Thunder Point

Mary said, “She’s going to be fine, but a good job she had that scan. There’s what they call a hairline fracture in the skull, but the specialist he say nothing that care and good treatment won’t cure.”

“Fine,” Dillon said. “Don’t forget to tell her I’ll be in to see her.”

Carney was leaning at the entrance of the telephone booth, his face anxious. “Hairline fracture of the skull,” Dillon told him as he hung up. “But she’s going to be okay.”

“Well that’s good,” Carney said as they walked back to the dock.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Dillon said. “Another is that Santiago and Algaro have got a lot to answer for, not to mention that bastard Pamer.”

Ferguson got up and came out of the deckhouse as they arrived. “Good news?”

“It could be worse,” Dillon said and told him.

“Thank God!” Ferguson took a deep breath. “All right, I suppose we’d better get going.”

Carney said, “Sure, but I’d like to know how we’re going to handle this thing. Even in the dark, there’s a limit to how close we can get in Sea Raider without being spotted.”

“It seems to me the smart way would be an approach underwater,” Dillon said. “Only there’s no we about it, Carney. I once told you you were one of the good guys. Santiago and his people, they’re the bad guys and that’s what I am. I’m a bad guy, too. Ask the Brigadier, he’ll tell you. That’s why he hired me for this job in the first place. This is where I earn my keep and it’s a one-man affair.”

“Now look,” Carney said. “I can hold up my end.”

“I know that and you’ve got the medals to prove it. The Brigadier showed me your record, but Vietnam was different. You were stuck in a lousy war that wasn’t really any of your business. I suppose you were just trying to stay alive.”

“And I made it. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Remember when you and the Brigadier were swapping war stories about Vietnam and Korea and you asked me what I knew about war and I told you I’d been at war all my life?”

“So?”

“At an age when I should have been taking girls out to dances I was fighting the kind of war where the battlefield was rooftops and back alleys, leading British paratroopers a dance through the sewers of the Falls Road in Belfast, being chased by the SAS through South Armagh and they’re the best.”

“What are you trying to say to me?” Carney asked.

“That when I go over the rail of the Maria Blanco to recover that briefcase I’ll kill anyone who tries to get in my way.” Dillon shrugged. “Like I said, I can do that without a moment’s hesitation because I’m a bad guy. I don’t think you can, and thank God for it.”

There was silence. Carney turned to Ferguson, who nodded. “He’s right, I’m afraid.”

“Okay,” Carney said reluctantly. “This is the way it goes. I’ll go as close to the Maria Blanco as we dare and drop anchor, then I’ll take you the rest of the way in an inflatable.” Dillon tried to speak and Carney cut him off. “No buts, that’s the way it’s going to be. I’ve got an inflatable moored out there on the buoy with Privateer. We’ll pick it up on the way.”

“All right,” Dillon said. “Have it your way.”

“And I come in, Dillon, if anything goes wrong, I come in.”

“On horseback, bugles blowing?” Dillon laughed. “The South shall rise again? You people never could come to terms with losing the Civil War.”

“There was no Civil War.” Carney went up to the flying bridge. “You must be referring to the war for the independence of the Confederacy. Now let’s get moving.”

He switched on the engines, Dillon stepped over to the dock and untied the lines. A moment later and they were moving out into the bay.

The Maria Blanco was anchored in the bay at Samson Cay and Santiago sat in the salon, reading the documents in Bormann’s briefcase for the third time. He’d never been so fascinated in his life. He examined the personal order from Hitler, the signature, then reread the Windsor Protocol. It was the Blue Book which was the most interesting though. All those names, Members of Parliament, Peers of the Realm, people at the highest levels of society who had supported, however secretly, the cause of National Socialism, but then it was hardly surprising. In the England of the great depression with something like four million people out of work, many would have looked at Germany and thought that Hitler had the right idea.

He got up, went to the bar and poured a glass of dry sherry, then returned to the desk, picked up the telephone and called the radio room. “Get me Sir Francis Pamer in London.”

Pamer was sitting alone at the desk in his office at the House of Commons when the phone rang.

“Francis? Max here.”

Pamer was immediately all attention. “Has anything happened?”

“You could say that. I’ve got it, Francis, right here on my desk, Bormann’s briefcase, and Korvettenkapitan Paul Friemel was right. The Reichsleiter wasn’t just shooting his mouth off while drunk. It’s all here, Francis. Hitler’s order to him, details of numbered bank accounts, the Windsor Protocol. Now there’s an impressive-looking document. If they forged it, I can only say they did a good job.”

“My God!” Pamer said.

“And the Blue Book, Francis, absolutely fascinating stuff. Such famous names and a neat little background paragraph for each. Here’s an interesting one. I’ll read it to you. Major, Sir Joseph Pamer, Military Cross, Member of Parliament, Hatherley Court, Hampshire, an associate of Sir Oswald Mosley, politically sound, totally committed to the cause of National Socialism.”

“No.” Pamer groaned and there was sudden sweat on his face. “I can’t believe it.”

“I wonder what your local Conservative Association would make of that? Still, all’s well that ends well, as they say. A good thing I’ve got it and no one else.”

“You’ll destroy it of course?” Pamer said. “I mean, you’ll destroy the whole bloody lot?”

“Leave it to me, Francis, I’ll see to everything,” Santiago said. “Just like I always do. I’ll be in touch soon.”

He put down the phone and started to laugh, was still laughing when Captain Serra came in. “Have you any orders, Senor?”

Santiago looked at his watch. It was just after seven. “Yes, I’ll go ashore for a couple of hours and eat at the restaurant.”

“Very well, Senor.”

“And make sure the deck is patrolled tonight, Serra, just in case our friends decide to pay us a visit.”

“I don’t think we need worry, Senor, they’d have trouble getting close to us without being spotted, but we’ll take every precaution.”

“Good, make the launch ready, I’ll be with you in a moment,” and Santiago went into the bedroom, taking the briefcase with him.

Sea Raider crept to the west side of Samson Cay, round the point from the resort and the main anchorage. Carney switched off the engines, came down the ladder as Dillon went in to the prow and dropped the anchor.

“Shunt Bay they call this,” Carney said. “I’ve been here before, a long time ago. Only four or five fathoms, clear sand bottom. You can’t get down to it because of the cliffs so when guests want to swim here they bring them round from the resort by boat. We’ll be safe here at this time of night.”

Ferguson checked his watch. “Ten o’clock. What time will you go?”

“Maybe another hour. I’ll see.” Dillon went into the deckhouse, opened the holdall and took out the AK47 assault rifle and passed it to Ferguson. “Just in case.”

“Let’s hope not.” Ferguson put it on the bench.

Dillon took the Walther from the holdall, checked it and put it in the dive bag with the Carswell silencer. Then he put in what was left of the Semtex and a couple of detonating fuses, the thirty-minute ones.

“You really are going to war,” Ferguson said.

“You better believe it.” Dillon slipped the night sight into the bag also.

Carney said, “I’ll take you as close as I can in the inflatable, and hope to see you on the way back.”