Wyatt’s Hurricane. Desmond Bagley
Читать онлайн книгу.
increases the rate of ascent of the air – the whole thing becomes a kind of vicious circle. More water is released and thus more heat, and the whole thing goes faster and faster and becomes much bigger. As much as a million tons of air may be rising each second.’
He drew arrows on the scrap pad, spiralling inwards. ‘Because the wind system is revolving, centrifugal force tends to throw the air outwards, and so the pressure in the centre becomes very low, thus forming the eye of the hurricane. But the pressure on the outside is very high and something must give somewhere. So the wind moves faster and faster in an attempt to fill that low pressure area, but the faster it moves the more the centrifugal force throws it outwards. And so we have these very fast circular winds and a fully fledged hurricane is born.’
He drew another arrow, this one moving in a straight line. ‘Once established, the hurricane begins to move forward, like a spinning top that moves along the ground. This brings it in contact with more warm sea and air and the process becomes self-sustaining. A hurricane is a vast heat engine, the biggest and most powerful dynamic system on earth.’ He nodded to the chart on the wall. ‘Mabel, there, has more power in her than a thousand hydrogen bombs.’
‘You sound as though you’ve fallen in love with hurricanes,’ said Julie softly.
‘Nonsense!’ Wyatt said sharply. ‘I hate them. All West Indians hate them.’
‘Have you had a hurricane here – in San Fernandez?’ asked Causton.
‘Not in my time.’ said Wyatt. ‘The last one to hit San Fernandez was in 1910. It flattened St Pierre and killed 6,000 people.’
‘One hurricane in nearly sixty years,’ mused Causton. ‘Tell me – I ask out of personal interest – what is the likelihood of your friend Mabel coming this way?’
Wyatt smiled. ‘It could happen, but it’s not very likely.’
‘Um,’ said Causton. He looked at the wall chart. ‘Still, I’d say that Serrurier is a much more destructive force than any of your hurricanes. At the last count he’s caused the death of more than 20,000 people on this island. A hurricane might be pleasanter if it could get rid of him.’
‘Possibly,’ said Wyatt. ‘But that’s out of my province. I’m strictly non-political.’ He began to talk again about his work until he saw their interest was flagging and they were becoming bored with his technicalities, and then he suggested they adjourn for lunch.
They lunched in the Officers’ Mess, where Hansen, who was to join them, was late and apologetic. ‘Sorry, folks, but I’ve been busy.’ He sat down and said to Wyatt, ‘Someone’s got a case of jitters – all unserviceable aircraft to be made ready for flight on the double. They fixed up my Connie pretty fast; I did the ground tests this morning and I’ll be taking her up this afternoon to test that new engine.’ He groaned in mock pain. ‘And I was looking forward to a week’s rest.’
Causton was interested. ‘Is it anything serious?’
Hansen shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t say so – Brooksie isn’t the nervous type.’
‘Brooksie?’
‘Commodore Brooks – Base Commander.’
Wyatt turned to Julie and said in a low voice, ‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’
‘Nothing much – why?’
‘I’m tired of office work.’ he said. ‘What about our going over to St Michel? You used to like that little beach we found, and it’s a good day for swimming.’
‘That sounds a good idea,’ she agreed. ‘I’d like that.’
‘We’ll leave after lunch.’
‘How’s Mabel?’ asked Hansen across the table.
‘Nothing to report.’ said Wyatt. ‘She’s behaving herself. She just missed Grenada as predicted. She’s speeded up a bit, though; Schelling wasn’t too happy about that.’
‘Not with the prediction he made.’ Hansen nodded. ‘Still, he’ll have covered himself – you can trust him for that.’
Causton dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. ‘To change the subject – have any of you heard of a man called Favel?’
‘Julio Favel?’ said Hansen blankly. ‘Sure – he’s dead.’
‘Is he now!’
‘Serrurier’s men caught up with him in the hills last year. There was a running battle – Favel wasn’t going to be taken alive – and he was killed. It was in the local papers at the time.’ He quirked an eyebrow at Causton. ‘What’s the interest?’
‘The rumour is going about that Favel is still alive,’ said Causton. ‘I heard it this morning.’
Hansen looked at Wyatt, and Wyatt said, ‘That explains Serrurier’s nightmare last night.’ Causton lifted his eyebrows, and Wyatt said, ‘There was a lot of troop movement in the town last night.’
‘So I saw,’ said Causton. ‘Who was Favel?’
‘Come off it,’ said Wyatt. ‘You’re a newspaperman – you know as well as I do.’
Causton grinned. ‘I like to get other people’s views,’ he said without a trace of apology. ‘The objective view, you know; as a scientist you should appreciate that.’
Julie said in bewilderment, ‘Who was this Favel?’
Causton said, ‘A thorn in the side of Serrurier. Serrurier, being the head of government, calls him a bandit; Favel preferred to call himself a patriot. I think the balance is probably on Favel’s side. He was hiding in the hills doing quite a bit of damage to Serrurier before he was reported killed. Since then there has been nothing – until now.’
‘I don’t believe he’s alive,’ said Hansen. ‘We’d have heard about it before now.’
‘He might have been intelligent enough to capitalize on the report of his death – to lie low and accumulate strength unworried by Serrurier.’
‘Or he might have been ill,’ said Wyatt.
‘True,’ said Causton. ‘That might be it.’ He turned to Hansen. ‘What do you think?’
‘All I know is what I read in the newspapers,’ said Hansen. ‘And my French isn’t too good – not the kind of French these people write.’ He leaned forward. ‘Look, Mr Causton; we’re under military discipline here at Cap Sarrat, and the orders are not to interfere in local affairs – not even to appear interested. If we don’t keep our noses clean we’re in trouble. If we survive Serrurier’s strong-arm boys, then Commodore Brooks takes our hides off. There have been a few cases, you know, mostly among the enlisted men, and they’ve got shipped back to the States with a big black demerit to spend a year or two in the stockade. I was going to tell you this last night when that guy Dawson busted in.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Causton. ‘I apologize. I didn’t realize the difficulties you people must have here.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Hansen. ‘You weren’t to know. But I might as well tell you that one thing that is specifically discouraged is talking too freely to visiting newsmen.’
‘Nobody likes us,’ said Causton plaintively.
‘Sure,’ said Hansen. ‘Everyone has something to hide – but our reasons are different. We’re trying to avoid stirring up any trouble. You know as well as I do – where you find a newsman you find trouble.’
‘I rather think it’s the other way round,’ said Causton gently. ‘Where you find trouble you find a newsman – the trouble comes first.’ He changed the subject abruptly. ‘Speaking of Dawson, I find that he’s staying at the Imperiale. When Miss Marlowe