Jermain swayed. Ail the weeks of worry and preparations, the strain of testing and gauging every small piece of equipment, had been bad enough. Then with the unexpected orders, the problems of welding a tired and resentful crew into a readymade combat team, the burden had grown almost too heavy. He said stubbornly, ‘It’s not a question of over-caution on my part, sir.’

  He did not get any further.

  ‘I’m sure you’re saying what you think is best, Captain. However, you must allow me to be the judge of that!’ The admiral touched the array of medals on his tunic. ‘We have to make a show of force in this area. The Chinese and the Americans understand that sort of thing! They have a saying out here, “An empty hand is never licked”, well, I can assure you it’s never been more true!’

  Jermain took another drink from the flag lieutenant and saw the brief look of sympathy in the man’s eyes. He heard the admiral say, ‘After all, Jermain, it may only be a matter of a few weeks. It’ll be a good training for your men. I’d have thought you’d have welcomed it?’

  He made it sound so reasonable that Jermain found himself checking back along his thoughts, as he had been doing since that test dive. He could still hear the urgency in Ross’s tone and feel the sick disappointment in his own heart.

  As the admiral talked so it became mote obvious what was making him so definite and insistent, Jermain decided. He was one of those admirals, thankfully rare, who could only measure strength and power by visible evidence. Big ships, massive formations. It was rumoured that the admiral had all but lost his appointment under the government’s sweeping changes, the pruning of each and every branch of the Services. More and more responsibility for Far Eastern strategy was being left to the American Seventh Fleet, and Jermain could well imagine what Temeraire’s timely arrival could mean.

  ‘I shall, of course, obey your Instructions, sir.’ Jermain saw a flicker of hostility in the admiral’s eyes, but he continued, doggedly, ‘But my men are tired, and quite unprepared for this change of events. A lot of the crew are married. They’ll be wondering about their families, getting them out here, and so forth.’

  The admiral snorted. ‘A lot of old women! This whole command is bogged down with bloody wives and children as it is! Heavens, Jermain, for every active officer or man there are about one hundred hangers-on! It’s worse than a damned holiday camp!’ He stared hard at the bright water beyond the building. ‘The trouble is they’re too soft today! Must have their wives and television sets just outside the dockyard gates! In my day we were grateful just to stay alive!’

  Jermain said, ‘But during the war…’

  The admiral’s face hardened. ‘There’s a war on now, damn it! Every hour of the day we’re being hampered by terrorists, and our ships are stalked by Red warships! I would have imagined that the Americans’ experience in Viet Nam was warning enough of what can happen!’

  The flag lieutenant said hurriedly, ‘The staff car has just arrived, sir.’

  The admiral swallowed hard. ‘That’ll be our gallant Member of Parliament!’ He fixed Jermain with a steady stare. ‘Nothing you have said or heard must leak out, especially in front of him!’

  Jermain replied stiffly, ‘I am under your orders, sir.’

  ‘Good. I was beginning to wonder!’ The admiral added as an afterthought, ‘I shan’t ask you to do anything foolhardy, Captain. It is what you represent that counts!’

  The flag lieutenant announced, ‘Mr. James Conway, sir!’

  The admiral switched on his smile. ‘Delighted to have you here! I want you to meet the captain of the Temeraire!’

  *  *  *

  Ordinary Seaman John Lightfoot levelled his camera and squinted at the group of Chinese children who made up the sole audience of a giant Sikh street salesman. The man was holding several bottles of what appeared to be colourless medicine and his voice was as serious and confidential as if he had been addressing a crowd of hundreds.

  Lightfoot sighed and rewound the camera before moving on with the slow, aimless throng in which he was carried like a leaf on a stream. He had been ashore for about an hour, but already his mind was pleasantly confused by the strange sounds and dialects, the bright colours and jumbled excitement of the stalls and open-fronted shops. It seemed as if all the world had gathered in this place. Above the narrow street he could see the bright blue sky, from which the afternoon sun blazed down on the drifting dust and defied the efforts of the small sea breeze to break through its power.

  And everywhere there were British servicemen. Soldiers and airmen, and, of course, a generous sprinkling of white-clad sailors. It was strange to see British women in such quantities, Lightfoot thought. Against the background of oriental sounds it was odd to hear Yorkshire or Scottish dialects, and not a few from his own town.

  Military and naval patrols stood quietly at street corners, swinging their sticks or fingering their pistols as they casually surveyed the passing crowds, and Lightfoot was reminded of the coxswain’s short speech before the Temeraire’s libertymen had been allowed ashore.

  The big chief petty officer had rocked back on his heels as he had run a critical eye over the assembled sailors. Apart from a few technical ratings and the duty officer, every man jack was being let ashore on this first day in Singapore.

  Twine, the coxswain, had said, ‘Now just remember, lads, this ain’t Guzz or Pompey. This is Singapore, the main British base in these parts, and a place crawlin’ with every kind of trouble an’ temptation!’ He had paused to allow the titters to die away. ‘In addition it’s full of pongos an’ a whole heap of so-called sailors who ain’t been to sea since they joined. These barrack-stanchions will more’n likely try to start a fight. If they do, it’ll be up to you to sort it all out neat an’ proper. Either move off at the sight of trouble or win! I don’t want to see a lot of you skates bein’ dragged aboard by the shore patrol an’ bringin’ disrespect on the Black Pig, got it?’ His eyes had moved slowly along the ranks. ‘The captain ’as made sure of full liberty. It’s up to you to watch yourselves!’

  Lieutenant Oxley, the duty officer, had added, ‘Be on the watch for anyone trying to get information about you and the Temeraire. This may look like home, but it’s terrorist country, and don’t you forget it!’

  Then the chattering, cheerful throng of men had surged ashore to the waiting trucks which would carry them the thirteen miles into town. Away from the work and strain, out of the steel shell which had become their world.

  Lightfoot was surprised to find that he had at last started to relax. Shortly after the submarine had picked up her moorings alongside the depot ship he had nearly fainted with horror. Within minutes of the last line going over the side he had seen two grave-faced men in civilian clothes come down the brow with the Captain S/M. Then he had heard a petty officer say grimly, ‘ ’Ere they come. The bloody security boys!’

  The men in question had gone to the wardroom, but after enduring an agony of suspense Lightfoot had heard nothing more. He had mentioned their arrival to Bruce who had made investigations of his own. Later Bruce had said calmly, ‘Just routine. They’re here to make sure you don’t cut any more wires!’ He had still been laughing when they had found their way ashore together.

  But within fifteen minutes of de-bussing in the town Bruce had got involved with a dark-eyed Malay girl who had beckoned invitingly from a window above the street. Bruce had said huskily, ‘Just the job! I bin waitin’ weeks for this!’

  He had told Lightfoot to follow his example, but when he had stammered out excuses the big seaman had just grunted, ‘Suit yourself! But even if you catch a dose off one of ’em it only means a couple of needles in yer arse!’ He had gone off chuckling with plans for a rendezvous later in the day.

  Lightfoot wished he had had the nerve to follow his friend. If only to see what it was like. He grinned at the thought and realised it was the first time anything had made him smile since before the night of the car smash and the man lying dead beside the road.

  Anyway, it was good to be alone for a bit. At first the sun and strange air had made him feel sick, but now as he sauntered along the street with his camera at the ready he felt a real sense of peace.

  He thought momentarily of Colquhoun and wondered why he had shown such an interest in him. Admittedly he had not mentioned the dinghy-sailing again, but then he was no doubt too busy. Especially as his old man was a vice-admiral right here in Singapore.

  He heard someone call his name, and a seaman called Archer panted up beside him. ‘Here! Hold on, mate!’ He fell in step with him. ‘I missed you when you got off the bus. I’ve been trying like hell to catch you up.’

  Lightfoot watched him cautiously. There was no need for such a display of friendship, he thought. Archer, known as Gipsy because of his swarthy skin and slicked-back hair, had never bothered to speak to him before, even when cooped up in the boat for five weeks underwater! He said, ‘I’m going to meet Porky Bruce.’ It sounded defensive and he blushed angrily.

  Archer eyed him lazily. ‘It was you I wanted.’

  They had reached a narrow sidestreet and without warning Archer piloted him down it, brushing aside a whining carpet salesman as if he had been a piece of cardboard.

  Archer seemed strangely excited. ‘Look, I won’t beat about the bush, mate.’ He gestured crudely. ‘I got a nice bit of crumpet stowed away, just whimpering for it!’ He grinned. ‘But I’m a bit short of the ready, see?’

  Lightfoot stared at him. Archer was a senior seaman with far more pay than he ever earned. ‘I can let you have a bit…’

  Archer cut him short. ‘I want the lot, mate.’ He eyed him with mock surprise. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ He leaned forward. ‘I was there, mate. Don’t you understand, I was there!’

  Lightfoot shook his head, but his madly pumping heart made him sway on his feet. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ But his voice was broken and defeated.

  Archer’s eyes were unwinking and completely devoid of pity. ‘I was in the pub when you went off with that bloody queer. I suppose you robbed the bastard before you done him in?’ He lifted his hand. ‘Don’t bother to explain, mate! Just so long as you understand how we stand!’ He winked. ‘With them two security blokes aboard it would be too damn easy to drop a hint in the right place, an’ we don’t want that, do we?’

  The grinning seaman seemed to be standing behind a mist, and Lightfoot blindly pulled out his frayed wallet, his ears still ringing with Archer’s casual threat. ‘This is all I’ve got.’ He watched wretchedly as the man pulled the notes out. ‘I was going to buy a present for my mother.’

  It sounded so strange in the face of what had happened that Archer said, ‘In that case, have ten bob on me, mate!’

  Leaving Lightfoot staring at the empty wallet, Archer strolled back towards the sunshine. He paused and called, ‘Don’t lose that nice camera! I might take a fancy to it later on!’

  So there was no escape after all. If he had gone straight to the authorities at the tune things might have been different. After all, it was an accident! He remembered the man’s clawing fingers and felt the helpless anger rising to mock him once more.

  If it hadn’t been for Bruce he would have turned himself in.

  Lightfoot walked blindly through the crowd, but this time there was no pleasure in his heart.

  *  *  *

  The reception for the Temeraire’s officers was held that same evening at Vice-Admiral Colquhoun’s headquarters. The guests filled the big reception room and flowed out over the wide terrace beyond. In the evening’s purple light the water below the balustrade looked cool and inviting, and the brightly lit warships across the anchorage shimmered above their own reflections.

  In a slightly self-conscious group the submarine’s officers in their white uniforms stood out against the women’s coloured dresses and the gently perspiring marine orchestra.

  Jermain felt as if his smile was welded to his mouth as the flag lieutenant made one introduction after another. Even the friendly reception and the soothing effect of cool champagne did little to ease the nagging concern for his command.

  He glanced at his officers. They at least seemed to be enjoying themselves, he thought. Even Wolfe appeared relaxed and calm, and was in deep conversation with the Member of Parliament he had met earlier. The latter was a heavily built man with a shining red face and a laugh which came regularly and without effort, as if it was switched on for the occasion.

  Sir John Colquhoun, resplendent in full mess dress and a chest of miniature decorations, beamed across at him and said, ‘A good turn out, eh, Jermain?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’ He thought of Lieutenant Victor, the duty officer, imprisoned in the cool safety of the Temeraire’s wardroom. Whereas the others pitied him his lonely vigil, Jermain would willingly have traded duties with him.

  Conway, the M.P., was saying loudly, ‘I’ll be having a look at your ship as soon as I can squeeze it in.’

  Wolfe replied, ‘There’s quite a bit to see.’

  Conway shook his head and sighed. ‘I’m afraid I don’t get much time for luxuries, old chap.’

  An anxious little woman in an expensive scarlet dress said quickly, ‘Jim’s so busy these days, you know! The P.M. is always giving him such hard jobs!’

  Jermain smiled in spite of his tense nerves. That must be Mrs. Conway. He saw the vice-admiral’s eyes harden and heard him say, ‘We’re not exactly relaxing here ourselves!’

  Conway wagged a finger. ‘Now then, Sir John! We’ve been over all that! There have to be cuts in our expense?, and let’s face it, the Navy has never been one for economising!’

  Sir John Colquhoun was about to make a sharp retort when his eye fell on his son, who until this moment had been hidden by the others. ‘Well, hello, Max.’ He held out his hand. ‘How are you shaping up?’

  Jermain only half caught the young officer’s mumbled reply. He studied them thoughtfully. The slim uncertainty of the sub-lieutenant against his father’s bluff, almost belligerent, confidence. Yet there was some small likeness, Jermain decided. The same pale eyes, the same tilt of the head.

  The admiral looked across at him and said offhandedly, ‘I hope you can make a man of him, Jermain! Although I expect it’ll be an uphill task!’

  Jermain said calmly, ‘I have no complaints, sir. We’re all learning aboard the Temeraire!’

  For one brief instant Jermain saw the doubt in the admiral’s eyes, then he said, ‘We shall see.’

  Jermain realised that the M.P. was speaking to him.

  ‘I’m very interested in your ship, Captain. I like to keep in touch. Mind you, I’m still to be convinced of the worth of such a vessel!’

  Wolfe interrupted sharply, ‘I suppose that if war broke out tomorrow the government would expect a graph made of tonnage sunk against man-hours and rum consumed!’

  Conway grinned. ‘You should be in Parliament!’

  Oxley plucked at his tunic and drawled, ‘Well, I didn’t get into my ice-cream suit just to listen to my betters arguing.’ He looked at the admiral. ‘With your permission, sir, I’d like to go and try my prowess on the dance floor?’

  Conway’s grin broadened. ‘Another one ripe for politics, eh?’

  Oxley eyed him coolly. ‘Actually, I hope to follow my father into the House of Lords!’

  Jermain caught Wolfe’s eye and said quickly, ‘I think we had all better circulate, Number One. Before any eggs get broken!’

  But the admiral said testily, ‘You stay and talk, Jermain. Time enough for that sort of thing later!’

  Conway became serious. ‘Are you satisfied with the Temeraire?’

  Jermain saw the admiral stiffen. He replied, ‘She’s a magnificent submarine. Still ripe from trials, of course, out a major step forward in every way.’ From the corner of his eye he saw the admiral relax slightly.

  What the hell did words matter anyway? The admiral was doing what he thought was best for public relations, and so presumably was the M.P.

  Conway took another glass of champagne. ‘You hear all this talk of safety and radiation leakage, it’s all a bit confusing for the layman.’

  ‘There’s no danger on that score.’ Jermain watched Lieutenant Drew guiding a laughing girl around the floor. Against his white tunic her tanned skin looked like silk.

  He said absently, ‘The nuclear submarine used to be a freak. Now it’s a fact of life. We have to live with it.’

  Conway frowned. ‘And what will you be doing here?’

  Jermain waited for the admiral to say something, but he appeared to be in deep conversation with Conway’s wife. He said at length, ‘Certain exercises with the Americans. I’ve not had my final instructions yet.’

  The big man nodded. ‘Good. We must show the Americans we can be relied on, militarily speaking!’

  A colonel of marines with an upturned, ginger moustache paused to say a word with the admiral, and Jermain saw Conway stiffen as if in defence. For a moment Jermain saw through the big man’s guard and felt strangely affected. Conway was not finding his work as easy as the admiral thought. At heart he might still be a sergeant, and his apparent ease with men like Sir John Colquhoun and the unknown colonel was a hard-won battle.

  Conway saw Jermain’s quiet scrutiny and laughed shortly. ‘That young officer of yours. Is his father really a lord?’

  Jermain smiled. ‘I believe so. I’d never really thought about it.’

  ‘I agree with the admiral about one thing, Captain. You are an unusual man.’ Conway laughed again to hide his sudden embarrassment. ‘I think the Temeraire is in very safe hands!’

  Just as quickly the guard dropped back into place. ‘Well, I must be off. I’ve a lot to do before tomorrow!’

  The admiral looked round. ‘Thank goodness he’s gone!’ Then he turned as his flag lieutenant appeared at his elbow. ‘Well?’

  ‘The signal, sir.’ The flag lieutenant held out a pad and glanced meaningly at Jermain.

  Jermain watched the admiral scanning the signal pad and wondered. The lieutenant had said the signal. It was too pat, too coincidental with the M.P.’s exit.