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Night of Terror by Desmond Bagley

“We’ve had enough of this nonsense with Minerva.” “It’s not quite the

same thing,” said Geordie. “Recife de Minerve was a shoal – exact

position unknown. Falcon, or Fonua Fo’ou, has had its position

measured to a hair – but it isn’t always there.” “What the hell do you

mean by that?” Campbell exploded.

Geordie grinned and said to me, “You’d better tell them you’re the

expert.” “Falcon Island is apparently the top of a submarine volcano

of the cinder type,”I said soberly. “Every so often it erupts and

pumps out a few billion tons of ash and cinders, enough to form a

sizeable island.” I referred to the Pilot. “In 1889 it was over a

mile square and about a hundred and fifty feet high; in April 1894

there wasn’t anything except a shoal, but by December of the same year

it was three miles long, one and a half miles wide, and fifty feet

high.” I pointed to the pages. “There’s a long record of its coming

and goings, but to bring it up to date – in 1930, Falcon was one and a

quarter miles long and four hundred and seventy feet high. In 1949 it

had vanished and there were nine fathoms of water in the same

position.” I passed- the book over to Campbell. “What seems to happen

is that the island gets washed away. The material coming out of the

volcano would be pretty friable and a lot of it would be soluble in

water.” He said, “Does this tie in with your theory of nodule

formation?” “It ties in perfectly. If these eruptions have been

happening once every, say, twenty years, for the last hundred thousand

years, that’s a hell of a lot of material being pumped into the sea.

The percentage of metals would be minute, but that doesn’t matter. The

process of nodule formation takes care of that – what metals there are

would be scavenged and concentrated, ready to be picked up.” Campbell

looked baffled. “You come up with the damndest things,”he

complained.

“First a reef that might or might not be there, and now a goddam

disappearing island. What’s the present state of this freak?” I

looked at Geordie.

“I don’t know. I’ll check up in the Pilot supplements – but they’re

often printed a little behind the times anyway. The locals may

know.”

“Where is Falcon or Fonua-whatsit – when it’s available?” “In the

Friendly Islands,” I said. Clare smiled at that.

“The Tongan group.

It’s about forty miles north of Tongatapu, the main island.” ;M He

frowned. “That’s a long way from Rabaul, and that’s A where the

Suarez-Navarro crowd is; And it’s a long way from 10 here, where Mark

was.” I said mildly, “It’s halfway between.” He nodded thoughtfully

and we all chewed on it for a few minutes. After a while I spoke up.

“In the light of-this information, I think it would be worth

concentrating on Falcon – if you’re carrying on, that isTI looked

enquiringly at Campbell.

“Yes, of course I am,” he said energetically. His optimistic side was

gaining steadily. “You really think this will be worth trying?”

Clare supported me. “I was sure those drawings meant something.”

“Minerva meant two months of wasted time,” Campbell said. “What do you

think, Geordie?” Geordie looked at me but with conviction. “He’s the

expert.”

Ian Lewis waited with courteous patience. He was prepared to go

anywhere, and do anything that was wanted of him. In spite of the

horror of Tanakabu he was having a wonderful time, away from the

dullness of home life.

The issue was settled for us while Campbell ruminated. A vagrant

breeze from the open port flipped back a page or so of the Pilot and I

happened to glance down. I looked at the page incredulously and began

to laugh uncontrollably.

Campbell said, “For God’s sake, what’s so funny?” I dumped the book

into Geordie’s hands and he too began laughing. I said, “It seems we

looked at the wrong Minerva.

Look – Minerva Reefs, two hundred and sixty miles southwest of

Tongatapu – that puts them only about three hundred miles from Falcon

Island.” “You mean there’s another Minerva?” “That’s exactly what I

mean.” Geordie handed him the book. “They’re fully mapped.

They’re on a plateau twenty-eight miles long. It’s hard ground shell,

coral and volcanic cinders, at a depth of eighteen hundred to

thirty-six hundred feet.” “Just like Falcon Island but much, much

older and well established,” I put in.

“There’s no mention of nodules,” Campbell said.

“These are naval records and the navy wouldn’t dredge for them.

They’d just take soundings using a waxed weight to sample the bottom

material.

A nodule – even a small one would be too heavy to stick to the wax.”

There was a rising air of jubilation in the small cabin.

Carfipbell said, “Well, that does it, I suppose. We go to Tonga.”

He looked at us all fiercely. “But this time there’d better be no

mistakes.” So it was settled what we’d do after we left Papeete – if

we left Papeete.

It seemed a long time.

Apparently a patrol boat had gone to Tanakabu and returned three days

later, during which time things had got a little easier for us, but not

much. All the crew members had been allowed to go ashore in batches,

but Ian, the Campbells and I were still confined, as was Geordie for

slightly different reasons. Paula managed to be allowed ashore mainly

because she seemed to know everyone, including the policemen, but she

only went under Jim or Taffy’s escort and didn’t stay ashore for long,

having little faith in Hadley’s having truly disappeared.

On the fourth day we were taken ashore, Campbell and I, and driven to

the police station where we were ushered into the same office as

before. M. Chamant was awaiting us.

he was quite pleasant. “Our findings on Tanakabu are consistent with

your statements. I note that M. Trevelyan called off the search as

soon as he found that the man Kane was armed, which is a point in your

favour. I also found that you saved many lives at the hospital, and it

is known that you were all aboard your ship when the doctor was shot

and the fires started. Also your photographs were helpful.” It was

good news, and as near to an apology as we’d ever get.

“When can we leave?” asked Campbell.

Chamant shrugged. “We cannot hold you. If we had Kane and Hadley here

you would be expected to stay and give evidence at their hearing,

but.

. ..” “But you haven’t found them,” I said bitterly.

“If they are in French Oceania we will find them. But the Pacific is

large.” At least they seemed convinced of Hadley and Kane’s guilt,

which would have come out sooner or later anyway. Hadley had been seen

ashore and recognized by several of the people on Tanakabu, and it made

me wonder all the more why they had stopped in Papeete to put the

police on a false trail, instead of picking up their heels. But I

thought that perhaps Hadley, whose mental processes were not as evident

as his brutality, really thought that we would be found guilty of his

crime, and so out of his way forever. It was impossible to try and

read his mind. Now, if they were being hunted by the law themselves

they would have less time to go after us, and we had already-, agreed

to act as if they didn’t exist, otherwise we’d get nowhere.

You can go whenever you want, M. Campbell.” “We’re going west as we

originally said,” Campbell told him. “We’re heading towards Tonga.

If we see them out there we’ll let the authorities know.” We were

being cooperative now, wanting no further opposition to our going about

our own business.

Chamant said, “Very well, gentlemen. You may go. I will send

instructions for the police guard to be withdrawn. But you will take

care to be on your best behaviour for the remainder of your stay here,

and I also strongly suggest that you leave these waters soon. Your

family-‘ He pointed to me. “Your family seems to cause trouble here,

whether or not you intend to. And we do not want trouble on our

hands.” Campbell closed a hand firmly over my wrist. “Thank you, M.

Chamant. We appreciate all you have said. And now can you arrange

transport back to our ship, please?” He was reluctant on general

principles but finally we got a ride back to the docks and a short run

out to Esmerelda, to carry back the welcome news of our release.

Everyone deserved a couple of days off, and neither Campbell nor I

begrudged them the time. The radio had been repaired and we had a lot

of planning to do before we could set sail for the Friendly Islands,

one of which might be there, or might not.

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Categories: Desmond Bagley
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