Fear is the Key

"It fooled Royale." Kennedy bent and looked at the already purpling bruise above Royale's temple. "Maybe I hit him too hard." He was as deeply concerned as I would have been had I accidentally trodden on a passing tarantula. "He'll live."

"Hell live. It must have been a long deferred pleasure for you." I had shed my own coat and was struggling into the oilskin rig-out as fast as I could. "Everything fixed? Get the stuff in the workshop?"

"Look, Mr. Talbot," he said reproachfully, "I had three whole hours."

"Fair enough. And if our friend here shows any sign of coming to?"

"I'll just kind of lean on him again," Kennedy said dreamily.

I grinned and left. I'd no idea how long the general could detain Vyland on whatever spurious errand he'd called him away, but I suspected it wouldn't be very long; Vyland was beginning to become just that little bit anxious about the time factor. Maybe I hadn't done myself any good by pointing out that the government agents might only be waiting for the weather to moderate before coming out to question the general, but with Vyland pointing Ms gun at me and threatening to kill me I had had to reach out and grasp the biggest straw I could find.

The wind on the open well-deck shrieked and gusted as powerfully as ever, but its direction had changed and I had to fight my way almost directly against it. It came from the north now and I knew then that the centre of the hurricane must have passed somewhere also to the north of us, curving in on Tampa. It looked as if the wind and the seas might begin to moderate within a few hours. But, right then, the wind was as strong as it had ever been and on my way across I had my head and shoulders so far hunched into the wind that I was looking back the way I came. I fancied, in the near darkness, that I saw a figure clawing its way along the life-line behind me, but I paid no attention. People were probably using that line all day long.

The time for circumspection, for the careful reconnoitering of every potential danger in my path, was past. It was all or nothing now. Arrived at the other side I strode down the long corridor where I had whispered to Kennedy earlier in the afternoon, turned right at its end instead of left as we had done before, stopped to orientate myself and headed in the direction of the broad companionway which, Mary had said, led up to the actual drilling deck itself. There were several people wandering around, one of the open doors I passed gave on to a recreation room full of blue smoke and crowded with men: obviously all work on drilling and the upper deck was completely stopped. It didn't worry the drillers, their ten-day tour of duty was paid from the time they left shore till they set foot on it again, and it didn't worry me for it was to the working deck I was going and the absence of all traffic that I'd find up there would make my task all the easier.

Rounding another corner I all but cannoned into a couple of people who seemed to be arguing rather vehemently about something or other: Vyland and the general. Vyland was the man who was doing the talking but he broke off to give me a glare as I apologised for bumping him and continued down the passage. I was certain he could not have recognised me, my sou'wester had been pulled right down to my eyes, the high flyaway collar of my oilskin was up to my nose and, best disguise of all, I had dispensed with my limp, but for all that I had the most uncomfortable sensation between the shoulder blades until I had rounded another corner and was lost to their sight. I wasn't sure whether this obvious argument between the general and Vyland was a good thing or not. If the general had managed to get him deeply interested in some controversial subject of immediate and personal importance to both, then well and good; but if Vyland had been expostulating over what he regarded as some unnecessary delay, things might get very rough indeed. If he got back to the other side of the rig before I did, I didn't like to think what the consequences would be. So I didn't think about them. Instead, I broke into a run, regardless of the astonished looks from some passers-by at a complete loss to understand the reason for this violent activity on what was in effect a well-paid holiday, reached the companionway and went up two steps at a time.

Mary, tightly wrapped in a hooded plastic raincoat, was waiting behind the closed doors at the top of the steps. She shrank back and gave a little gasp as I stopped abruptly in front of her and pulled down the collar of my oilskin for a moment to identify myself.

"You!" She stared at me. "You — your bad leg — what's happened to your limp?"

"Never had one. Local colour. Guaranteed to fool the most suspicious. Kennedy told you what I wanted you for?"

"A — a watchdog. To keep guard."

"That's it. I don't want a bullet or a knife in my back in that radio shack. Sorry it had to be you, but there was no one eke. Where's the shack?"