The tide was already moving in, licking hungrily at the rocks, and far out to sea a flash of sheet lightning illuminated the sky. He came to the end of the main body of the reef and before him a long, thin spine of rock and gravel stretched three hundred yards to St. Pierre.
He started to run, aware of the roaring of the sea, hungry for him as she swept in to drown the land, erupting with phosphorescence, blue-green lights dancing on the water, dissolving as rapidly as they appeared.
To the right, lightning flared again and a dark band of shadow moved across the sky, snuffing out the stars. He came to a long strip of shingle and started to run.
Half-way across, the sea splashed in knee-deep. He struggled forward, aware of its strength as it tugged at him. It was already at his waist when he reached the sprawling mass of boulders heaped at the base of the island. As his feet missed bottom, he thrashed forward, grabbed for a ledge and hauled himself out.
Still the sea rose, and he moved on, aware only of the menace behind. He skirted the base of the cliffs and finally reached a point of jagged rock no more than twenty feet from the entrance to the cave.
He jumped into the water and started to swim desper-ately, but there was no need. The tide swept him into the entrance on the crest of a great swell. A moment later he bumped against the wall of the jetty atFoxhunter’s stern. He swam round to a flight of stone steps and climbed out of the water.
He was tired, more tired than he had ever been in his life, and the roaring of the sea seemed to have got inside his head. He pulled off his lifejacket, padded across the jetty and went up the steps, keeping to the wall. When he reached the land-ing all was quiet. He opened the door cautiously and moved forward.
There were three doors on this section of the corridor, all leading to rooms used as quarters byL’Alouette’s crew. He searched them quickly, hoping for a weapon, but found nothing.
As he emerged from the last he heard the muffled reports of several gunshots fired close at hand. He stood listening intently. Another shot sounded. He went along the passage, every sense alert, and paused at the end.
Behind him a door opened. He whirled round, hands coming up, and Hamish Grant stepped into the light.
The great hall was a place of shadows. No fire burned in the hearth and a single light at the far end gave the only illumi-nation. Mallory moved out of the doorway and stood listen-ing, but there was no sound, and he moved forward followed by Guyon and Hamish Grant.
There was a small lamp bracketed to the wall of the gal-lery and for some reason it seemed to grow dimmer as he went upstairs. He paused, swaying a little, and Guymon’s anxious voice seemed to come froma great distance.
“Are you all right?”
Mallory opened his eyes, nodded and moved on, putting one foot in front of the other mechanically. It was only when they reached the door to the tower and he pushed it open that he realised how exhausted he was. There was no strength left in him at all.
Guyon and the old man crowded into the narrow hall and Mallory bolted the door. “Whatever happens now, no one else gets in,” he said, and the words seemed to be spoken by someone else.
He took a deep breath, summoning together every final resource of body and mind, and led the way up the stairs. The walls spiraled round, the night sky gleaming through the slotted windows, and somewhere thunder rumbled men-acingly.
When they emerged on the first landing the door to the radio room stood open and there was no one there. Mallory moved across to the set and switched it on. There was a faint crackling of static. He picked up the microphone and high in the tower three shots were fired in rapid succession. A moment later Fiona Grant screamed.
Jacaud paused on the landing, took the Liiger from the pocket of his reefer coat and removed the clip. It was by no means full, he could tell that by the weight, but there was no time to reload. He slammed it back into the butt, replaced the Liiger in pocket and opened the door.