Samson leaned forward over his desk. ‘If you have any doubts, Mister, then perhaps you’ll be good enough to bring them to my attention.’
I looked at the little captain.
‘I honestly don’t know, sir,’ I muttered.
The bony knuckles tapped the walnut desk top impatiently. ‘Listen to me, Mister Kent. And you too, William. The whole conduct of this voyage has been based on assumptions regarding the disposition of the enemy in this area. Every time we have seen a sign of other activity we have scuttled away, usually farther south, with the utmost expedition. Am I correct so far?’
We both nodded assent as he continued. ‘Very well. Now, Mister Kent has a theory that we are unwittingly conforming to some, as yet obscure, plan of the enemy’s to shepherd us into this immediate area…’
‘A theory only, Sir. I’ve no proof that such an intention exists,’ I broke in anxiously. ‘Just a few lights in the night that seemed to be ahead of us whichever way we altered… except south.’
Samson eyed me probingly. ‘Aye? And because the bloody Navy ordered us to do the same thing we’re here, in this rat trap. Now!’
Bill scratched his head uncomfortably. ‘But as John’s just said — there’s no evidence to show that we aren’t doing the logical thing. The lights were fact, after all, and us both having intercepted the Kent Star's distress transmission was fact. Solid, undisputable fact.’
The wrinkled brows clamped together in a frown. ‘Oh aye? But were they, Mister?’
Bill and I looked at each other blankly. I was starting to get irritated but Bill couldn’t even afford that luxury in front of Bert. What, in Heaven’s name, was Samson driving at? He must have seen the glances passing between us.
‘Mister Kent.’ The stabbing finger was aimed at me like a loaded gun.
‘Sir?’
‘Let us assume, for the moment, that there is some rational explanation for the occurrences which took place aboard Cyclops. I refer, of course, to the inexplicable disappearance of your Chief Wireless Operator… ah, Foley?… followed by that shot at us from your stern chaser…’ He raised a warning hand as he saw me open my mouth. ‘Wait, Mister. I don’t propose to enlarge on that at this moment, I merely mention it in passing. Now — for the purpose of hypothesis — we shall forget them. Right?’
Dutiful chorus. ‘Aye, aye, Sir.’
‘…which leaves us with the extraneous incidents only to analyse. The actual reasons for our coming here.’
He was really getting into his stride now. I just wished Evans had come over himself and left me aboard Cyclops. Bert Samson in one of his analytical moods was more than I could face right then.
He started ticking off the facts on a skeletal hand. ‘One — the Kent Star distress call. Two — the sinking, from the coastal side, of the Frog boat. Three — them still-anonymous buggers wi’ their illuminations. Four — yon U-boat you were lucky enough to help sink, Mister Kent…' the bushy eyes challenged me to take him up on that but I let it go '… and five, gentlemen; the orders from some admiral five thousand miles away.’
He sat back and stared at us penetratingly. We didn’t say anything because neither of us could see what he was trying to prove. With a sigh and the patience of an elementary schoolmaster, he proceeded: ‘Number five we can discount seeing the signal came from the Grey Funnel Line and they’re supposed to be on our side. Numbers two to four inclusive could be attributed to purely coincidental enemy activity — meaning that each of those incidents considered separately could have happened to any ship at any time and do not, viewed in isolation, prove any ulterior motive. Do you still agree, both of you?’
I was beginning to catch up at last. ‘Yessir.’
He poised, ready for the Great Deduction. This was Bert in full, Holmesian cry. ‘Which leaves us, therefore, with number one — the Kent Star distress. The only factor which involves a… a third party. The only incident, prior to the Admiralty orders themselves, which might reasonably be assumed to have a British source.’
He swivelled round to me. ‘Do you see now why I consider the authenticity of the call from the Kent Star a matter of vital importance, Mister? Do you?’
And I did, too. The whole thing revolved round the garbled message poor old Foley had picked up from a sinking allied freighter. If its origin was genuine and my doubts about it unfounded, then we had probably done the prudent thing in coming to Quintanilha de Almeida. If, on the other hand, it was a fake…?
Samson read the concern dawning in my face and nodded surprisingly gently. ‘Aye, John. If the call from that casualty of yours was bogus — then we’ve run just the way whoever put it out wants us to, and that means the bloody Hun.’
‘And that, in its turn, means they could be right outside the entrance at this moment. Just waiting for us,’ I muttered, suddenly feeling very, very frightened again.
‘…with the best part of three days still to go before the Navy arrives,’ Bill supplemented succinctly.
I tried to sound positive. ‘We could put a signal out to Admiralty, Sir? To request confirmation of the Kent Star sinking? You could give it to your Sparks right…’
My solution trailed off as I recalled the twisted, superheated steel coffin on the after-end of the boat deck.
Bert Samson shook his head. ‘This is something you’ll have to decide after discussion with Davie Evans, John. We must all discuss it. As you said earlier — even a short W.T. transmission could give them a fix and home them on to us.’
He pushed his chair back and stood gazing through the port for a long time. The shrunken body looked even more pathetic in tropical rig, like an undersized child in his first set of cricket whites. I wondered how he managed to radiate such energy. Then he turned to face us and I saw how intense his eyes were. ‘No, gentlemen. We’re atween the Devil and the deep blue sea. If we go out we may run smack into a wolf pack. If we stay in, then the enemy could be heading this way as we speak…’
There came a knock on the cabin door. A signal from Cyclops: CAN I HAVE MY CHIEF OFFICER BACK QUERY HE'S NOT MUCH BUT HE'S MINE SIGNED EVANS MASTER.
Bert broke off, looking a bit frustrated, but he still accompanied me out to the boat deck and shook hands. As I made to walk away, back to the boat with Bill, he smiled unexpectedly.
‘Tell yon Comconvoy of ours I’ll splice a bottle or two with him first night back in the shadow of the Liver Building, Mister.’
I grinned weakly and nodded. Mister… Mister Kent… Kent Star…? Oh, the hell with it. I wouldn’t have the opportunity to see Bill again for a long…
Abruptly I stopped dead in my tracks. The Liver Building? Liverpool Docks? I remembered them the last night before we sailed; the night the mysterious vans had arrived laden with boxes of currency and bags of top secret information. Standing there on the wet deck and seeing the relief on the faces of the two naval officers who delivered the cargo for the strong-room. Standing there and feeling the rain trickle down my collar as I stared miserably across the black, oily waters of the basin to where a newly arrived freighter was still making fast, laden to her marks with war cargo. Standing there feeling the sadness of a pre-sailing hour and idly noting the name on her bows, the name that made me take a mild paternal interest in her because it was the same as mine… the Kent Star.
Kent Star…? Aw, Jesus…! The KENT STAR!