Santorini. Alistair MacLean
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to the after stateroom opened easily. There was some smoke there but not so much that he required to use his goggles. The cabin was luxuriously furnished and immaculately tidy, a condition which Van Gelder very rapidly altered. He pulled a sheet from one of the beds, spread it on the floor, opened up wardrobes and drawers, scooped up armfuls of clothes—there was no time to make any kind of selection and even if there had been he would have been unable to pick and choose, they were all women’s clothing—dumped them on the sheet, tied up the four corners, lugged the bundle up the companionway and handed it over to Riley.
‘Put this in the launch. I’m going to have a quick look at the for’ard cabins. I think the steps will be at the for’ard end of the saloon under the bridge.’
‘I think you should hurry, sir.’
Van Gelder didn’t answer. He didn’t have to be told why he should hurry—the sea was already beginning to trickle over on to the upper deck. He passed into the saloon, found the companionway at once and descended to a central passage.
He switched on his torch—there was, of course, no electrical power left. There were doors on both sides and one at the end. The first door to port opened up into a food store, the corresponding door to starboard was locked. Van Gelder didn’t bother with it: the Delos didn’t look like the kind of craft that would lack a commodious liquor store. Behind the other doors lay four cabins and two bathrooms. All were empty. As he had done before, Van Gelder spread out a sheet—in the passageway, this time—threw some more armfuls of clothes on to it, secured the corners and hurried up on deck.
The launch was no more than thirty yards away when the Delos, still on even keel, slid gently under the surface of the sea. There was nothing dramatic to mark its going—just a stream of air bubbles that became gradually smaller and ceased altogether after about twenty seconds.
Talbot was on deck when the launch brought back the six survivors. He looked in concern at the woebegone and bedraggled figures before him.
‘My goodness, what a state you people are in. This the lot, Number One?’
‘Those that survived, sir. Three died. Impossible to get their bodies out in time.’ He indicated the figure nearest him. ‘This is the owner.’
‘Andropulos,’ the man said. ‘Spyros Andropulos. You are the officer in charge?’
‘Commander Talbot. My commiserations, Mr Andropulos.’
‘And my thanks, Commander. We are very deeply grateful—’
‘With respect, sir, that can wait. First things first, and the very first thing is to get yourselves cleaned up immediately. Ah. And changed. A problem. Clothes. We’ll find some.’
‘Clothing we have,’ Van Gelder said. He pointed at the two sheet-wrapped packages. ‘Ladies. Gentlemen.’
‘A mention in dispatches for that, Number One. You said “ladies”?’
‘Two, Commander,’ Andropulos said. He looked at the two people standing by him. ‘My niece and her friend.’
‘Ah. Well, should apologize, I suppose, but difficult to tell in the circumstances.’
‘My name is Charial.’ The voice was unmistakably feminine. ‘Irene Charial. This is my friend Eugenia.’
‘We could have met under happier circumstances. Lieutenant Denholm here will take you to my cabin. The bathroom is small but adequate. By the time you bring them back, Lieutenant, I trust they are recognizable for what they are.’ He turned to a burly, dark-haired figure who, like most of the crew, wore no insignia of rank. ‘Chief Petty Officer McKenzie.’ McKenzie was the senior NCO on the Ariadne. ‘The four gentlemen here, Chief. You know what to do.’
‘Right away, sir. If you will come with me, gentlemen.’
Grierson also left and Van Gelder and Talbot were left alone. ‘We can find this place again?’ Van Gelder asked.
‘No trouble.’ Talbot looked at him speculatively and pointed towards the north-west. ‘I’ve taken a bearing on the monastery and radar station on Mount Elias there. Sonar says that we’re in eighteen fathoms. Just to make sure, we’ll drop a marker buoy.’
General Carson laid down the slip of paper he had been studying and looked at the colonel seated across the table from him.
‘What do you make of this, Charles?’
‘Could be nothing. Could be important. Sorry, that doesn’t help. I have a feeling I don’t like it. It would help a bit if we had a sailor around.’
Carson smiled and pressed a button. ‘Do you know if Vice-Admiral Hawkins is in the building?’
‘He is, sir.’ A girl’s voice. ‘Do you wish to speak to him or see him?’
‘See him, Jean. Ask him if he would be kind enough to stop by.’
Vice-Admiral Hawkins was very young for one of his rank. He was short, a little overweight, more than a little rubicund as to his features and exuded an aura of cheerful bonhomie. He didn’t look very bright, which he was. He was widely regarded as having one of the most brilliant minds in the Royal Navy. He took the seat to which Carson had gestured him and glanced at the message slip.
‘I see, I see.’ He laid the message down. ‘But you didn’t ask me here to comment on a perfectly straightforward signal. The Sylvester is one of the code names for the frigate HMS Ariadne. One of the vessels under your command, sir.’
‘Don’t rub it in, David. I know it, of course—more accurately I know of it. Don’t forget I’m just a simple landlubber. Odd name, isn’t it? Royal Naval ship with a Greek name.’
‘Courtesy gesture to the Greeks, sir. We’re carrying out a joint hydrographic survey with them.’
‘Is that so?’ General Carson ran a hand through his grizzled hair. ‘I was not aware that I was in the hydrographic business, David.’
‘You’re not, sir, although I have no doubt it could carry out such a survey if it were called for. The Ariadne has a radio system that can transmit to, and receive transmissions from, any quarter of the globe. It has telescopes and optical instruments that can pick out the salient features of, say, any passing satellite, even those in geosynchronous orbit—and that’s 22,000 miles up. It carries long-range and surface radar that is as advanced as any in the world. And it has a sonar location and detection system that can pick up a sunken object at the bottom of the ocean just as easily as it can pinpoint a lurking submarine. The Ariadne, sir, is the eyes and the ears and the voice of your fleet.’
‘That’s nice to know, I must say. Very reassuring. The ability of the commanding officer of the Ariadne is—ah—commensurate with this extraordinary array of devices he controls?’
‘Indeed, sir. For an exceptionally complex task an exceptionally qualified man. Commander Talbot is an outstanding officer. Hand-picked for the job.’
‘Who picked him?’
‘I did.’
‘I see. That terminates this line of conversation very abruptly.’ Carson pondered briefly. ‘I think, Colonel, that we should ask General Simpson about this one.’ Simpson, the over-all commander of NATO, was the only man who outranked Carson in Europe.
‘Don’t see what else we can do, sir.’
‘You would agree, David?’
‘No, General. I think you’d be wasting your time. If you don’t know anything about this, then I’m damned sure General Simpson doesn’t know anything either. This is not an educated guess, call it a completely uneducated guess, but I have an odd feeling that this is one of your planes, sir—an American plane. A bomber, almost certainly, perhaps not yet off the secret lists—it was, after all, flying at an uncommon height.’
‘The Ariadne could have been in error.’