Thunder Point

“Most assuredly, Senor, we have supplies of C4 explosive on board and all the necessary detonating equipment.”

“Excellent,” Santiago said. “I wish you luck tomorrow then. Good night, Captain.”

Serra walked away and Algaro slipped out of the dark. “Can I go with the launch in the morning?”

“Ah, revenge, is it?” Santiago laughed. “And why not? Enjoy it while you can, Algaro,” and he laughed as he went down to the salon.

11

It was a beautiful morning when Dillon and Ferguson went down to the dock. Sea Raider was tied up, no sign of anyone around, and Privateer was moving out to sea with four people seated in the stern.

“Perhaps we got it wrong,” Dillon observed.

“I doubt it,” Ferguson said. “Not that sort of fellow.”

At that moment Carney turned on to the end of the dock and came toward them pushing a trolley loaded with air tanks. “Morning,” he called.

“Thought you’d left us,” Dillon said, looking out toward Privateer.

“Hell, no, that’s just one of my people taking some divers out to Little St. James. I thought we’d use Sea Raider today because we’ve a lot further to go.” He turned to Ferguson. “You a good sailor, Brigadier?”

“My dear chap, I’ve just called in at the gift shop to obtain some seasickness pills of which I’ve taken not one but two.”

He went on board and climbed the ladder to the flying bridge, where he sat in solitary splendor on one of the swivel seats while Dillon and Carney loaded the tanks. When they were finished Carney went up, joined Ferguson and switched on the engines. As they eased away from the dock, Dillon went into the deckhouse. He wasn’t using his net dive bag, had put his diving gear into the olive-green army holdall Stacey had given him in St. Thomas. Underneath was the AK assault rifle, stock folded, and a thirty-round clip inserted ready for action plus an extra magazine. There was also his ace-in-the-hole Belgian semi-automatic which he’d retrieved from the jeep. As with all Sport Fishermen, there was a wheel in the deckhouse as well as on the flying bridge so the boat could be steered from there in rough weather. Dillon felt under the instrument panel until he encountered a metal surface and clamped the holster and gun in place.

He went up the ladder and joined the others. “What’s our course?”

“Pretty well due south through Pillsbury Sound, then south-west to French Cap.” Carney grinned at Ferguson, who swung from side to side as the boat started to lift over waves to the open sea. “You okay, Brigadier?”

“I’ll let you know. I presume you would anticipate our friends from the Maria Blanco following?”

“I’ve been looking, but I haven’t seen anything yet. There’s certainly no sign of the Maria Blanco herself, but then they’d use the white launch we saw at Carval Rock. That’s a good boat. Good for twenty-five or -six knots. I don’t get much more than twenty out of this.” He said to Dillon, “There’s some glasses in the locker if you want to keep a weather eye open.”

Dillon got them out, focused and checked astern. There were a number of yachts and a small vehicle ferry with trucks on board crossing from St. Thomas, but no launch. “Not a sign,” he said.

“Now I find that strange,” Ferguson observed.

“You worry too much, Brigadier,” Carney told him. “Now let’s get out of here,” and he pushed the throttle forward and took Sea Raider out to open water fast.

The launch was there, of course, but a good mile behind, Serra at the wheel, his eye occasionally going to the dark screen with the blob of light showing what was the Sea Raider. Algaro stood beside him and Noval and Pinto busied themselves with diving equipment in the stern. Algaro didn’t look good. He had a black eye and his mouth was bruised and swollen.

“No chance of losing them?”

“No way,” Serra said. “I’ll show you.” There was a steady and monotonous pinging sound coming from the screen. When he swung the wheel, turning to port, it raised its pitch, sounded frantic. “See, that tells us when we’re off track.” He turned back to starboard, straightening when he got the right sound again, checking the course reading.

“Good,” Algaro said.

“How are you feeling?” Serra asked.

“Well, let’s put it this way. I’ll feel a whole lot better when I’ve sorted those bastards out,” Algaro said, “particularly Dillon,” and he turned and went and joined the others.

The water heaved in heavy, long swells as they drifted in to French Cap Cay. Dillon went to the prow to lower the anchor while Carney maneuvered the boat, leaning out under the blue awning of the flying bridge to give him instructions.

“There’s what we call the Pinnacle under here,” he said. “Its top is about forty-five feet down. That’s what we’re trying to catch the anchor on.” After a while he nodded. “That’s it,” he called and cut the engines.

“What are we going to do?” Dillon asked as he zipped up his diving suit.

“Not much we can do,” Carney told him as he fastened his weight belt. “It’s around ninety-five feet at the most, ranging up to fifty. We can do a turn right round the rock base and general reef area. The visibility is incredible. You’ll not find better anywhere. That’s why I don’t believe this is the right spot. That U-boat would have been spotted before now. By the way, I think you picked up my diving gloves by mistake yesterday and I’ve got yours.” He rummaged in Dillon’s holdall and found the rifle. “Dear God,” he said, taking it out. “What’s this?”

“Insurance,” Dillon said as he pulled on his fins.

“An AK47 is considerably more than that.” Carney unfolded the stock and checked it.

“I would remind you, Mr. Carney, that it was our friends who fired the first shot,” Ferguson said. “You’re familiar with that weapon?”

“I was in Vietnam, Brigadier. I’ve used one for real. They make a real ugly, distinctive sound. I never hope to hear one fired again.”

Carney folded the stock, replaced the AK in the holdall and finished getting his diving gear on. He stepped awkwardly on to the diving platform at its rear and turned. “I’ll see you down there,” he said to Dillon, inserted his mouthpiece and tumbled backwards.

Serra watched them from about a quarter of a mile away through a pair of old binoculars. Noval and Pinto stood ready in their diving suits. Algaro said, “What are they doing?”

“They’ve anchored and Dillon and Carney have gone down. There’s just the Brigadier on deck.”

“What do you want us to do?” Noval asked.

“We’ll go in very fast, but I won’t anchor. We’ll make it a drift dive, catch them by surprise, so be ready to go.”

He pushed the launch up to twenty-five knots and as it surged forward, Noval and Pinto got the rest of their equipment on.

Carney hadn’t exaggerated. There were all colors of coral, barrel and tube sponges, fish of every description, but it was the visibility that was so incredible, the water tinged with a deep blue stretching into a kind of infinity. There was a school of horse-eyed jacks overhead as Dillon followed Carney and a couple of manta rays flapped across the sandy slope to one side.

But Carney had also been right about the U-boat. No question that it could be on a site like this. Dillon followed him along the reef and the base of the rock until finally Carney turned and spread his arms. Dillon understood the gesture and swung round for the return to the boat and saw Noval and Pinto ahead of them and perhaps twenty