Santorini. Alistair MacLean
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of arranging fuel and water tanks. Seems there’s a third. Two big tanks on either side of the engine, one fuel, one water. How big, I don’t know, she was a bit vague about that—no reason why she should know—but at least thousands of litres, she says. If there was a spare fuel tank she didn’t know about it. I look forward, sir, to hearing Mr Andropulos justifying his decision not to abandon ship.’
‘So do I. Should be interesting. Anyway, congratulations. A good job.’
‘No hardship, sir.’ Van Gelder scanned the sea around. ‘Odd, don’t you think, sir? I mean, are we the only ones who heard the SOS? I would have thought the horizon would have been black with converging vessels by this time.’
‘Not so strange, really. Nearly all the vessels around at this time of year are private yachts and fishermen. Lots of them don’t carry any radio at all and even those who do almost certainly wouldn’t be permanently tuned to the distress frequency.’
‘But we are.’
‘This time I’m ahead of you. The Delos—or at least Andropulos—knew that we would be permanently tuned to the distress frequency, that we are automatically alerted by bell or buzzer whenever the distress frequency is energized. This presupposes two things. He knew we were a naval vessel and he also knew that we were in the vicinity.’
‘You realize what you are saying, sir? Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound that way. But the implications, sir. I must say I really don’t like those at all.’
‘Neither do I. Opens up all sorts of avenues of interesting speculation, doesn’t it?’ He turned as McKenzie came on to the bridge: ‘And how are our oil-stained survivors, Chief?’
‘Clean, sir. And in dry clothes. I don’t think any of them will make the list of the ten bestdressed men.’ He looked at Van Gelder. ‘I gather you didn’t have too much time, sir, for the selection and careful matching up of clothes. They’re a bit of an odd sight, I must say, but respectable enough. I knew you would want to see them, Captain—Mr Andropulos seems very anxious to see you—and I know you don’t like unauthorized people on the bridge so I took the liberty of putting the four gentlemen and the two young ladies in the wardroom. I hope that’s all right, sir.’
‘Fine. You might ask the Surgeon Commander and Lieutenant Denholm to join us there. And send a couple of your boys up here to keep a lookout. Who knows, our radar might have a day off.’
The six survivors from the Delos were standing around rather awkwardly, not talking, when Talbot and Van Gelder reached the wardroom. The four men, as McKenzie had suggested, did present rather an odd spectacle. They looked rather as if they had just raided an old clothes shop, few of the items of their clothing being a match, and for the most part, fitting only where they touched. In striking contrast, both girls were immaculately clad: dressed in white blouses and white skirts, they could have stepped straight from the pages of Vogue.
‘Please,’ Talbot said. ‘All of you be seated. Before we talk, I suggest we get our priorities right. First things first. You’ve had a harrowing experience and a lucky escape. I suggest you will not take amiss the suggestion of a suitable restorative.’ He pressed a bell and a steward entered. ‘Jenkins. Refreshments. Find out what they would like.’ Jenkins did so and left.
‘I’m the captain,’ Talbot said. ‘Talbot. This is Lieutenant-Commander Ven Gelder. Ah!’ The door had opened. ‘And this is Surgeon-Commander Grierson, whom you have met and whose services you fortunately didn’t require, and Lieutenant Denholm.’ He looked at the short stocky man seated before him. ‘I take it that you, sir, are Mr Andropulos, the owner.’
‘I am, Commander, I am.’ Andropulos had black hair, black eyes, white teeth and a deeply tanned complexion. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved that morning but then, he would always look as if he hadn’t shaved that morning. He leapt to his feet, took Talbot’s hand, and shook it vigorously. He positively radiated a combined aura of benevolence and bonhomie. ‘Words cannot express our gratitude. A close-run thing, Commander, a very close-run thing. We owe you our lives.’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that but I’ll admit you were in a rather nasty pickle.’
‘Pickle? Pickle?’
‘Dangerous circumstances. I deeply regret both your loss of the members of your crew and your yacht.’
‘The yacht is nothing. I can always buy another. Well, Lloyd’s of London can buy it for me. Still sadder to lose an old friend like the Delos but sadder still, much sadder, to lose the three members of my crew. Been with me for many years. I treasured them all.’
‘Who were they, sir?’
‘My engineer, chef and steward. With me for many years.’ Andropulos shook his head. ‘They will be sadly missed.’
‘Wasn’t it odd for a chef and steward to be in the engine-room?’
Andropulos smiled sadly. ‘Not aboard the Delos, Commander. It was not exactly run along the lines of a ship of the Royal Navy. They were in the habit of having an after-lunch drink there with the engineer. They had my permission, of course, but they preferred to be discreet about it—and what more discreet place than the engine-room? Alas, their discretion cost them their lives.’
‘That is ironic. May I be introduced to the others?’
‘Of course, of course. This is my very dear friend Alexander.’ Alexander was a tall man with a thin, unsmiling face and black, cold eyes who didn’t look as if he could possibly be anybody’s very dear friend. ‘This is Aristotle, my captain.’ Andropulos didn’t say whether Aristotle was the first or last name: he had watchful eyes and a serious expression but looked as if he might, unlike Alexander, be capable of smiling occasionally. ‘And this is Achmed.’ He didn’t say what occupation Achmed held. He was young, pleasant-faced and smiled readily. Talbot couldn’t even begin to guess at his nationality except that he wasn’t Greek.
‘But I forget myself. Deplorable, deplorable. I forget myself. Such manners. Should have been ladies first, of course. This is my niece, Irene.’ Van Gelder hadn’t made any mistakes about her, Talbot thought, except that he’d missed out on the wide green eyes and a rather bewitching smile. ‘And this is Eugenia.’ This one, Talbot reflected, was much closer to Van Gelder’s concept of a warm-blooded young Latin lady. She had a slightly dusky skin, black hair and warm brown eyes. And she also, no doubt, was quite beautiful. It seemed to Talbot that Van Gelder was going to find himself in something of a quandary.
‘I congratulate you, Mr Andropulos,’ Talbot said gallantly, ‘and ourselves. Certainly the loveliest passengers we’ve ever had aboard the Ariadne. Ah. The steward.’
Andropulos took his glass—a scotch and not a small one, and disposed of half the contents in one gulp.
‘My goodness, I needed that. Thank you, Commander, thank you. Not as young as I was nor as tough, either. Age cometh to us all.’ He quaffed the rest of his drink and sighed.
Talbot said: ‘Jenkins, another for Mr Andropulos. A slightly larger measure this time.’ Jenkins looked at him expressionlessly, closed his eyes momentarily and left.
‘The Ariadne,’ Andropulos said. ‘Rather odd, is it not. Greek name, British vessel.’
‘Courtesy gesture to your Government, sir. We are carrying out a hydrographic charting exercise with your people.’ Talbot saw no point in mentioning that the Ariadne had never carried out a hydrographic exercise in its life and that the ship had been called Ariadne to remind the Greeks that it was a multi-national vessel and to persuade a wavering Greek government that perhaps NATO wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
‘Hydrographic, you say. Is that why we’re moored fore and aft—a fixed platform for taking bearings.’
‘A fixed platform, yes, but in this instance the purpose is not hydrographic. We’ve had quite a busy afternoon, Mr Andropulos, and at the moment we’re anchored over