Mayo said, ‘Well, she’s not much danger.’ He looked darkly at the admiral’s motionless shape. ‘Not the bloody Red Fleet after all!’

  Jermain shook his head. ‘I got a good look at her. She’s anchored for the night, in my opinion, and she has a radio mast!’ He looked at Wolfe’s slumped shoulders. ‘If Pyramus surfaces nearby, even for a second, that fisherman will scream it to the world!’

  Mayo asked, ‘What will we do, sir? Time’s running out fast!’

  Jermain smiled grimly. ‘I’m aware of that, Pilot!’ He stared at the sheathed periscopes. ‘It will be dark within half an hour. Dark enough anyway.’

  Mayo looked mystified. ‘For what, sir?’

  ‘We’ll surface and board that fishing boat. We can launch the Gemini dinghy and have some men aboard before they’ve got their boiled fish on the plates!’ He walked across to the plot table, speaking his thoughts aloud. ‘She might come in handy. The boarding party can stay behind and make sure the Pyramus surfaces all right. If anything fouls up they can pick up survivors. And we can be getting on with our part of the operation!’ The lines seemed to fade from his face and he appeared almost boyish. ‘What do you think of that?’

  Mayo’s teeth shone through his black beard. ‘I’ll go across, sir. I’ll make a good pirate.’

  ‘Not on, Pilot. You’re too valuable here.’ He touched his arm. ‘But thanks for the show of faith. It may come in handy at my court martial!’

  Mayo frowned. ‘With all respect, sir, that’s a load of crap! If we pull this off, the admiral will be in there reaping the credit.’ He shrugged. ‘And if we don’t, we’ll be otherwise engaged and past caring!’

  Jermain became serious again. ‘Number One, I shall want the dinghy prepared for launching. Fall out the torpedo party and use them. I shall need two officers and four ratings. That should be enough. There won’t be more than half a dozen fishermen aboard that tub.’

  Wolfe turned and stared at him stonily. He seemed suddenly spent and exhausted, as if the fire was drained out of him. ‘Two officers?’

  Jermain snapped, ‘Up periscope.’ As he took another quick look at the anchored boat he added, ‘Yes, Number One. Just in case of accidents, I want someone in charge.’

  There was a clatter from forward as the dinghy was man-handled below the main hatch.

  He signalled for the periscope to be lowered and continued slowly, ‘Colquhoun can take the boarders, but I want you in charge. If anything goes wrong when Pyramus bounces up it will need someone with real experience to make decisions on the spot.’ He eyed him calmly. ‘All right?’

  Wolfe faced him without a flicker of emotion. ‘Is that an order?’

  ‘It’s the obvious solution, Number One. When I have headed off the submarine chasers I’ll come back for you. If anything goes wrong you can find your own way south east and make contact with friendly forces. Everybody will be too busy looking for us to bother with just one more fishing boat.’

  Wolfe glanced casually around the boat. ‘And I’m to take Colquhoun. That makes it just about perfect!’ He added, ‘You’re certainly quick to get rid of the bad apples!’

  Lieutenant Drew clattered through the open hatch. ‘Torpedo party fallen out, sir. Tubes secure.’ He glanced quickly between them and added guardedly, ‘What now?’

  Wolfe picked up his cap. ‘I’m leaving.’

  He walked calmly away towards the petty officer who had been mustering the small boarding party.

  Jermain said heavily, ‘Take over from the first lieutenant in the control room. We will continue to circle the fisherman until it gets dark.’

  The Australian lifted one eyebrow. ‘Number One seems a bit odd?’

  ‘He’s tired, that’s all.’ Jermain stared at Wolfe’s shadow beyond the door. If only there was some way of regaining contact with him. Perhaps later there might be time.

  Something Sarah had told him when he had tried to question her came into his mind. She had said, ‘He seemed to change overnight. He never trusted me, and when I tried to share his problems he just shut himself off. Sometimes he frightened me, David.’

  It was odd when you thought about it. Each submarine officer was trained and vetted from every possible angle. At each step in his career he was inspected and reported upon, checked for suitability until his seniority and usefulness put him beyond the reach of the training staff and the would-be medical experts.

  Wolfe had been an excellent officer, and as far as his duty was concerned he still was. Yet his very soul was being gnawed away from within. One day it would destroy his outer shell, and when that happened he might well become unsafe, a real danger to those who depended on his judgement.

  A perfectly normal officer had been known to crack under the demanding strain of submarine life, when nothing untoward might ever have occurred if he had stayed in conventional craft.

  Drew was saying, ‘My new cobber, Lieutenant Trott, can take over the tubes then.’ He chuckled. ‘He’s eager enough anyway!’

  They both turned as Colquhoun climbed over the coaming, a Stirling dangling from one hand. He said urgently, ‘Can I see you, sir?’

  Jermain guided him into the chart-room. ‘What is it?’

  Mayo dropped his parallel rulers and left the compartment without a word. Then Colquhoun burst out, ‘I can’t do it, sir! Not again!’

  Jermain waited, conscious of the ticking clock and the gentle tremble in the deck plates. ‘Go on, Max. I’m still listening.’

  Colquhoun swayed and then stammered, ‘They don’t trust me any more, sir. After what happened before. Archer’s death. I’m finished, I don’t even trust myself now!’ He stared wretchedly at Jermain’s grave face.

  ‘I trust you, Max.’ Jermain pointed at the chart. ‘I wouldn’t send you otherwise.’ He remembered Wolfe’s bitter ‘quick to get rid of the bad apples!’ He said, ‘What happened to you might have happened to any of us. This new job will certainly help you later if there is any enquiry when we get home.’

  Colquhoun sighed. ‘I don’t want to be helped. If I’m no good, I’d rather not risk any more lives!’

  Jermain replied calmly, ‘Everything is a risk. Right now, for instance. If I make some sort of error it will cost the lives of every man aboard, and the country will lose a twenty-million-pound boat.’ He smiled quietly. ‘Whereas you will be spared to tell the whole graphic account for the annals of naval history.’

  Colquhoun’s jaw dropped. ‘But it’s different for you, sir.’ He struggled to find the words. ‘You’re the Captain. You know what to do!’

  ‘Do I? What experience do you imagine I’ve had for this sort of thing, Max? The attack-table at the school, full of little models? Or exercising with a lot of friendly ships and men I’ve known for most of my life? No, there’s no precedent for this. I am trained to use my judgement. The problems I have to face are of other men’s making.’ He gestured towards the deckhead. ‘Like now, for instance. This submarine and the Pyramus are tied down by a helpless unarmed fishing boat. We can neither move nor escape without neutralising her first! Ironic, isn’t it?’

  Colquhoun asked quietly, ‘Why are you telling me this, sir?’

  ‘Because I want you to make an effort. Because I rely on you and every other man aboard. I’m like a fighter pilot, Max. I have to do the job I’ve been selected for. I must never have to ask myself about the parts of the aircraft, the accuracy of the controls. I have to rely on what I have!’

  A messenger looked in. ‘Mr. Drew says it’s dark enough now, Captain!’

  ‘Very good.’ Jermain looked at Colquhoun’s pale face. ‘Forget all the old troubles for the moment. And back up the first lieutenant. He’s experienced at this sort of thing, but he can’t do it all alone.’

  Colquhoun turned on his heel and walked back through the control room. He was only half aware of the watching eyes, the quick pat of encouragement from Drew, and Mayo’s, ‘You lucky bastard, Max! Yachting while we’re playing tag with a lot of gooks!’

  Beneath the forward hatch a group of men were checking over the bulbous inflatable dinghy with its paddles and neat outboard motor. Jeffers, the second coxswain, blocked his path, his face creased into a grin. ‘I’m not coming this time, sir. Can’t be spared.’ He pointed at the tall leading seaman with a Stirling under his arm. ‘Ted Haley will be with you though, ’e’s a good ’and.’ He glanced at the other three ratings with a practised eye. ‘Cowley’s the signalman, and Stoker Mechanic Nettle will be able to cope with the fishing boat’s engine.’ He darted him a quick glance. ‘The other seaman is Lightfoot, sir. ’E volunteered.’

  The intercom intoned. ‘Stand by to surface! Bridge party close up!’

  Colquhoun looked away. ‘I don’t want him, Jeffers! Get someone else!’

  Jeffers shrugged. ‘Too late now, sir. Anyway, ’e insisted like. ’E swapped over with another bloke for it!’

  Colquhoun turned and made himself meet Lightfoot’s gaze. The boy looked weighed down with cross-belt and ammunition, but he was smiling. He said emptily, ‘Very well.’ He added, ‘And thanks, Jeffers, for all you’ve done for me. For all you’ve tried to do.’

  Jeffers shifted uncomfortably. ‘You’ll be okay, sir. You see! Anyway, you was right to take this job. You’re always better after the second go!’

  He stepped back as Wolfe pushed amongst the group, his eyes searching over the dinghy.

  He snapped, ‘All ready? Grenades and Stirlings?’ He tightened his belt. ‘Right then. No mistakes, just do as I tell you.’ He let his gaze drop on Colquhoun and he added quietly, ‘And no shooting. This has to be quiet, see?’ Then he smiled. ‘You can’t live for ever, you know!’

  A bell clanged, and Jermain peered through the open door. He was wearing an oilskin and his glasses were slung round his neck.

  ‘I’m going to move in a bit so that you can paddle over. It’ll be about five minutes.’ He looked at Wolfe searchingly. ‘Good luck, Number One.’

  Wolfe yawned. ‘Thanks.’ As Jermain moved back towards the ladder he called gently, ‘Give my love to Sarah, will you?’

  Jermain starrd at him and then climbed slowly up the ladder.

  The waiting men stiffened as the admiral’s stocky figure filled the doorway. Without pausing he said, ‘Can I speak to you a minute?’

  Colquhoun looked at Wolfe. The latter said, ‘Two minutes. No more!’

  The admiral was waiting beyond the heavy steel door, his face in shadows.

  Colquhoun asked flatly, ‘Well, what is it?’ His father did not reply and he added bitterly, ‘I suppose you asked that I should be sent on this boarding party? Kill or cure, is that it?’

  The admiral said quietly, ‘I didn’t know about it, Max. I really didn’t.’ He seemed at a loss for words. ‘I just wanted to wish you luck.’

  Colquhoun took a grip on himself. ‘You what? Are you serious? After all the things you’ve said about me!’ He laughed shortly. ‘I’d have thought you’d have been more afraid of my tarnishing the family’s name!’

  The intercom droned, ‘Surfacing!’ And the deck gave a sudden lurch.

  The admiral stepped forward and gripped his hands. The words were tumbling out of his mouth as if he could no longer control them. ‘I’ve been wrong. Max! I’m out of touch, I can see that now. I wanted it my way, but it was all for you, you must believe that!’

  Colquhoun stared at him. His father seemed to be ageing before his eyes.

  Wolfe called harshly, ‘Come on, Sub! Jump about!’

  He replied heavily, ‘It’s a bit late now.’ Then he released his hands from his father’s grip and stepped back to the hatch.

  16

  The Bait

  Colquhoun gripped the sides of the dinghy and stared fixedly at the distant riding light. In spite of the steady thrust of paddles and the heavy breathing of the four ratings behind him, the dinghy’s progress seemed maddeningly slow.

  It had been merely minutes since the Temeraire had eased herself carefully to the surface and the main hatch had been flung open. Before the spray had finished cascading on their heads the handling party had heaved the small boat up and over the side of the hull, and urgent hands had pushed Colquhoun and the others after it.

  Somehow they had paddled clear, and as they steadied on a course towards the anchored fishing boat the Temeraire’s black shape had sidled beneath the water in a frothing welter of white spray.

  Alone on the surface they had all felt suddenly unprotected and lost. It had been too quick, too violent for consideration. One minute they had been hemmed in by familiar faces, and the next instant the submarine had vanished, as if it had never been.

  Wolfe wiped the spray from his face. ‘Must be bloody deaf aboard that boat!’

  Colquhoun did not reply. The splash and slice of each paddle sounded deafening. The slap of water against the rounded hull even louder. But aboard the fishing boat there was little sign of life, but for the swaying lantern and a thin column of smoke from her galley funnel which rose vertically across the darkening sky, like a stain on an old and faded painting.

  Wolfe said, ‘Right then. You know what to do. No shooting unless you have to.’ His eyes gleamed in the darkness. ‘Use your knives, anything, but make it quick!’

  Colquhoun swallowed hard and tried to hold back the nausea. When he looked up the fishing boat was almost above him. It was no longer just a threat. It was real.

  Leading Seaman Haley hurled his grapnel across the gunwale and pulled the line tight. Then with a few muffled gasps they were all up and on the deserted deck, their weapons ready and cocked.

  Wolfe snapped, ‘Nettle, take the wheelhouse and guard the radio. Cowley, guard the engine hatch aft!’ He gestured at the others. ‘Follow me!’

  There was a curved hatchway just forward of the tiny wheel-house, and as their feet thudded across the deck it was flung open and a shaft of lamplight glittered on the levelled weapons.

  Wolfe barked, ‘Stand still! We will shoot if we have to!’ To Colquhoun he added sharply, ‘Down you go with Haley. We’ll cover you from here!’

  Dumbly Colquhoun lowered himself down the steep ladder, his stomach retching uncontrollably. It was a small, box-like cabin, lined with crude bunks, and unbearably hot from a tall charcoal stove which glowed like a furnace. Four roughly dressed men stood in attitudes of fear and shock, and by the stove, a black pot poised in mid-air, was a plump, round-faced woman.

  Colquhoun said, ‘Does anyone speak English?’

  Nobody answered, but as Colquhoun stared at their watching faces he was almost unnerved by a high-pitched wail from one of the bunks.

  Haley said gruffly, ‘Hell, it’s a baby, sir. They look a pretty harmless bunch to me.’

  Wolfe called down, ‘Nobody’s asking you! Just search them for weapons and make sine there’s no other exit to this bloody pigsty!’

  Haley slung his Stirling and said softly, ‘I’ll do it, sir. You just keep a weather eye open.’

  Colquhoun watched as the big seaman moved slowly and purposefully around the mesmerised fishermen. All the time he kept talking, empty, casual sentences, like a man with a fretful horse. Not one of the men flinched or objected as Haley ran his hands over their rough smocks and quilted jackets, and even the baby fell silent as he lifted each piece of bedding and peered underneath.

  ‘Pongs a bit,’ he remarked. ‘Still, I don’t suppose they notice it,’ He looked at the woman. ‘I think you’re all right, my love.’ He grinned encouragingly. ‘You just get on with the cooking and forget about us!’

  There was a sudden stamp of feet as Wolfe threw himself down the ladder. He pushed Haley roughly aside and barked, ‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ He glared accusingly at Colquhoun. ‘Can’t you do anything?’

  Haley said, ‘They’re only ordinary fishermen, sir.’

  Wolfe eyed him bleakly. ‘Did you never hear about the ordinary peasants in Viet Nam, Haley? Or in Malaysia, and all the other tin-pot places where they can manœuvre the sympathies of soft-hearted fools like you!’ He pushed the woman away from the stove and jerked open her coat. ‘She might have a bloody arsenal here for all you care!’

  The tallest of the fishermen, obviously the skipper of the boat, began to speak excitedly in a high-pitched twittering tone. He pulled at Wolfe’s arm and tried to haul him away from the woman.

  Colquhoun’s eye was not quick enough to see the blow. In a split second Wolfe had drawn the pistol from his belt and brought the barrel hard across the fisherman’s temple. He fell without a further sound, his blood making red diamonds on the deck planking.

  Wolfe holstered his gun and snapped, ‘They’re clean. We’ll get back on deck and secure the hatch over this little lot.’ He glanced casually at the unconscious fisherman and the woman who was trying to staunch the blood with her apron. ‘Next time we’ll have a little respect around here!’

  Colquhoun reached the gunwale and leaned his hands on the worn woodwork. For several seconds he drew in deep breaths and allowed his taut body to relax. It was even worse than the last time. He could not forget the look on the woman’s face, the dark hurt in her eyes as she had stared up at Wolfe. Why did he behave like that? What the hell was the point?

  Wolfe’s voice seemed to be right in his ear. ‘Wake up, Sub, there’s still a lot to do before the Yank tries to surface.’ His breathing sounded unsteady. ‘We’ll form into two watches. I’ll take Nettle and Lightfoot. We’ll keep anchored until daylight and then move off as arranged. We don’t want to excite attention. We’ll probably be in sight of land if it’s a clear day tomorrow.’

  ‘What about the rendezvous?’ Colquhoun could feel the other man watching him. ‘Will the captain be able to find us again?’

  Wolfe replied coolly, ‘You really are a windy character, Sub! Tell me, seriously, what does it feel like to be afraid? I can see from here what it looks like!’

  Haley coughed discreetly. ‘I’ve put Nettle as lookout, sir. And I’ve had the dinghy hoisted inboard.’

  Wolfe grunted. ‘Good. Now check the weapons and grenades. Then we’ll open the rations and have a bite to eat.’ He added to Colquhoun, ‘Should be quite pleasant really. She’s a seaworthy little craft!’ Then he walked aft towards the wheel-house.