The Spoilers / Juggernaut (23 page)

He followed Jeanette down the companionway and stepped into the launch, and it pulled away in a lazy circle and headed for the
Orestes.
When Jeanette climbed up on to the deck of the battered coaster she was suddenly businesslike. ‘All right, Jack; let’s get on our way. Are you ready, Parker?’

Parker grinned easily. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

She offered him a small, tight smile. ‘You’d better make it good—but Jack’s been telling me you do good work.’
The telegraph clanged, the deck vibrated as the engines increased speed, and the
Orestes
began to move. ‘What’s the drill?’ asked Abbot.

‘We go another fifteen miles,’ said Eastman. ‘Then turn and shoot. We have a couple of boats along the course in case the torpedo comes up too soon, but we’ll be pacing it anyway. It should surface somewhere near the yacht—if we get the range we need.’

Abbot laughed, and said to Parker, ‘You’d better not be
too
good, Dan; it would be a hell of a joke if you slammed the torpedo into the
Stella del Mare.
’

Parker grunted. ‘It wouldn’t do too much damage without a warhead. But the fish would be a write-off an’ I wouldn’t like that.’

‘Neither would I,’ said Eastman. He gave Abbot an unfriendly stare and said coldly, ‘I don’t like your sense of humour.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Abbot, still smiling. ‘Dan and I have a hundred thousand dollars riding with this torpedo.’

The
Orestes
ploughed on westward. Jeanette took Eastman by the elbow and they walked to the other side of the deck, deep in conversation. Abbot said, ‘He’s not as friendly as he was.’

Parker shook with laughter. ‘Maybe he’s jealous. Has he any cause to be, Mike?’

‘You mean me and Delorme?’ Abbot pulled a sour face. ‘I don’t know about jealousy, but he ought to be running scared. The bitch wants me to knock him off at an opportune moment. We had a nice friendly chat.’

‘I’ll bet you didn’t stop at taikin’,’ said Parker pointedly. ‘Do you mean to tell me that she asked you to kill Eastman?’

‘Not in so many words, but the subject came up. Another thing—Warren’s been hitting her hard over in Iran. She’s really steamed up about it. She wanted to know about Regent Films.’

‘That’s good to know,’ said Parker. ‘What did you tell her?’

‘I acted dumb and stuck to generalities. Maybe Warren can pull off the whole trick and let us off the hook here.’

‘He can’t,’ said Parker. ‘We’re on the hook an’ we’re wrigglin’. We’ll have to get out o’ this ourselves. I’m goin’ below—I want to check the fish.’

Abbot frowned; he thought he detected a shade of nervousness in Parker—something that now showed itself for the first time. He did not like to think of what might happen if the trial proved a bust, but Parker was worried about something else—the problem of what was going to happen if the trial was a success. It was something to think about.

Very likely he and Parker would be expected to go with the
Orestes
on the final job, clear across the Atlantic to fire the torpedo ashore on some secluded beach. The snag about that was that it would never get there—Parker would see to that. And what Jeanette would do in that case was not at all problematical, although the details were hazy. Probably he and Parker would share the same concrete coffin at the bottom of the Caribbean. It was a nasty thought.

The correct course of action would be to wait until the warhead was filled with heroin and then dump the lot somehow in such circumstances that he and Parker could get away. The trouble with that line of thought was that everything depended on what Delorme did—he had no initiative at all. They would just have to wait and see what happened.

He leaned on the rail and looked gloomily at the sea, and his thoughts were long and deep. Presently he sighed and turned to watch Jeanette and Eastman who had their heads together. She would be telling him of the arrangements she had made in the States, and he would have given a lot to be able to eavesdrop. If he knew where the heroin was going then the gang in the States could be rounded up—a quick closing in on the beach with the
capture of the torpedo—and he and Parker would be in the clear.

His train of thought was broken by the clang of the telegraph bell and the sudden easing of vibration. Parker came up from below and looked over the side. ‘We’ve arrived,’ he said. ‘Look at that thing down there.’

Abbot saw a fast-looking boat riding easily in the water. Eastman came over, and said, ‘That’s to take us back to the yacht. How are you going to work this, Parker?’

‘Can we talk to this ship from that boat?’

‘Sure—there’s radio communication.’

‘Then have a word with the skipper. There’s a switch near the binnacle; he presses the tit when the compass points due north magnetic. I’d like to be in that boat to watch the fish when she leaves. All the skipper has to do is to watch the compass and flick the switch. He’d better be on the wheel himself.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ said Eastman, and went up on to the bridge.

The instructions were given and they went down to the boat which had come alongside, Jeanette and Eastman first, then Abbot and Parker. The engines opened up with a muted growl which spoke of reserve power and they moved away from
Orestes
which turned in a wide sweep on a reciprocal course. Parker watched her. ‘Give me the glasses an’ tell the skipper he can fire when ready. We move off when I give the word a little over thirty knots—course due north magnetic. Everyone keep an eye astern.’

Eastman spoke into the microphone, then said, ‘He’ll fire when he gets his bearing—any time now.’

Parker had the glasses at his eyes and was gazing at the bows of
Orestes.
There was a pause, then Eastman said, ‘He’s fired,’ and simultaneously Parker yelled, ‘She’s on her way—get goin’.’ He had seen the burst of air bubbles break from the bow of
Orestes
to be swept away in the wake.

The low growl of the engines burst into an ear-shattering roar as the throttles were opened and Abbot was momentarily pinned back in his seat by the sudden acceleration. Parker was staring at the water. ‘She didn’t porpoise,’ he yelled. ‘I was a bit worried about that. She should be runnin’ true.’

‘What do you mean?’ shouted Eastman.

‘The tube’s only six feet underwater an’ the fish is set to run at twelve—I thought she might duck down an’ then come up again sharply to break surface. But she didn’t—the beauty.’ Parker leaned forward. ‘Tell your helmsman to keep as near to thirty-one knots as he can an’ steer a straight course.’

It was a wild ride and seemed to go on for ever as far as Abbot was concerned. Even though the sea was calm there was a minor swell and the boat would ride a crest and seem to fly for a split second before coming down with a jolting crash. He touched Parker on the arm. ‘How long does this go on?’

‘Half an hour or so. The torpedo is makin’ thirty knots so we should be a bit ahead of her. Keep your eyes peeled aft—wi’ a bit o’ luck you won’t see a bloody thing for a while.’

Abbot stared back at the sea and at the rushing wake unreeling itself from the boat at what seemed to be a fantastic speed. After a while he found it hypnotized him and tended to make him feel sick, so he turned his head and looked at the others, blinking as the wind caught his eyes.

Jeanette was sitting as calmly as she had sat in the Paon Rouge, with one hand braced on a chrome rail. The wind streamed her blonde hair and pressed her blouse against her body. Eastman had his teeth bared in a stiff grin. Occasionally he spoke into the microphone he held, but to whom he was talking Abbot did not know. Probably he was telling the
Stella del Mare
that they were on their way. Parker was riding easily and staring aft, a light of excitement in his eyes and a big grin on his face. This was his day.

The boat rushed through the water interminably. After ten minutes they swept past a fair-sized motor launch which was making lazy circles, and Eastman stood up and waved. This was one of the boats which guarded the course. Eastman sat down abruptly as their own boat bounced violently over the wake which crossed their path—and then again. The circling boat receded into the distance behind them as they pressed on.

Abbot thought of the torpedo somewhere below and behind them if Parker was right. Although he had seen it stripped down, it was hard to realize that it was down there driving through the water undeviatingly at this speed. He looked forward at the broad shoulders of the man at the wheel and saw the muscles of his arms and back writhe as he fought to keep the boat on a straight course and that gave him some inkling of Parker’s achievement—one half inch error in a hundred yards for mile after mile after mile.

They passed another circling boat and again bounced over its wake to leave it behind. Eastman looked at his watch. ‘Another ten minutes,’ he shouted and grinned at Parker. ‘We’ve come ten miles—five to go.’

Parker nodded vigorously. ‘Ease a knot off the speed if you can—we don’t want to overrun her too much.’

Eastman turned and spoke into the helmsman’s ear and the roar of the engines altered the slightest fraction. To Abbot it did not seem to make any difference to the speed; the wake streamed away behind them just as quickly in a line so straight it seemed to be ruled on the blue water. He was beginning to feel sicker; the noise was deafening and the motion upset his stomach, and he knew that if they did not stop soon he would vomit over the side. If this was watersport it was not for him.

Presently Jeanette spoke for the first time. She stood up and pointed.
‘Stella del Mare.
’

Abbot felt relieved—his ordeal was almost at an end. Parker twisted round and looked at the yacht, then beckoned to Eastman. ‘Don’t stop here. Run straight past on the same course. We want the torpedo, not the bloody yacht.’

Eastman nodded and spoke to the helmsman again, and they tore past the
Stella del Mare
and there was nothing ahead but the bouncing horizon. Parker shouted, ‘Everyone look astern—you’ll see her with her nose in the air like a bloody great pole stickin’ out o’ the sea, an’ there’ll be a light an’ a bit o’ smoke.’

Everyone looked but there was nothing but the
Stella del Mare
receding into the distance, and Abbot felt depressed as the minutes ticked by. He looked at his watch and noted that it had been thirty-three minutes since they had begun this mad dash across the Mediterranean. He did a mental calculation and figured they had come at least sixteen miles and possibly more. What could have gone wrong?

He remembered what Parker had said about setting the torpedo to run at a depth of twelve feet from a launch of six feet. Parker had been worried about porpoising, but what if the torpedo had just carried on down into the depths of the sea? From what Parker had previously told him, if the torpedo got much below sixty feet the pressure would damage it beyond repair and it would never be seen again.

He looked at Jeanette whose expression had never changed. What would she do about it? He could guess the answer would be violent. Parker was staring aft with a tense look on his face. His grin was gone and the crowsfeet around his eyes were etched deeper.

Thirty-four minutes—and nothing. Thirty-five minutes—and nothing. Abbot tried to catch Parker’s eye, but Parker had attention only for the sea. It’s a bust, decided Abbot in desperation.

Suddenly Parker was convulsed into movement. ‘Thar she blows!’ he yelled excitedly. ‘On the starboard quarter. Cut these bloody engines.’

Abbot looked over the sea and was thankful to hear the engines die. Away in the distance bobbed the torpedo, just as Parker had described it, and a smoky yellow flame burned dimly in the strong sunlight. The boat turned and headed towards it while Parker literally danced a jig. ‘Where’s a boat-hook?’ he demanded. ‘We have to secure her.’

‘What’s that flame?’ asked Eastman.

‘The Holmes light,’ said Parker. ‘It’s powered by sodium—the wetter it gets the hotter it burns.’

‘A neat trick,’ commented Eastman.

Parker turned to him and said solemnly, ‘That torpedo bein’ there at all is an even neater trick. I reckon she did eighteen miles an’ that’s not just a trick—it’s a bloody miracle. Are you satisfied wi’ it?’

Eastman grinned and looked at Jeanette. ‘I guess we are.’

‘We’ll be expecting your cheque,’ said Abbot to Jeanette.

She smiled at him brilliantly. ‘I’ll get it from Youssif as soon as we get back to the yacht.’

They went back to Beirut in the
Stella del Mare,
leaving the
Orestes
to pick up the torpedo from the launch to which it was secured, with Parker vowing eternal vengeance on anyone who was so ham-fisted as to damage it in the process. In the luxurious saloon Eastman broke open the cocktail cabinet. ‘I guess we all need a drink.’

Abbot dropped limply into a chair. For once Eastman had expressed exactly his own feelings. In the last hour he had gone through enough emotions to last a man a lifetime and a stiff drink would go down well. It turned into a convivial
party—Eastman was jovial, Parker was drunk on success and needed no liquor to buoy him up, Jeanette was gay and sparkling, and even Youssif Fuad unbent enough to allow a fugitive smile to chase quickly across his face. Abbot was merely thankful.

Jeanette clicked her fingers at Fuad who took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to her. She passed it to Abbot. ‘The first instalment, Mike. There’ll be more to come.’

He unfolded the cheque and saw that it was drawn on Fuad’s own bank for $100,000 American, and wondered what would happen if he attempted to draw it before the final run of the torpedo off the American coast. But he did not comment on it—he was not supposed to know Fuad was a banker. ‘I wish us many more,’ he said.

Eastman raised his glass. ‘To the best goddam mechanic it’s been my fortune to meet.’

They drank to Parker, who actually blushed. ‘It’s too bad they don’t have torpedo races,’ said Eastman. ‘You’d never be out of a job, Dan. I’ve not seen anything so exciting since I was at Hialeah.’ He smiled at Jeanette. ‘But I guess there’s a lot more riding on this than I ever had on a horse race.’