He made up his mind. ‘Slow ahead. Stand by to raise the search periscope.’ He waited as the hull shuddered slightly and the racing screw slowed its pace. He looked at the flickering lights above the plot table and tried to imagine how the other ships would appear in the powerful lenses. Just over seven miles. But with the light fading it might be very difficult.

  ‘Up periscope.’ He ducked down and came up with the periscope lenses already to his eyes. He found himself holding his breath, his forehead moist against the pad.

  The sea was much darker now. Almost black, its surface heaving like polished ebony. There were a few pale stars in the sky, and around the raised periscope Jermain could see the green glow of dancing phosphorescence. It would have to be a quick look.

  He caught his lower lip in his teeth and blinked to dear the film from his eyes. There they were. He counted the bright triangular bow waves which stood out against the darkening sea like tiny breakers. There were eight at least. Very small and extremely fast.

  He snapped, ‘Down periscope.’ Then to Wolfe, ‘PT boats, I would guess. An arrowhead formation and well grouped,’

  Wolfe shrugged. ‘Could be a sort of exercise,’ Some of his earlier intolerance crept into his tone. ‘The Americans aren’t the only navy in these waters!’

  Oxley’s voice said, ‘Contact altering course, sir. Swinging round to the south and still turning!’

  Jermain nodded. ‘Very well. Increase to twenty-five knots again,’ He stared hard at the chart. ‘It’s my guess the PT boats are going to make a complete turn and head out away from the mainland,’ He waited a few more seconds. ‘Ask sonar what the hell is going on?’

  Oxley sounded unruffled. ‘Contact still turning, sir. Present course estimated at one one zero degrees,’

  Jermain smiled. ‘Reduce speed to fifteen knots. They’ll pass dear astern of us now,’

  Mayo leaned his elbows on the chart and grimaced. ‘And that’s all there is to it. The little Chinks will steam happily into an ambush and get a dose of gunfire. Then there’ll be a few diplomatic notes exchanged and it’ll be all quiet until they think of another way of getting their agents and equipment across!’

  Jermain eyed him with amusement. ‘You’re a cynic, Pilot!’

  Wolfe said, ‘What now, sir?’

  ‘As Pilot has just remarked, we just applaud from the sidelines. As soon as the PT boats are well away we’ll flash a further sighting report and resume patrol. I don’t imagine we’ll be there much longer,’

  The intercom interrupted their speculations. ‘Another contact, sir. Faint propeller noises and a good deal of throwback from the shallows, but definite enough.’ Oxley sounded entirely absorbed. ‘I would think that there is another ship or ships keeping along the coast, close inshore.’

  Jermain felt vaguely uneasy as the bearings and tracking information began to form a picture on the plot table. The Chinese coastline at this point was desolate and little used. For five days they had sighted nothing, and the nearest port of any consequence was a hundred and fifty miles to the south west.

  He said sharply, ‘Take the con, Number One. I’m going forrard to talk with Oxley.’ Without waiting for a reply he ducked his head through the door and hurried along the passageway. He caught vague glimpses of his men sitting or standing quietly at their stations, their eyes expectant as he passed. He found Oxley and his operators hunched over their equipment, their faces flickering in the lights thrown back from the dials and gauges.

  Even Oxley showed some surprise at Jermain’s entrance. He pushed the headset from his ears and said, ‘There’s no change, sir.’

  Jermain glanced round the crowded compartment, the dark figures suddenly taking on personality and meaning. There was Colquhoun, and in front of him, in the operator’s seat, young Lightfoot. There was Petty Officer Irons, and another operator, their eyes unblinking as they watched and listened.

  Oxley added, ‘We’d have to get much closer inshore, sir. The echoes are very distorted at this range. Now, if we were tracking another submarine it’d be different!’

  Jermain studied the gauges. The Temeraire was cruising in barely ten fathoms of water. And in any case, what explanation could he give for his actions?

  He asked, ‘Can you make any sort of guess about these ships?’

  Oxley shrugged. ‘I would say two ships. Both twin screw and doing about fifteen knots. From the rhythm and power I would definitely say that they are warships.’ He shook his head. ‘No doubt about that, in my view.’

  Irons looked over his shoulder and squinted at the captain. ‘That’s right, sir. Too powerful for coasters or the clapped-out freighters the Chinks use hereabouts!’

  Jermain rubbed his chin. It felt rough under his palm but he did not notice it. He said, ‘Keep tracking. I’ll move in a bit doser, but you’ll have to keep contact as best you can.’

  Oxley asked, ‘What do you have in mind, sir?’

  Jermain studied him calmly. ‘I wish I knew. But there’s far too much activity for mere coincidence. We’ll run down the coast, but keep about ten miles offshore. If we stay on roughly a parallel course you should be able to detect any sort of sudden manœuvre on their part.’

  He returned to the control room and waited impatiently until Mayo had transformed his ideas into a working plan.

  The helmsman listened to the new orders and leaned forward over the wheel. ‘Course two four zero, sir.’

  Thinking aloud Jermain said, ‘We can’t raise the fleet without giving our own position away. In this shallow water it’s too risky. The Chinese would feel more than justified in lobbing a few depth-charges down on us, on their own back door so to speak!’

  Somebody laughed but Wolfe said doggedly, ‘Why not let the Yanks handle it from their end?’

  ‘Our last instructions were to track shipping, Number One. So let’s do that, shall we?’ He smiled at Wolfe’s pensive expression. ‘It’ll do no harm.’

  Wolfe said, ‘You’re really saying that the PT boats were a decoy. That the Yanks will be so busy chasing after them they’ll not expect the Reds to try a crossing further south over the wider distance?’ He eyed Jermain fixedly. ‘Is that it?’

  Jermain nodded. ‘I could be wrong.’

  Surprisingly Wolfe replied, ‘I agree with your idea. That’s exactly what they would do.’ He paused. ‘What I would do.’

  Jermain watched him thoughtfully. Now that he had stopped thinking about himself Wolfe was dropping into his proper role. The realisation made him feel strangely satisfied.

  ‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ Jermain replied.

  He tinned abruptly as the radio supervisor entered the control room. ‘What is it, Harris?’

  ‘Just received the fleet broadcast, sir. Usual shipping movements for the most part.’

  Jermain looked at the clock. ‘God, is it that late already?’ It seemed incredible that the normal signals traffic could still be flooding the networks in spite of their own personal tensions.

  Harris added doubtfully, ‘There’s just one thing, sir. The American Intelligence report that a single ship will be passing through the southern grid between midnight and 0200. The S.S. Malange, outward bound from Taiwan to Inch’on in South Korea.’

  Wolfe said irritably, ‘Well, what of it?’

  Harris kept his eyes on the captain. ‘There’s a Top Secret signal about her, sir. She’s carrying a V.I.P., Conway.’

  Jermain felt a slight chill in his spine. It would be just like Conway to make his way to South Korea in some unconventional freighter. He had obviously flown north from Singapore and picked up the ship in Taiwan only days ago.

  He peered down at the chart and snapped, ‘Check these figures, Pilot, and plot the Malange’s approximate course, using the American grid reference. You’ll have to start with her intended midnight position and work backwards.’ To Wolfe he added, ‘Finish checking those signals. I want a complete build-up of ship movements in this area.’

  Wolfe opened his mouth and then changed his mind and went to the radio room with Harris.

  Oxley again. ‘Contact still retaining course and speed, sir.’

  The petty officer at the plot reponed, ‘We’re getting a good picture, sir.’ He peered at his vibrating table. ‘The two ships seem to be keeping about three miles offshore. Our range is fourteen thousand yards.’

  ‘Very well.’ Jermain watched Mayo’s face as he stepped out of the chart-room. ‘Well?’

  Mayo regarded him calmly. ‘The Malange will have crossed latitude thirty-five about one hundred and thirty miles west of the Korean coast at midnight, sir. So assuming she’s doing between ten and fifteen knots, and not many of her type of scow do much more…’

  Jermain snapped, ‘Cut out the dialogue, Pilot. Just give me the facts!’

  Mayo plucked his beard and said coldly, ‘So right now she should be about one hundred and seventy miles south east of us.’ He coughed noisily and then added, ‘Of course, it’s all largely guesswork, but give or take twenty miles it’s fair enough.’

  Jermain brushed past him and walked to the chart table. For a long moment he stood staring down at the pencilled lines, and in his mind’s eye he seemed to see the isolated freighter plodding unconcernedly across an empty sea.

  But just suppose he had been right about the two mysterious ships which even now were cruising just a few miles abeam? If they tinned as suddenly as the others and made a dash into open water they would almost certainly make contact with the Malange.

  He kept thinking about Conway’s quiet optimism,, of his hope for some sort of peaceful solution to the East/West conflict. When Jermain had voiced his fears Conway had said, ‘I’d not be taking my daughter othei wise.…’ He had been so sure of his safety and of the value of his mission.

  The realisation of his own helplessness made Jermain suddenly angry. If he used his radio he would foul up the whole planned operation, with nothing to offer in return but his own imagination. If he stayed silent and remained on station he would be equally guilty if the Chinese decided to break out from another point.

  Mayo had moved to the entrance, his shadow across the chart like a cloud. ‘We’re in Chinese territorial waters now, sir. In fifteen minutes we shall have to alter course to the seaward.’ He studied Jermain’s grim features. ‘It’s already shoaling, and the maximum depth will be less than seven fathoms.’

  Jermain was aware of the silence inside the boat. It seemed to be pressing on his eardrums, as if he was submerged in water. It was one problem after another, like a series of maniacal tests.

  He replied, ‘Very well. But we must try to retain contact with these ships. In open water the detection devices would be doubly effective, but inshore we could be fobbed off by false echoes.’

  Mayo sounded cautious. ‘The ships may be heading south to Tsingtao, sir.’

  Jermain stared at him. ‘They’ve chosen an odd time for it.’ He called through the door, ‘Try and get the frigate on the acoustic radio. We might still be able to raise her.’

  Harris bit his lip. ‘Unlikely, sir. The change of water temperature and density inshore won’t help, and the distance alone will kill any clear transmission.’

  Jermain said sharply, ‘Just do as I say.’

  Harris glanced at the plot petty officer and gave a brief shrug before returning to the radio room. Through the open door came the usual stammer of Morse and the gentle purr of power from the sets, and Jermain heard Harris speaking quietly to one of the operators. They think I’m going round the bend, he thought bitterly. He watched the clock, mentally counting each dragging second.

  Mayo walked to the control room and gave his instructions for alteration. ‘Port fifteen. Steady. Steer two one zero.’

  Harris reported carefully, ‘No response from VIGILANT, sir. Just static.’ He waited and then added, ‘We could make a quick signal on W/T. It might pass undetected.’ He did not sound too hopeful.

  Jermain shook his head. ‘We’ll keep shadowing.’

  Wolfe walked across to him. ‘The Yanks must have made contact with the PT boats by now. I shouldn’t wonder if we get a recall at any moment.’

  Jermain nodded. ‘Do you think I’m making a mountain out of this?’

  Wolfe glanced around the control room before answering. ‘Temeraire’s not really suitable for this sort of caper, sir. It’s either the whole works or nothing for us. We’ve no deck gun like the conventional subs, so we either use the torpedoes or keep clear and listen.’ He smiled dryly. ‘The top brass hardly had this kind of operation in mind for us!’

  The minutes dragged past so that Jermain had the wild impression that every man aboard was waiting for his conviction to crack, for the boat to go about and return to the original patrol area.

  Harris reappeared. ‘We’re getting a lot of garbled signals, sir. The Americans have made some sort of contact to the north. It sounds as if they’re having a running skirmish along the coast.’

  Jermain walked to the chart. The American patrols were at least doing something. Whatever the outcome of the small clash, it was unlikely that it would make the world headlines. It was amazing how this form of brinkmanship had become personal and accepted by individual commanders instead of being the tool of major statesmen.

  In the days of the British Raj the Army had used much the same system on India’s north-west frontier for training infantrymen in the real arts of war. The live bullets from lurking Afghan tribesmen had put many a sweating soldier in his grave with never a mention in the British Press. Today the world powers played the same game, but with more far reaching weapons. One stupid miscalculation might plunge both sides into war, yet the game went on. Viet Nam, Malaysia, and now back to Korea; the deadly moves went on. Test and thrust. Kill and run away. With neither side making either complaint or asking for quarter.

  As Wolfe had remarked, Temeraire was unsuitable for this work. She was designed for killing submarines and not for local skirmishes. She either used the big stick, or stayed as helpless as a toothless shark.

  Oxley’s voice came over the intercom. ‘Ships seem to be turning, sir. Heading out to sea.’

  Jermain banged his hands together. It seemed he had been right.

  Oxley added, ‘Range closing to about twelve thousand yards, sir.’

  ‘Right, Pilot. Alter course to intercept again. We will keep to the south of these ships and close the range to three miles.’ Jermain saw Wolfe’s face watching him over Mayo’s shoulder. ‘It looks as if they’re making a dash for it.’

  Wolfe waited until Mayo had gone to his chart and then said flatly, ‘Will you follow them all the way across, sir?’

  ‘I think not, Number One. Once they’re a hundred miles out we can make a W/T sighting report. The Americans have a carrier to the south. Her planes can track the ships and home any surface craft right on to the escape line.’ He sighed. ‘Then it’s up to them what they do.’

  The submarine turned in a wide arc and nosed closer to the two fast-moving ships. As each man strained his ears and tried to still the noise of his own heart the distant thrashing of powerful propellers became more apparent.

  Mayo stood with his head cocked and muttered, ‘Reminds me of the last time, sir. Poor old Victor.’

  Jermain did not answer. It was true. The same sound. The steady beat, beat, beat. In his mind he could picture Victor’s bloody limbs, the helpless desperation as he had screamed on the ladder. He clenched his fists and forced himself to think.

  An hour dragged by, and then another. The cook and his assistants moved quietly through the boat with tea and thick sandwiches which the waiting men took and consumed without pausing in their listening.

  Three miles on the Temeraire’s port bow the invisible ships retained a steady twenty knots, the sound waves from their screws sweeping over the submarine’s hull like hail on a metal roof.

  Twice Jermain raised the slender attack periscope, his eye straining to pierce the darkness. If there had been even a hint of a moon he might have seen them, but only the spray from the periscope broke the impenetrable blackness.

  Mayo lounged by the chart table, his jaws champing on a sandwich. Between bites he remarked, ‘They are staying on our course, sir. They’ll pass well to the north of the Malange

  Wolfe said harshly, ‘Bloody merchant ships should be forbidden to use these waters! Some of the bastards will trade with anyone. They carried guns to the Indonesians when we were fighting them. They’ll hump ammunition and stores for the Reds if the price is right!’ He glared at the gyro compass. ‘If Conway wants to show how brave he is, and how immune his pink politics will keep him, he wants to go on like he is now!’

  Jermain turned away. It was difficult to know if Wolfe’s comment was directed at him or just hitting out at large.

  Oxley’s voice once more. ‘Slight akeration, sir. Closing the range.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Nearest ship closing to five thousand yards.’ Another long pause, then, ‘Steady on new course, sir.’

  Mayo scribbled busily on his pad and passed his findings to Wolfe. ‘Bring her round to one one zero, Number One. We’ll be on a parallel course again.’ He watched his words affecting Jermain’s expression. ‘They’re turning to the south, sir. It’s no accident. They both wheeled like bloody soldiers!’

  Jermain stared at the plot table. ‘Calculate the Malange’s present position, Pilot.’ He found that his mouth was quite dry, as if he already knew the answer.