There was no way out of the cabin. Johnny had tried every possible outlet. The apertures for the conveyor system were guarded at one end by the furnace, and at the other by moving machinery which would ferociously chew to tatters anyone who became entangled in it.

They were caged securely, and Johnny paced his cage.

Again he stopped before the peephole, but this time he flung himself at the door with clenched fists. The steel plate smeared the skin from his knuckles as he hammered on it and the pain sobered him.

He pressed his face to the gla.s.s and through it watched Benedict van der Byl enter the conveyor room and, without glancing at the window, cross to the cyclone.

Benedict laid aside the shotgun he carried and for a moment stood looking up at the thick steel pipe that carried the gravel down from the deck pumps above. As he lifted the thick rope of plastique from around his neck, Johnny knew exactly what he was going to do.

He watched in fascination as Benedict mounted the steel ladder up the side of the cyclone. Hanging with one hand to the ladder, Benedict reached out with the other and clumsily tied the rope of plastique around the gravel pipe. It hung there like a necklace about the throat of some obscene prehistoric monster.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You murdering b.l.o.o.d.y swine!" Johnny shouted, and again he beat on the steel door with his fists.

But the thickness of the door and the whine of the cyclone drowned his voice. Benedict showed no sign of hearing him - but Tracey sat up and looked about her blearily. Then she came to her feet and staggering to the roll and pitch of the ship she went to Johnny and pressed her face to the window beside her.

Benedict was sticking the time pencils into the soft dark explosive. He used all four fuses, taking no chances on a misfire.

"What's he doing?" Tracey asked after she had recovered from the surprise of recognizing her brother.

"He's going to cut the pipe, and let Kingfisher pump herself full of gravel."

"Sink her?"Tracey's voice was sharp with alarm.

"She'll pump water -and gravel into herself at pressures that will tear away all the inner bulkheads."

"This one?" Tracey patted the steel plate.

"It'll pop like a paper bag. G.o.d, you have no idea of the power in those pumps."

"No." Tracey shook her head. "He's my brother. He won't do it, Johnny. He couldn't murder us."

"By the time he's finished - " Johnny contradicted her grimly, Kingfisher will be lying in 200 feet of water. Her hull will be packed so tightly with gravel that it will be like a block of cement. We, and everything in her, including his little machine, will be so flattened as to be unrecognizable.

It would cost millions to salvage Kingfisher - and no one will care that much."

"No, not Benedict." Tracey was almost pleading. "He's not that bad." Johnny her brusquely. "He could get away with it.

It's a good try - his best chance. Encase all the evidence against him in concrete, and bury it deep."

"No, Benedict." Tracey was watching her brother as he climbed down the cyclone ladder and picked up the shotgun. "Please, Benedict, don't do it." Almost as if he had heard her, Benedict turned suddenly and saw the two faces at the window. The shock of guilt held him rigid for a moment as he stared at them Tracey's pale lips forming words he could not hear, Johnny's eyes burning with accusation.

Benedict dropped his eyes, he made a gesture that was indecisive, almost pathetic. He looked up at the fused and charged rope of explosive - and then he grinned. A sardonic twitching of the lips, and he stumbled out of the cyclone room and was gone.

"He'll come back" whispered Tracey. "He won't let it happen." "I wouldn't bet on that - if I were you," said Johnny.

Benedict reached Kingfisher's rail and clung to it. He looked out to where Wild Goose bobbed and hung on the swells. He saw Hugo's face as a white blob behind the wheelhouse window, but as the little trawler began closing in for the pick-up Benedict waved it away. He glanced at his watch again, then looked back anxiously at the bridge.

The long minutes dragged by. Where the h.e.l.l was the Italian?

Benedict could not leave him - not while he still had that diamond; not while he could stop the dredge pumps and release the prisoners locked below.

Again Benedict checked his watch, twelve minutes since he had set the time pencils. He must go back and find Caporetti. He started back along the rail, and at that moment Sergio appeared on the wing of the bridge. He shouted a question at Benedict that was lost in the wind.

"Come on!" Frantically Benedict beckoned to him. "Come on!

Hurry!" With another last look about the bridge, Sergio ran to the ladder and climbed down to deck level.

"Where my boys?" he shouted at Benedict. "Why n.o.body at the con?

What you do with them?"

"They are all right," Benedict a.s.sured him. He had turned to the rail and was signalling Wild Goose to come alongside.

"Where they?" Sergio demanded. "Where my boys?"

"I sent them to-"

Benedict's reply was cut off as Kingfisher's deck jarred under their feet. The explosion was a dull concussion in her belly, and Sergio's jaw hung open.

Benedict backed away from him along the rail.

"Filth!" Sergio's jaw snapped closed, his whole body appeared to swell with anger.

"You kill them, dirty pig. You kill my boys. You kill Johnny the girl."

"Keep away from me." Benedict braced himself against the rail, leaving both hands free to use the gun.

Not even Sergio would advance into the deadly blank eyes of those muzzles. He paused uncertainly.

"I'll blow your guts all over the deck," Benedict warned him, and his forefinger was hooked around the trigger.

They stared at each other, and the wind fluttered their hair and tore at their clothing.

"Give me those diamonds," Benedict commanded, and when Sergio stood unmoving, he went on urgently, "Don't be a hero, Caporetti. I can gun you down and take them anyway. Give them to me - and our deal is still on. You'll come with us. I'll get you out of here. I swear it." Sergio's expression of outrage faded. A moment longer he hesitated.

"Come on, Caporetti. We haven't got much time." It may have been his imagination, but to Benedict it seemed that Kingfisher's action in the water had altered, she was sluggish to meet the swells and her roll was more p.r.o.nounced.

"Okay," said Sergio, and began unb.u.t.toning his jacket.

"You win. I give you." Benedict relaxed with relief, and Sergio thrust his hand into his jacket and stepped towards him. He grasped the canvas bag by its neck, and brought it out held like a cosh.

Sergio was close to him, too close for Benedict to swing the shotgun on to him. Sergio's expression became savage, his intentions blazed in his dark eyes as he lifted the canvas bag and poised himself to deliver a blow at Benedict's head, but he had not reckoned with the extraordinary reflexes of the natural athlete he was facing.

As Sergio launched the blow, Benedict rolled his shoulders and head away from it, lifting the b.u.t.t of the shotgun as a guard.

Sergio's wrist struck the seasoned walnut, and he grunted with the pain. His fingers opened nervelessly and the canvas bag flew from his grip, glanced off Benedict's temple and flew on down the deck, sliding to stop against one of the compressed air tanks thirty feet away.

Benedict danced back, dropping the barrels of the shotgun until Sergio looked into the muzzles.

"Hold it, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Benedict snarled at him. "You've made your choice. Now let's see what your guts look like." Sergio was hugging his injured wrist to his belly, crouching over it. Benedict was backing away to where the bag lay against the tank. His face was flushed and hectic with anger, but he kept darting side glances at the canvas bag.

At that moment Kingfisher took another wave over her bows, and the water came swooshin down the deck, picking up the bag and washing it towards the scuppers.

"Look out!" Sergio shouted. "The bag! It's going." Benedict lunged for it, sprawling full length. With his free hand he grabbed the sodden canvas as it was disappearing over the side. But he was thirty feet away from Sergio, and he still held the shotgun in his other fist. Sergio could not hope to reach him without getting both charges of buckshot in his belly.

Instead Sergio spun round and sprinted back along the deck towards the bridge.

Benedict was on his knees frantically stuffing the bag of diamonds into the side pocket of his jacket and shouting after Sergio.

"Stop! Stop or I'll shoot!"

" Sergio did not look back nor check his run, and Benedict had the bag in his pocket and now both hands were free.

He lifted the shotgun, and tried to balance himself against Kingfisher's wallowing motion as he aimed.

At the shot, Sergio stumbled slightly but kept on running. He reached the ladder and went up it.

Again Benedict aimed, and the shotgun clapped dully in the wind.

This time a spasm of pain shuddered through Sergio's big body, and he froze on the ladder.

Benedict fumbled in his pocket for fresh sh.e.l.ls, but before he could reload Sergio had begun climbing again. Benedict broke the gun and thrust the sh.e.l.ls into the breech. He snapped the gun closed and looked up just as Sergio disappeared through the storm doors - and the two shots that Benedict loosed after him merely pockmarked the paintwork and starred the gla.s.s of the wheelhouse.

The stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Hugo watched from the wheelhouse of Wild Goose. "He's gone berserk." Hugo had heard the explosion and seen the shooting.

"Fifteen years is enough - but not the rope as well." He swung the wheel and Wild Goose sheered in towards Kingfisher's side. Peering through the spray and salt, smattered windows, he saw Benedict drag himself to his feet and start after Sergio along the deck.

Hugo s.n.a.t.c.hed the electric loud-hailer from its bracket and pulled open the side window of the wheelhouse, holding the hailer to his lips.

"Hey! You stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d, have you gone mad? What the h.e.l.l you doing?" Benedict glanced down at the trawler, then ignored it to give all his attention to reloading the gun. He kept going back along the deck, following Sergio to finish him off.

"You'll get us all strung up, you fool," Hugo called through the loud-hailer. "Leave him. Let's get out of here." Benedict kept scrambling and slipping towards Kingfisher's bridge.

"I'm leaving - now! Do you hear me? You can stew in your own pot. I'm getting out." Benedict checked and looked down at the trawler. He shouted and pointed at the bridge. Hugo caught one word: "Diamonds."

"All right, friend! Do what you like - I'll see you around," Hugo hailed, and hit the trawler's throttle wide open. The roar of the diesels and the churning of her propeller convinced Benedict.

"Hugo! Wait! Wait for me, I'm coming." He scampered back to the ladder and started down it.

Hugo throttled back and brought Wild Goose in neatly under the ladder.

Jump!" he shouted through the hailer, and obediently Benedict jumped to hit the foredeck heavily. The shotgun flew from his hands to fall into the water alongside. Benedict cast one longing glance after the gun, then crawled to his feet and limped back to the wheelhouse.

Already Wild Goose was plunging away into the wind, but as Benedict entered the wheelhouse Hugo turned on him with his pink albino face set in a snarl of rage.

"What the h.e.l.l have you done, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d? You lied to me. What was that explosion?"

"Explosion - I don't know. What explosion?" Hugo hit him a stinging open-handed blow across the cheek.

"We agreed no killing - and you put us all on the spot." Hugo's attention was focused completely on Benedict who had backed into the furthest corner of the wheelhouse. He ma.s.saged the dark red finger marks that stained his cheek.

"You set scuttling charges in Kingfisher - didn't you, you dirty son of a b.i.t.c.h. G.o.d, I hate to think what you've done with Lance and the girl." Outside the storm was nearing its climax. A rain squall swept down on Wild Goose - a sure sign that the wind must soon drop.

Automatically Hugo switched on the rotating wipers to clear the rain from the screen, as he continued to harangue Benedict.

"I saw you trying to murder the Italian. Christ! What for?

He's one of us! Am I next on Your list?"

"He had the diamonds," mumbled Benedict. "I was trying to get them from him." And Hugo's expression changed; he turned away from the wheel and stared at Benedict.

"You haven't got the diamonds? Is that what you're saying?" His tone was almost hurt.

"I tried - he wouldn't-" And Hugo left the wheel and was across the wheelhouse like a white leopard. He grabbed the front of Benedict's coat, and screamed into his face.

"You left the diamonds! You stick my head in a noose and I get nothing out of it." He was trembling with rage and his pale eyes bulged from their sockets.

Looking into those eyes Benedict realized his own danger. In the time it had taken him to leave Kingfisher's deck and reach the wheelhouse of the trawler he had decided to let Hugo think that Sergio still had the diamonds. Squeamish as Hugo appeared to be about drowning Johnny and Tracey, despite his repeated demands for "No killing', Benedict knew intuitively that Hugo had no intention of splitting a million pounds" worth of diamonds with him.

Once Hugo was certain that Benedict had the stones on board, Benedict knew there was no chance that he would reach South America alive.

The crossing might take weeks, the crew of the trawler were in Hugo's pay and loyal only to him. Benedict must sleep, and they would take him in the night.

On the other hand, of course, Benedict had no intention of splitting a million pounds" worth of diamonds with Hugo Kramer. He let his voice whine as he cringed in Hugo's grip.

"I tried. Sergio had them. He wouldn't - that's why I shot him."

Hugo drew back his hand to slap Benedict again.

Benedict twisted slightly, and drove his knee into Hugo's crutch, sending him staggering back across the wheelhouse, clutching himself between the legs and whimpering with the pain.

"Right, Kramer," Benedict spoke softly. "That's a little lesson for you. Behave yourself, and you'll get your fifty grand on the other side of the Atlantic." They stared at each other. Hugo Kramer weak and pale with agony, Benedict standing tall and arrogant again.

"Treat me gently, Kramer. I'm your meal-ticket. Remember it."

Hugo gaped at him. The positions had reversed so swiftly.

He pulled himself upright and his voice was thick with agony, but humble.

"I'm sorry, Mr. van der Byl, I lost my temper. It's been a h.e.l.l of a-"

"Skipper! Ahead!" The warning was shouted by the coloured crewman, Hansie.

Hugo stumbled to the untended wheel, and peered out into t he storm.

Wild Goose was shooting down another slope of green water, and just ahead of her bows Hugo saw one of the huge yellow buoys that Kingfisher had laid down and then abandoned. It was held captive in the trough of the swells by the anchor cable. The cable was drawn as tight as a rod of steel across the trawler's bows, lifted just above the surface of the water; shivering drops of water flew from it under the tension of the buoy's drag.

"Oh G.o.d!" Hugo spun the wheel and threw Wild Goose's engine into reverse but she was racing down the swell, and her speed was unchecked as the cable sc.r.a.ped harshly along her keel.