Mallory drove away quickly, turning out through the gates along the white road and down the hill towards the harbour. The hotel was in darkness and the cove was exactly as they had left it,Foxhunter moored to one side of the jetty, Guymon’s hired launch on the other.
Mallory braked to a halt at the end of the jetty, switched off the engine and got out. Moonlight silvered the water and the night sky was like a warm dark velvet cushion scattered with diamonds.
“So far, so good,” he said to Guyon, and led the way along the jetty.
He jumped toFoxhunter’s deck and went into the wheel-house. He switched on the light and cursed softly. The radio telephone had been wrenched from its fastening on the far wall and lay in the corner, smashed beyond repair, a fire-axe beside it.
They beat us to it after all.”
He pushed past Guyon, hurried down the companionway and through the saloon to the aft cabin. He dropped to one knee, opened the locker beneath his bunk and rummaged inside.
“Is this what you are looking for, Colonel Mallory?” Raoul Guyon said softly.
Mallory got to his feet and turned. Guyon stood on the other side of the table, a drawer open, holding the small electronic transmitter that was Mallory’s only link with the department.
“Good man,” Mallory said, and took a step forward.
Guyon dropped the set to the floor and ground his heel into it twice, at the same time taking the Liiger from his coat pocket.
Mallory stood staring at him, a slight frown on his face, and a voice said: “Excellent, Captain Guyon. I was really beginning to despair of you.”
As Mallory turned, de Beaumont stepped out of the shadows of the dark galley, Jacaud at his side, a sub-machine-gun in his hands.
CHAPTERTWELVE
TO THE DARK TOWER
theywere close to the island now and Marcel cut the engine to half-speed and tookFoxhunter in slowly towards the dark arch. The speedboat bobbed behind them on a long towline and as Mallory looked out to sea a shadow moved in from the horizon, blanketing the stars.
Guyon stood by the rail a few feet away talking to de Beaumont in a low voice and Jacaud leaned against the wheelhouse, the sub-machine-gun in his hands. One of his eyes was half-closed, the right side of his face swollen and disfigured by a huge purple bruise, and his eyes stared at Mallory unwinkingly.
They moved into the dark entrance and Mallory shivered, chilled by the damp air, and then they were through. From end to end the cave was about a hundred yards long and perhaps fifty feet across. Beneath the surface, as he had dis-covered earlier, it was even wider.
The long stone jetty was brightly illuminated by two arc-lamps and they coasted in to tie up behind a magnificent forty-foot, steel-hulled motor-yacht, the nameFleur de Lys painted across her counter.
The submarine was moored on the far side, squat and black in the water, and looked even smaller than Mallory had imagined. A dozen or so men in the uniform of the French Navy worked busily, loading stores on board under the supervision of a slim, rather boyish-looking lieutenant in peaked cap and reefer jacket. As they went up the short ladder to the jetty, he came forward, saluting de Beaumont casually.
“How are things going, Fenelon?” de Beaumont asked. “Any snags?
Fenelon shook his head. “We’ll be ready on schedule.”
“Good, I’ll give you a final briefing at 9 a.m.” Fenelon went back to his men and de Beaumont turned to Mallory. “Magnificent, isn’t she? And just the thing for our purposes. Small, compact – only needs a crew of sixteen. You’re fam-iliar with the type?”
“Only on paper.”
“This one has quite a history. Built at Deutsche Werft in 1945 and sunk with all hands within a month of com-missioning. After she was raised she was transferred to the French.”
“And now she’s yours,” Mallory said. “A chequered career.”
A body was against the far wall covered by a tarpaulin, webbed feet turned to one side, blood streaking the pool of sea-water in which it lay.
“We couldn’t find the other one. The current must havetaken him under the reef.” De Beaumont shook his head. “A nasty way to die.”