The Hunt

“They’ll welcome you with open arms,” said Willoughby. “I’ve always written lovely stories about the place so they coddle me. You’ll find that the very rich are just as vain as anyone else, perhaps more so.”

“Tell me more about the plan. I don’t need lectures on human nature.”

“Quite. The island’s contained, only two miles wide at its broadest and about five miles long. The cottages are all in a nice, tight little cluster around the clubhouse less than a hundred yards from the docking facilities for their yachts—plenty deep enough to bring our sub in and take thirty people aboard.”

“1 thought you said twenty-seven.”

“Well, there’s you and me and Penny, we’ll have to leave. I will act as the negotiator.”

“Okay.” He stared at the smaller map for a while. “So there will be twenty-seven millionaires, their wives and guests, is that it?”

“Actually thirty-two. When we conceived this plot, twenty- seven regulars and their guests went down to the island every year. Since then the players have changed a bit.”

“And we take twenty-seven of them?”

“The list is right here,” Willoughby said. “We can take our pick. But it is my understanding that thirty is the limit.”

Twenty-seven picked up the list and perused it.

“How spread out is this compound?”

“Perhaps three city blocks square. But everyone will be in the dining room at precisely eighteen-thirty hours for dinner that evening. It’s the big meal of the year and by club rule everyone must eat dinner in the clubhouse.”

“How many total at dinner?”

Willoughby rustled through the papers in a file folder and separated one sheet from the rest.

“Here is the roster of all the members and their guests. Thirty-two members; their wives, children, nannies and secretaries total one hundred and twelve. In addition, there will be a total of thirty-three guests. That comes to a hundred and forty-five people eating dinner.”

“At eighteen tables?”

“No. Nannies, secretaries and the smaller children eat in the staff dining room. It’s adjacent to the main room right here.” Willoughby pointed to the smaller room on the plans. “Actually the dining room has twelve tables seating eight.”

“So now we have two dining rooms to worry about.”

“But connected.”

“How about security?”

“Just walkabout guards at night, to prevent anyone from coming ashore and stealing from them.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Staff?”

Willoughby opened a file folder and sorted through a half dozen sheets of paper, lifting one out.

“Kitchen staff, seven; waiters, twenty . .

“Twenty!”

“One for every two tables.”

“Exorbitant, aren’t they.”

“Quite. These men are used to getting things their own way.”

“That too will change,” Allenbee said with a smile.

Willoughby went on. “Kitchen and waiters, twenty-seven; security guards, three; two radio operators, a switchboard operator and the resident engineer. The teaching staff, maids, caddies, clean-up people, all leave on a six o’clock boat to the mainland.”

“That’s thirty-four, not counting the rich boys.”

“That sounds right.”

“145 and 34, that’s 179 people.”

“Yes, but all you have to do is radio the submarine if everything is clear and keep order until it gets there.”

Allenbee laughed. “That’s naive thinking.”

“Naive?” Willoughby was insulted.

“There are radios and telephones on this island. They have to be taken out. There are three security men. They have to be taken out. There will be a hundred and fifty people or so in the dining room, not counting anybody who might be sick and staying home that night. We’ll have to cover a hundred and fifty people until the U-boat patrol arrives to help us.”

“I, uh. . . am not too good at.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Allenbee snapped. “This is my operation, we will do it my way. You two will do exactly as I tell you. is that clear?”