Thunder Point

13

The following morning Santiago went for a swim in the sea, then sat in the stern under the awnings, had coffee and toast and a few grapes while he thought about things. Algaro waited by the rail patiently, saying nothing.

“I wonder what went wrong,” Santiago said. “After all, it would be unusual for you to make a mistake, Algaro.”

“I know my business, I did what was necessary, Señor, believe me.”

At that moment Captain Serra presented himself. “I’ve just had a call from my man in Cruz Bay, Señor. It appears the Cessna crashed in Reef Bay last night, that’s on the south coast of St. John. It finished up forty feet down on the bottom. Ferguson, Carney and Dillon all survived.

“Damn them to hell!” Algaro said angrily.

“Soon enough.” Santiago sat there, frowning.

Serra said, “Have you any order, Señor?”

“Yes.” Santiago turned to Algaro. “After lunch, you take Guerra and go to St. John in the launch. The girl should arrive at around six in the evening.”

“You wish us to bring her to you, Señor?”

“That won’t be necessary. Just find out what she knows, I’m sure that’s not beyond your capability.”

Algaro’s smile was quite evil. “At your orders, Señor,” and he withdrew.

Serra waited patiently while Santiago poured more coffee. “How long will the launch take to make the run to Cruz Bay?” Santiago asked.

“Depending on the weather, two to two and a half hours, Señor.”

“About the same time as the Maria Blanco would take?”

“Yes, Señor.”

Santiago nodded. “I may want to return to our mooring at Paradise some time tonight. I’m not sure. It depends on events. In any case, get me Sir Francis in London.”

It took twenty minutes for Serra to run Pamer to earth and he finally located him at a function at the Dorchester. He sounded rather irritated when he came to the phone. “Who is this? I hope it’s important, I’ve got a speech to make.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do marvelously, Francis.”

There was a pause and Pamer said, “Oh, it’s you, Max, how are things?”

“We succeeded in locating the old man you mentioned, Jackson. What a mind. Quite remarkable. Remembered everything about nineteen forty-five in sharpest detail.”

“Oh, my God,” said Pamer.

Santiago, who had never seen any point in not facing up to the facts of any situation, carried on, “Luckily for you, he had an accident when changing a wheel on his car and has gone to a better place.”

“Please, Max, I don’t want to know this.”

“Don’t be silly, Francis, this is hold-on-to-your-nerves time, particularly as the old boy told everything he knew to Ferguson before my man helped him on his way. Unfortunate that.”

“Ferguson knows?” Pamer felt as if he were about to choke and tore at his tie. “About my mother and father, Samson Cay, Martin Bormann?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But what are we going to do?”

“Get rid of Ferguson obviously, Dillon as well, and Carney. The girl arrives this evening and my information is that she knows where the U-boat is. She’ll be of no further use after that, of course.”

“For God’s sake, no,” Pamer implored and suddenly turned quite cold. “I’ve just thought of something. My secretary asked me if there was anything wrong with my financial affairs this morning. When I asked her why, she told me she’d noticed a trace being run through the computer. I didn’t think anything of it. I mean, when you’re a Minister, they keep these various checks going for your own protection.”

“Right,” Santiago said. “Have the source checked at once and report back to me.”

He handed the phone to Serra. “You know, Serra,” he said, “it’s a constant source of amazement to me, the frequency with which I become involved with stupid people.”

When Ferguson, Dillon and Carney drove down to Reef Bay in Carney’s jeep, they could see the Cessna suspended on the end of the crane at the stern of the salvage boat, clear of the water. There were three men on deck in diving suits and one in a peaked cap, denim shirt and jeans. Carney whistled, the man turned, waved then, dropped into an inflatable at the side of the boat, started the outboard and aimed for shore.

He came up the beach holding Ferguson’s Malacca cane, and said to Carney, “This belong to somebody?”

Ferguson reached for it. “I’m deeply indebted to you. Means a great deal to me.”

Carney introduced them. “What’s the verdict, or haven’t you had time yet?”

“Hell, it’s open and shut,” the salvage captain said and turned to Dillon. “Bo tells me your oil pressure gauge went wild?”

“That’s true.”

“Not surprising. The filler cap was blown off. That kind of pressure is usually only generated when there’s a substantial amount of water in the oil. As the engine heats up, the water turns to steam and there you go.”

“Wouldn’t you say it was kind of strange to have that much water in the oil?” Carney asked.

“Not for me to say. What is certain is some vandal or other intended you harm. Somebody went to work on the bottom of the floats with what looks like a fire axe, that’s why your landing was fouled. The moment you hit the water, it poured into those floats.” He shrugged. “The rest, you know. Anyway, we’ll haul her back to St. Thomas. I’ll arrange repairs and keep you posted.” He shook his head. “You guys were real lucky,” and he went back to the inflatable and returned to the salvage boat.

They sat in a booth at Jenny’s Place and Mary Jones brought them chowder and hunks of French bread. Billy supplied the beer, ice-cold, and shook his head. “You gents must live right. I mean, you shouldn’t be here.”

He walked away and Dillon said, “So you were wrong, Brigadier, he did try to have us killed. Why?”

“Maybe it had something to do with what that old guy Jackson said,” Carney put in.

“Yes, that would be part of it, but I’m still surprised,” Ferguson said. “I still thought we had our uses.”

“Well, we sure will have when Jenny gets in,” Carney told him.

“Let’s hope so.” The Brigadier raised his arm. “Let’s have some more beer, innkeeper, it really is quite excellent.”

When Pamer called Santiago back it was six o’clock in the evening in London.

“It couldn’t be worse,” he said. “That computer trace has been authorized by Detective Inspector Lane, he’s Ferguson’s assistant at the moment, on temporary loan from Special Branch. It’s a check on my family’s financial background, Max, searching way back. I’m finished.”

“Don’t be a fool. Just stay cool. Just think of the time scale. If you consider when Ferguson found out about you, he can only have had time to speak to this Lane and tell him to start digging.”

“But what if he’s spoken to Simon Carter or the P.M.?”

“If he had, you’d know by now, and why should he? Ferguson’s played this whole thing very close to his chest and that’s the way he’ll continue.”

“But what about Lane?”

“I’ll have him taken care of.”

“For God’s sake no,” Pamer moaned. “I can’t take any more killing.”

“Do try to act like a man occasionally,” Santiago said. “And you do have one consolation. Once we have the Bormann documents in our hands, the Windsor Protocol should prove a very useful tool to have in your possession, and there must be people whose fathers or grandfathers appear in the Blue Book who’d give anything to prevent that fact coming out.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, Francis, we’ll have lots of fun with this one.”

He replaced the phone, thought about it, then picked it up again and dialed another London number. He spoke in Spanish. “Santiago. I have a major elimination for you which must be carried out tonight. A Detective Inspector Jack Lane, Special Branch. I’m sure you can find the address.” He handed the phone back to Algaro. “And now, my friend, I think it’s time you and Guerra departed for St. John.”

It was half-past five when Jenny came in on the ferry to Cruz Bay. It was only a few hundred yards along the front to Jenny’s Place and when she went in there were already a few people at the bar, Billy Jones standing behind. He came round to meet her.

“Why, Miss Jenny, it’s so good to see you.”

“Is Mary here?”

“She sure is. In the kitchen getting things right for this evening. Just go through.”

“I will in a moment. Did you speak to Dillon? Did you give him my message?”

“I did. He and that friend of his and Bob Carney have been as thick as thieves these past few days. I don’t know what’s going on, but something sure is.”

“So Dillon and Brigadier Ferguson are still at Caneel?”

“They sure are. You want to get in touch with him?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Well you know they don’t have telephones in the cottages at Caneel, but Dillon has a cellular phone. He gave me the number.” He went behind the bar, opened the cash register drawer and took out a piece of paper. “Here it is.”

Mary came through the kitchen door at that moment and came to a dead halt. “Jenny, you’re back.” She kissed her on the cheek, then held her at arm’s length. “You look terrible, honey, what you been doing?”

“Nothing much.” Jenny gave her a tired smile. “Just driving halfway across France, then catching a plane to London, another to Antigua, a third to St. Thomas. I’ve never felt so tired in my life.”

“What you need is food, a hot bath and a night’s sleep.”

“That’s a great idea, Mary, but I’ve things to do. A cup of coffee would be fine. Let me have it in the office, I want to make a telephone call.”

Algaro and Guerra had obtained the address of the house at Gallows Point from the fisherman who was Captain Serra’s contact in Cruz Bay. They had already paid the place a visit, although Algaro had decided against a forced entry at that time. They went back to the waterfront, watched the ferry come in from St. Thomas and the passengers disembark. Out of the twenty or so passengers only five were white and three of those were men. As the other woman was at least sixty, there was little doubt who the younger one with the suitcase was. They followed her at a discreet distance and saw her go up the steps to the cafe.

“What do we do now?” Guerra asked.

“Wait,” Algaro told him. “She’ll go to the house sooner or later.”

Guerra shrugged, took out a cigarette and lit it and they went and sat on a bench.

Dillon was actually swimming off Paradise beach, had left the cellular phone with his towel on a recliner on the beach. He heard the phone and swam as fast as he could to the shore.

“Dillon here.”

“It’s Jenny.”

“Where are you?”

“At the bar, I just got in. How have things been?”

“Well, let’s say it’s been lively and leave it at that. There were people waiting for me the moment I got here, Jenny, the wrong sort of people. There’s a man called Santiago, who was responsible for the break-in at Lord North Street, and those two thugs who tried to jump you by the Thames. He’s been hanging around here in a motor yacht called the Maria Blanco causing us as much trouble as possible.”

“Why?”

“He wants Bormann’s briefcase, it’s as simple as that.”

“But how did he know about the U-boat’s existence?”

“There was a leak at the London end of things, someone connected with Intelligence. You were right about Bob Carney. Quite a guy, but he’s not been able to come up with a solution. Do you really think you can help, Jenny?”

“It’s just an idea, so simple that I’m afraid to tell you, so let’s leave it until we meet.” She glanced at her watch. “Six o’clock. I could do with a hot bath and all the trimmings. Let’s say we’ll meet here at seven-thirty, and bring Bob.”

“Fine by me.”

Dillon put the phone down, toweled himself dry, then he picked it up and tried Carney’s house at Chocolate Hole. It was a while before he answered. “Dillon here.”

“I was in the shower.”

“We’re in business, Jenny’s just phoned me from the bar. She just got in.”

“Has she told you where it is?”

“No, she’s still being mysterious. She wants to see us at the bar at seven-thirty.”

“I’ll be there.”

Dillon rang off, then hurried back up the slope to the cottage to report to Ferguson.

When Jenny came out of the office Mary was standing at the end of the bar talking to her husband. “You still look like a bad weekend, honey,” she said.

“I know. I’m going to walk up to the house, have a shower and put on some fresh clothes, then I’m coming back. I’ve arranged to meet Dillon, Brigadier Ferguson and Bob Carney at seven-thirty.”

“You ain’t walking anywhere, honey. Billy, you take her up in the jeep, check out the house. Make sure everything’s in order, then bring her back when she’s ready. I’ll get young Annie from the kitchen to tend bar while you’re gone.”

“No need for that, Mary,” Jenny told her.

“It’s settled. Don’t give me no argument, girl. Now on your way.”

When Jenny emerged from the bar, Billy Jones was at her side carrying the suitcase. Algaro and Guerra followed them at a distance, saw them get in the jeep in the car park at Mongoose Junction and drive away.

“He’s taking her up to the house, I bet you,” Guerra said.

Algaro nodded. “We’ll walk up, it’s not far. He’ll have left by the time we get there. We’ll get her then.”

Guerra said, “No sign of Dillon or the other two. That means she hasn’t had a chance to speak to them yet.”

“And maybe she never will,” Algaro told him.

Guerra paused and licked his lips nervously. “Now look, I don’t want to get in anything like that, not with any woman. That’s bad luck.”

“Shut your mouth and do as you’re told,” Algaro told him. “Now let’s get moving.”

At the Ministry of Defence, just before midnight, the light still shone from the windows of Ferguson’s office overlooking Horse Guards Avenue. Jack Lane finished his preliminary reading of the first facts to emerge from the computer concerning the Pamer family and very interesting reading they made. But he’d done enough for one night. He put them in his briefcase, placed it in the secure drawer of his desk, got his raincoat, switched off the lights and left.

He came out of the Horse Guards Avenue entrance and walked along the pavement. The young man sitting behind the wheel of the stolen Jaguar on the opposite side of the road checked the photo on the seat beside him with a torch, just to make sure, then slipped it into a pocket. He wore glasses and a raincoat over a neat blue suit, looked totally ordinary.

He started the engine, watched Lane cross the road and start along Whitehall Court. Lane was tired and still thinking of the Pamer affair, glanced casually to the right, was aware of the Jaguar, but had plenty of time to cross the road. There was the sudden roar of the engine, he half-turned, too late, the Jaguar hit him with such force that he was flung violently to one side. Lane lay there, trying to push himself up, was aware that the Jaguar was reversing. The rear bumper fractured his skull, killing him instantly, and the car bumped over his body.

The young man got out and walked forward to check that the Inspector was dead. The street was quite empty, only the rain falling as he got back into the Jaguar, swerved around Lane’s body and drove away. Five minutes later he dumped the Jaguar in a side street off the Strand and walked rapidly away.

At Gallows Point, Jenny had a long hot shower and washed her hair while downstairs Billy opened shutters to air the rooms, got a broom and swept the front porch. Algaro and Guerra watched from the bushes nearby.

“Damn him, why doesn’t he go?” Algaro said.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t advise trying anything with that one,” Guerra said. “They tell me he used to be heavyweight boxing champion of the Caribbean.”

“I’m frightened to death,” Algaro said.

After a while, Jenny came out on the porch and joined Billy. She wore white linen trousers, a short-sleeved blouse, looked fresh and relaxed.

“Now that’s better,” Billy said.

“Yes, I actually feel human again,” she said. “We’ll go back now, Billy.”

They got in the jeep and drove away and the two men emerged onto the dirt road. “Now what?” Guerra demanded.

“No problem,” Algaro said. “We’ll get her later. For now, we’ll go back to the bar,” and they set off down the road.

It was almost dark when Bob Carney went into Jenny’s Place and found her serving behind the bar with Billy. She came round and greeted him warmly with a kiss and drew him over to a booth.

“It’s good to see you, Jenny.” He put a hand on hers. “I was real sorry about Henry. I know what he meant to you.”

“He was a good man, Bob, a decent, kind man.”

“I saw him on that last morning,” Carney told her, “coming in as I was leaving with a dive party. He must have gone out real early. I asked him where he’d been, and he told me French Cap.” He shook his head. “Not true, Jenny. Dillon and I checked out French Cap, even had a look at South Drop.”

“But they’re sites people go to anyway, Bob. That U-boat couldn’t have just sat there all those years without someone having seen it.”

It was at that moment that Dillon and Ferguson entered. They saw Carney and Jenny at once and came over. Ferguson raised his Panama. “Miss Grant.”

She held out a hand to Dillon, he took it for a moment and there was an awkwardness between them. “Did things work out all right?”

“Oh, yes, I saw Henry’s sister. Sorry I was so mysterious. The truth is she’s a nun, Little Sisters of Pity. In fact she’s the Mother Superior.”

“I never knew that,” Carney said.

“No, Henry never talked about her, he was an atheist, you see. He felt she was burying herself away to no purpose. It led to a rift between them.”

Billy came up at that moment. “Can I get you folks some drinks?”

“Later, Billy,” she said. “We have business to discuss here.”

He went away and Ferguson said, “Yes, we’re all ears. Hopefully you’re going to tell us the location of U180.”

“Yes, Jenny.” Bob Carney was excited now. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know is the short answer,” she said simply.

There was consternation on Ferguson’s face. “You don’t know? But I was led to believe you did.”

Dillon put a restraining hand on the Brigadier’s arm. “Give her a chance.”

“Let me put it this way,” Jenny said. “I think I might know where that information may be found, but it’s so absurdly simple.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, let’s get on with it.” She turned to Carney. “Bob, the Rhoda is still moored there in the harbor. Will you take us out there?”

“Sure, Jenny.”

Carney stood up and Ferguson said, “The Rhoda?”

Carney explained. “Henry’s boat, the one he was out in that day. Come on, let’s go.”

They went down the steps to the road and went along the waterfront to the dock, and Algaro and Guerra watched them descend to an inflatable. Carney sat in the stern, started the outboard and they moved out into the harbor.

“Now what?” Guerra asked.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Algaro replied.

Carney switched on the light in the deckhouse and they all crowded in. “Well, Miss Grant,” Ferguson said. “We’re all here, so what have you got to tell us?”

“It’s just an idea.” She turned to Carney. “Bob, what do a lot of divers do after a dive?”

“You mean, check their equipment…”

She broke in. “Something much more basic. What I’m thinking of is the details of the dive.”

Carney said, “Of course.”

“What on earth is she getting at?” Ferguson demanded.

“I think I see,” Dillon said. “Just like pilots, many divers keep logs. They enter details of each dive they make. It’s common practice.”

“Henry was meticulous about it,” she said. “Usually the first thing he did after getting back on board and drying himself. He usually kept it in here.” She opened the small locker by the wheel, reached inside and found it at once. It had a red cover, Baker’s name stamped on it in gold. She held it out to Dillon. “I’m afraid I might be wrong. You read it.”

Dillon paused, then turned the pages and read the last one. “It says here he made an eighty- to ninety-foot dive at a place called Thunder Point.”

“Thunder Point?” Carney said. “I’d never have thought it. No one would.”

“His final entry reads: Horse-eyed jacks in quantity, yellow-tail snappers, angel and parrot fish and one type VII German Submarine, U180, on ledge on east face.”

“Thank God,” Jenny Grant said. “I was right.”

There was a profound silence as Dillon closed the log and Ferguson said, “And now I really could do with that drink.”

Algaro and Guerra watched them return. Algaro said, “She’s told them something, I’m sure of it. You stay here and keep an eye on things while I go down to the public phone and report in.”

Inside, they sat at the same booth and when Billy came over Ferguson said, “This time champagne is very definitely in order.” He rubbed his hands. “Now we can really get down to brass tacks.”

Dillon said to Carney, “You seemed surprised, I mean about the location, this Thunder Point. Why?”

“It’s maybe twelve miles out. That’s close to the edge of things. I’ve never dived there. No one dives there. It’s the most dangerous reef in this part of the world. If the sea is at all rough, it’s a hell of a haul to get there and when you do, the current is fierce, can take you every which way.”

“How do you know this if you’ve never dived it?” Dillon asked.

“There was an old diver here a few years back, old Tom Poole. He’s dead now. He dived it on his own years back. He told me he happened to be that far out by chance and realized it was calmer than usual. From what he said it’s a bit like South Drop. A reef around seventy feet, about a hundred and eighty feet on one side and two thousand on the other. In spite of the weather being not too bad, the old boy nearly lost his life. He never tried again.”

“Why didn’t he see the U-boat?” Ferguson demanded.

“Maybe he just didn’t get that far, maybe it’s moved position since his time. The one thing we know for sure is it’s there because Henry found it,” Carney told him.

“I just wonder why he even attempted such a dive,” Jenny said.

“You know what Henry was like,” Carney told her. “Always diving on his own when he shouldn’t, and that morning, after the hurricane, the sea was calmer than I’ve ever seen it. I figure he was just sailing out there for the pure joy of it, realized where he was and saw that conditions were exceptional. In those circumstances he would have dropped his hook on that reef and been over the side in no time at all.”

“Well, according to Rear Admiral Travers,” Dillon said, “and he talked extensively to Baker, Bormann was using the captain’s cabin except that it wasn’t really a cabin. It just had a curtain across. It’s on the port side opposite the radio and sound room, that’s in the forward part of the boat. The idea of having it there was so the captain had instant access to the control room.”

“That seems reasonably straightforward to me,” Carney said.

“Yes, but the only access from the control room is by the forward watertight hatch and Baker told Travers it was corroded to hell, really solid.”

“Okay,” Carney said, “so we’ll have to blow it. C4 is the thing, the stuff Santiago was going on about when we were at Samson.”

“I’m ahead of you there,” Dillon told him. “I couldn’t get hold of any C4, but I thought Semtex would be an acceptable substitute. I’ve also got chemical detonating pencils.”

“Is there anything you forgot?” Carney asked ironically.

“I hope not.”

“So when do we go?” Ferguson demanded.

Dillon said, “I’d say that’s up to Carney here, he’s the expert.”

Carney nodded, slightly abstracted. “I’m thinking about it.” He nodded again. “The way I see it, we want to be in and out before Santiago even knows what’s going on.”

“That makes sense,” Ferguson agreed.

“They can’t track us any longer because we got rid of the bugs in both boats. We could capitalize on that by leaving around midnight, making the trip under cover of darkness. Dawn at five to five-thirty. We could go down at first light.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dillon said.

“Right, I left Sea Raider at Caneel Bay this evening so we’ll leave from there. You’ll need to pick up that Semtex you mentioned. Any extras we need I can get from the dive shop.”

“But not right now,” Ferguson told him. “Now we eat. All this excitement has given me quite an appetite.”

It started to rain a little and Algaro and Guerra sheltered under a tree. “Mother of God, is this going to take all night?” Guerra demanded.

“It takes as long as is needed,” Algaro told him.

Inside, they had dined well on Mary’s best chowder and grilled snapper, were at the coffee stage when Dillon’s cellular phone rang. He answered it, then handed it across to Ferguson. “It’s for you. Somebody from Special Branch in London.”

The Brigadier took the phone. “Ferguson here.” He listened and suddenly turned very pale and his shoulders sagged. “Just a moment,” he said wearily and got up. “Excuse me. I’ll be back,” and he went out.

“What in the hell is that all about?” Carney asked.

“Well, it’s not good, whatever it is,” Dillon said. Ferguson returned at that moment and sat down.

“Jack Lane, my assistant, is dead.”

“Oh, no,” Jenny said.

“Hit-and-run accident round about midnight. He’d been working late, you see. The police have found the car dumped in a side street off the Strand. Blood all over it. Stolen of course.”

“Another remarkable coincidence,” Dillon said. “You tell him to check up on Pamer and in no time he’s lying dead in a London side street.”

It was the first time he’d seen real anger in Ferguson’s face. Something flared in the Brigadier’s eyes. “That hadn’t escaped me, Dillon. The bill will be paid in full, believe me.”

He took a deep breath and stood up. “Right, let’s get going. Are you coming with us, my dear?”

“I don’t think so,” Jenny told him. “That kind of boat ride is the last thing I need after what I’ve been through, but I’ll come and see you off. I’ll follow you in my jeep. You carry on, I’ll catch you up, I just want a word with Mary.”

She went into the kitchen and Dillon beckoned Billy to the end of the bar. “Do you think you and Mary could spend the night at Jenny’s house?”

“You think there could be a problem?”

“We’ve had too many for comfort,” Ferguson told him.

Dillon took the Belgian semi-automatic from his pocket. “Take this.”

“That bad?” Billy inquired.

“That bad.”

“Then this is better.” Billy took a Colt.45 automatic from under the counter.

“Fine.” Dillon slipped the Belgian semi-automatic back in his pocket. “Take care. We’ll see you in the morning.”

In the kitchen Mary was working hard at the stove. “What you doing now, girl?”

“I’ve got to go up to Caneel, Mary, Bob Carney is taking the Brigadier and Mr. Dillon on a special dive. I want to see them off.”

“You should be in bed.”

“I know. I’ll go soon.”

She went out through the bar and hurried down the steps. Algaro said, “There she is. Let’s get after her.”

But Jenny started to run, catching Ferguson, Dillon and Carney at Mongoose Junction. Algaro and Guerra watched as their quarry got into her jeep, Carney at her side, and followed Dillon and Ferguson out of the car park.

“All right,” Algaro said. “Let’s get after them,” and they ran toward their own vehicle.

At the cottage, Dillon got the olive-green army holdall, took everything out, the Semtex and fuses, the AK, and the Walther and its silencer. Ferguson came in as he was finishing, wearing cord slacks, suede desert boots and a heavy sweater.

“Are we going to war again?” he asked.

Dillon stowed everything back in the holdall. “I hope not. Carney and I are going to have enough on our plate just making the dive, but you know where everything is if you need it.”

“You think you can pull it off?”

“We’ll see.” Dillon found his tracksuit top. “I’m sorry about Lane, Brigadier.”

“So am I.”

Ferguson looked bleak. “But our turn will come, Dillon, I promise you. Now let’s get on with it.”

As they made for the door, Dillon paused and opened the bar cupboard. He took out half a bottle of brandy and dropped it into the holdall. “Purely medicinal,” he said and held the door open. “It’s going to be bloody cold down there at that time of the morning.”

Carney had brought the Sea Raider in to the end of the dock at Caneel. Jenny was sitting on a bench looking down at the boat as he checked the air tanks. A three-piece band was playing in the bar, music and laughter drifting over the water on the night air. Ferguson and Dillon walked along the front, passed the Beach Terrace Restaurant and came along the dock. Ferguson stepped on board and Dillon passed him the holdall.

He turned to Jenny. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said.

“Not long now,” Dillon told her. “As some poet put it, ‘all doubts resolved, all passion spent.’ ”

“And then what will you do?” she asked.

Dillon kissed her briefly on the cheek. “Jesus, girl, will you give a man a chance to draw breath?”

He took the Belgian semi-automatic out of his pocket. “Put that in your purse and don’t tell me you don’t know what to do with it. Just pull the slider, point and fire.”

She took it reluctantly. “You think this is necessary?”

“You never can tell. Santiago has been ahead of us too many times. When you get back to the bar you’ll find that Billy and Mary intend to spend the night with you.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

“I try to. It would take a good man to mess with Billy.”

He stepped on board and Carney looked down at them from the flying bridge. “Cast off for us, Jenny.”

He switched on the engines, she untied the stern line and handed it to Dillon, went and did the same with the other. The boat drifted out, then started to turn away.

“Take care, my dear,” Ferguson called.

She raised an arm as Sea Raider moved out to sea. Dillon looked back at her, standing there under the light at the end of the dock, and then she turned and walked away.

She went past the bar and the shop, and started up the path past the Sugar Mill Restaurant to the car park where the taxis waited. Algaro and Guerra had watched the departure from the shadows and now they followed her.

“What shall we do?” Guerra whispered.

“She’s bound to go home sooner or later,” Algaro said. “The best place to deal with her, all nice and quiet and we don’t even need to follow her.”

Jenny got into her jeep and started the engine and they waited until she was driving away before moving toward their own vehicle.

There were still a few people in the bar when she went in and Mary was helping one of the waitresses to clear the tables. She came to the end of the bar and Billy joined them.

“They got off all right then?” Billy asked.

“That’s right.”

“Are we going to be told what they’re up to, Miss Jenny? Everyone is sure acting mighty mysterious.”

“Maybe one of these days, Billy, but not right now.”

She yawned, feeling very tired, and Mary said, “Don’t you hold her up with any damn fool questions, she needs her sleep.” She turned to Jenny. “Mr. Dillon asked us to spend the night with you and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“All right,” Jenny said. “I’ll go on up to the house.”

“Maybe you should wait for us, Miss Jenny,” Billy told her. “It will only take us five minutes to close.”

She opened her purse and took out the Belgian semi-automatic. “I’ve got this, Billy, and I know how to use it. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon.”

She’d parked the jeep right outside at the bottom of the steps and she slid behind the wheel, turned on the engine and drove away, so tired that for a moment she forgot to switch on the lights. The streets were reasonably quiet now as she drove out toward Gallows Point and she was at the house in five minutes. She parked in the driveway, went up the steps, found her key and unlocked the front door. She switched on the porch light, then went in.

God, but she was tired, more tired than she had ever been, and she mounted the stairs wearily, opened her bedroom door and switched on the light. It was hot, very hot in spite of the ceiling fan, and she crossed to the French windows leading to the balcony and opened them. There were a few heavy spots of rain and then a sudden rush, the kind of thing that happened at night at that time of year. She stood there for a moment enjoying the coolness, then turned and found Algaro and Guerra standing just inside the room.

It was as if she was dreaming, but that terrible face told her otherwise, the cropped hair, the scar from the eye to the mouth. He laughed suddenly and said to Guerra in Spanish, “This could prove interesting.”

And Jenny, in spite of her tiredness, surprised even herself by darting forward and around them to the door, almost made it, and it was Guerra who caught her right wrist and swung her around. Algaro struck her heavily across the face, then hurled her back on the bed. She tried to pull the gun from her purse. He took it from her, turned her on her face, pulling her left arm up, twisted and applied some special kind of leverage. The pain was terrible and she cried out.

“You like that, eh?” Algaro was enjoying himself and tossed the gun across the room. “Let’s try some more.”

And this time, the pain was the worst thing she’d ever known and she screamed at the top of her voice. He turned her over, slapped her heavily again and took a flick knife from his pocket. When he jumped the blade she saw that it was razor sharp. He grabbed a handful of her hair.

“Now I’m going to ask you some questions.” He stroked the blade across her cheek and pricked it gently with the needle point so that blood came. “If you refuse to answer, I’ll slit your nose and that’s just for starters.”

She was only human and terrified out of her mind. “Anything,” she pleaded.

“Right. Where would we find the wreck of U180?”

“Thunder Point,” she gasped.

“And where would that be?”

“It’s on the chart. About ten or twelve miles south of St. John. That’s all I know.”

“Dillon, the Brigadier and Carney, we saw them leave from the dock at Caneel Bay. They’ve gone to Thunder Point to dive on the U-boat, is that right?” She hesitated and he slapped her again. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” she said. “They’re diving at first light.”

He patted her face, closed the knife and turned to Guerra. “Lock the door.”

Guerra seemed bewildered. “Why?”

“I said lock the door, idiot.” Algaro walked past him and swung it shut, turning the key. He turned and his smile was the cruellest thing Jenny had ever seen in her life. “You did say you’d do anything?” and he started to take his jacket off.

She screamed again, totally hysterical now, jumped to her feet, turned and ran headlong through the open French windows on to the balcony in total panic, hit the railings and went over, plunging down through the heavy rain to the garden below.

Guerra knelt beside her in the rain and felt for a pulse. He shook his head. “She looks dead to me.”

“Right, leave her there,” Algaro said. “That way it looks like an accident. Now let’s get out of here.”

The sound of their jeep’s engine faded into the night and Jenny lay there, rain falling on her face. It was only five minutes later that Billy and Mary Jones turned into the drive in their jeep and found her at once, lying half across a path, half on grass. “My God.” Mary dropped to her knees and touched Jenny’s face. “She’s cold as ice.”

“Looks like she fell from the balcony,” Billy said.

At that moment Jenny groaned and moved her head slightly. Mary said, “Thank God, she’s alive. You carry her inside and I’ll phone for the doctor,” and she ran up the steps into the house.