A Dawn Like Thunder (41 page)

The tape clung to his fingers and he heard himself sob with anger like some fretting child. He gripped the detonator until his mind cleared again. No time for anything fancy. Ross would be waiting for him.

Sinclair said unhurriedly, ‘Don't be too long about it. I've got to get your people out of here, in one piece if I can!' He laughed. An odd, menacing sound, but when Villiers lurched round on his knees to look at him, he seemed completely calm, one wrist raised while he studied the compass he carried there.

Villiers turned away, and despite the danger he found that he could attach and set the time-fuse. He had done it so often in training on H.M.S.
Vernon
that he could do it blindfolded, and yet before he had volunteered for Special Service he had had difficulty even re-setting a clock.

It was all so clear and stark. Like the time at the hospital
when he and Ross had gone to collect Sinclair, and Caryl had been there too. He stood up. ‘It's set. Twenty minutes, with a bit of luck.'

He watched as Sinclair re-cocked his Sten-gun. ‘I thought you were in a hurry.'

It was as if he had said nothing. Sinclair looked past him towards the shore, the quivering mass of green trees.

‘I've known for quite a long time, you see?' He smiled. ‘It was the envelope I recognized, not the writing.' He added sharply, ‘You were both too bloody clever for that!'

Villiers said, ‘I think we'd better leave!' He dropped his hands to his sides as the Sten's muzzle moved slightly. ‘So you found out. What are you going to do, gun me down? You seem to be good at that!'

Sinclair did not rise to the remark. If anything, it seemed to calm him further.

‘I shall see her when I go back, of course. Tell her what a hero you were. She'd like that, dear Caryl!'

Villiers stood perfectly still. Sinclair was mad. Somebody should have seen it, have listened. He would shoot, and in a few minutes the charges he himself had just set would explode. And when
Tybalt
went up there would be nothing left.
Nothing.

If he could reason with him, somebody would come looking for them. Ross would not leave him. But who would know?

He made to move but Sinclair said, ‘Stand still! Do
something
right!'

Villiers thought of the overgrown garden, the place where he knew he had found his parents and Ross had been with him. He clenched his fists and winced as the sun lanced into his eyes.

‘That's the ticket! Nice and easy. Like a gentleman!'

Villiers swayed, unable even to see what was happening.
But how could it be? It was like the final nightmare. The sun was in the wrong place. He put his hand to his eyes and saw the glare reflected from a scuttle in the
Java Maru
's side. Like a mirror, or a heliograph, which his father had often described.

He heard himself scream,
‘Look out! For Christ's sake!'

The amused disbelief on Sinclair's face changed as something in his reeling mind detected the truth in Villiers' frantic warning. He turned lightly on his heels and fired from the hip, an automatic burst this time, the last he had.

Villiers heard the crash of glass and was in time to see a bloodied face fall away from the scuttle. He did not hear the other shot at all. Sinclair lay propped against a mooring bollard, his eyes staring down at his chest, as if he could feel nothing, even as the blood pumped out of him.

Villiers wanted to move but felt unable to grasp what had happened.

He said, ‘I'll fetch help!'

Sinclair looked at him emptily. ‘You would, too. You're just the sort.'

He must be in agony, Villiers thought. Even so, he was shocked by the intensity of his anger and his contempt. Even his eyes were blazing with hate. A face from hell.

‘Spot of bother, old son?' Captain Pleydell climbed over a lighter, his eyes everywhere, a Gurkha and an armed marine close behind him.

Villiers said harshly, ‘He was shot. From up there. But he got the bastard who did it.'

Pleydell nodded. ‘Quite. Could have been you, y'know.' He bent over Sinclair's legs and unbuttoned his denim blouse. ‘The major's bought it, I'm afraid.' He opened Sinclair's wallet and remarked, ‘Funny thing to carry about, I'd have thought?'

Villiers allowed the young captain to grip his arm and
push him around the line of lighters. Once he looked back and saw that Sinclair was still staring after him, but the dead eyes were without menace.

Pleydell waved to the swaying pilot cutter, and Villiers felt himself being dragged bodily over the side.

A muffled explosion boomed around the anchorage, and minutes later they saw the U-Boats' tanker begin to settle down.

Ross lowered his glasses. One of the chariots had made it. They might never know which.

Pleydell said calmly, ‘If somebody drops a match in that little lot they'll really be in trouble.'

Villiers looked up and saw Ross turning the Wren officer's badge in his fingers. From Sinclair's wallet. A souvenir, somebody had called it . . .

Mike Tucker was also watching, sharing what they had all done. Together.

He saw Ross throw the pale blue badge into the sea, and wondered if they would ever get back; and if so, if Ross would ever tell his girl about it.

Right on time, as they stumbled through secondary jungle following their Gurkha scouts, they heard the main charges in
Tybalt
explode. Like an earthquake, so that even here the ground shook. Or trembled, perhaps, at what men could do.

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Epub ISBN 9781446494943
Version 1.0

Published by Arrow Books 2007

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Copyright © Bolitho Maritime Productions Ltd 1996

Douglas Reeman has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

First published in Great Britain in 1996 by William Heinemann

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099502340