Wyatt’s Hurricane. Desmond Bagley
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in the Marines in that affair of the Dominican Republic it set back our South American diplomatic efforts ten years – we don’t want that to happen again.’
He suddenly seemed to be aware that he was being indiscreet and tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘With regard to the evacuation of this Base: I have decided to stay. The chance of a hurricane striking this island is, on your own evidence, only thirty per cent at the worst. That sort of a risk I can live with, and I feel I cannot abandon this Base when there is a threat of war on this island.’ He smiled gently. ‘I don’t usually expound this way to my subordinates – still less to foreign nationals – but I wish to do the right thing for all concerned, and I also wish to use you. I wish you to deliver a letter to Mr Rawsthorne, the British Consul in St Pierre, in which I am advising him of the position I am taking and inviting any British nationals on San Fernandez to take advantage of the security of this Base. It will be ready in fifteen minutes.’
‘I’ll take the letter,’ said Wyatt.
Brooks nodded. ‘About this hurricane – Serrurier may listen to the British. Perhaps you can do something through Rawsthorne.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Wyatt.
‘Another thing,’ said Brooks. ‘In any large organization methods become rigid and channels narrow. There arises a tendency on the part of individuals to hesitate in pressing unpleasant issues. Awkward corners spoil the set of the common coat we wear. I am indebted to you for bringing this matter to my attention.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Brooks’s voice was tinged with irony. ‘Commander Schelling is a reliable officer – I know precisely what to expect of him. I trust you will not feel any difficulty in working with him in the future.’
‘I don’t think I will.’
‘Thank you, Mr Wyatt; that will be all. I’ll have the letter for Mr Rawsthorne delivered to your office.’
As Wyatt went back to his own office he felt deep admiration for Brooks. The man was on the horns of a dilemma and had elected to take a calculated risk. To abandon the Base and leave it to the anti-American Serrurier would certainly incur the wrath of his superiors – once Serrurier was in it would be difficult, if not impossible, to get him out. On the other hand, the hurricane was a very real danger and Boards of Inquiry have never been noted for mercy towards naval officers who have pleaded natural disasters as a mitigation. The Base could be lost either way, and Brooks had to make a cold-blooded and necessary decision.
Unhappily, Wyatt felt that Brooks had made the wrong decision.
IV
Under an hour later he was driving through the streets of St Pierre heading towards the dock area where Rawsthorne had his home and his office. The streets were unusually quiet in the fading light and the market, usually a brawl of activity, was closed. There were no soldiers about, but many police moved about in compact squads of four. Not that they had much to do, because the entire town seemed to have gone into hiding behind locked doors and bolted shutters.
Rawsthorne’s place was also locked up solid and was only distinguishable from the others by the limp Union Jack which someone had hung from an upper window. Wyatt hammered on the door and it was a long time before a tentative voice said, ‘Who’s that?’
‘My name’s Wyatt – I’m English. Let me in.’
Bolts slid aside and the door opened a crack, then swung wider. ‘Come in, come in, man! This is no time to be on the streets.’
Wyatt had met Rawsthorne once when he visited the Base. He was a short, stout man who could have been type-cast as Pickwick, and was one of the two English merchants on San Fernandez. His official duties as British Consul gave him the minimum of trouble since there was only a scattering of British on the island, and his principal consular efforts were directed to bailing the occasional drunken seaman out of gaol and half-hearted attempts to distribute the literature on Cotswold villages and Morris dancing which was sent to him by the British Council in an effort to promote the British Way of Life.
He now put his head on one side and peered at Wyatt in the gloom of the narrow entrance. ‘Don’t I know you?’
‘We met at Cap Sarrat,’ said Wyatt. ‘I work there.’
‘Of course; you’re the weatherman on loan from the Meteorological Office – I remember.’
‘I’ve got a letter from Commodore Brooks.’ Wyatt produced the envelope.
‘Come into my office,’ said Rawsthorne, and led him into a musty, Dickensian room dark with nineteenth-century furniture. A portrait of the Queen gazed across at the Duke of Edinburgh hung on the opposite wall. Rawsthorne slit open the envelope and said, ‘I wonder why Commodore Brooks didn’t telephone as he usually does.’
Wyatt smiled crookedly. ‘He trusts the security of the Base but not that of the outside telephone lines.’
‘Very wise,’ said Rawsthorne, and peered at the letter. After a while he said, ‘That’s most handsome of the Commodore to offer us the hospitality of the Base – not that there are many of us.’ He tapped the letter. ‘He tells me that you have qualms about a hurricane. My dear sir, we haven’t had a hurricane here since 1910.’
‘So everyone insists on telling me,’ said Wyatt bitterly. ‘Mr Rawsthorne, have you ever broken your arm?’
Rawsthorne was taken aback. He spluttered a little, then said, ‘As a matter of fact, I have – when I was a boy.’
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘Nearly fifty years – but I don’t see …’
Wyatt said, ‘Does the fact that it is nearly fifty years since you broke your arm mean that you couldn’t break it again tomorrow?’
Rawsthorne was silent for a moment. ‘You have made your point, young man. I take it you are serious about this hurricane?’
‘I am,’ said Wyatt with all the conviction he could muster.
‘Commodore Brooks is a very honest man,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘He tells me here that, if you are right, the Base will not be the safest place on San Fernandez. He advises me to take that into account in any decision I might make.’ He looked at Wyatt keenly. ‘I think you had better tell me all about your hurricane.’
So Wyatt went through it again, with Rawsthorne showing a niggling appreciation of detail and asking some unexpectedly penetrating questions. When Wyatt ran dry he said, ‘So what we have is this – there is a thirty per cent chance at worst of this hurricane – so grotesquely named Mabel – coming here. That is on your figures. Then there is your over-powering conviction that it will come, and I do not think we should neglect that. No, indeed! I have a very great regard for intuition. So what do we do now, Mr Wyatt?’
‘Commodore Brooks suggested that we might see Serrurier. He thought he might accept it from a British source when he wouldn’t take it from an American.’
Rawsthorne nodded. ‘That might very well be the case.’ But he shook his head. ‘It will be difficult seeing him, you know. He is not the easiest man to see at the best of times, and in the present circumstances …’
‘We can try,’ said Wyatt stubbornly.
‘Indeed we can,’ Rawsthorne said briskly. ‘And we must.’ He looked at Wyatt with brightly intelligent eyes. ‘You are a very convincing young man, Mr Wyatt. Let us go immediately. What decisions I make regarding the safety of British nationals must inevitably depend on what Serrurier will do.’
The Presidential Palace was ringed with troops. Fully two battalions were camped in the grounds and the darkness was a-twinkle with their camp-fires. Twice the car was stopped and each time Rawsthorne talked their way through. At last they came to the final hurdle – the guard-room at the main