Passage by Night
‘Have you got a better suggestion?’
The German refilled his glass and said slowly, ‘You go to Miami occasionally, don’t you?’
Manning nodded. ‘So what?’
‘The Grace Abounding is a good-sized boat. You could carry passengers.’
Manning frowned. ‘You mean Cuban refugees? Illegal immigrants? Have you any idea what the penalties are?’
‘The rewards could be high.’
‘You’re telling me. Five years in jail. That coast is alive with small naval craft, especially since the Cuban crisis. What’s your interest, anyway? You don’t need that kind of money.’
‘You could say I have an affinity for refugees. I was one myself for several years after the war.’ Viner smiled. ‘Think it over, Harry. The offer is still open.’
Manning emptied his glass and stood up. ‘Thanks all the same, but things aren’t quite that tough. See you later.’
He left the room and went through the casino into the bar. For a moment he hesitated and then went out into the foyer past the reception desk and mounted the stairs to the first floor.
He was immediately conscious of the quiet. He passed along the broad carpeted corridor and somewhere a woman laughed, the sound of it curiously remote. The music from below might have come from another world.
He opened the door at the end of the corridor and went in. The room was a place of shadows, one shaded lamp standing on a small table in the centre. The French windows stood open to the terrace, the curtain lifting slightly in the wind as he crossed the room.
She was sitting in the darkness in an old wicker chair, a robe wrapped closely about her against the chill of the night air.
‘Hello, Harry!’ she said softly.
He gave her a cigarette. As the match flared in his cupped hand, she leaned forward, the lines of her face thrown sharply into relief, the eyes dark pools.
‘What kind of day have you had?’
‘No worse than usual. It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.’
He was unable to keep the bitterness from his voice and she shook her head. ‘You can’t go on like this, Harry, brooding about the past. You had a thriving business once in Havana, but you lost it. Why can’t you accept that instead of living from day to day hoping for some miracle to give it back to you.’
‘Nobody’s having to support me,’ he said. ‘I’m making a living.’
‘Only just.’ There was an edge of anger in her voice. ‘What kind of a life is this for a man like you? You started in Havana with nothing. Why can’t you start again?’
‘Maybe I’m tired,’ he said. ‘I’m fifteen years older, remember. I’ve just been talking to Viner. He wants me to start running refugees into Florida. A quick passage by night and no questions asked.’
She leaned forward in alarm. ‘You didn’t accept?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ve still got that much sense left.’ He took the envelope from his shirt pocket and dropped it onto her lap. ‘A letter from your mother.’
She got to her feet with a slight exclamation and hurried into the bedroom. He watched her feverishly tear open the envelope in the light of the lamp and turned away, leaning on the rail.
After a while she came back outside and stood beside him. ‘How was Sanchez?’
‘Seemed pretty fit to me.’
‘Did he say anything?’
He looked down, trying to gauge the expression in her eyes, but her face was in shadow. ‘Only that two of your people were murdered in Honduras last week. He told me to tell you to watch out. That Castro has a long arm.’
‘Then he should take care,’ she said simply. ‘He might lose his hand.’
Manning frowned. ‘Are you mixed up in anything, Maria? Anything I should know about?’
She smiled. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Harry. Nothing at all.’
Manning turned and leaned against the rail again and she stood beside him so that his shoulder touched hers lightly each time she stirred. The wind was freshening off the water and a light mist rolled across the harbour. He felt at peace and restless, happy and discontented, all at the same time. It had been a bad day and the past came to easily to mind. He sighed and straightened.
She looked up, her face a white blur in the darkness. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Life!’ he said. ‘How you can never be sure about anything. Not really.’
She moved close, her hands gripping his lapels tightly, and he held her in his arms. Out beyond the point, the sea was beginning to lift into whitecaps.
‘Storm before morning,’ he said.
She looked out to sea and shivered. ‘Let’s go inside, Harry. My next show’s at eleven. That’s three hours away.’
She gently pulled herself free and went in. For a moment, he stayed there, looking out to sea and then a small wind moaned eerily as it slid over the rooftop, filling him with a vague, irrational unease. He turned quickly and followed her.
He lay there, caught between the shadowy lines of sleep and waking for quite some time, aware that the wind had strengthened and somewhere far out to sea a single clap of thunder echoed hollowly.
After a while, he stretched out a hand and realized that he was alone. He threw back the bedclothes and reached for his watch. It was just after eleven. For a moment, he sat there frowning and then remembered that it was Friday and she had a late show. She’d obviously decided not to waken him.
He got to his feet, padded across the bathroom and turned on the shower. The cold stinging lances of water invigorated him and by the time he was dressed his body was glowing and alive.
It was eleven-thirty when he went downstairs and the wind was rattling the shutters of the windows along the terrace. There were still a few people in the casino, but the bar was strangely deserted.
Morrison was sitting on a high stool, drinking a gin sling and leafing through an old yachting magazine. He looked up and smiled. ‘Hello there. How about a drink?’
Manning looked down at the deserted dance floor with a frown. ‘What’s happening around here? When did the show finish?’
‘There wasn’t a late show tonight,’ Morrison said and a sudden gust of wind rattled the front of the building. ‘Looks like we’re in for a blow.’
As Manning started to turn, that vague, irrational unease moving inside him again, Viner came in from the casino carrying a cash box. As he started to go behind the bar, Manning caught him by the arm.
‘What the hell’s going on here? Maria told me she had another show at eleven. Where is she?’
Viner put the cash box down on the bar and sighed heavily. ‘Maybe you’d better have a drink, Harry.’
Before Manning could reply, a cry sounded outside and the front door burst open, a gust of wind sending it crashing back against the wall.
The man who staggered in had been running hard and his oilskin coat streamed water. He grabbed for the edge of the bar and leaned against it, moaning softly.
He was an old deep-sea fisherman called Saunders who ran a charter boat during the season. Viner went behind the bar, poured rum into a glass and pushed it across.
‘Drink that and pull yourself together. What’s happened?’
‘Jimmy Walker’s gone down in the sea in that old plane of his.’ Saunders swallowed some of the rum and coughed. ‘I was about two miles out close by Blackstone Reef. There’s a sea like a millrace running out there.’
‘Never mind that,’ Manning said. ‘What happened?’
‘Search me. There was one hell of a bang. When I looked up, she fell into the water like a stone.’
‘Didn’t you go back to help?’ Morrison demanded.
‘In my old tub? Mister, the way that sea’s running I’d all I could do to get in here in one piece. I figured the best thing to do was to get some help – real help.’
There was a sudden crash as Viner dropped the rum bottle he was holding. He swayed slightly, his face very white, and steadied himself against the bar.
‘For God’s sake, pull yourself together,’ Manning told him. ‘Grab a coat and let’s get out of here.’
‘But you don’t understand, Harry,’ Viner said. ‘Maria was on that plane.’
Manning stood there gazing at him, the coldness flooding through him. At that moment, the heavens opened with a clap of thunder and rain started to rattle against the roof.
3
Dark Waters
It was raining hard as the Grace Abounding left the shelter of the harbour and turned out to sea. Manning opened the throttle wide and she lifted to meet the waves with a surge of power that left Joe Howard in his old police launch far behind.
Manning felt strangely calm, pushing all other possibilities from his mind except the one that they would get there in time to do some good. He fumbled for a cigarette and Morrison handed him one quickly and offered a light.
‘What kind of a chance have they got?’
‘Pretty good,’ Manning said. ‘It’ll take a lot to sink that old Walrus and Jimmy carries a full complement of dinghies and so on in case of ditching. He was strict about things like that. Came from his R.A.F. training, I suppose.’
‘What about the reef where they came down?’
‘The one thing I’m worried about.’
Old Saunders removed his pipe and nodded. ‘The sea can play strange tricks out there when the weather gets rough.’
As the Grace Abounding rose to the crest of a wave, a sudden squall hit her broadside and the whole boat shuddered and slid sideways into the valley below.
Morrison and Saunders were thrown violently to one side and Manning grabbed for the wheel as it spun and brought her round in time to meet the next wave as it lifted to meet them.
In the light from the binnacle, Morrison looked sick and frightened. ‘Does that happen often?’
‘Usually not more than once.’ Manning said dryly.
The door of the saloon opened, light flooded out, and Seth came up the companionway carrying a jug of tea and a mug. ‘Man, but there’s a sea running tonight.’
‘You can say that again,’ Morrison told him. ‘How’s Viner?’
‘Sick to his stomach as usual. We might as well have left him on dry land.’
Manning swallowed some of the scalding tea and passed the mug to Saunders. The red and green navigation lights cast a strange glow over the deck and beyond, nothing existed except the sea and the night.
A few moments later, it stopped raining and the moon appeared in a patch of clear sky between clouds that moved smoothly across the sky. The wind died and the squall was over as suddenly as it had begun.
In the moonlight, the sea stretched to the horizon and the Grace Abounding slid across great heaving swells smoothly, her prow biting into the water. Above the roar of the engine, a hollow booming sounded and a white fountain of water lifted fifty feet into the night.
‘What in hell was that?’ Morrison demanded in alarm.
‘A blow-hole,’ Saunders said. ‘Always happens in bad weather. The reef’s hollow underneath.’
Conversation died as they approached. Waves rolled in to dash upon the great, jagged black rampart that towered thirty feet above the sea. An undertow sucked at them as Manning started to turn to port and there was a hollow slapping sound against the keel of the boat. At one side, the water broke into spray, foaming high into the air, while all around, white patches appeared as jagged rocks showed through.
As he throttled down, the steering became increasingly sluggish and they drifted in towards a great green slab of rock. Manning and Seth heaved on the wheel together and they were round the southern tip of the reef and into the comparative shelter of the lee side.
The sea stretched away into the night, surrounding rocks and cays clearly visible in the bright moonlight. There was no sign of the Walrus. Seth opened the front window and Manning switched on the spot and turned it slowly, the beam splaying across the water towards the reef.
Saunders called out excitedly and pointed. Caught in the light of the beam was a section of silver fuselage. Seth ran to the stern to throw out the anchor and Manning switched off the engine. Morrison and Saunders had gone up on deck. As Manning followed, the American gave a cry of horror.
Manning climbed on top of the wheelhouse and turned the spot and his stomach heaved. In the harsh white light, the sea boiled as dozens of sharks plunged and fought like mad dogs over a piece of meat. One great ugly head lifted out of the water, a human arm clamped between its teeth, before plunging down to escape the attentions of three others.
Manning jumped to the deck and ran into the cabin. When he came back he was carrying a Garand automatic carbine. He stood at the rail, bitter, impotent anger rising inside him, and pumped round after round into the gleaming bodies.
It was all to no purpose. The sea boiled over in a white cauldron as those who struggled in their death agony, thrashing the water in fury, became in turn the victims.
Blood fountained up, lumps of raw flesh drifted on top of the water, the sharks twisted and turned until the whole thing was like something out of a terrible nightmare and the sea itself seemed to cry out in agony.
As the last shot echoed flatly across the water, Manning threw the useless carbine to the deck and stumbled below. For a little while, the others stood there looking helplessly at each other and then Seth went into the wheelhouse and turned off the spot.
Manning sat at the table in the saloon smoking a cigarette, an empty glass in front of him. He reached for the bottle and the door opened and Viner came in. He closed it quickly and slumped down in the opposite chair. His hair was soaked by the rain and he looked very pale.
‘What’s it like out there?’ Manning said calmly. ‘Have they finished yet?’
Viner shook his head and buried his face in his hands. Manning half-filled his glass with rum and pushed it across.
‘Drink some of that. You’ll feel better.’
Viner shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I’d rather have a cigarette.’
Manning gave him one and the German lit it carefully, coughing as the smoke caught at the back of his throat. It was very quiet there in the saloon with the spray spattering lightly against the windows.
After a while, Manning said, ‘Where was she going – Miami?’
Viner nodded. ‘She had a letter from the Cuban refugee people there. They wanted her to go on tour in the States to raise money for their organization.’
‘But why go without telling me?’
‘She thought it would be best that way. A clean break.’
Manning shook his head. ‘I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all. There must have been some other reason. Something that makes sense.’
‘All right, Harry,’ Viner said. ‘I’ll give it to you straight. Ever since you arrived on Spanish Cay you’ve been drowning in a sea of self-pity. You seemed to think you were the only one to take a knock over the Cuban affair. And then Maria came along. At least she managed to stop you from drinking yourself into the grave, but ever since, you’ve used her like a crutch. She decided it was time you learned to walk on your own two feet again.’
Manning sat there staring at him, a slight frown on his face and then he emptied his glass, got up and went outside. Saunders, Morrison, and Seth were talking quietly in the wheelhouse and he brushed past them and went and stood at the rail, thinking about her down there in the dark water, knowing that everything Viner had said was true.
Gradually a faint pearly luminosity appeared and he was able to distinguish the greyness of the mist curling up from the water and the dark, silver lances of the rain.
The nightmare was over. The sea lifted in a slight swell, creaming against the base of the reef. The blowhole was silent. The sharks were gone.
The police launch was anchored twenty or thirty yards to port and Joe Howard emerged from the wheelhouse and raised an arm. He dropped over the stern into his dinghy, cast off and sculled across.
When he climbed over the rail, his normally good-humoured face was grave. ‘I’ve radioed Nassau. They’re sending a salvage boat and a couple of divers. Should be here about noon.’
Manning shook his head. ‘There was no need. I’m going down myself.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Harry!’ Viner said sharply as he emerged from the wheelhouse followed by the others.
‘It’s my neck.’
Seth shook his head and said softly, ‘Nothing for you down there, Harry. Maybe a tiger shark or two hoping for something the others missed, but it ain’t likely.’
‘I’ll see for myself.’ Manning turned to Howard. ‘Sorry, Joe, but that’s the way it is.’
The young policeman sighed and said to Seth, ‘Get your spare aqualung ready while you’re about it. I’ll go down with him.’ He grinned tiredly at Manning. ‘I am supposed to be in charge here in case you’d forgotten.’
‘Are you two crazy or something?’ Morrison said.
Manning ignored him and started to take off his shoes and outer clothing. As Joe Howard followed his example, he smiled reassuringly at the American.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Morrison. We’ve done this sort of thing before.’
They kept on shirts and pants as some protection against the coldness of the water. When Seth brought the equipment up from the saloon, he and Saunders helped them into it quickly.
No one bothered to talk. For Manning, there was a desperate unreality about everything. It was a bad dream. A dream from which he might awaken at any moment, stretch out his hand in the darkness and find her there beside him.
When he went over the rail, the sharp coldness of the water was like a physical blow, bringing him back to reality. He hovered just below the surface to adjust his air supply and went down through the opaque grey water without waiting for his companion.
The plane loomed out of the shadows almost at once. It had settled on a bank of sea grass which stretched to the base of the reef and as he swam towards it he was aware of the undertow tugging at his body, pulling him towards the great rock face and the caverns beneath.
The main fabric of the Walrus was still intact, but the tail and the baggage compartment had completely disappeared leaving a great ragged hole at one end of the fuselage, the metal twisted and blackened as if by some tremendous explosion. As Manning hovered beside it, Joe Howard arrived.
There was a slight frown on his face and he looked worried. Manning patted him on the shoulder reassuringly and they swam inside. The seats were still there and the door to the pilot’s cabin swung gently in the current, but there were no bodies. The passengers and crew had vanished without a trace.
Howard went into the cabin and Manning swam outside and waited for him, clinging to the fuselage. The sun was rising and the first pale rays slanted down through the grey water, but there was still that strange absence of life.
Seth had been right. There was nothing for him here. Maria Salas had vanished along with her companions as completely as if she had never existed. He was about to kick out towards the surface when Joe appeared beside him and tapped him on the shoulder.
He pointed to the pale fronds stretched towards the base of the reef, pulled by the undertow. Manning realized at once what he meant. Over the years, the action of the sea had scoured away the base of the cliff, creating a great cavern underneath. There was always the possibility that one or more of the bodies, caught in the undertow, had been sucked inside before the sharks could get them.
He let go of the plane, moving towards the base of the cliff, and the current pulled him along. The entrance was a dark slash in the rock no more than three feet high and he ducked inside and waited for Joe Howard to join him.
The cave was full of small, rainbow-coloured fish and arched above his head like a cathedral. The early morning sun streamed out of the blow-hole in the roof and filtered down through the water in great translucent rays.
It was strangely peaceful and somehow cut off from the world outside and then Joe Howard appeared beside him and the cloud of fish disintegrated in alarm, exposing a body pinned to the roof of the cavern.
It was Jimmy Walker. He was wearing an inflated life jacket and floated there against the roof, face down. His eyes were closed, his limbs perfectly relaxed. There was no mark on him anywhere. Manning and Howard rose together, the fish scattered to avoid them. They each took an arm and swam back towards the entrance.
They paused at twenty feet for several minutes to decompress and surfaced slightly astern of the Grace Abounding. Saunders was the first to see them. He cried out excitedly and the sound died in his throat as he saw their burden.
Seth had put the ladder over the side in readiness and he came down it quickly and took a firm grip on Walker’s life jacket. Morrison leaned over to help him. When Manning climbed over the rail, the body was laid on its back beside the wheelhouse.
‘Not a mark on him,’ Saunders said in awe. ‘How come they missed him?’
Manning pushed up his mask and spat out his rubber mouthpiece. ‘We found him under the reef. He must have still been at the controls when the plane touched bottom. That undertow must have been tremendous last night. The moment he emerged from the cabin, it would have taken him straight under.’
‘How come his life jacket’s inflated?’
‘Probably a reflex action as he went under. Maybe he realized what was happening and hoped to come up through the blow-hole.’
He shivered, thinking of Jimmy Walker down there in the darkness with no one to help him, and Morrison said, ‘What about the others?’
‘Nothing left to find,’ Joe Howard told him. ‘Looked to me as if there’d been some sort of explosion.’
The American frowned. ‘What was it? One of the engines?’
Joe Howard shook his head. ‘Whatever it was, it was in the baggage compartment. Blew the tail clean off. She must have gone down like a stone.’
There was silence and Saunders drew in his breath. After a moment, Seth said slowly, ‘You mean it wasn’t no accident, Joe?’
Manning dropped his aqualung to the deck, picked up a towel and draped it over Jimmy Walker’s face. When he straightened, he looked incredibly calm.
‘That’s exactly what he means,’ he said.
4
A Man Called Garcia
When Manning opened the door the bed was still rumpled and unmade as he had left it and he moved across and gently touched the dent in the pillow where her head had lain. He shivered involuntarily and opened the French windows, allowing the early morning sun to come flooding in.
He searched the room thoroughly, starting with the wardrobe and going through every drawer and cupboard. He found plenty of his own things, but there was nothing of hers. Not even a handkerchief. It was as if she had never existed.
He stood there listening to the stillness for a moment and then stripped to the waist, went into the bathroom and washed the salt from his face and body. He was pulling a clean shirt over his head when the door opened and Joe Howard came in.
He sat on the end of the bed and took a slip of paper from the breast pocket of his tunic. ‘I’ve got the passenger list here. There were only four of them: Maria, an American businessman called Fallon, Mrs Norah Hamilton, an English tourist, and a man called Perez.’
Manning turned slowly, a slight frown on his face. ‘Cuban?’
‘He was staying at the Old Ship Tavern. Been here for maybe two weeks. Small, middle-aged man with a walkingstick.