented firefly. Heifer would have been less than human not to have had the instinctive reaction of glancing upward as his subconscious mind speculated as to what the hell Mitchell was up to: a speculation of very brief duration indeed, because Heifer was dead before the flash fell back onto the platform.

Mitchell picked up the flash, still surprisingly working, pocketed it, then dragged Heffer by the heels and rolled him off to join his friends at the bottom of the Gulf. He returned to the sick-bay vestibule, donned his shoes and entered the sick bay itself. Dr. Greenshaw had both his patients on blood transfusion.

Roomer looked at his watch. «Six minutes. What took you so long?»

A plainly unnerved Marina looked at Roomer, half in disbelief, half in stupefaction.

«Well, I'm sorry.» Mitchell actually managed to sound apologetic. «I had the misfortune to run into Heifer on the way back.»

«You mean he had the misfortune to run into you. And where are our friends?'*

«I'm not rightly sure,»

«I understand.» Roomer sounded sympathetic. «It's hard to estimate the depth of the water out here.»

«I could find out. But it hardly seems to matter. Dr. Greenshaw, you have stretchers? Complete with straps and so forth?» Greenshaw nodded. «Get them ready. Let them stay where they are meantime. Can you carry on the blood transfusions in flight?»

«That's no problem. I assume you want me to accompany them?»

«Yes, please. I know it's asking an awful lot, but after you've handed them over to the competent medical authorities, Fd like you to return.»

«It will be a pleasure. I am now in my seventieth year and I thought there was nothing fresh left in life for me to experience. I was wrong.» Marina stared at them in disbelief. All three men seemed calm and relaxed. Melinda appeared to have dropped off into a coma-like stupor, but she was merely, in fact, under heavy sedation. Marina said with conviction: «You're all mad.»

Mitchell said: «That's what a lunatic asylum inmate says about the outside world—and he may well be right. However, that's hardly the point at issue. You, Marina, will be accompanying the others on the trip back to Florida. You will be perfectly safe there—your father will see that the most massive security guard ever mounted will be there.»

«How splendid. I love being made a fuss over, being the center of attraction. However, mastermind, there's just one small flaw in your reasoning. I'm not going. I'm staying with my father.»

«That's exactly the point I'm going to discuss with him now.»

«You mean you're going out to kill someone else?»

Mitchell held out his hands, fingers splayed. They could have been carved from marble.

«Later,» Roomer said. «He appears to have some other things on his mind at the moment.»

Mitchell left. Marina turned furiously on Roomer. «You're just as bad as he is.»

«I'm a sick man. You mustn't upset me.»

«You and his berserker moods. He's just a killer.»

Roomer's face went very still. «You know, I don't look forward to the prospect of having a mentally retarded person as a sister-in-law.»

She was shocked and the shock showed. Her voice was a whisper. «I don't really know you, do I?»

«No. We're the men who walk down the dark side of the streets. Somebody has to look after the people on the dark side. We do it. Do you know how much your father offered us to take you home?» Roomer smiled. 'Tm afraid I'm not much good in that department at the moment, but Mike will take care of it.»

«How much did he offer you?»

«Whatever we wanted in the world. A million dollars to take you home? A hundred million if we'd asked for it? Sure.»

«How much did you ask for?'* Her face wasn't registering much in the way of expression.

Roomer sighed, «Poor Mike. To think that he regards you as the pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow. Poor me, too. Fm going to have to live with you too, even at second hand. Let's be corny. Your father loves you. We love you. To pile cliche on cliche, there are some things that can't be bought. Pearls beyond price. Don't make yourself an artificial pearl, Marina. And don't ever insult us again that way. But we have to live on something, so we'll send him a bill.»

«For what?»

«Ammunition expended.»

She crossed to his cotside, knelt and kissed him. Roomer seemed too weak to resist. Dr.

Greenshaw was severe. «Marina, he's not only having a blood transfusion, there's also the factor of blood pressure.»

Roomer said: «My blood pressure is registering no complaints.»

She kissed him again. «Is that apology enough?» Roomer smiled and said nothing. « 'Berserker* you said. Can anyone stop him when he's like that? Can I?»

«No. Someday, yes.»

«The one person is you. Yes?»

«Yes.»

«You didn't.»

«No.»

«Why?»

«They carried guns.»

«You carry guns.»

«Yes. But we're not evil people who carry evil guns to do evil things.»

«That's all?»

«No.» He looked across at Melinda. «You see?»

«Please.»

«If Kowenski and Rindler hadn't been such damned lousy shots, she'd be dead.»

«So you let Michael loose?»

«Yes.»

«You're going to marry her?»

«Yes.»

«Have you asked her?»

«No.”

«You don't have to. Sisters talk.»

«Mike?»

«I don't know, John. Fm a running coward, running scared.»

«Well?»

«He kills.»

«I've killed.»

«He'll kill again?»

«I don't know.»

«John.»

He reached out, took a lock of her gleaming black hair, picked out a single thread. «That»

«You mean?»

«Yes.»

«I have to see.» She kicked off her high-heeled shoes.

«So much to learn. Sit.»

She sat on his bed. Dr. Greeitshaw rolled his eyes heavenward. She was wearing blue jeans and a white blouse. Roomer reached up and undid the top button of her blouse. She looked at him and said nothing. Roomer said: «You do the rest. Navy or black jumper.»

She was back in thirty seconds, wearing a navy polo- She looked inquiringly at Roomer, who nodded. She left the sick bay.

In Lord Worth's living room, he and Mitchell were seated in adjacent armchairs. The wall-speakers were on. When Marina came in, Mitchell waved her to urgent silence.

Over the speakers Durand's unmistakable voice sounded testy. «All I know is that the deck lights went out some minutes ago and then came back on.» Marina glanced at Mitchell, who nodded. «All the light you need to land.»

«Have you neutralized the radar scanner yet?»

Marina had never heard the voice before, but the tightening of Lord Worth's lip showed that Cronkite's voice was no stranger to him.

«We don't need to now.»

«It was your idea. Do it. We'll leave in ten minutes, then about fifteen minutes' flying time.»

« 'We'll leave'? That mean you're coming too?»

«No. I've more important things to do.» There was a click: Cronkite had ceased to transmit.

Lord Worth said uneasily: «I wonder what that devious devil means by that?»

«We'll just have to find out the hard way.» Mitchell looked at Marina. «Where are your shoes?»

She smiled sweetly. «I'm a quick study. Shoes make too much noise out on the platform.»

«You're not going out on any platform.»

«I am. There are gaps in my education. I want to see how killers operate.»

Mitchell said in irritation: «Fm not going to kill anyone. Go get your bag packed. You'll be leaving soon.»

«Fm not leaving.»

«Why?»

«Because I want to stay with Daddy—and with you. Don't you think that's natural?»

«You're leaving if I have to tie you up.»

«You can't tie my tongue up. Wouldn't the law just love to know where the guns stolen from the Mississippi arsenal are?»

Lord Worth looked slightly stunned. «You'd do that to me? Your own father?»

«You'd tie me up and force me aboard that helicopter? Your own daughter?»

«Talk about logic.» Mitchell shook his head. «Lord Worth seems to have fathered a nutcase. If you think—»

The wallspeakers crackled again. «Well, don't just hang around. Stop that radar.»

«How?» It was Aaron and he sounded grieved. «Do you expect me to climb that damned drilling rig—»

«Don't be stupid. Go to the radar room. There's a red lever switch just above the console. Pull it down.»

«That I can do.» Aaron sounded relieved. They heard the sound of a door closing. Mitchell kicked off his shoes, turned off the lights in the living room and eased the door open a crack. Aaron, his back already to them, was heading for the radar room. He reached it, opened the door and passed inside. Mitchell moved after him, pulling out his silenced gun and holding it in his left hand. A soft voice behind him said: «I thought you were right-handed.»

Mitchell didn't even bother to curse. He said in a resigned whisper: «I am.»

Aaron was just pulling the red lever when Mitchell made his soundless entrance. He said: «Don't turn round.»

Aaron didn't turn round.

«Clasp your hands behind your neck, then turn and come over here.»

Aaron turned. «Mitchell!»

«Don't try anything clever. IVe already had to kill three of your friends. A fourth isn't going to give me a sleepless night. Stop right there and turn round again.»

Aaron did as he was told. Mitchell withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket. The braided leather sap attached to his wrist by a thong was no more than five inches long, but when it struck Aaron with considerable force and accuracy above and behind the right ear it was apparent that five inches was quite long enough. Mitchell caught him as he fell and eased him te the deck.

«Did you have to do that—» Marina choked and stopped speaking involuntarily as Mitchell's hand clamped itself none too gently over her mouth. She flinched as he shook the sap before her eyes.

«Keep your voice down.» The whisper was intentionally savage. He knelt over Aaron, removed and pocketed his gun.

«Did you have to do that?» she said in a low voice. «You could have tied Mm up and gagged him.»

«When I require advice from amateurs come right to you. I haven't time for games. Hell just have a half-hour peaceful rest, and then all he'll need is an aspirin.»

«And now?»

«Durand.»

«Why?»

«Fool.»

«I'm getting tired of people calling me fool. John just called me that. He also said I was mentally retarded and an artificial pearl.»

«No shrewder judge of character than old John,» Mitchell said approvingly. «If Aaron doesn't return, Durand will come looking for him. Then hell get on the radiophone and stop the helicopter flight»

«Well, that's what you want, isn't it?»

«No.»

He switched off the light and walked away, Marina following. Mitchell stopped outside the entrance to Lord Worth's sitting room.

«Get inside. You're both an irritation and a liability. I can't function properly with you around. Heroines I can do without.'*

«I promise you I won't say a word. I promise—»

He caught her by the arm and thrust her forcibly inside. Lord Worth looked up in mild

Seawitch

surprise. Mitchell said: «I will hold you personally responsible, Lord Worth, if you let this pesky daughter of yours outside that door again. Also, I'm dimming the deck lights. Anybody moving around the platform will be shot. That's my .promise and you'd better believe it. This is no place for children who want to play games.» The door closed behind him.

«Well!» Marina sat down and gripped her hands together. «What kind of husband do you think fie would make?»

«A perfectly splendid one, I should imagine. Look, my dear, one of Mitchelts outstanding assets is a hair-trigger reaction. You blunt it. And you know damn well how he feels about you— your presence just constitutes an additional worry at a time when he can least afford either. A wife doesn't accompany her husband down a coal mine or on a wartime bombing mission. And Mitchell is much more of a loner than such people are.»

She attempted something between a glower and a scowl, but her beautiful face really wasn't made for it, so she settled for a rueful smile, rose and replenished his glass of malt whisky.

Mitchell removed the gun and two large keys from the pockets of an unconscious Durand, made his way to the main entrance to the oriental quarters, opened the door and switched on the corridor lights.

''Commander Larsen,» he called out. «Palermo.»

Doors opened and the two men were with him in a few seconds. Larsen said: «Mitchell! What the hell are you doing here?»

«Just a harmless seismologist taking a stroll.»

«But didn't you hear the broadcast warning— anyone on the platform will be shot on sight?»

«That's past. One piece of bad news, two of good. Bad news first Roomer and Miss Melinda didn't hear the warning—those quarters are sound-insulated. So they took a walk. Both were hurt badly. Melinda has a shattered left shoulder. Roomer was shot through the neck and chest The doctor thinks the bullet is lodged against his spine. We've got to get them to the hospital and quick. Who's Lord Worth's personal pilot?»

«Chambers,» Larsen said.

«Get one of your men to have him refuel his machine. Now the good news. Durand is in the radio room; his number two, guy named Aaron, is in the radar room. Both are unconscious.» He looked at Palermo. «When they come to—it'll be some time yet—can you have them looked after with loving care and attention?»

«Our pleasure.»

Larsen said: «Durand had three other men.»

«They're dead.»

«You?»

«Yes.»

«We didn't hear any shooting.»

Mitchell gave them a brief sight of his silenced .38. Larsen looked thoughtful. «Lord Worth has talked about you: I used to think he was exaggerating.»

«The other bit of good news. Cronkite is sending some reinforcements by helicopter—not many, I believe, eight or nine—and they should be taking off about now. A fifteen-minute flight, I gather, so I think Cronkite's boat is somewhere just below the horizon, below our radar sweep.»

Palermo brightened. «We blast this chopper out of the sky?»

«My first thought, I must admit. But let's try to play it smart and put him off his guard.-Let's let them land, then take them. We'll make their leader report to Cronkite that everything's okay.»

«What if he won't? Or tries to warn him?»

«We'll write out his script. If he changes one word Fll shoot him. Silencer. Cronkite won't hear it.»

«He might hear the guy scream.»

«When a .38 slug enters the base of your skull and travels upward at forty-five degrees, you don't scream very much.»

«You mean you'd kill him?» While not exactly incredulous, Larsen was obviously taken aback.

«Yes. Then we'd line up number two. We shouldn't have too much trouble with him.»

Larsen said with some feeling: «When Lord Worth talked about you he didn't tell me the half of it»

«Another thing. I want that helicopter. Well fake a story that the engine failed above the pad and it crash-landed, and will take several hours to repair. It's always handy to have another helicopter around but, more important, I want to deprive Cronkite of the use of his.» He looked at Palermo. «I take it that the reception committee can be safely left in your hands?»

«It sure can. Any suggestions?»

«Well, I doubt that I need to lecture an expert like you.»

«You know me?»

«I used to be a cop. In any case, the rig is loaded with portable searchlights. They'll head for the administration buildings. I'd stay in hiding, switch off the deck lights and then turn on the searchlights when they're, say, thirty yards away. They'll be blinded and won't be able to see you.»

«You can't count on what nutcases like that'll do.»

'Til bet you can.» Mitchell smiled briefly at him, cop to crook. He said to Larsen: «I have a feeling that Lord Worth would like to confer with his rig boss.»

«Yes.» They walked away as Palermo was already giving rapid instructions to his men. «Lord Worth know what you're up to?»

IT haven't had time. Anyway, I wouldn't tell Lord Worth how to make a billion out of oil.»

«Good point.» They stopped briefly by the radio room. Larsen gazed at the crumpled form of Durand, half in appreciation, half in regret. «What a beautiful sight Wish it had been me, though.»

«I'll bet Durand—when he wakes up—doesn't Plastic surgeons come high.»

They made their next brief stop at the sick bay. Larsen looked at a still comatose Melinda and a wide-awake Roomer and his massive fists clenched. Roomer smiled. «I know. But you're too late. How deep's the water here?»

«Nine hundred feet.»

«Then you'd need a diving bell to get your hands round the throats of those responsible. And how are things with you, Commander Larsen? You can see how things are with us.»

«I've been resting. Mitchell has been more active. Besides the three men at the bottom of the Gulf, he's also deprived me of the pleasure of beating the hell out of Durand. Aaron isn't feeling too well either.»

Roomer said apologetically: «He doesn't go in much for diplomacy. So the Seawitch is in our hands?»

«For the moment»

«For the moment?»

«Do you expect a man like Cronkite to give up? So ke's lost five men and is probably about to lose another eight or nine. What's that for a man with ten million to play around with? And he's got his personal vendetta against Lord Worth. If he has to cripple or even destroy the Seawitch, including everybody aboard—well, it isn't going to bother Cronkite's conscience for long.» He turned to Dr. Greenshaw. «I think it's time you got busy with the stretchers. Can you spare four of your drilling crew, Commander, to help transfer them to the stretchers and then across to the helicopter? I'm afraid, John, you're going to have some unpleasant company on the trip. Durand and Aaron. Tied up like chickens, of course.»

«Well, thank you very much.»

«I can—occasionally—be as leery as you. I wouldn't put it past Cronkite to get aboard the Seawitch. How, I haven't the faintest idea, but with a highly devious mind a driven man can accomplish most anything. If he succeeded I don't want Durand and Aaron blowing the whistle on me. I want to stay an inconspicuous and harmless seismologist.»

Larsen gave a few orders on the phone, then he and Mitchell went through to Lord Worth's room. Lord Worth was on the phone, listening and scowling. Marina looked at Mitchell with an expression as forbidding as her father's.

«I suppose you've been Uttering the platform with a few more dead men?»

«You do me a grave injustice. There's no one left to kill.» She gave what might have been a tiny shudder and looked away.

Larsen said: «The ship is in our hands, Miss Marina. We're expecting a little more trouble in about ten minutes, but we can take care of that.»

Lord Worth replaced his receiver. «What's that?»

«Cronkite is sending some reinforcements by helicopter. Not many—eight or nine. They won't have a chance. He's under the Impression that Durand is still in charge here.»

«I take it he's not.»

«He's unconscious and tied up. So is Aaron.»

A yearning look came over Lord Worth's face. «Is Cronkite coming with them?»

«No.»

«How very unfortunate. And I've just had some more bad news. The Torbello has broken down.»

«Sabotage?»

«No. The main fuel-supply line to its engine has fractured. Just a temporary stop, though it may take some hours to repair. But there's no cause for worry, and half-hourly reports on the state of repairs should be forthcoming.»

Another disturbing point had arisen: Lord Worth disclosed that no major marine-insurance companies or Lloyd's of London had ever heard of the existence of the Tiburon, The fact was less than surprising if one knew of Mulhooney's renaming exploits—Hammond to Tiburon to Georgia. The vessel had virtually ceased to exist Even more disturbing, however, was the fact that the Marine Gulf Corporation had reported the disappearance of its seismological survey vessel from Freeport. It was called the Hammond.

The U. S. Navy had two points of cold comfort to offer. What the United States did with its obsolete submarines was to scrap them or sell them to foreign governments: none had ever fallen into the hands of commercial companies or private individuals. Nor were there any Cous-teau-type submersibles along the Gulf Coast

The telephone bell jangled. Lord Worth switched on the wall receivers. The radio officer was succinct

«Helicopter, flying low, due northwest, five miles out.»

«Well, now,» Larsen said, «this should provide a diversion. Coming, Mitchell?»

«In a minute. I have a little note to write. Remember?»

«The note, of course.» Larsen left. Mitchell penned a brief note in neat printed script that left no room for misinterpretation, folded it in his pocket and went to the door. Lord Worth said: «Mind if I come along?»

«Well, there won't be any danger, but I think you'd do better to listen for messages from radar, radio, sonar and so forth.»

«Agreed. And HI call up the Secretary to see what luck he's had in hauling those damned warships off my back.»

Marina said sweetly: «If there's no danger Fra coming with you.»

«No.»

«You have a very limited vocabulary, Mr. Mitchell.»

«Instead of trying to be a heroine you might try the Florence Nightingale bit—there are two very sick people through there who need their hands held.»

«You're much too bossy, Michael.»

«As they say, a male chauvinist pig.»

«Could you imagine me marrying a person like you?»

«Your imagination is your own business. Besides, I've never asked you to.» He left.

«Well!» She looked suspiciously at her father, but Lord Worth had his risibility under complete control. He picked up a phone and asked that the Christmas tree be opened and the exploratory drilling restarted.

The helicopter was making its landing approach as Mitchell joined Larsen and Palermo and his men in the deep shadows of the accommodation area. The platform light had been dimmed but the helipad was brightly illuminated. Palermo had six portable searchlights in position. He nodded to Mitchell, then made his unhurried way to the pad. He was carrying an envelope in his hand.

The helicopter touched down, the door opened and men with a discouraging assortment of^auto-matic weapons started to disembark. Palermo said: «I'm Marino. Who's in charge here?

«Me. Mortensen.» He was a bulky young man in battle fatigues, looking more like a bright young lieutenant than the thug he undoubtedly was. «I thought Durand was in charge here.»

«He is. Right now he's having a talk with Lord Worth. He's waiting for you in Worth's quarters.»

«Why are the deck lights so dim?»

«Voltage drop. Being fixed. The landing pads have their own generators.» He pointed. «Over there.»

Mortensen nodded and led his eight men away. Palermo said: «Be with you in a minute. Fve got a private message for the pilot from Cronkite.»

Palermo climbed up into the helicopter. He greeted the pilot and said: «I got a message here for you from Cronkite.»

The pilot registered a degree of surprise. «I was told to fly straight back.»

«Won't be long. Seems Cronkite is anxious to see Worth and his daughters.»

The pilot grinned and took the envelope from Palermo. He opened it, examined both sides of a blank sheet of paper and said: «What gives?»

«This.» Palermo showed him a gun about the size of a small cannon. «Don't be a dead hero.»

The platform lights went out and six searchlights came on. Larsen's stentorian voice carried clearly. «Throw down your guns. You haven't got a chance.»

One of Mortensen's men suicidally thought different He flung himself to the platform deck, loosed off a burst of submachine fire and successfully killed one of the searchlights. If he felt any sense of gratification it must have been the shortest on record, for he was dead before the shattered glass stopped tinkling down on the platform. The other eight men threw down their guns.

Palermo sighed. He said to the pilot: «See? Dead heroes are no good to anyone. Come on.»

Eight of the nine men, including the pilot, were shepherded into a windowless storeroom and locked inside. The ninth, Mortensen, was taken to the radio room where he was shortly joined by Mitchell. For the occasion, Mitchell had changed into a boiler suit and makeshift hood, which not only effectively masked his face but also muffled his voice. He had no wish to be identified.

He produced the paper on which he had made notes, screwed the muzzle of his .38 into the base of Mortensen's neck, told him to contact Cronkite and read out the message and that the slightest deviation from the script would mean a shattered brain. Mortensen was no fool and in his peculiar line of trade he had looked into the face of death more than once. He made the contact, said all was well, that he and Durand were in complete control of the Seawitch, but that it might be several hours before the helicopter could return, as last-minute engine failure had damaged the undercarriage. Cronkite seemed reasonably satisfied and hung up.

When Larsen and Mitchell returned to Lord Worth's cabin the latter seemed in a more cheerful frame of mind. The Pentagon had reported that the two naval vessels from Cuba and the one from Venezuela were stopped in the water and appeared to be waiting instructions. The Torbello was on its way again and was expected to arrive in Galveston in ninety minutes. Lord Worth might have felt less satisfied if he'd known that the Torbello, shaking hi every rivet, seam and plate, was several hundred miles from Galveston, traveling southwest in calm seas. Mulhooney was in no mood to hang around.

Marina said accusingly: «I heard shots being fired out there.»

«Just warning shots in the air,» Mitchell said, «Scares the hell out of people.»

«You made them all prisoner.»

Lord Worth said irritably: «Don't talk nonsense. Now do be quiet. The commander and I have important matters to discuss.»

«We'll leave,» Mitchell said. He looked at Marina. «Come on—let's see the patients off.»

They followed the two stretchers out to the helicopter. They were accompanied by Durand and Aaron—both with their hands tied behind their backs and on a nine-inch hobble—Dr. Greenshaw and one of Palermo's men, a menacing individual with a sawed-off shotgun who was to ride guard on the captives until they reached the mainland.

Mitchell said to Marina: «Last chance.»

«No.»

«We're going to make a great couple,» Mitchell said gloomily. «Monosyllabic, yet.»

They said their goodbyes, watched the helicopter lift off and made their way back to Lord Worth's quarters. Both Worth and Larsen were on separate lines, and from the expressions on their faces it was clear that they were less happy with life than they might have been. Both men were trying, with zero effect, to obtain some additional tankerage. There were, in fact, some half-dozen idle tankers on the south and east coasts in the 50,000-ton range, but all belonged to the major oil companies, who would have gone to the stake before chartering any of their vessels to the North Hudson Oil Company. The nearest tankers of the required tonnage were either in Britain, Norway or the Mediterranean, and to have brought them across would have involved an intolerable loss of time, not to say money—this last matter lying very close to Lord Worth's heart. He and Larsen had even considered bringing one of their supertankers into service, but had decided against it. Because of the tankers' huge carrying capacity, the loss in revenue would have been unbearably high—and what had happened to the Crusader might happen to a supertanker. True, they were insured at Lloyd's, but that august firm's marine-accident investigators were notoriously, if justifiably, cagey, prudent and cautious men; and although they invariably settled any genuine claim, they tended to deliberate at length before making any final decision.

Another call came through from the Torbello. On course, its estimated time of arrival in Gal-veston was one hour. Lord Worth said gloomily that they had at least two tankers in operation: they would just have to step up their already crowded schedules.

One half hour later another message came through from the tanker. One half hour to Gal-veston. Lord Worth might have felt less assured had he known that now that dark had fallen, the Starlight, leaving the Georgia where it was, had already moved away in the direction of the Sea-witch, its engines running on its electrical batteries. Its chances of sonar detection by the Seawitch were regarded as extremely small. It carried with it highly skilled divers and an unpleasant assortment of mines, limpet mines and amatol beehives, all of which could be activated by remote radioactive control.

Yet another half hour passed before the welcome news came through that the tanker Torbello was safely berthed in Galveston. Lord Worth informed Larsen he intended to make an immediate voice-link call to the port authorities in Galveston to ensure the fastest turnaround ever, money no object

He got his voice link in just one minute—the Lord Worths of this world are never kept waiting. When he made his customary peremptory demands the harbormaster expressed a considerable degree of surprise.

«I really don't know what you're talking about, sir.»

«Goddam it, I always know what I'm talking about.»

«Not in this case, Lord Worth, I'm afraid you've been misinformed or hoaxed. The Torbello has not arrived.»

«But dammit, I've just heard—»

«One moment, please.»

The moment passed into about thirty during which Mitchell thoughtfully brought Lord Worth a glass of scotch, which he half-consumed at one gulp. Then the voice came through again.

«Bad news. There's not only no sign of your tanker, but our radar scanners show no signs of any vessel of that size within a radius of forty miles.»

«Then, what the devil can have happened to her? I was speaking to her only two or three minutes ago.»

«On her own call sign?»

«Yes, dammit»

*Then obviously she's in no trouble.»

Lord Worth hung up without as much as a courtesy thank you. He glowered at Larsen and Mitchell as if what had happened had been their fault. He said at length: «I can only conclude that the captain of the Torbello has gone off his rocker.»

Mitchell said: «And I conclude that he's under lock and key aboard his own ship.'*

Lord Worth was heavily ironic. «In addition to your many other accomplishments you've now become psychic.»

«Your Torbello has been hijacked.»

«Hijacked! Hijacked? Now you've gone off your rocker. Who ever heard of a tanker being hijacked?»

«Who ever heard of a jumbo jet being hijacked until the first one was? After what happened to the Crusader in Galveston, the captain of the Torbello would have been extremely leery of being approached, much less boarded, by any other vessel unless it were a craft with respectability beyond question. The only two such types of craft are naval or coast guard. WeVe heard that the Marine Gulf Corporation's survey vessel has been stolen. A lot of those survey vessels are ex-coast guard with landing space for a helicopter to carry out seismological pattern bombing. That ship was called the Hammond. With your connections you could find out about it in minutes.»

Lord Worth did find out in minutes. He said: «So you're right.» He was too dumbfounded even to apologize. «And this of course was the Tiburon that Cronkite sailed from Galveston. God only knows what name it goes under now. What next, I wonder?»

Mitchell said: «A call from Cronkite, I'd guess.»

«What would he call me for?»

«Some tough demands, I'd say. I don't know.»

Lord Worth was nothing if not resilient. He had powerful and influential friends. He called an admiral in naval headquarters in Washington and demanded that an air-sea search unit be dispatched immediately to the scene. The Navy apologetically said that they would have to obtain the permission of the Commander-in-Chief —that is, the President. The President, he knew, would profess a profound if polite degree of disinterest. Neither he nor Congress had any reason to love the oil companies who had so frequently flouted them—which was less than fair to Lord Worth, who had never flouted anyone in Wash-247

Allstalr MaeLcam

ington in his life. More, the search almost certainly lay outside their jurisdictional waters. Besides, it was raining in the Gulf and black as the pit, and though their radar might well pick up a hundred ships in the area, visual identification would be impossible.

He tried the CIA. Then- disinterest was even more profound. In the several years past they had had their fingers badly burned in public and all their spare time was devoted to licking their wounds.

The FBI curtly reminded him that their activities were purely internal and that anyway they got seasick whenever they ventured on water.

Lord Worth considered making an appeal to the UN, but was dissuaded by Larsen and Miteh-elL Not only would the Arab states, Venezuela, Nigeria, every Communist country, and what now went by the name of the Third World—and they held the vast majority of votes hi the UN— veto any such suggestion: the UN had no legal power to initiate any such action. Apart from that, by that time the entire UN complex were probably hi bed anyway.

For once in his life, Lord Worth appeared to be at a loss. Life, it appeared, could hold no more for him. Lord Worth was discovering that, upon occasion, he could be as fallible as the next man.

A voice-over call came through. It was, as Mitchell had predicted it would be, Cronkite. He was glad to inform Lord Worth that there was no cause for concern over the Torbello, as she was in safe and sound hands.

«Where?» Had his daughter not been present, Lord Worth would undoubtedly have qualified his question with a few choice adjectives.

«I prefer not to specify exactly. Enough to say that she is securely anchored in the territorial waters of a Central American country. It is my intention to dispose of this oil to this very poor and oil-deficient country»—he did not mention that it was his intention to sell it at half price, which would bring in a few acceptable hundred thousands of dollars—»then take the tanker out to sea and sink it. Unless, of course—»

«Unless what?» Lord Worth asked. His voice had assumed a peculiar hoarseness.

«Unless you close down the Christmas tree on the Seawiteh and immediately stop all pumping and drilling.»

«Fool.»

«How's that?»

«Your thugs have already attended to that Haven't they told you?»

«I want proof. I want Mortensen.»

Lord Worth said wearily: «Hold on. We'll get him/'

Mitchell went to fetch him. By the time he returned, overalled and masked, Mortensen had been thoroughly briefed. He confirmed to Cronkite that all pumping and drilling had stopped. Cronkite expressed his satisfaction and the radio link went dead. Mitchell removed the .38 from below Mortensen's ear and two of Palermo's men took him from the room. Mitchell took off his hood and Marina looked at him with a mixture of horror and incredulity.

She whispered: «You were ready to kill him.» «Not at all. I was going to pat him on the head and tell him what a good boy he was. I asked you to get off this rig.»