Dark Side of the Street - Simon Vaughn 01 (v5) (14 page)

"Upton Magna--a little fishing port near Lulworth. Now get this--we're about to leave by boat for an island called Longue Pierre which is twelve miles southwest of Alderney in the Channel Islands. I want to know anything you can tell me about the place and I can only spare you three minutes."

"We're already hooked into Information," Mallory said. "Keep on talking while they're checking."

"You'll want to pull in a lump of dirt called Sam Crowther who runs a place called Wykehead Farm near Settle in Yorkshire. God knows how many he's seen off. Then there's a woman called Rosa Hartman. She lives at Bampton outside Shrewsbury. I'm sorry for her, but she shouldn't have joined."

"Anyone else?"

"A man called Pentecost who has a place called Long Barrow House of Rest outside Gloucester and the old villain I've just been dealing with. Name of Bragg. Runs a boatyard here."

Mallory cut in on him. "Your information on Longue Pierre is coming through now. The island and the only house on it are owned by the States of Guernsey. They've been leased for the past two years to Count Anton Stavru."

"Haven't I heard of him?"

"Very probably. Shady financier always floating big deals that come to grief. Investigated by Fraud Squad a few times, but he's always managed to get out from under. He's managing director of a firm called World Wide Export. Is any of this helpful?"

"I'll not know till I get there. I'll want some help standing by. Preferably something that can get in fast like a couple of Naval MTBs."

"I'll get on to Naval Intelligence straight away," Mallory said. "If you want to reach them by radio use our usual frequency. Your call sign will be Strongarm. Best of luck."

"I'll need it."

Chavasse dropped the receiver into place, left the box and hurried back along the street to the boatyard. He paused suddenly, dropping into the shelter of an old upturned boat as the door opened and Vaughan stepped out into the porch. He closed the door behind him, cutting off the light and came down the steps.

Chavasse recognised him at once and took Pentecost's revolver from his pocket and waited. Vaughan moved past him and paused, a match flaring in his cupped hands as he lit a cigarette.

Chavasse stood up behind him. "Surprise! Surprise!" he said and drove the butt of the revolver into the back of Vaughan's skull.

He caught him before he could fall, twisting around, bending so that Vaughan fell across his right shoulder. As the engine of the
Pride of Man
shattered the night, he half ran through the darkness toward the jetty.

As he went down the steps, Youngblood was casting off at the stern and he came forward to help Chavasse across the rail wth his burden.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, looking down into Vaughan's unconscious face as he sprawled on the deck. "Our old friend Dr. Mackenzie."

"Or Smith or whatever his name is," Chavasse said. "He was just coming out of Bragg's place. I thought it might be nice to ask him along for the ride."

"Stick him in one of the cabins for now," Youngblood advised. "We can have words later. I won't be happy till we're out of here. Molly can give you a hand."

Chavasse went down the companionway holding Vaughan under the armpits and Molly took his feet. They put him on a bunk in one of the three cabins and Chavasse found a length of cord and tied his wrists and ankles securely.

When he turned from locking the door, the girl looked pale and wan as if suddenly, everything was too much for her and he put a hand on her shoulder.

"There should be a galley along here somewhere. Why don't you make us some coffee?"

She brightened a little as if this was something she could at least understand and moved along the passageway. Chavasse watched her go, a frown on his face. A lot had happened and so fast that he'd had little time to speculate about the outcome of things. But what about the girl for whom the events of the past couple of days must have seemed like some dark nightmare? What on earth was going to happen to her? However things turned out she was in for a whole lot of heartbreak.

The poor ugly little bitch.
He turned with a sigh and went up the companionway as the
Pride of Man
drifted away from the side of the jetty.

The wind had increased, scattering the rain in silver clouds through the navigation lights and when he went into the wheelhouse, Harry Youngblood turned and grinned at him, his head disembodied in the light of the binnacle.

"Here we go," he said with a grin and boosted power suddenly, taking the
Pride of Man
round in a long sweeping curve and out through the harbour mouth.

The masthead started to buck as they met the swell and spray scattered across the windows. A couple of points to starboard, the red and green navigation lights of a steamer were visible and Youngblood reduced speed to ten knots and they pushed on into the dark.

"Everything all right?" Chavasse said.

"Bloody marvellous!" There was sheer delight in Youngblood's voice. "This is the life, eh? With any kind of luck we should have a clear run."

It was just coming up to midnight when Chavasse went below to check on Vaughan. When he opened the door and switched on the light, he was at once conscious of the dark eyes staring at him fixedly.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"How do you expect me to feel?" Vaughan said in a surprisingly strong voice. "The back of my skull crushed in or something very close to it and blood all over my best shirt."

"You're breaking my heart." Chavasse pulled Vaughan into a sitting position and took the mug of coffee that Molly handed to him. "Drink this."

Vaughan swallowed, then gasped. "It'll never replace tea. From the motion, I presume we're on our way across the Channel?"

"That's right."

"What time is it?"

"Round about midnight--why?"

Vaughan started to laugh weakly. "Which means we've passed the point of no return."

Chavasse frowned. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"It's really rather ironic," Vaughan said. "You see I knew you were on your way to Upton Magna because I had words with friend Pentecost after you'd left."

"And you beat us to it? Bragg was putting on an act, wasn't he?"

"I'm afraid so. I stuck a limpet mine to the hull just before ten o'clock, timed to blow you all to hell in exactly four hours."

"You included."

"To be perfectly honest, that wasn't in the plan at all."

Chavasse untied his ankles and pulled him off the bunk. "Up on the deck and be quick about it."

The
Pride of Man
was lifting well over the heavy swell that scattered spray in a great cascading sheet as they moved along the deck to the wheel-house. Youngblood turned in surprise as Chavasse pushed Vaughan in ahead of him.

"What's all this?"

Chavasse told him and when he had finished, Youngblood laughed uncertainly. "He's trying to pull a fast one--he must be."

"Suit yourself," Vaughan said.

Chavasse shook his head. "He means it, Harry."

Youngblood stared at him for a long moment and then throttled down the engine until the boat was making no more than three or four knots and switched to automatic pilot.

"All right, so what are we going to do about it?"

Chavasse turned to Vaughan. "If it's fixed to the hull then you must have used an aqualung and skin-diving gear to put it there. Where is it?"

Vaughan shrugged. "Why not? You'll find it without any trouble anyway. In a locker under one of the bench seats in the saloon."

"There's your answer, Drum," Youngblood said. "As long as we can reach it, it can be defused."

"Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but not this baby," Vaughan said. "It can only be defused after complete dismantling and you have neither the equipment nor the facilities."

"Electromagnetic, I suppose?" Chavasse said.

Vaughan nodded. "And this tub has a steel hull so you'll never prise it loose, not under the conditions you're faced with. Try too hard and the damned thing might blow up anyway."

"What type is it?"

"Getting technical are we? But of course, I was forgetting--you were a captain in the Royal Engineers, weren't you?"

"Never mind the funny stuff," Youngblood said savagely. "Just answer him."

"Martinet Mark 4, and much good may it do you."

Chavasse burst into sudden laughter, unable to contain the wave of elation that swept through him and the smile died on Vaughan's face.

"What's so damned funny?"

"You are," Chavasse said. "You're a hundred thousand laughs." He turned to Youngblood. "If you'll stop the engines for about ten minutes, Harry, I'll find the aqualung he mentioned and go over the side."

"You mean you can fix it?" Youngblood said incredulously.

"To all intents and purposes, but I'll explain later. Just look after baby for me, will you?" And Chavasse moved back along the deck and went below.

It was bitterly cold down there in the dark water as he felt his way along the hull until he located the mine. He found the time switch and hung there for a moment, testing it with his fingers. If Vaughan had timed the explosion to take place within four hours then he must have moved the switch through four complete revolutions and the maximum was twelve. Chavasse turned the switch, counting slowly. Only when it refused to turn any more did he release his hold and drift up to the surface.

Youngblood and Molly helped him over the rail and he swore softly as the girl hauled on his left arm and pain coursed through him like fire.

"You all right, Drum?" Youngblood said anxiously.

"I am now." Chavasse turned to Vaughan who stood by the companionway, wrists tied in front of him. "Simple when you know how. The Martinet is a short term time bomb extensively used by both the Army and Navy. The timing device operates up to a maximum of twelve hours. All I had to do was move it on from the time of your choice. Right round the clock till we reached neutral again."

"You mean you've defused it?" Youngblood demanded.

"To all intents and purposes."

Vaughan sighed and shook his head. "We learn something new every day. What time do we reach Longue Pierre?"

"Seven-thirty or thereabouts," Youngblood said. "Why?"

"It's just that I can't wait to get there, old man," Vaughan said. "I'm sure it's going to be a barrel of laughs for everyone." He turned and disappeared down the companionway whistling cheerfully.

11

Fog in the Morning

Chavasse came awake to find Molly leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder. He had gone to sleep on one of the bench seats in the saloon and he swung his legs to the floor and took the mug of coffee she offered.

He swallowed some gratefully. "That's better. What time is it?"

"Six a.m."

"My God, have I slept that long?"

He went up the companionway, his coffee in one hand. Water slopped over the starboard rail and cold rain lashed his face as he walked along the heaving deck and went into the wheelhouse.

Youngblood turned to look at him briefly. "How do you feel?"

"My arm hurts like hell, but I can use it, which is something. What about you?"

"I'm enjoying myself. There's been quite a sea running for an hour or more now. Likely to get worse before it gets better."

"Will it affect our time of arrival?"

"If you'd like to take the wheel I'll have another look at the chart."

Chavasse squeezed past, slipping into the pilot's seat and Youngblood went to the chart table. He made one or two calculations and threw down his pencil, stretching his arms.

"We could be a little earlier than I thought. It all depends on the way the weather goes. Think you can handle her for a while?"

"I don't see why not."

"I'll take a break--maybe Molly can find me something to eat. Afterwards, we'd better talk things over. We still don't know what we're getting into. Maybe it's about time we put the squeeze on our friend."

Chavasse nodded. "We'll see."

The door banged and he leaned back in the seat, one hand on the wheel and lit a cigarette. Already the darkness was fading, a faint pearly luminosity touching the water and he strained his eyes into the grey waste of morning, wondering what lay ahead.

One thing was certain. Whatever other difficulties might present themselves, in the final analysis, his greatest problem was still going to be Harry Youngblood himself and what to do with him.

He remembered their first meeting in the cell at Fridaythorpe and how it had confirmed the impression he had already gained from a close study of the man's file at Bureau headquarters. That in spite of the newspaper stories and romanticised magazine features, Youngblood beneath it all, was a brutal and resourceful criminal who would smash down anything or anybody that got in his way and who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Having said that, the fact remained that for many weeks they had been comrades of a sort in that strange sub-world that is life in any large prison. On the other hand, if Chavasse had not gained possession of Smith's gun the night of the break from the hospital and forced the issue, Youngblood would never have taken him along, in spite of the fact that Chavasse had saved him from death, or at least serious injury, on two occasions in the machine shop.

And then there was Molly. If she'd turned her back at the farm, things would have taken their usual course and their journey might have ended at the bottom of Crowther's well and yet Youngblood had been prepared to ditch her without a qualm until it had become obvious that she might still be useful.

Even at the end and in spite of the fact that Chavasse had pulled him out of trouble again at Long Barrow, Youngblood had been prepared to leave in the boat without him. He was without a single redeeming feature, a selfish egomaniac who had never in his life thought of anyone besides himself. Plenty of men had spent their early years in an orphanage, others had known a hard war--how many had taken Harry Youngblood's road?

Chavasse sighed heavily and dropped his cigarette to the floor. All true, every word of it, which didn't make it any easier to send him back to gaol for another fifteen years--possibly even more now.

He looked back on his own four months inside, remembering the filth, the squalor, the grey faces, the long empty days and was suddenly almost physically sick so that he opened a window quickly and drew in great lungfuls of damp salt air.

The door swung open behind him and Youngblood came in grinning hugely, rain on his face. "I haven't felt like this for years. My God, Drum, I realise what I'd been missing."

He took over the wheel and Chavasse leaned against the door watching him. He knew his stuff, there was no question of that and he increased speed, racing the dirty weather that threatened in the east.

The
Pride of Man
soared over the waves like a living thing, water cascading across the prow in a green curtain and Youngblood laughed aloud in a kind of ecstasy.

Chavasse found it impossible not to respond. "A hell of a change from that cell in Fridaythorpe."

"Fridaythorpe?" For a brief moment Youngblood's smile was wiped clean. "I'll tell you something, Drum," he said, his face all iron. "I'd send this tub to the bottom and go with her before they'd get me back there."

He increased power, the
Pride of Man
lifting out of the water and Chavasse, feeling unaccountably sad, turned and went out on deck.

He had a bacon sandwich and more coffee with Molly and then went to check on Vaughan. He was lying on his bunk face to the wall and when he turned, looked paler than ever.

"What's wrong with you?" Chavasse demanded, hauling him into a sitting position.

"Some people have the stomach for this kind of life, old man--others haven't. They said Nelson was sick every time he put to sea or didn't you know?"

Chavasse pulled him off the bunk, pushed him along the passage way to the saloon and shoved him down into a chair.

"How about some coffee?"

"Now that I wouldn't mind."

Chavasse nodded and Molly filled one of the enamel mugs and pushed it across the table. Vaughan lifted it in both hands, his wrists still tied.

"I don't know how long it will stay down," he said. "But we can but try."

Chavasse lit a cigarette and put it between Vaughan's lips. "And now we talk."

"Do we, old man? That's nice."

"It won't be if you persist in being awkward. Who are we going to find on Longue Pierre--the Baron?"

"God help you if you do."

"What kind of a set-up does he have there?"

Vaughan smiled pleasantly. "Now you really can't expect me to answer that. A breach of faith."

Chavasse sighed. "You know you're putting me in a very awkward position. I may even have to send Youngblood down to talk to you and I wouldn't like that."

"He doesn't worry me in the slightest."

"He should do. I think you're forgetting an important item. I'm just an amateur compared to Youngblood. He knows that if they get their hands on him he goes back inside for fifteen years and they'll watch him every minute of the time. He'll never get out again."

"So what?"

"He'd cut your throat if he thought it was necessary to prevent that happening."

Vaughan showed not the slightest sign of fear, but he stopped smiling and frowned slightly. He was, in fact, remembering Rosa Hartman's prediction and he smiled again, nodding to himself. No, he would not make it easy for her. If death was to come, then it must find him--he would not go looking for it.

"All right," he said calmly. "The Baron may be on the island or he may not--I honestly don't know. He doesn't come in by boat usually. He has a private helicopter."

"Owned by World Wide Exports of London?"

Vaughan's eyes widened in amazement, then narrowed. "I say, you do know a lot, don't you? Now that
is
interesting. I'll be perfectly honest, old man, and say that I never was very happy about you from the start."

"How big a staff does Stavru keep up at the house?"

Vaughan shrugged. "It depends. Most of the time, there's just a caretaker--a trusted old retainer called Gledik. The Baron--or should I say the Count--is very feudal, you know. Always going on about happy days in dear old Hungary. Loathes the commies."

"But isn't above doing business with them when he has some expensive merchandise to sell?"

"Just like Alice--curiouser and curiouser." Vaughan's eyes flared with a strange green light. "I've a nasty feeling we've all been had where you're concerned, old man."

"Isn't that a shame?"

Chavasse killed the conversation stone dead at that point by hauling Vaughan to his feet, running him back along the passageway and locking him in his cabin. When he returned to the saloon, Molly was still sitting at the table. It was obvious that the conversation had been completely meaningless to her and he paused and tilted her chin.

Her eyes had dropped back into their sockets and were red and angry from lack of sleep. Her skin was blotched and unsightly and she seemed completely exhausted.

"I don't like him, Paul," she said. "He frightens me."

"He can't harm you--not now." Chavasse patted her shoulder. "Why not lie down for a while? You look all in."

She nodded wearily and followed him obediently like a small child when he took her into one of the cabins. She lay on a bunk and he covered her with a blanket and left.

When he went up to deck, it was still raining hard, but the sea was a lot calmer. Youngblood's face was lined with fatigue in the grey light of morning, but his smile was as indefatigable as ever.

"We've just raised Alderney," he said and pointed to a grey-green smudge on the horizon.

"How long?"

"Half an hour. I'm giving her full power now things are calmer. The only thing we have to worry about is the fog."

"Is it likely to be bad?"

"Can't say, but it's coming in fast. On the other hand it does give us some kind of cover for the approach."

"I've just been having words with our friend below."

"Get anything out of him?"

"Apparently the Baron comes in and out by helicopter."

"Is he there now?"

"Says he doesn't know."

Youngblood shook his head. "I can't believe that. Maybe we'd better try a little persuasion."

"You'd be wasting your time. I get a distinct impression that he's the type which doesn't crack easily and I think he was telling the truth. Most of the time there's just a caretaker in residence up at the house."

"Then what do we do?" Youngblood said. "I've had a good look at the chart and Bragg was right. The jetty is the only possible anchorage. If we go in there, we could run slap into trouble."

"I've been thinking about that and I've had an idea of sorts. Let's have another look at the chart."

Youngblood switched to automatic pilot and joined him. "You're wasting your time if you're hoping to find somewhere else we can land. I've been over that chart a dozen times."

Chavasse nodded. "I had something different in mind. The house is in a hollow on the western slope. If we approached from the east where the highest cliffs are, we wouldn't be seen, especially in the fog."

Youngblood shook his head. "There isn't any possible anchorage on that side."

"Maybe not, but it looks to me as if there are plenty of places where a small boat could land."

Youngblood looked dubious. "It sounds all right in theory, but I know these waters. It's more than probable that a small boat couldn't survive in the kind of surf you'll find at the bottom of those cliffs."

"It could well be that we just don't have any choice." Chavasse shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see."

They crept in towards the island through a grey shroud that seemed to go on forever and somewhere the surf boomed angrily like distant thunder.

The
Pride of Man
was making no more than two or three knots, her engine muted and Youngblood stood at the wheel, straining anxiously into the fog, feeling for the cross currents that would tell him he was getting close.

Chavasse was in the prow and suddenly, he pointed dead ahead and called excitedly. In the same moment the wind which had been strengthening noticeably for at least half an hour, tore a great hole in the curtain, giving a breathtaking view of the cliffs dead ahead.

They were perhaps two hundred yards away, the tops completely shrouded in grey, thousands of sea birds nesting on their rocky ledges and beneath them, the surf pounded in across jagged rocks.

Chavasse moved back to the wheelhouse as they went closer. "What do you think?"

Youngblood shook his head. "It doesn't look too good to me."

He approached to within fifty yards of the base of the cliffs and turned as the waves started to pull them in. Chavasse pointed to a horseshoe amongst the rocks and the strip of shingle beyond it.

"That looks something like."

Youngblood shook his head. "I still say the dinghy wouldn't last five minutes in that surf."

"What if I wore the aqualung?"

Youngblood turned quickly. "Now you're talking. I'd give you a better than even chance, always remembering that arm of yours."

"Well, you can't go, that's obvious," Chavasse said. "It looks as if I'm elected."