Thunder Point (31 page)

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?”