The Spoilers

I

The making and writing of reports reached a minor crescendo in countries stretching right across the Middle East. In Tehran, Colonel Mirza Davar studied one of these reports. There had been a considerable explosion quite close to the Iraqi border in the province of Kurdistan. Loud bangs were undesirable anywhere in Iran and especially so in that sensitive area. Besides, Fahrwaz seemed to be involved and the colonel did not particularly like the implications of that. Colonel Mirza Davar was Chief Intelligence Officer for the North-West Provinces.

A tap at the door introduced his secretary. ‘Captain Muktarri to see you.’

‘Show him in immediately.’

Captain Muktarri, by his travel-stained appearance, had evidently travelled hard and fast and in rough country. The colonel looked him up and down, and said, ‘Well, Captain: what did you find?’

‘There was an explosion, sir — a big one. A qanat was thoroughly wrecked.’

The Colonel relaxed in his chair. ‘A squabble over water rights,’ he said. A minor problem and not in his province; a matter for the civil police.

That’s what I thought, sir,’ said Muktarri. ‘Until I found this.’ He put down a small square block on the desk.

The colonel picked it up, scratched it with his finger-nail and then sniffed at it delicately. ‘Opium.’ Although still not a matter for his own attention this was much more serious. ‘And this was found on Fahrwaz’s farm?’

‘Yes, sir, among the debris left by the explosion. Fahrwaz was not there — nor was his son. The villagers denied know ledge of it.’

‘They would,’ said the colonel, unimpressed. ‘This is a matter for the narcotics people.’ He drew the telephone towards him.

In Baghdad another Intelligence colonel was studying another report. Something odd had been going on up near the Turkish border. There had been a battle of sorts, but as he had found by intensive checking, no Iraqi troops had been involved.

Which was very interesting. It seemed very much as though the Kurds had begun to fight among themselves.

He reached for the microphone and began to dictate the last of his comments on to tape. ‘It is well known that the rebel leader, Al Fahrwaz, who is commonly resident across the border in Iran, has a stronghold in this area. My tentative conclusion is that Mustapha Barzani has attempted to solve the Fahrwaz problem before continuing negotiations with the Iraqi government. According to an unconfirmed report Ahmed ben Fahrwaz was killed in the fighting. Further reports will follow.’

He did not know how wrong he was.

Not two hundred yards along the same street in Baghdad a senior police officer was checking yet another report against a map. Ismail Al-Khalil had been in the Narcotics Department for many years and knew his job very well. The report told of an explosion in Iran which had wrecked an underground laboratory. Broken glassware had been found, and an immense quantity of opium together with a large amount of chemicals, the details of which were listed. He knew exactly what that meant.

His finger traced a line from Iran into northern Iraq and from thence into Syria. He returned to his desk and said to his companion, ‘The Iranians are certain it crossed the border.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it — not with the political situation being what it is in Kurdistan right now. I’d better make a report — copies to go to Syria, Jordan and the Lebanon.’

Al-Khalil sat down and prepared to dictate his report, and said in parenthesis, ‘The Iranians think there’s as much as five hundred kilos of morphine or heroin loose. Somebody has been very lax over there.’ He shook his head in regret.

The reports proliferated and one dropped on the desk of Jamil Hassan of the Narcotics Bureau in Beirut. He read it and took action, and life became very difficult for the Lebanese underworld. One of those picked up for questioning was a small-time crook named André Picot, suspected of being involved in narcotics smuggling. He was questioned for many hours but nothing could be got from him.

This was for two reasons; he knew very little anyway, and his interrogators did not know enough themselves to ask him the right questions. So, after an all-night session in front of the bright lights which gave him eyestrain but nothing else, he was released a little before nine in the morning — which was a great pity.

II

At ten minutes to nine the cruiser rocked gently on the blue water of the Mediterranean, one engine ticking over gently so that the boat barely had steerage way. Hellier was sitting in the open cockpit apparently interested in nothing else but the fishing-rod he held, but Tozier was in the saloon and keeping careful watch on the Orestes through binoculars. A curl of smoke from the single funnel stained the sky to show that her boilers were fired and she was preparing to move.

Warren sat in the saloon close to the door and watched Metcalfe at the wheel. He thought Metcalfe handled the boat very well, and said so. Metcalfe grinned. ‘I learned in a hard school. A few years ago I was running cigarettes out of Tangier into Spain with a Yank called Krupke; we had a biggish boat — a war-surplus Fairmile — which I had re-engined so she could outrun the Spanish excise cutters. If you can’t learn to handle a boat doing that sort of thing you’ll never learn.’

He leaned down and looked into the saloon. ‘Any change, Andy?’

‘No change,’ said Tozier, without taking his eyes from the binoculars. ‘We go in ten minutes.’

Metcalfe straightened and said over his shoulder, ‘We’re going to abandon this tub, Sir Robert. The charterers won’t like it — you’ll have a lawsuit on your hands.’

Hellier grunted in amusement. ‘I can afford it.’

Warren felt the hard metal of the pistol which was thrust into the waistband of his trousers. It felt uncomfortable and he shifted it slightly. Metcalfe looked down at him, and said, ‘Take it easy, Nick, and you’ll be all right. Just follow up the rope and take your cue from me.’

It made Warren uncomfortable that Metcalfe should have seen his nervousness. He said curtly, ‘I’ll be all right when we start.’

‘Of course you will,’ said Metcalfe. ‘We all get butterflies at this stage.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve talked myself into things like this all my life. I must be a damned fool.’

There was a metallic click from behind Warren and he turned his head to see Follet slamming a full magazine into the butt of his pistol. Metcalfe said, ‘It takes us different ways. Johnny there is nervous, too; that’s why he keeps checking his gun. He can never convince himself that it’s ready to shoot — just like the old lady who goes on holiday and is never sure she turned off the gas before she left.’

Warren shifted the gun again, and said quietly, ‘We’re going on board that ship with guns in our hands, ready to shoot. The crew may be quite innocent.’

‘Not a chance,’ scoffed Metcalfe. ‘You can’t fit torpedo tubes aboard a scow that size without the crew knowing it. They’re all in on the act. And there’ll be no shooting, either — not unless they start first.’ He looked across at the Orestes. ‘It’s quite likely she’ll have a skeleton crew, so that’ll make it easier for us. Jeanette won’t let one more person in on this than she has to.’

Tozier said, ‘I don’t see why we can’t go in now. She’s as ready as she ever will be, and so are we. We can’t wait until she begins to haul anchor.’

‘All right,’ said Metcalfe, and swung the wheel gently. Over his shoulder he said, ‘Make like a fisherman, Sir Robert.’ He opened the throttle a fraction and the boat moved more purposefully through the water. With a wink at Warren, he said, ‘The whole idea is to be gentle. We don’t roar up with engines going full blast — we just edge in nice and easy so that even if they see us coming they won’t know what the hell to make of it. By the time they do, it’ll be too late, I hope.’

Tozier put down the glasses and got busy. He slung the sub-machine-gun over his shoulder and checked a coil of rope for unwanted kinks. At one end of the rope was attached a three-pronged grapnel, well padded for quietness, and he tested that it was secure. He tapped Warren on the shoulder. ‘Stand back and let the dog see the rabbit,’ he said, and Warren made way for him.

To an onlooker from the shore it might have seemed that the boat was drifting dangerously close to the Orestes which, after all, showed all the signs of getting under way. If the boat were to be caught when the screw began to turn then there could be a nasty accident. It was a thoroughly bad piece of seamanship which could not be excused even if the big, fat Englishman had caught a fish and the helmsman was diverted in his excitement,

Hellier hauled the fish out of the sea. He had bought it that morning in the fish market near the Suq des Orfèvres and a very fine specimen it was. It was a last-minute bit of camouflage devised by Follet, the master of the con game, and Hellier dexterously made it twitch on the line as though still alive. With a bit of luck this by-play would allow them to get ten yards nearer to the Orestes without being challenged.

The boat edged in still nearer, and Metcalfe nodded to Tozier. ‘Now!’ he said sharply, as he opened the throttle and spun the wheel, turning them towards the stern of the Orestes, but still keeping the bulk of the ship as a screen between the boat and the quay.

Tozier leaped up into the cockpit and whirled the grapnel twice about his head before casting it upwards to the stern rail. As the grapnel caught, Hellier dropped his fish smartly and grabbed the rope, hauling it taut and swinging the boat in to the side of the ship while Metcalfe put the gears into neutral. Even as he did so Tozier was climbing hand over hand, and Warren heard the light thump of his feet as he landed on deck.

Metcalfe abandoned the wheel and went next, and Warren felt apprehensive as he looked over the side of the boat towards the underhang of Orestes’s stern. The screw was only two-thirds submerged, the ship being in ballast, and if the skipper gave the order to move the turbulence would inevitably smash the little boat.

Follet pushed him from behind. ‘Get going!’ he hissed, and Warren grasped the rope and began to climb. He had not climbed a rope since his schooldays when he had been driven up ropes in the gymnasium by an athletic games master wielding a cricket stump. Warren had never been athletically-minded. But he got to the top and a hand grasped him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him over the rail.

There was no time to rest and, breathlessly, he found himself following Metcalfe. Tozier was nowhere to be seen but when Warren turned his head he found Hellier padding behind and looking ridiculous in the bright floral shirt and the shorts he had chosen as his fisherman’s get-up. But there was nothing at all funny about the gun held in Hellier’s meaty fist.

The deck vibrated underfoot and Metcalfe held up his hand in warning. As Warren came up, he said in a low voice, ‘We just got here in time. She’s under way.’ He pointed. ‘There’s the bridge ladder — let’s go.’

He ran forward lightly and climbed up on to the bridge.

Even as Warren followed he thought it incredible that they should not yet have been seen; but now it came to the crunch — you don’t invade a ship’s bridge without the skipper having objections.

Metcalfe arrived on the bridge first and, as though by a preconceived plan, Tozier appeared simultaneously from the other side. There were four men on the bridge; the skipper, two officers and the helmsman. The skipper looked incredulously at the sub-machine-gun cradled by Tozier and whirled around only to be confronted by Metcalfe. As he opened his mouth Metcalfe snapped, ‘Arrêtez!’ and then, for good measure, added in Arabic, ‘Ukaf!’

The gesture he made with the gun was good in all languages and the skipper shut his mouth. A sweeping motion from Tozier’s sub-machine-gun herded the officers aside, while Metcalfe motioned the helmsman to stay where he was. Warren stood at the top of the bridge ladder and held his pistol loosely in his hand. He looked down at Hellier who stood guard at the bottom of the ladder; presumably Follet was doing the same on the other side.

The ship was still moving slowly and he could now see the widening gap of water between the Orestes and the quay. Metcalfe grasped the brass handle of the engine-room telegraph and rang for half speed, and the telegraph clanged again as the engineer obeyed the order. With the gun in his back the helmsman looked at Metcalfe’s pointing finger and nodded vigorously. He spun the spokes of the wheel and the quay receded faster.

Suddenly there was an interruption. Eastman stepped from the bridge house and froze as he saw what was happening. His hand dipped beneath his coat and was magically full of gun. Warren brought up his own pistol to the ready and for the minutest fraction of a second the tableau was held. Then Eastman cried out under the impact of a steel bar which struck his arm from behind. His gun went off and there was a ringing clang and a whine as the bullet ricocheted from metal and away over the sea. But he still held on to the gun and whirled on Dan Parker, who was just behind him with a steel bar gripped in his hand as though it had grown there.

He drove his elbow into Parker’s stomach and Parker doubled up in pain, the steel bar clattering to the deck. Then Eastman was gone at a dead run and Warren heard the bang of a door in the distance.

Metcalfe moved first. He ran to the side of the bridge and looked ashore and saw the ripple of movement as heads turned towards the departing ship. ‘They heard that,’ he said, and raised his voice. ‘Johnny, come up here.’ He turned to Tozier. ‘The crew will have heard it, too. Can you hold the bridge while Johnny and I nail Eastman.’

‘Carry on,’ said Tozier. ‘Nick, get Hellier up here, then look at our friend with the iron bar.’ He turned to the officers. ‘Who speaks English?’ he asked conversationally.

‘I speak English good,’ said the skipper.

‘Then we’ll get along together. Get the loudhailer and tell the crew to assemble on the forehatch there. But first, where’s the radio shack?’

The skipper took a deep breath as though nerving himself to defiance but stopped short as Tozier’s gun jerked threateningly. He nodded his head to where Warren was helping Parker to his feet. ‘Through there.’

‘Watch him,’ said Tozier to Hellier, and went off fast. When he returned he found the skipper bellowing into the loudhailer under the supervision of Hellier and already the crew was assembled. As he had thought, there were few of them; the ship was undermanned.

‘I’d give a lot to know if that’s all,’ he said, looking down at them.

Warren came forward with Parker at his side. ‘This is Dan Parker; he might be able to tell us.’

Tozier smiled. ‘Glad to know you.’

‘I’m even gladder to know you,’ said Parker. He looked over the deck. ‘That’s all — but I don’t see the engine-room staff. If they stop the engines we’re dead mutton.’

‘They couldn’t have heard the shot,’ said Tozier. ‘But we can soon find out.’ He rang for full speed on the telegraph and it clanged obediently. ‘No one has told them yet.’

‘If we get them out of there I can handle the engines,’ said Parker. He looked around. ‘Where’s Mike?’

‘I haven’t seen him,’ said Warren. ‘Where was he?’

‘In his cabin, I think.’

‘We’ll find him later,’ said Tozier impatiently. ‘What can we do with the crew? We have to secure the ship before anything else.’

‘There’s an empty hold,’ said Parker. ‘They’ll be safe enough in there.’

‘Nick, you and Hellier go along with Parker and see to it — and take this lot with you.’ Tozier indicated the ship’s officers. ‘They won’t give you any trouble; they look a pretty poor lot to me.’ He pulled at his lower lip. ‘I hope Tom is doing all right, though.’

III

Warren helped secure the crew and herded them into the hold, and then the three of them took over the engineroom. He left Parker and Hellier down there, put the three engineers with the rest of the crew, and then looked up to the bridge. Tozier leaned over the rail. ‘We’ve got a problem — come up here.’

‘What about this lot?’

‘I’ll send Abbot down — we found him. Leave him your gun.’

Abbot came down and gave Warren a cheery grin. ‘A nice bit of fun and games,’ he said. ‘I was very glad to see the gang.’

Warren gave him the gun. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘That’s a beauty — I’ll leave your pals up there to tell you.’

Warren went up to the bridge and found Follet on the wheel with Tozier close by. Tozier said quickly, ‘We have Eastman bottled up, but it’s a stand-off. Tom is keeping the cork in the bottle down there, but it leaves us with a problem. He’s down where the torpedoes are, so we can’t get rid of the heroin until we winkle him out.’

‘He went to protect the loot,’ said Follet, ‘It’s my guess he’s expecting to be rescued. The crew can’t do it, but Delorme has Fuad’s yacht and she might chase us.’

Warren dismissed that eventuality. ‘What arrangements have been made for firing the torpedoes?’

Tozier pointed. ‘Those two buttons near the helm. Press those and you fire two torpedoes.’

Warren nodded. We can get rid of half the heroin.’ He took a step forward.

Tozier grabbed him. ‘Steady on. Your man, Parker, has been working too hard. All the torpedoes are live. He found some explosives — each warhead is carrying a hundred and eighty pounds of TNT.’

‘Short of a hydrogen bomb it’ll be the most expensive bang in history,’ said Follet.

Warren was perplexed. ‘But what’s the problem?’

Tozier stared at him. ‘Christ, man; you can’t shoot live torpedoes indiscriminately in the Mediterranean — especially these. They have an eighteen-mile range, so Abbot says.’ He pointed towards the horizon. ‘How the hell do we know what’s over there? We can’t see eighteen miles.’

Follet laughed humorously. ‘Last I heard the US Sixth Fleet was in these parts. If we knock off one of Uncle Sam’s aircraft carriers that’s as good a way of starting World War Three as I know.’

Warren thought about it. ‘Are there any uninhabited islands around here? Or rocks or shoals? Anything we can shoot at without killing anything else except fish?’

‘A nice way to cause an international ruction,’ said Tozier. ‘You fire torpedoes at any rocks in the Arab world and the Israelis are going to be on the short end of the stick. Things are touchy enough now and a few bangs around here could really start something.’

‘And we’d still have half the stuff left on our hands,’ said Follet. ‘Maybe all of it. If Eastman is smart enough he’ll have ripped out the firing connections.’

‘So we have to get him out of there,’ said Warren. ‘I think we’d better have Parker in on this — he knows the ship.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Follet. ‘I’m still hanging on to this goddam steering-wheel, so would someone mind telling me where we’re going?’

‘Does it matter?’ said Tozier impatiently.

‘Metcalfe reckons it matters,’ said Follet. ‘He saw Jeanette Delorme on the quay when we left — and she saw him. She’ll reckon it’s a hi-jacking and Tom says she’ll come after us loaded for bear.’

‘So?’

‘So we can stick to the coast or we can head out to sea. She has the same choice. What do you want to do?’

‘I’d sooner stick to the coast,’ said Tozier. ‘If she caught us at sea where it wouldn’t matter how many guns she popped off I wouldn’t give much for our chances, especially if that yacht is loaded to the gunwales with her cutthroats.’

‘Haven’t you thought that she’ll think that you’ll think that and automatically come along the coast and catch us anyway? I’ll bet she can see us right now.’

‘How the hell do I know what she’ll think?’ burst out Tozier. ‘Or what any other woman will think?’

‘There’s a way around that,’ said Follet. ‘Here, take the wheel.’ He stepped on one side and produced a pen and a notebook. ‘Now, if we go along the coast and she searches out to sea our survival is one hundred per cent — right?’

‘Until she catches on,’ said Warren.

‘We could get clear away,’ argued Follet. ‘And the same applies to the situation vice versa — we go to sea and she goes along the coast. Andy, what chance of survival would you give us if she caught us at sea?’

‘Not much,’ said Tozier. ‘Say, twenty-five per cent.’

Follet noted it down. ‘And if she caught us on the coast?’

‘That’s a bit better — she couldn’t be as noisy. I think we’d have a good chance of coming out — say, seventy-five per cent.’

Follet started to scribble rapidly and Warren, looking over his shoulder saw that he was apparently working out a mathematical formula. Follet finished his calculation, and said, ‘What we do is this. We put four pieces of paper in a hat — one marked. If we pick the marked paper we go to sea; if not, we stick to the coast.’

‘Are you crazy?’ demanded Tozier. ‘Would you leave something like this to chance?’

‘I’m crazy like a fox,’ said Follet. ‘How much have I won from you at the coin-matching game?’

‘Nearly a thousand quid — but what’s that got to do with it?’

Follet pulled a handful of loose change from his pocket and thrust it under Tozier’s nose. ‘This. There are eight coins here — three of them dated 1960. When I matched coins with you I pulled one of these at random from my pocket; if it was dated 1960 I called heads — if not, I called tails. That was enough to give me my percentage — my edge; and there wasn’t a damned thing you could do about it.’

He turned to Warren. ‘It’s from game theory — a mathematical way of figuring out the best chances in those tricky situations when it’s a case of if I do that you’ll know I’ll do it but I do the other thing because I know the way you’re thinking and so it goes on chasing its goddam tail. It even gives the overall chances — in this case a little over eighty-one per cent.’

Tozier looked at Warren with a baffled expression. ‘What do you think, Nick?’

‘You did lose money consistently,’ said Warren. ‘Maybe Johnny has a point.’

‘You’re goddam right I have.’ Follet stooped and picked up a uniform cap from the deck into which he dropped four coins. ‘Pick one, Nick. If it’s dated 1960 we go to sea — if it’s one of the others we stick to the coast.’

He held the cap out to Warren, who hesitated. ‘Look at it this way,’ said Follet earnestly. ‘Right now, until you pick a coin, we don’t know which way we’re going — and if we don’t know how in hell can Delorme figure it? And the mix of coins in the hat gives us the best chance no matter what she does.’ He paused. ‘There’s just one thing; we do what the coin tells us — no second chances — that’s the way this thing works.’

Warren put out his hand, took a coin, and held it on the palm of his hand, date side up. Tozier inspected it. ‘1960,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s out to sea, God help us.’

He spun the wheel and the bows of the Orestes swung towards the west.

IV

Tozier left Warren and Follet on the bridge and went down to the engine-room to consult Parker. He found him with an oilcan strolling amid shining and plunging steel piston rods at a seeming risk to life. Hellier was standing by the engineroom telegraph.

He beckoned to Parker, who put down the oilcan and came over to him. ‘Can you leave here for a while?’ he asked.

‘We’re a bit short-handed,’ said Parker. ‘But it wouldn’t do any harm for a short time. What do you want?’

‘Your friend Eastman has barricaded himself in the torpedo compartment in the bows. We’re trying to get him out.’

Parker frowned. ‘That’ll be a bit dicey. I had a watertight bulkhead put in there in case anythin’ went wrong wi’ the tubes. If he’s behind that it’ll be bloody impossible to get him out.’

‘Haven’t you any suggestions? He’s locked himself in and we can’t do a damn’ thing about the heroin.’

‘Let’s go an’ see,’ said Parker briefly.

They found Metcalfe crouched at the end of a narrow steel corridor, at the other end of which was a solid steel door clamped tightly closed. ‘He’s behind that,’ said Metcalfe. ‘You can open it from this side if you care to try but you’ll get a bullet in you. He can’t miss.’

Tozier looked up the corridor. ‘No, thanks; there’s no cover.’

‘The door’s bullet proof too,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I tried a couple of shots and found it was more dangerous for me than for him the way things ricochet around here.’

‘Have you tried to talk him out?’

Metcalfe nodded. ‘He either can’t hear me or he doesn’t care to answer.’

‘What about it, Parker?’

‘There’s only one way into that compartment,’ said Parker. ‘And it’s through that door.’

‘So it’s a stand-off,’ said Tozier.

Metcalfe gave a wry grimace. ‘It’s more than that. If he can keep us out of there until the ship is retaken then he’s won.’

‘You seem a bit worried about that. Delorme has to find us first and taking us won’t be easy. What have you got on your mind?’

Metcalfe swung round. ‘When I took that stuff to Fahrwaz there were a few things left behind — a couple of heavy machine-guns, for instance.’

That’s bad,’ said Tozier softly.

‘And that’s not the worst of it. She tried to flog four 40-millimetre cannons to Fahrwaz, but he wasn’t having them at any price. They swallowed ammo too quickly for his liking, so she got stuck with them. If she’s had the gumption to stick one of those aboard that yacht, she’d have plenty of time to jack-leg a deck mounting. All she’d need is steel and a welding torch, and mere’s plenty of both back in that shipyard.’

‘You think she might?’

‘That little bitch never misses a trick,’ said Metcalfe violently. ‘You should have let me get her back in Beirut.’

‘And we’d have lost the heroin. We’ve got to get rid of that dope. We can’t let her have it.’

Metcalfe jerked his thumb up the corridor. ‘Be my guest — open that door.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Parker. ‘Maybe we can flush him out.’

‘You mean flood the compartment,’ said Tozier. ‘Can it be done?’

‘Not water,’ said Parker. He raised his head and looked upwards. ‘On the foredeck just above us there’s the anchor winch. It’s run by steam taken from the boiler. I reckon I could take a tapping off the line an’ run it down here.’

‘And what would you do with it?’

‘There’s provision for fumigatin’ the ship — gettin’ rid o’ rats. There’s a gas line goin’ into each compartment an’ I’m pretty sure the one leadin’ into there is open. I find the other end an’ connect my line to it. A bit o’ live steam will bring Jack Eastman out o’ there like a scalded cat.’

‘You’ve got nice ideas,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Humane, too. How long will it take?’

‘Dunno; an hour — maybe two. It depends on what I find topside.’

‘Get cracking,’ said Metcalfe.

V

Jamil Hassan was a methodical man and it was unfortunate that the bureaucratic organization he worked for was unyielding in its procedures and tended to be compartmentalized. The news did not reach his office at all and it was only because he decided to have a mid-morning cup of coffee that he heard anything about it.

On his way out he passed the duty officer’s desk and automatically asked, ‘Anything happening?’

‘Nothing much, sir; just the usual. There was one odd thing — a report of a shooting on board a ship leaving Elgamhûrîa Shipyard.’

A young policeman who was writing a report close by pricked up his ears. Hassan said, ‘What was odd about it?’

‘By the time it was reported and we got a man down there the ship was outside territorial waters.’ The duty officer shrugged. ‘There was nothing we could do about it.’

The young policeman sprang to his feet. ‘Sir!’

Hassan eyed him. ‘Yes?’

‘Last night a man called Andre Picot was brought in for questioning — on your instructions, sir.’

‘Well?’

The young man fidgeted a little. ‘It’s... it’s just that I saw Picot leaving Elgamhûrîa Shipyard three days ago. It may not be...’

Hassan waved him quiet, his brain assessing facts like a card-sorter. Heroin — a large quantity of heroin — had left Iran heading westward; Picot, a suspected smuggler, had been questioned — unsuccessfully; Picot had been seen at Elgamhûrîa Shipyard; a shot — or shots — had been fired on a ship in Elgamhûrîa Shipyard; the ship had promptly left Lebanese waters. It was not much, but it was enough.

He picked up the telephone, dialled a number, and said, ‘Bring in André Picot for questioning, and get me a car.’

Thirty minutes later he was standing on the quay in the shipyard interrogating the officer who had made the investigation. ‘And the ship left after the shot was fired?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What was its name?’

‘The Orestes.’

Hassan surveyed the deserted quay. ‘And it was the only ship here. That’s strange.’

‘No, sir; there was a yacht. She left only five minutes ago.’ He pointed. ‘There she is.’

Hassan shaded his eyes against the sun and looked out to sea. ‘And you let her go? Was the owner here when the incident happened?’

‘Yes, sir. He said he did not hear or see anything. Nor did his crew.’

Hassan peered at the yacht. ‘Very convenient for him. Who is he?’

‘His name is Fuad, sir. He said he is to cruise in the Caribbean.’

‘By the Living God!’ said Hassan. ‘Did he? What is that at the stern?’

The officer strained his eyes. ‘A pile of canvas?’ he hazarded.

‘A sheet of canvas covering something,’ corrected Hassan. ‘I want a telephone.’

Two minutes later he was embroiled in an argument with a particularly stupid staff officer of Naval Headquarters, Beirut.

VI

The Orestes plugged away on her new course and the loom of land astern had disappeared leaving only a cloudbank to indicate Mount Lebanon. Warren made himself useful by finding the galley and preparing a meal; corned beef from tins and flat loaves of Arab bread to be washed down with thin, acid wine.

As he worked he pondered on the relationship between Metcalfe and Tozier. They were both of the same stripe, both men of strong will, and they seemed to work in harmony, each instinctively knowing that the other would do the right thing when necessary. He wondered, if it ever came to a conflict between them, who would come out on top.

He finally decided he would lay his money on Metcalfe. Tozier was the more conservative and preferred his employment to have at least a veneer of legality. Metcalfe was more the amoral buccaneer, unscrupulous to a degree and adept in the department of dirty tricks. Warren thought that if it ever came to a showdown between them that Tozier might show a fatal flaw of hesitation where Metcalfe would not. He hoped his theory would never be put to the test.

He finished his preparations and took the food to the bridge. Metcalfe, because of his knowledge of ships and the sea, was now in command, while Tozier kept an eye on Eastman. Follet was in the engine-room, having released a couple of the engine-room staff who were tending the engines nervously under the threat of his gun. Parker and Abbot worked on the foredeck by the anchor winch, and Hellier stood guard over the hold.

Metcalfe called up Abbot to collect something to eat, and also brought Hellier up to the bridge. ‘All quiet?’ he asked.

‘No trouble,’ assured Hellier. ‘They’ve settled down.’

Metcalfe offered him a sandwich. As Hellier bit into it, he said with a wide grin, ‘You’ve now added piracy to your list of crimes, Sir Robert. That’s still a hanging matter in England.’

Hellier choked over the dry bread and spluttered crumbs. Warren said, ‘I don’t think Delorme will press charges, not with the evidence we have aboard.’ He cocked an eye at Metcalfe. ‘I wonder what she’s thinking now.’

‘Evil thoughts — that’s for sure,’ said Metcalfe. ‘But I’m more concerned about what she’ll be doing. She certainly won’t be sitting on her beautiful bottom. When Jeanette gets mad she becomes active.’ He nodded towards the foredeck. ‘How is Parker doing?’

‘He says he’ll need another hour,’ said Abbot.

Warren said, ‘I’ll take him some grub and see if he needs any help.’

Metcalfe steadied the wheel with one hand and held a sandwich with the other. ‘What a hooker this is. She might do nine knots if she could go down hill.’ He looked up. ‘What’s that gadget up there on the derrick?’

Abbot said, ‘It’s one of Dan’s tricks.’ He explained about the light ashore and the man in the crow’s nest.

‘Ingenious,’ commented Metcalfe. ‘Climb up there and see what you can see.’

Abbot went up the derrick and steadied himself at the top by holding on to the sighting telescope which was rigidly fixed. At that height, fifty feet above the water, he felt the breeze which stirred his fair hair, and the slow roll of the Orestes was magnified. ‘There are two more buttons up here,’ he shouted. ‘Eastman wanted two sets.’

‘Leave them alone. What do you see?’

Abbot looked over the bows. ‘There’s a ship ahead of us. I can see the smoke.’ He turned slowly, scanning the horizon. ‘There’s one behind us, too.’

Metcalfe clicked into alertness. ‘Overtaking us?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ shouted Abbot. He was silent for a while. ‘I think she is — I can see a bow wave.’

Metcalfe left the wheel, saying to Hellier, ‘Take it.’ Without breaking his stride he scooped up a pair of binoculars and went up the derrick like a monkey up a palm tree. At the top he steadied himself against the roll of the ship and focused the binoculars astern. ‘It’s Fuad’s yacht. She’s coming like a bat out of hell.’

‘How far?’

Metcalfe did a mental calculation. ‘Maybe six miles. And she has radar — she’ll have spotted us.’ He handed the binoculars to Abbot. ‘Stay here and keep an eye on her.’

He went down the derrick and back to the bridge where he picked up the bridge telephone and rang the engineroom. ‘Johnny, prod your chaps a bit — we want more speed... I know that, but Jeanette is on our tail.’

As he slammed down the telephone Hellier gave him a sideways glance. ‘How long have we got?’

‘This rust bucket might do a little over eight knots if she’s pushed. That yacht might do thirteen or fourteen. Say an hour.’ Metcalfe walked on to the wing of the bridge and looked astern. ‘Can’t see her from here; she’s still below the horizon.’ He turned and there was a grim smile on his face. ‘I was in a lark like this once before — over in the Western Mediterranean. Me and a guy called Krupke in a Fairmile. But we were doing the chasing that time.’

‘Who won?’ asked Hellier.

Metcalfe’s smile grew grimmer. ‘I did!’

‘What can she do if she catches up? She can’t board us.’

‘She can shoot hell out of us.’ Metcalfe looked at his watch. ‘This tub isn’t going to be too healthy an hour from now.’

Hellier said, ‘We have plenty of steel plate to hide behind.’

There was something of contempt in Metcalfe’s voice as he said in disgust, ‘Steel plate!’ He kicked against the side of the bridge and rust fell in large flakes. ‘Nickel-jacketed bullets will rip through this stuff like cardboard. You were in the artillery, so you ought to know. Tell me what a 40-millimetre cannon will do to this bridge?’

He left Hellier with that disconcerting thought and went up to the foredeck where Parker and Warren were working on the winch. ‘Put a jerk in it — we’re being followed. How long, for God’s sake?’

Parker did not pause in his steady movements as he screwed in a pipe. ‘I said an hour.’

‘An hour is all you’ve got,’ said Metcalfe. ‘After that keep your head down.’

Warren looked up. ‘Dan’s been telling me about what you think Delorme will do. Will she really shoot us up?’

That was enough to make Parker stop. ‘The first time I laid eyes on that cow I knew she was bad,’ he said. ‘I dunno how Mike could stand her. She’ll kill the lot of us an’ then go back an’ dance all night without a second thought.’ He hauled on the pipe wrench again, and said, ‘That does it up here. The rest we do below decks.’

‘If there’s anything I can do to speed up the job just shout,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I’m going below to tell Andy the score.’ He checked with Tozier and with Follet in the engine-room, and when he arrived back in the open air he saw that the Stella del Mare was visible from the deck, low on the horizon. He went right to the stern and explored, then went up on to the bridge and said to Hellier, ‘This is going to be the prime target — anybody standing where you are is going to get the chop.’

‘Someone has to steer,’ said Hellier quietly.

‘Yes, but not from here. There’s an emergency steering position aft.’ Metcalfe looked up at the derrick. ‘Mike, come down from there and take the wheel.’

He and Hellier went aft where they dragged the emergency steering-wheel from the locker and fixed it in place directly above the rudder. Metcalfe surveyed it. ‘A bit exposed,’ he commented. ‘It needs some canvas round it. It won’t stop bullets but they might not shoot at the stern if they don’t see anyone here.’

They draped a canvas awning around the wheel. ‘Stay here a while,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I’ll take Abbot off the wheel on the bridge — I need him. You can con the ship from now on until I relieve you.’

He dashed forward again, thinking as he went that he was covering a fair mileage on his own flat feet. He took Abbot off the wheel and regarded the course of the Orestes. After a preliminary swerve she continued on her way, and the bridge wheel turned slowly and even back and forth as though controlled by an invisible man.

‘Nip into the officers’ quarters,’ he said to Abbot. ‘Bring some pillows, blankets, jackets, hats — I want to rig up some dummies.’

They draped coats over pillows and fastened the uniform caps on top with meat skewers from the galley. They made three dummies and suspended them from the top of the wheelhouse by ropes so that they looked unpleasantly like hanging men. But from a distance they would look real enough, and they swayed lightly to and fro most realistically giving an impression of natural movement.

Metcalfe went out on the wing of the bridge and looked aft. ‘She’s catching up fast. About a mile to go — say ten minutes. You’d better get the hell out of here, Mike. I’m going to see what Parker’s doing.’

‘There’s a ship over there,’ said Abbot, pointing to starboard. She was going the other way and was about two miles on the starboard beam. ‘Do you think there’s any chance of getting help?’

‘Not unless you want to make this a real massacre,’ said Metcalfe in a strained voice. ‘If we went over to that ship we’d just be adding to the list of the dead.’

‘You mean she’d kill the crew of that ship, too?’

‘A hundred million dollars has a lot of killing power. The ports around here are stuffed with men who’ll kill anyone you specify for five thousand dollars, and I’ll bet she has that yacht full of them.’ He shrugged irritably. ‘Let’s move.’

Parker and Warren were tired and grimy. ‘Five minutes,’ said Parker in answer to Metcalfe’s urgent question. ‘This is the last bit o’ pipe.’

‘Where do you turn on the steam?’

‘There’s a valve on deck near the winch,’ said Parker. ‘You can’t miss it.’

‘I’ll be up there,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Give me a shout when you want it turned on. And someone had better go and tell Andy what’s going on. He might need some backing up, too, but I doubt it.’

He climbed back on deck to find the Stella del Mare coming up on the port beam. She slackened speed to keep pace with the Orestes and took station about two hundred yards away. He crouched behind the winch and looked across at her. Abbot said, from behind him, ‘Look at the stern. What’s that?’

‘Keep out of sight,’ said Metcalfe sharply. He looked at the unmistakable angles barely disguised beneath the canvas covering, and felt a little sick. ‘It’s a cannon. That thing can squirt shells like a hosepipe squirts water.’ He paused. ‘I think there’s a machine-gun mounted forrard up in the bows, and another amidships on top of the boatdeck. A floating packet of trouble.’

‘What are they waiting for?’ demanded Abbot almost petulantly.

‘For that other ship to get clear. Jeanette doesn’t want any witnesses. She’ll wait until it’s hull down before she tries anything.’ He judged the distance to the valve which was in the open. ‘I hope she does, anyway.’

He drummed his fingers against the metal of the winch and waited to be given the word and at last he heard Warren call, ‘All right, Tom; Dan says give it a three-minute squirt — that should be enough.’

Metcalfe came from behind the winch, stood over the valve, and gave it a twist. He was very conscious that he was in full view of the Stella del Mare and felt an uncomfortable prickling between his shoulder-blades. Steam hissed with violence out of a badly connected joint.

Far below him Tozier waited, the sub-machine-gun ready in his hands. Behind him Parker leaned stolidly against the wall waiting for something to happen. That something would happen he was certain. No man would stay for long in a steel box into which live steam at boiler pressure was being fed. He merely nodded as Tozier whispered, ‘The clamp is moving.’

Tozier might have given Eastman a chance out of pity, but Eastman slammed back the door amid a cloud of steam and came out shooting. Tozier squeezed the trigger and the sub-machine-gun roared noisily in the confined space but could not drown the ear-splitting high-pitched whistle of escaping steam. Eastman was cut down before he had gone two steps and was thrown back to lie across the open threshold of the torpedo room.

The shriek of steam stopped. Parker said, ‘He stood it for two minutes, longer than I expected. Let’s see if he did any damage.’

Tozier lowered the gun. ‘Yes, let’s get rid of the damned stuff.’

Parker halted abruptly. ‘That be damned for a tale,’ he said violently. ‘Those are weapons we’ve got in there. We can use ‘em.’

Tozier’s jaw dropped. ‘By God, you’re right. I must be crazy not to have thought of it myself. Check the torpedoes, Dan; I must get this organized.’ He ran off down the corridor and climbed the vertical ladders to the forecastle. He was just about to step on deck when someone held his arm.

Take it easy,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Or you’ll run into a bullet. Look out there.’

Tozier cautiously looked past the door frame and saw the Stella del Mare very close. He ducked back, and said, ‘Hell’s teeth! She’s right alongside.’

‘There’s a ship not far away, but it’s getting further away every minute. Jeanette’s waiting for a clear horizon.’

‘Parker’s had a thought,’ said Tozier. ‘He wants to torpedo her.’ He grinned at Metcalfe’s expression. ‘Of course, he was a sailor — the idea came naturally to him.’

‘It should have come to me, too,’ said Metcalfe. There was a wicked glint in his eye. ‘I’d better relieve Hellier — this is going to take better ship handling than he’s capable of. Does Parker want help?’

‘He will. You’d better tell Hellier to go and help him. I’ll give Johnny the word.’

Tozier went below to the engine-room and found Follet sitting by the telegraph, a gun in his hand and his eye on an engineer officer who was inspecting a dial. He had to raise his voice to be heard as he brought Follet up-to-date.

‘Son of a bitch!’ said Follet admiringly. ‘You mean we’re going to torpedo her?’

‘We’re going to try.’

Follet looked at the sweating plates close by. Beyond that thin steel shell lay the sea. ‘If anything happens — any trouble — let me know,’ he said. ‘I’m a good swimmer, but I’d like a chance to prove it.’

A grim smile came to Tozier’s lips. ‘What odds are you offering now, Johnny?’

‘All bets are off,’ said Follet. ‘But we did the right thing, I know that. It’s just that even if you have the edge you can’t win them all.’

Tozier punched him lightly on the arm. ‘Keep this junk pile working. Tom will be wanting to manoeuvre.’

He went forward to the torpedo compartment, and before he entered he dragged the body of Eastman aside. ‘Everything seems all right,’ said Parker. ‘Eastman didn’t mess around in here.’ He slapped the side of a torpedo. ‘I’ll need help wi’ these. Two are already in the tubes, but I can’t slide these in on me own.’

‘Hellier’s coming down,’ said Tozier. ‘He’s the beefiest.’ He turned. ‘Here he is now. Dan, let me get this straight. We just punch the buttons — is that it?’

Parker nodded. ‘There’s one set on the bridge an’ another in the crow’s nest; you can use either. But you’d do better in the crow’s nest — there’s a sightin’ telescope up there.’

‘I’ll get back up top,’ said Tozier. ‘The fun will be starting.’

He nodded to Hellier and went away. Hellier said, ‘What do I do?’

‘Nothin’ yet,’ said Parker stolidly. ‘We just wait.’ He looked up. ‘If you’re a religious man you could try a prayer.’

Tozier found Abbot and Warren at the stern. Abbot was lying flat on the deck and peering cautiously around the corner of the deckhouse at the Stella del Mare. He drew back as Tozier touched him on the shoulder. ‘They’re doing something with that thing at the stern.’

Tozier took his place. Three or four men were busy on the after deck of the yacht, stripping away the canvas to reveal the elongated barrel of the cannon. One of them sat on a seat and turned a handle and the barrel rose and fell; another seated himself and traversed the gun, then applied his eye to the sight. Tozier would have given his soul for a good rifle; he could have knocked off all of them before they could get away.

Further forward others were preparing the machine guns for action and he distinctly saw a drum of ammunition being put in place. He withdrew and looked astern. The ship they had passed was a mere blob on the horizon surmounted by a smear of smoke. He stood up and called penetratingly, ‘Tom — action stations!’

The reply from behind the canvas awning was muffled. ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

Tozier drew Warren and Abbot away. ‘The port side won’t be too healthy from now on. It’ll be best to lie flat on the deck on the starboard side somewhere behind the bridge. We’re going to try to torpedo her and Tom’s in command; he has to be because he must point the ship at whatever he’s shooting at.’

‘But the firing buttons are on the bridge,’ said Warren.

‘Yes,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s where the fun comes in. Mike, you stay back here and keep in touch with Tom — you pass the word forward when he’s ready to attack. Nick, you’ll be with me. When the word comes you make for the bridge and try to get at the buttons.’

Warren nodded and wondered momentarily what part Tozier had picked for himself. He soon found out because Tozier nodded to the derrick. ‘There’s another set of buttons at the top of that. That’s my job in case you can’t make it to the bridge.’

Warren looked up at the horribly exposed crow’s nest and moistened his lips. ‘Suppose you can’t make it up there?’

‘I’ll be past caring by then,’ said Tozier easily. ‘Someone else will have to have a go. Let’s get set.’

He and Warren crouched in cover on the starboard side and waited. When it happened it came suddenly and shockingly.

From where he sheltered Warren could see the rear of the bridge and, to the accompaniment of a din of rapid explosions, it began to disintegrate. Bright points of light danced all over it as the cannon shells exploded with ferocious violence, and the wheelhouse was, in a moment, reduced to a shattered wreck.

There was a thump above his head and he looked up to see, incredibly, a piece of glass driven into the teak coaming. Flung from the wheelhouse it had spun murderously towards him and struck with its razor sharp edge to sink an inch deep into the hard wood. Had his head been lifted another few inches he would have been decapitated.

He dropped back into safety just in time as the cannon fire swept aft. Shells exploded on the deck and splinters of planking drove all about him, one cutting through the hem of his jacket and tearing a jagged hole. Above the deeper roar of the cannon came the light chatter of the machine guns and bullets ripped through the deck-house as though the walls were of paper, and he grovelled on the deck as though to dig himself into it.

The firing was heard four miles to the west by the young skipper of the Lebanese patrol boat which carried Jamil Hassan. He turned to Hassan and said, ‘Gunfire!’

Hassan made an abrupt gesture. ‘Faster — go faster.’

Warren cautiously raised his head as the monstrous noise stopped and everything was as quiet as before, with just the steady beat of the engines and the lapping of the bow wave. He looked up at the bridge and was horrified at the mass of wreckage. He had a sudden vision of the puppets which Metcalfe had constructed, dancing like marionettes on their strings as the bullets and shells drove through and among them until the roof caved in.

The Orestes slowly began to swing to port as though a restraining hand had been removed from the helm. Metcalfe called, ‘I’m swinging over to get her athwart my bows as though by chance. We might just get away with it. Tell Andy to get ready.’

Abbot ran forward at a crouch and passed on the message. Tozier looked up at the pulverized bridge and shook his head. ‘Up you go, Nick; but take it easy. Wait until she’s on target before pressing the tit. If you can’t fire at all give me a shout.’

Warren found he was trembling. This was not the sort of work he was cut out for and he knew it. He ran for the bridge ladder and climbed it quickly, ducking his head as he came on to the bridge and sprawling flat. He raised his head and looked at the wheelhouse. The front of it had been blasted off and there was very little left behind it. There was no wheel, no binnacle, no engine telegraph — and no small box with two buttons mounted on it. The bridge had been swept clear.

He shouted, ‘No good here, Andy,’ and twisted around to go back, afraid of being caught by the next blast of gunfire. He did not bother to climb down the ladder but launched himself into space and fell heavily to the deck in the precious shelter of what remained of the bridge.

He saw Tozier run past him, along the deck and out into the open space of the waist of the ship, zig-zagging so as never to take more than three steps in the same direction. He disappeared behind the donkey-engine casing at the foot of the derrick and Warren looked upwards. It seemed impossible that any man should climb that after what had happened.

Metcalfe had one eye on the derrick and the other on the Stella del Mare. He saw Tozier scrambling up and then turned the wheel so as to straighten the Orestes on her course. Tozier reached the crow’s nest and bent to put his eye to the sight, but the yacht was sheering off, although Metcalfe did his best to keep the bows in line with her.

The sudden change of course of both ships confused the gunners on the yacht. The forward machine-gun could not be brought to bear at all, while the one amidships fired but the aim was wild. However, the cannon was perfectly positioned and it traversed smoothly and opened fire. A hail of shells drove past Tozier and it seemed impossible that he should not be hit. Astern of the Orestes the sea erupted in fountains for a mile as the shells overshot the ship and exploded harmlessly.

Tozier stabbed at the buttons and two torpedoes, worth the combined sum of $50,000,000 were on their way.

Then he scrambled down the derrick as fast as he could. He got within ten feet of the bottom and fell the rest of the way. The cannon stopped firing and Warren heard someone cheering from the stern and wondered what Metcalfe had to be so glad about. One thing was certain — the torpedoes had missed. There was no explosion from the sea and a machine-gun still continued its staccato conversation.

Metcalfe had tried to emulate a tortoise as the cannon shells whipped overhead, hunching his neck into his shoulders as though that would save his head from getting knocked off. If the cannon had been depressed a fraction lower the stern of the Orestes would have been swept clear and Tom Metcalfe with it. When the cannon fire stopped he looked through a hole in the awning and began to cheer loudly.

Things had gone wrong on the Stella del Mare; there was confusion on her poop deck and the long barrel of the cannon was canted upwards at an unnatural angle. The improvised mounting had not been able to withstand the incessant hammering as the cannon had pumped out shells and it was now out of action. From the yacht came a thin and distant wail, sounding as though someone had been hurt.

So Metcalfe cheered.

Below, in the bows, Parker and Hellier heard the hiss of compressed air as the torpedoes left the tubes. Hellier was disposed to wait to hear if they struck, but Parker was already closing the outer doors of the tubes in preparation for reloading. He swung open the inner doors and stepped aside as the water gushed out, and then pulled smartly on the handles of the clamps which held the racked torpedo on the port side. ‘Come on,’ he yelled. ‘Get the bastard in!’

He and Hellier heaved on the torpedo which moved slowly on its rollers towards the open tube. It was very heavy and moved a fraction of an inch at a time, but it picked up speed as they pushed harder, and finally went in sweetly. Parker slammed the door home and spun the locking wheel. ‘Now the other one,’ he gasped.

‘Do you think the first lot hit?’ asked Hellier.

‘Dunno,’ said Parker, his hands busy. ‘Shouldn’t think so. Must have been point-blank range judgin’ by the racket goin’ on up there. Let’s get this one in, for God’s sake!’

Warren looked to see if he could see Tozier but there was no sign of him. He stuck his head around the side of the bridge and looked across at the Stella del Mare. She had turned as the Orestes had turned and was still on the port side keeping a parallel course. The midships machine-gun was still firing in short bursts and now the one in the bows could be brought to bear again and it also opened up, but both seemed to be concentrating on the forward deck.

He saw why. Tozier was sheltering in the break of the forecastle, just sitting there with one leg trailing behind him and oddly bent in a place where there should have been no joint. Even at that distance Warren could tell that the leg was broken. He saw Dan Parker dash from the doorway of the forecastle in an attempt to get to Tozier. He had not gone two steps when he stopped a bullet which flung him round and sent him crashing to the deck where he lay feebly moving.

It was too much for Warren. He broke from cover and ran up the deck, careless of whether he was in danger or not. Simultaneously there was a stentorian bellow from the stern. ‘She’s coming around to strafe us on the starboard side. She’ll be crossing our bows — get ready to shoot.’

Warren heard the words but they made no sense to him; he was intent on getting to Parker and Tozier. But he was thankfully aware that the machine-gunning had stopped as the Stella del Mare began to swing ahead of the Orestes and firing became unprofitable. Thus he was able to reach Parker without a scratch.

He bent down and took Parker under the arms and dragged him into the forecastle. He was ruthless about it because he had no time to waste, but mercifully Parker was unconscious. Then he went back for Tozier who looked up and gave a weak grin. ‘Busted leg,’ he said.

‘You can stand on the other,’ said Warren, and helped him up.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ yelled Metcalfe. ‘Someone get up that bloody derrick.’

Warren looked back and hesitated as he felt Tozier’s weight lean on him. He saw Abbot make a run for it, disappearing behind the donkey engine as Tozier had done to reappear half way up the derrick, climbing as though the devil were at his heels.

Metcalfe, on the poop, had a grandstand view. The Stella del Mare crossed his bows three hundred yards ahead. At the sight of Abbot on the derrick the machine-guns opened up again, hosing the Orestes unmercifully. Abbot did not bother to use the sight. He slammed his hand on the buttons just as a burst of machine-gun fire stitched bloody holes across his chest. He spread his arms as he was flung backwards to crash thirty feet to the deck below.

But then the yacht shivered and checked her stride as the torpedoes hit her, and she erupted as over three hundred and fifty pounds of TNT exploded in her guts. She was no warship built to take punishment, and the explosions tore her apart. Her mid-section was ripped and destroyed utterly, thus cutting her in half; her bows floated for a few seconds only, leaving the stern filling with water fast.

Several small figures jumped from the stern just before it went under in a boil of swirling water, and Metcalfe’s teeth bared in a humourless smile. The Orestes ploughed on towards the bits of wreckage floating on the surface, and he saw a white face under long blonde hair and an arm waving desperately.

Slowly, and with intense care, he turned the wheel so that the stern of the Orestes slid sideways towards Jeanette Delorme and she was drawn into the maelstrom of the churning screw. With equal precision he straightened the Orestes on her course and did not look back at what might appear in the wake.

VII

Metcalfe leaned on the rail and looked into the gaping muzzle of the second quick-firing gun he had seen that day. It was trained on the Orestes from the Lebanese patrol boat which ticked over quietly a hundred yards to port in exactly the same position the Stella del Mare had held. Everything was the same except that the engines of the Orestes were stopped, the companion was lowered and a small motor boat containing two ratings and a junior officer of the Lebanese Navy lay close at hand.

‘Give me a hand, Tom,’ called Warren.

Metcalfe turned and went over to where Warren was bandaging Parker’s shoulder. He bent down and held the dressing so that Warren could tie it off. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Not bad,’ said Parker. ‘It could have been worse — mustn’t grumble.’

Metcalfe squatted and said to Warren, ‘That civilian who came aboard didn’t look like a Navy man to me.’

‘I didn’t even know the Lebanon had a navy,’ said Warren.

‘It doesn’t; just a few coastal defence vessels.’ Metcalfe nodded to the patrol boat. ‘I’ve given those boys the slip many a time.’ He frowned. ‘What do you suppose Hellier’s nattering about all this time? Those two must have been talking for an hour.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Warren shortly. He was thinking about Mike Abbot and Ben Bryan — two dead of the original team of five. Forty per cent casualties was a high price to pay, and that did not count the wounded — another forty per cent.

Tozier lay close by, his leg in splints, while Follet talked to him. ‘Goddam it!’ said Follet. ‘I’ll explain it again.’ He jingled the coins in his hands.

‘Oh, I believe you,’ said Tozier. ‘I have to, don’t I? After all, you took the money from me. It’s a neat trick.’ He looked across the deck at the canvas-shrouded body which lay at the head of the companion way. ‘It’s a pity the idea didn’t work later.’

‘I know what you mean, but it was the best thing to do,’ said Follet stubbornly. ‘As I said — you can’t win ‘em all.’ He looked up. ‘Here comes Hellier now.’

Hellier walked across the deck towards them. Metcalfe stood up and asked, ‘Is that a Navy man?’ He nodded to Hassan who waited by the rail.

‘No,’ said Hellier. ‘He’s a policeman.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘Everything.’ said Hellier. ‘The whole story.’

Metcalfe blew out his cheeks. ‘That puts us right in the middle,’ he said. ‘We’ll be lucky if we’re not in the nick for another twenty years. Have you ever been in a Middle East jail, Sir Robert?’

Hellier smiled. ‘I was a bit vague about your gun-running activities. He wasn’t interested in that, anyway. He wants to talk to us.’

He turned to Hassan, who walked over to them, his hands in his pockets. He surveyed them with tight lips and said abruptly, ‘My name is Jamil Hassan; I am a police officer. You gentlemen appear to have been conducting a private war, part of which was on Lebanese territory. As a police officer I find that most irregular.’

Some of the sternness softened from his face. ‘However, as a police officer I find myself helpless since the high seas outside Lebanese territorial waters do not come within my jurisdiction — so what am I to do?’

Metcalfe grinned. ‘You tell us, chum.’

Hassan ignored the interjection. ‘Of course, as well as being a police officer I am also a private citizen of the Lebanon. In that capacity let me offer you my thanks for what you have done. But I would advise you, in future, to leave such pursuits in the hands of the proper and competent authorities.’ His lips quirked in a smile. ‘Which in this case were not very competent. But that still leaves unanswered the question — what am I to do with you?’

‘We have wounded men,’ said Warren. ‘They need attention — a hospital. You could take them back to Beirut in that boat of yours.’

‘Not mine,’ corrected Hassan. ‘You, I take it, are Dr Warren?’ At Warren’s answering nod, he continued, ‘Any of you going back to Beirut in that boat would inevitably end in jail. Our small Navy does not have your English tradition of turning a blind eye. No, you will stay here and I will go back to Beirut. I will send someone to pick you up and you will be landed quietly and discreetly. You understand that I am arranging this purely in my capacity of a private citizen and not that of a police officer.’

Metcalfe let out his breath in a long sigh. Hassan looked at him sardonically, and said, ‘Our Arab nations work together very closely and extradition is easily arranged. There have been reports of a gang of international thugs roaming the Middle East, killing indiscriminately, using military weapons and—’ he fixed Metcalfe firmly with a gimlet eye — ‘indulging in other activities against the state, particularly in Iraq. Owing to these circumstances you will leave the Lebanon at the earliest opportunity. Air tickets will be delivered to your hotel and you will use them. I hope you understand.’

Tozier said, ‘What about the crew of this ship? They’re still battened down in the hold.’

‘You will release the crew just before you leave this ship.’ Hassan smiled thinly. ‘They will have some awkward questions to answer if the ship ever puts into port. In the circumstances I don’t think we will see the ship again.’

‘Thank you,’ said Hellier. ‘We appreciate your understanding of our position.’

Hassan nodded curtly and turned away. He was half way to the companionway when he paused and turned. ‘How much heroin was there?’

‘One thousand kilos exactly,’ said Parker. ‘A metric ton.’

Hassan nodded. ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ Unexpectedly, he smiled. ‘I thought I knew all about smuggling — but torpedoes!’ He shook his head and his face turned grave as he saw the shrouded body of Abbot. ‘I suggest you bury the body of this brave man at sea,’ he said, and went over the side to his waiting boat.

Tozier said, ‘Well, Nick; it’s over. It was nip and tuck towards the last, but we made it.’

Warren leaned against the hatch coaming. He suddenly felt very tired. ‘Yes, we made it. Some of us made it, anyway.’

But Ben Bryan would never be Lord of the Manor, although Warren intended to see that Hellier came through with his promise of a community centre for the treatment of addicts; and Mike Abbot would never again be found waiting on his doorstep for the latest dirt on the drug scene.

He looked up at Hellier — the man who had wanted blood — and hoped he was satisfied. Had the deaths been worth it? There would be an unknown number of people, most of them in the United States, who would live longer and presumably happier lives, quite unaware that their extra years had been purchased by death — and next year, or the year after, another Eastman or another Delorme would arise, and the whole damned, filthy business would start again.

Warren closed his eyes against the sun. But let somebody else stop it, he thought; the pace is too hot for a simple doctor.