Hunter Killer Read online

  I peered out from behind the bar. The man had dropped the stethoscope and now leant with his chest across the glass w i n d o w . I h e a r d h i s r a p i d b r e a t h a s h e t h r u s t d o w n o n a s c r e w d r i v e r . H e w a s u n s c r e w i n g t h e p a n e l t o g e t a t t h e corpse!

  Loyalty to Peace, devotion, admiration, grief at our unhappy parting, made me blind. That anyone should desecrate Peace's body,in front of my eyes .. .

  I was on his back, my hands reaching for his throat, before he heard me, even. As he swung and grappled, dropping the screwdriver, I knew I had been a fool. This man was skilled at in-fighting. There was no blind panic in his actions, simply a swift muscular reflex to offset the ground he knew he had lost in that split-second of my surprise attack. I dodged the s w i f t k i c k t o t h e g r o i n a n d h u n g o n t o h i s t h r o a t . T h e r e w a s n o f e a r , o n l y a h i n t o f a c k n o w l e d g m e n t o f a w o r t h y enemy in his grey-green eyes. He feinted with a knee to try and prise loose my grip on his throat, and then, with a spasm of strength, jerked me over his head. My spine crashed sick14 eningly against the top of the coffin. My grip eased and he struck me savagely across the heart with a flat blow from his forearm. My scream of pain died from lack of air in my lungs. He eased back, drew in a deep controlled breath like a swimmer, and his hand went to the Colt. I lay spreadeagled across the coffin, my face to the. ceiling. The swift, cool actions of my unknown enemy were those of a professional. I lurched forward as his hand clutched the butt and struck a karate blow to the carotid artery with my left hand. It wasn't a heavy blow, for I was completely off balance and it was my left hand—a blow like that can kill when administered with the right. I saw the face go blank with pain and semi-consciousness. The Colt came up, though. He was a foot from me. Then, as if from nowhere, a bottle smashed

  down on his head and he fell half across me, showering me

  with whisky and glass splinters. His face hit the steel side of the coffin and he slid slowly to the floor.

  Mac stood looking at the label of the broken bottle in his hand. Glenflddichl' was all he said. ' Waste of t' best whusky in t' world.'

  The unconscious man lay grotesquely on the thick carpet, blood and whisky about his head. Mac walked over and looked through the glass trap. He drew back a little and the dry sob which shook him was the most terrible thing I have ever heard.

  ' Geoffrey .. I began.

  I heard about it,' he rasped. Whusky!'

  I went over to the bar and pulled out another bottle while Mac simply stood there. I handed him the unopened bottle. He tried to pluck off the foil and unscrew the cap, but his hands shook so uncontrollably that he could not. With an

  oath, he smashed the neck across the coffin and the amber liquid flowed across the glass, blurring the face below. He threw back his head and gulped some of the spirit, drinking from the broken edge. A trickle of blood ran from his lips, but I do not think he noticed.

  ' Mac!' I said sharply. ' Mac!' He stared unseeingly at the dead face. I shook him roughly by the shoulder. He took another strong drag from the ragged edge of the bottle. ' Aye,' he said quietly, under control now. ' Aye, nothing.'

  I broke the silence. I nodded at the unconscious man. `

  Thanks for that • . . he was going for his gun'

  Mac said uncertainly, ' He was?'

  I told him briefly about the stethoscope and the screwdriver. Mac picked them up and we rolled the intruder over. 15

  ` He won't die,' said Mac with the ghost of a grin. 'I hit him hard enough just to break the glass.'

  I knelt down and tried to find something to identify him. '

  Except for the Colt, there was nothing visible. The numbers had been filed off the weapon. I emptied the shells. The trigger was hair-light.

  Nothin',' said Mac in disgust. Not even any clothes . .

  I bent down again and threw back the man's limp left arm. I pointed to the back of the armpit. The skin was chafed and rougher than the rest.

  Shoulder-holster,' I remarked to Mac. But that wasn't what I was looking for. I stretched the arm out so that the skin of the inner arm was visible.

  On it, grouped in a triangle, were three small brown

  dots, like small moles. It was enough.

  I rose, balanced the Colt. ' Central Intelligence Agency.

  American.'

  Mac peered and shook his head. All I see are three brown moles.'

  ' Take a close look and you'll see they're not pigmented,'

  I said shortly. It's the secret mark of the CIA'S agents. It's how they identify each other.'

  Mac examined the ' moles ' closely and gave a soft whistle. '

  Tattoo.'

  He looked admiringly at me. Where didyer pick up that

  one?'

  I shrugged. I worked a long time with Geoffrey Peace. And Peace worked with Naval Intelligence.'

  Mac looked thoughtfully at the muscular figure. ' What

  did he want with-?' He nodded, leaving the name unsaid,

  as if he couldn't bring himself to speak it. Mac was closer to Peace than even I had been ; it was a blind, headlong devotion backed by a cunning and ruthlessness learned in the gutters of Glasgow. I knew Mac's past ; I also knew there was nothing he would not have done for Peace. Perhaps it

  was only because he was still suffering from his bender that he hadn't killed the CIA man with the jagged whisky bottle. He looked dangerous enough now he knew who the intruder was.

  What did he say to you?' he asked hoarsely.

  Not a word,' I replied. ' He came at me as silently as a snake.'

  An order was shouted from outside and an engine went

  into reverse. I felt the launch come expertly alongside. Another order, and heavy feet on the deck.

  Quick!' I said to Mac. That's the Navy.

  16

  E n g i n e - r o o m , ' h e r e p l i e d . H e l p m e w i t h h i m — j u s t a s far as the companionway.'

  We half-carried, half-dragged the limp figure from the cabin as several pairs of boots fell into step on the planking a b o v e . I s n a p p e d t h e d o o r s h u t b e h i n d M a c a n d t r i e d t o straighten my clothes in the bar mirror, but before I had run a comb through my hair a man in admiral's uniform, with two officers behind, stood in the doorway. He came forward, stopped at the sight of me, the broken bottle, and the stench of whisky. He stretched out his hand.

  Mr. John Garland? I am Admiral Sir William Irvine.'

  The C-in-C himself! I was not in any mood for him, or any of the others who were staging a Roman Holiday out of Peace's death. I was still short of breath from the fight.

  I have been trying to get hold of you for three days.'

  One of the officers looked shocked at my abruptness. Irvine remained bland. You'll appreciate that in view of the high public esteem in which Commander Peace was held, it was not possible to rush through the arrangements.'

  Arrangements be damned,' I retorted. If Peace had had his way, he would have asked to be thrown over the side with some old iron at his feet to take him down.'

  Commander Peace was very unorthodox, we know,' he

  replied thinly. He frowned at the whisky-blurred glass and the broken bottle. It appears that his friends are, too.'

  Mac the engineer and I were saying goodbye to him in our own way,' I snapped back. We broke a bottle of whisky over his face. It's the sort of thing that would have appealed to him.'

  The admiral looked pointedly at my dishevelled appear

  ance. May we sit down and discuss the arrangements?'

  He and the officers found themselves chairs and one of

  them smoothed out a typewritten sheet.

  Ackroyd?

  The officer went into action with the smooth competence of a computer. He read: Funeral arrangements for the late C o m m a n d e r G e o f f r e y P e a c e . T h e b o d y w i l l l i e i n s t a t e aboard the yacht Bellatrix for three days ..

  Three days!' I exclaimed.
You mean this sideshow—' I gestured at the coffin—' is to go on for three days just to satisfy the ghoulish whims of a lot of sightseers?'

  The admiral dropped his blandness. I think you should moderate your tone, Mr. Garland. It is not a sideshow, as you choose to call it. Commander Peace is a national hero—

  an internationally known figure—and he will be accorded the recognition due to him. A naval guard of honour will stand 17

  watch over the coffin. I am afraid we must ask you to leave Bellatrix until after the funeral . .

  I scarcely heard him. My mind was on that strange figure listening at the coffin, trying to get in. Had he taken a chance in broad daylight because he knew there would be a naval guard after that?

  . . . following the lying-in-state, the body will be conveyed aboard Loch Vennachar,' droned on Ackroyd. Limuria Squadron will put to sea at 0900 hours, using the North Entrance. The u.s. Seventh Fleet will also proceed to sea

  and take up station in line ahead two miles northward of

  Récif Islet, bearing 155 degrees, while Limuria Squadron will be stationed in line ahead approximately three miles south

  of Renommée Rock.'

  ` We are burying Commander Peace as near to the area

  where he was drowned as we can,' consoled the admiral. '

  Frigate Island is a bit tricky for the big ships, particularly if we get a squall from the north-west.'

  Ackroyd resumed. ' A fighter escort over the fleet will be provided jointly from H.M.S. Teaser and U.S.N. Springfield.'

  The more I thought about the grand display, the less I liked it. The mourning party will be abroad Loch Vennachar,' intoned Ackroyd. ' Launch for the chief mourner to be at Victoria pierhead at 0830 . .

  "That means me,' I said.

  The C-in-C was patient. ' The Admiralty has informed me that no relatives of the late Commander Peace could be

  traced. As his close friend, the honour falls to you.'

  Honour! At heart I felt like Mac—I wanted to smash something.

  Ackroyd went on. ' The official naval party—'

  The admiral broke in sharply. ' What about the Dm?'

  ' The Director of Naval Intelligence, sir? No invitation

  was sent ..

  The C-in-C smiled apologetically. ' Not the current DNI. No, the Old-Man himself—just retired—'

  I felt a thrill go through me. How often had Peace spoken

  of him, although I had never met that legendary figure of

  British Naval Intelligence! I said off-handedly, ' There's no call for the DNI to come all the way from England for this circus'

  The C-in-C's glance contained something I did not understand. ' He does not have to come from England—he lives here—in the Seychelles.'

  He watched me closely, too closely. First, the CIA man 18

  and now the head of British Naval Intelligence himself, when I had thought him to be living in a country cottage in England,' or sailing a yacht at Cowes. Stranger still that. Peace had not mentioned him in the week we had been together ; he must have known he was in the Seychelles. Where did Peace's secret come in? I was in deep waters.

  ' Didn't you know?' asked the C-in-C. ' He's living here

  at Mahe--retired and came straight to the Seychelles. He'll be aboard Loch Vennachar for the funeral. You can renew acquaintance.'

  ' I never met him,' I replied.

  ` Strange,' he murmured, watching me still. The tenseness

  seemed to go out of him with my last remark, however. Mac

  and I would have to find out more from our faceless stranger, even if Mac had to rough him up a little in the process. The odd coffin began to look odder still as my suspicions mounted. Ackroyd cleared his throat and broke the tight silence. At

  least the funeral arrangements were neutral ground.

  ` The committal service will be conducted by the Reverend

  Miles Sands, Fleet Chaplain. The customary salute will take the form of a salvo fired from the main armament of Loch Vennachar. .

  The bizarre ceremony took shape in my mind's eye—the

  double row of British and American ships stopped for the

  committal, the ramp over the cruiser's side, the weighted

  body tipped as the padre intoned ` . . . we therefore commit his body to the deep . . .' the uptilt of the ramp . . . the faraway splash as the object hit the water .. .

  . . . following which a wreath will be dropped over the

  spot by helicopter flying from H.M.S. Teaser.'

  I had to be aboard that helicopter! Only if I saw Peace's

  body sink into the depths would it allay the crowd of doubts and questions which clamoured now in my mind.

  Ì'd like to fly in that helicopter,' I said quickly.

  The C-in-C froze. His reply confirmed my suspicions. Ì'll

  consider it.'

  ` Consider!' I retorted. ` You don't have to consider! You

  can okay my request here and now.'

  He said steadily, Ì said, I'll consider it. I'll inform you of my decision in good time. I can, however, promise that if you wish the pilot to drop a personal floral tribute—'

  ' Personal floral tribute!' I laughed in his face. The reek of whisky was in my nostrils. Mac's ' personal tribute ' was raw from the heart and it could stay at that, for my part. The mystery remained, larger than before.

  ' Forget it,' I muttered.

  19

  Ackroyd had been well trained. He glided on, trying to

  reduce the tension. The fleet will then make half-speed to a p osition east-north-east of Recif Islet, to bear 220 degrees

  • • •

  My sharpened mental reflexes jerked at the mistake in the

  orders.

  The fleet's stopped for the committal,' • snapped.

  There was a flash of anger, but also amusement, in the

  C-in-C's eyes. Ackroyd dutifully fell silent. My eyes followed his steady stare at the coffin. I saw, too—the thing weighed a ton! I'd been thinking in terms of a body sewn in canvas. How would they get that heavy object over a ship's side?

  The fleet will not heave-to,' replied the C-in-C evenly.

  If you get it overboard it'll foul the cruiser's screws!' I expostulated.

  Cruiser?' echoed the C-in-C, playing with me. Who said

  the ceremony was to be from Loch Vennachar?'

  I half rose, but he waved me down.

  ' I think you should get the picture clear in your mind. Commander Peace will not be buried in the ordinary way.

  The method might have pleased his own macabre taste. No,

  the British and American fleets will steam in line ahead, the mourning party being on Loch Vennachar's bridge. The fleet destroyer H.M.S. Amirante will detach and proceed at full speed between the lines of ships. Amirante will carry Commander Peace's body, while the chaplain conducts the service from Loch Vennachar. It will be relayed by radio to the other ships.' He turned to Ackroyd. What is Amirante's speed?'

  Thirty-five knots, sir'

  I was revolted at the thought of the Hollywood-type spectacle to please millions of television viewers (there was to be a hook-up via Telstar satellites) which would also massage the egos of the British and American naval commanders. The

  press, radio and television ballyhoo had also been deliberately engineered.

  My anger flared. Thirty-five knots! Don't be bloody

  silly, man—you can't drop a body overboard at thirty-five knots!'

  Who said we intended to drop him overboard?'

  I rose to my feet in incredulity.

  Not drop—fire.'

  Fire?'

  Yes,' said the C-in-C evenly. We are going to fire Peace into his grave from a depth-charge mortar.

  20

  2 M O R T A R - R I D E F O R A C O R P S E

  I could not believe that he was serious. It sounded like a circus display to me.

  The C-in-C went on. You must have wondered about the

 
special coffin—I think Loch Vennachar's engineering shop did a fine rush job.'

  ' You sound like a professional Undertaker,' I grated.

  He shrugged. Commander Peace's burial demanded

  special arrangements. You must have wondered why your request to see the body was not granted.'

  ' I don't wonder any longer. Whose bloody-fool idea was

  all this?'

  Mine'

  I won't have any part in it,' I retorted. You and your—

  your arrangements can go to hell.'

  I did not seem to get through to him. It would look rather strange, would it not,' he went on blandly, if John Garland, Peace's friend and comrade-in-arms, sulked while the hero was given the honours and recognition due to him?'

  Honours and recognition be--! There is still time to

  call off this whole silly farce'

  Is there?' He was cool, sure of himself. ' Tell the Defence Minister not to come? Tell the top representatives of the Limuria Grand Alliance that John Garland claims the exclusive right to bury his friend as he—and no one else—

  thinks fit? Reverse the chain of communications now in motion to relay the ceremony? Tell millions of television viewers ..