Medusa

Gareth finished his breakfast quickly and a few minutes later the same voice announced that it was the harbour master himself wanting to speak to the Captain. Gareth asked for the man’s name, then turned to me. ‘Francisco Romacho. Is that right?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It should be Juan Terron.’

He nodded. ‘They haven’t wasted any time. A key appointment and he’s in position already.’ Then into the intercom: ‘Does he speak English? No, well get hold of Sykes, then send the two of them up.’ He suggested I conceal myself in the steward’s pantry. ‘See if you recognise him.’

The man who entered was short and very dark with an aquiline face. I had never seen him before. He was dressed in khaki trousers and camouflage tunic. He came straight to the point. ‘Señor Fuxá — el Presidente — feels that, in the circumstances, he cannot accept the presence of a foreign warship in the port of Mahon.’ Watching through a crack in the serving hatch, Victor Sykes came into my line of vision. He was another of the young officers-under-training, probably posted to the ship for his knowledge of Spanish. He looked a little scared, his voice low as he interpreted. The three of them were seated at the coffee table, Gareth pointing out that what went on ashore was not his concern, he was simply in Mahon on a courtesy visit and if there had been some change in the government of the island, he was sure the new regime would extend the same welcome to one of Her Majesty’s ships as the old.

The interview went on like that for some time, Romacho insisting that Medusa leave Mahon, Gareth pointing out that his orders came from London and he had no authority to leave without new instructions. At one point he said, This is a matter for the Spanish and British governments.’ And Romacho answered quickly, ‘I don’t think so. We are now an independent state.’

‘Then I suggest your president takes the question up directly with the Foreign Office in London.’

‘He cannot do that until we have recognition. In the meantime, he insists that you leave Mahon.’

‘I have explained that my orders — ’

‘Your orders are to leave. Immediately.’ Romacho had jumped to his feet. This is our water. Our port. You have no right to be here when we don’t invite you. You will leave immediately please.’

Gareth had risen to his feet. ‘Unfortunately we have a problem.’ And he went on to explain that the high-pressure boilers delivering steam to the turbines had sprung some leaks and his Marine Engineer Officer had taken the opportunity to close the boilers down for maintenance work on the condenser pipes.

It was obvious that Romacho didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t very well demand to inspect the engine room. Instead, he said, ‘In that case, we will have to arrange a tow for you. Fortunately the tanker that keeps the Cala Figuera depot supplied has just finished off-loading and we have our own harbour tug. I will arrange for the two of them to tow you to Palma in Mallorca.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ Gareth said.

‘You will leave then under your own steam?’

‘When I have orders to leave I will leave. Not before.’

‘So! You are not going to leave?’

‘No.’

‘Very well, Capitán. I also have orders. El Presidente instructs me to say that you have until noon. If you are not away from Mahon by midday he will be forced to regard your continued presence here as a hostile act. You understand?’ He gave a formal little bow, and without waiting for Gareth’s reply, turned quickly and made for the door. His last words as he went out were, ‘You have until midday.’

IV

Bloody Island

Chapter One

I remember standing by the taula on Bloody Island watching as the minute hand of my watch crept towards the vertical. Clouds were forming to the south over St Felip, the day already hot and airless, as I had known it would be, and the frigate lay to her reflection in the oily water, nothing moving on her deck, everything very still and silent. I was alone, and had been since Medusa’s launch returned me to the island shortly after eight that morning. Gareth had accompanied me to the head of the ship’s ladder. ‘You’ll be going ashore, will you?’ By that he had meant, of course, going across to Mahon. ‘Give my love to Soo.’ He smiled then, a funny, crooked little smile, and then he had said, ‘Pray for me, both of you.’ A perfunctory salute and he had turned on his heel and disappeared back up to the bridge.

It wasn’t until after I had landed and the launch was on its way back to Medusa that the full import of what he had said began to sink in. By then I had discovered, not only that Petra’s inflatable wasn’t at the landing place, but there was also no sign of Lennie’s semi-rigid diving boat. I was on my own and plenty of time to think about it. Also, I had no means of knowing what was going on ashore.