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Authors: Alistair MacLean
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room. Larsen contacted the Jupiter, their third tanker then off-loading at an obscure Louisiana port, told its captain the unhappy fate of the Crusader and warned him to have every man on board on constant lookout until they had cleared harbor. Lord Worth personally called the chief of police in Galveston, identified himself and demanded more details of the sinking of the Crusader. These he duly received, and none of them made him any happier. On inspiration, he asked if there had been a man called John Cronkite or a vessel belonging to a man of that name in the vicinity at the time. He was told to hang on while a check was made with Customs. Two minutes
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Alistair MacLean
later he was told yes, there had been a John Cronkite aboard a vessel called the Tiburon, which had been moored directly aft of the Crusader. It was not known whether Cronkite was the owner or not. The Tiburon had sailed half an hour before the Crusader blew up.
Lord Worth peremptorily demanded that the Tiburon be apprehended and returned to port and that Cronkite be arrested. The police chief pointed out that international law prohibited the arrest of vessels on the high seas except in time of war and, as for Cronkite, there wasn't a shred of evidence to connect him with the sinking of the Crusader. Lord Worth then asked if he would trace the owner of the Tiburon. This the police chief promised to do, but warned that there might be a considerable delay. There were many registers to be consulted.
At that moment the Cuban submarine steaming on the surface at full speed was in the vicinity of Key West and heading directly for the Sea-witch. At almost the same time a missile-armed Russian destroyer slipped its moorings in Havana and set off in apparent pursuit of the Cuban submarine. And very shortly after that, a destroyer departed its home base in Venezuela.
The Roamer, Lord Worth's survey vessel
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Seawitch
under the command of Conde, was now halfway to its destination.
The Starlight, under the command of Easton, was just moving away from the Tiburon, which was lying stopped in the water. Men on slings had already painted out the ship's name, and with the aid of cardboard stencils were painting in a new name—Georgia. Cronkite had no wish that any vessel with whom they might make contact could radio for confirmation of the existence of a cutter called Tiburon. From aft there came the unmistakable racket of a helicopter engine starting up, then the machine took off, circled and headed southeast, not on its usual pattern-bombing circuit but to locate and radio back to the Tiburon the location and course of the Torbello, if and when it found it. Within minutes the Tiburon was on its way again, heading in approximately the same direction as the helicopter.
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Chapter 4
Worth, enjoying a very early morning cup of tea, was in his living room with Larsen and Palermo when the radio operator knocked and entered, a message sheet in his hand. He handed it to Lord Worth and said: "For you, sir. But it's hi some sort of code. Do you have a code book?"
"No need." Lord Worth smiled with some self-satisfaction, his first smile of any kind for quite some tune. "I invented this code myself." He tapped his head. "Here's my code book."
The operator left. The other two watched in mild anticipation as Lord Worth began to de-
fti
Sea witch
code. The anticipation turned into apprehension as the smile disappeared from Lord Worth's face, and the apprehension gave way hi turn to deep concern as reddish-purple spots the size of pennies touched either cheekbone. He laid down the message sheet, took a deep breath, then proceeded to give a repeat performance—though this time more deeply felt, more impassioned— of the unparliamentary language he had used at the news of the loss of the Crusader. After some time he desisted, less because he had nothing fresh to say than from sheer loss of breath.
Larsen had more wit than to ask Lord Worth ft
81
Alistair MacLean
later he was told yes, there had been a John Cronkite aboard a vessel called the Tiburon, which had been moored directly aft of the Crusader. It was not known whether Cronkite was the owner or not. The Tiburon had sailed half an hour before the Crusader blew up.
Lord Worth peremptorily demanded that the Tiburon be apprehended and returned to port and that Cronkite be arrested. The police chief pointed out that international law prohibited the arrest of vessels on the high seas except in time of war and, as for Cronkite, there wasn't a shred of evidence to connect him with the sinking of the Crusader. Lord Worth then asked if he would trace the owner of the Tiburon. This the police chief promised to do, but warned that there might be a considerable delay. There were many registers to be consulted.
At that moment the Cuban submarine steaming on the surface at full speed was in the vicinity of Key West and heading directly for the Sea-witch. At almost the same time a missile-armed Russian destroyer slipped its moorings in Havana and set off in apparent pursuit of the Cuban submarine. And very shortly after that, a destroyer departed its home base in Venezuela.
The Roamer, Lord Worth's survey vessel
82
Seawitch
under the command of Conde, was now halfway to its destination.
The Starlight, under the command of Easton, was just moving away from the Tiburon, which was lying stopped in the water. Men on slings had already painted out the ship's name, and with the aid of cardboard stencils were painting in a new name—Georgia. Cronkite had no wish that any vessel with whom they might make contact could radio for confirmation of the existence of a cutter called Tiburon. From aft there came the unmistakable racket of a helicopter engine starting up, then the machine took off, circled and headed southeast, not on its usual pattern-bombing circuit but to locate and radio back to the Tiburon the location and course of the Torbello, if and when it found it. Within minutes the Tiburon was on its way again, heading in approximately the same direction as the helicopter.
83
Chapter 4
Worth, enjoying a very early morning cup of tea, was in his living room with Larsen and Palermo when the radio operator knocked and entered, a message sheet in his hand. He handed it to Lord Worth and said: "For you, sir. But it's hi some sort of code. Do you have a code book?"
"No need." Lord Worth smiled with some self-satisfaction, his first smile of any kind for quite some tune. "I invented this code myself." He tapped his head. "Here's my code book."
The operator left. The other two watched in mild anticipation as Lord Worth began to de-
fti
Sea witch
code. The anticipation turned into apprehension as the smile disappeared from Lord Worth's face, and the apprehension gave way hi turn to deep concern as reddish-purple spots the size of pennies touched either cheekbone. He laid down the message sheet, took a deep breath, then proceeded to give a repeat performance—though this time more deeply felt, more impassioned— of the unparliamentary language he had used at the news of the loss of the Crusader. After some time he desisted, less because he had nothing fresh to say than from sheer loss of breath.
Larsen had more wit than to ask Lord Worth ft
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