When he reached the lowest deck he became more stealthy, creeping silently forward. Now he carried the steel bar in his right hand.

Every few paces he stopped to listen, but Kingfisher's hull was groaning and popping as she worked in the swells.

He could hear no other sound. He crept up to the door of the control room and cautiously peered through the small armoured gla.s.s window. The control room was empty. He tried the handle, and found it locked.

Then he heard voices - from the open doorway of the conveyor room behind him. Quickly he crossed to it and flattened himself against the jamb.

Johnny's voice came m.u.f.fled and indistinct: "There's another hatch in here. Get me a half-inch spanner from the tool cupboard."

"What's a half-inch spanner look like?"

"It's a big one. The size is stamped on it." Sergio glanced one-eyed around the door jamb. The cover was off the inspection hatch in the conveyor tunnel, and Tracey's head was thrust into the opening.

It was clear that Johnny Lance was in there, and that he had found the secret compartment.

Tracey drew her head out of the hatch, and Sergio ducked back and looked down the pa.s.sageway. The tool cupboard was bolted to the bulkhead under the stairs from the deck above. He turned and darted around the corner of the pa.s.sageway. Tracey came out of the conveyor room, and went to the cupboard. She opened the doors on the glittering array of tools, each clipped securely to its rack.

While she stood before the cupboard, completely absorbed in her search for a half-inch spanner, Sergio came from around the corner and crept up silently behind her.

He lifted the steel bar over his shoulder and came up on his toes, poised to strike.

Tracey was muttering softly to herself, head bowed slightly, handling the spanners - and Sergio knew the blow would crush her skull.

He closed his mind to the thought, and aimed carefully at the base of her skull. He started the blow, and then checked it. For a second that seemed to last for a long time he remained frozen. He couldn't do it.

With an exclamation of satisfaction Tracey found what she was searching for. As she turned away from the cupboard Sergio shrank back behind the angle of the bulkhead, and Tracey shuffled back into the conveyor room.

"I've got it, Johnny," she shouted into the hatch.

"Bring it to me. Hurry, Tracey. Sergio will be getting suspicious," he shouted back, and Tracey hitched up her voluminous trousers and wriggled into the hatch.

On hands and knees she crawled up beside him. It was cramped and hot in the narrow tunnel. He took the spanner from her.

"Hold the flashlight." She took it from him, holding the beam on the panel while he unscrewed the retaining bolts and lifted off the cover.

Lying on his side he peered into the opening.

"There's a container of sorts," he grunted, and reached in.

For a minute he struggled with the clamps, then slowly he lifted out the stainless steel cup.

At that moment Kingfisher reared and plunged to a freak wave and the cup slipped from Johnny's fingers, and from it spilled the diamonds. They cascaded over both of them, a glittering shower of stones of all sizes and colours. Some lodged in Tracey's damp hair, the rest rolled and bounced and scattered about them, catching the light from the torch and throwing it back in splinters of sunshine.

"Yipes!" gasped Tracey and laughed at Johnny's whoop of triumph.

Lying side by side they scrabbled and s.n.a.t.c.hed at the treasure scattered around them.

"Look at this one," exulted Tracey.

"And this." They were crazy with excitement, hands filled with diamonds. They hugged each other and kissed ecstatically, laughing into each other's mouths.

Johnny sobered first, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"What about the diamonds?"

"Leave them. There'll be plenty of time later."

They crawled backwards down the tunnel, still laughing and exclaiming, and one after the other emerged into the conveyor room. While they straightened their Clothing, and regained their breath, Tracey asked, "What now?"

"First thing is to get young Sergio safely under lock and key, his crew also." Johnny's face hardened. "The b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,"he added angrily.

"Then?" Tracey asked.

"Then we'll pull up the hose, and sail Kingfisher back into Cartridge Bay. Then we'll call up the police on the radio.

There's going to be an accounting with the whole gang of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds your darling brother included." Johnny started for the door, asking as he crossed the deck: "Why did you close the door, Tracey?" i didn't," she replied as she hurried after him, and Johnny's expression changed. He ran to the heavy steel door and threw his weight on it.

It did not move, and he swung round to face the door that led into the cyclone room.

It was closed also. He charged across the room and grabbed the handle, heaving at it with all his strength.

He stood back at last, and looked wildly about the long narrow cabin. There was no other opening, no hatch or porthole - nothing except the tiny square peephole in the centre of the steel door that led into the cyclone room beyond. The peephole was covered with three-inch armoured gla.s.s that was as strong as the steel that surrounded it. He looked through it.

The tall cyclone reached from floor to roof, dominating the room.

Beyond it the steel pipe that carried the gravel from the sea bed pierced the roof from the deck above, but the cyclone room was deserted.

Johnny turned slowly back to Tracey and put an arm around her shoulders.

"We've got problems,"he said.

After closing and locking both the doors that led into the conveyor room, Sergio climbed quickly back to his bridge. The helmsman looked at him curiously.

"How's the lady?"

"Fine," Sergio snapped at him. "She's safe."

And then with unnecessary violence, "Why you no mind your own business, hey? You think you Captain for this ship?" Startled, the helmsman quickly transferred his attention back to the storm which still raged l.u.s.tily about them.

Sergio began to pace up and down the bridge, balancing easily and instinctively to her exaggerated motion. His smooth baby face was crumpled into a ma.s.sive scowl, and he puffed on one of his cheroots.

With all his soul Sergio Caporetti was lamenting his involvement in this business.

He wished that he had never heard of Kingfisher. He would have traded his hopes of a life hereafter to be sitting on the seaftont at Ostia, sipping grappa and watching the girls go by.

Impulsively he pulled open the storm doors at the angle of the bridge and went out on to the exposed wing. The wind buffeted him and set his soft hair dancing and flickering.

From inside his jacket he pulled the canvas bag.

"This is the trouble," he muttered, looking at the bag in his hand. "b.l.o.o.d.y little stones." He threw back his arm like a baseball Pitcher, set to hurl the bag out into that hissing green sea below him, but again he could not make the gesture. Swearing quietly to himself, he stuffed the stones back into his jacket, and went back into the wheelhouse.

"Call the radio operator," he ordered, and the helmsman reached quickly for the voice tube.

The radio operator reached the bridge still owl-eyed with sleep and b.u.t.toning his clothing.

"Get on to Wild Goose," Sergio told him.

"I won't be able to raise her in this," the man protested, glancing out at the storm.

"Call her." Sergio stepped towards him threateningly.

"Keep calling until you get her." Wild Goose staggered and wallowed through the entrance to Cartridge Bay, then way into the sanctuary of the channel.

Hugo relaxed perceptibly. It had been a long hard run back from Thunderbolt and Suicide. Yet there was an uneasy feeling that still persisted. He hoped that the girl was able to handle Lance. He was a tough cookie that Lance, he wished that he had been able to go along with her and make sure of the business. Fifteen years was one h.e.l.l of a long time - he would be almost fifty years old at the end of it.

Hugo followed the channel markers that appeared like milestones out of the dust clouds, until ahead he made out the loom of the jetty and the depot buildings.

There was a figure on the jetty, crouched beside the mountain of dieseline drums. With a p.r.i.c.kle of alarm, Hugo strained his eyes in the bad visibility.

"Who the h.e.l.l is it?" he puzzled aloud. The figure straightened and came forward to stand on the edge of the jetty. Bare-headed, dressed in rumpled dark business suit, the man carried a shotgun in one hand - and it was another few seconds before Hugo recognized him.

"Christ! It's the boss!" Hugo felt alarm flare in his stomach and chest, it tightened his breathing.

Benedict van der Byl jumped down on to the deck of Wild Goose at the moment she touched the jetty.

"What's happened?" Benedict demanded as he barged into the wheelhouse.

"I thought you were in hospital," Hugo countered.

"Who told you that?"

"Your sister."

"You've seen her? Where is she?"

"I took her out to Kingfisher. Like you said. She went out to deal with Lance."

"Deal with Lance! She's with him, you idiot, she's not with us. She knows the whole deal. Everything!"

"She told me-" Hugo was appalled. But Benedict cut him short.

"The whole thing's blown up. We've got to clear out.

Get your crew to load those drums of dieseline into the hold. How are your water tanks?"

"Full."

"Food?"

"We are stocked up."

"For how long?"

"Three weeks - at a push, four."

"Thank G.o.d for that." Benedict looked relieved. "This storm will blow another three days - we'll have that much start. They'll never find us in this. By the time it clears we'll be well on our way."

"Where to - Angola?"

"G.o.d, no! We have to get well clear. South America."

"South America!"

"Yes - we can do it, carrying extra fuel." Hugo was silent a moment, becoming accustomed to the idea.

"We can do it," Benedict repeated.

"Yes." Hugo nodded. "We can do it," he agreed thoughtfully. For the first time he examined Benedict closely. He saw that he was in an emotional and physical mess, his bloodshot eyes were sunk into deep plum-coloured hollows, dark new heard covered his jowls, and there was a gaunt hunted look to him - like some fugitive animal.

He was filthy with dust, and there was a streak of something that could have been dried vomit down the front of his jacket.

"But what do we do when we get there?" For the first time since he had known Benedict he felt in control. This was the time to deal, to make bargains.

"We'll get ash.o.r.e on some deserted spot, and then we split up and disappear."

"What about money?" Hugo spoke carefully. He glanced down at the shotgun. Benedict's hands were fidgety and restless on the weapon.

"I've got money." "How much?" Hugo asked.

"Enough." Benedict blinked cautiously.

"For me also?" Hugo prodded him, and Benedict nodded.

"How much for me?"Hugo went on.

"Ten thousand."

"Pounds?"

"pounds," Benedict agreed.

"That's not enough." Hugo shook his head. "I'll need more than that."

"Twenty." Benedict increased his bid, but he knew he was playing from weakness into strength. Ruby was lying mutilated in his study, the net was probably being spread for him already.

"Fifty," said Hugo decisively.

"I haven't that much."