The blast hurled a wall of water toward the shore, catching the Lady Gregory and spinning her around, dangerously canted over. Looking down from the pilothouse, Eamonn could see nothing of the deck but a shelf of racing foam as the water crashed over her port rail and swept across her decks.
Magnus alone managed to hang on to the forward railing. Farther amidships, the chest containing the Black Tennas skidded the length of the deck and lodged itself against the stern rail. Aoife and McLeod were swept off their feet and carried after it, and only just managed to keep from being washed overboard. For a foundering moment they seemed certain to capsize; but then, with a shudder, the Lady Gregory righted herself, shedding water in sheets as she settled back on her keel.
McLeod had lost track of the number of times tonight that his ears had been set to ringing, and almost missed the distant drone of aircraft engines picking up speed as he got to his feet. Turning numbly toward the sound, powerless to stop it, he swore audibly to see the seaplane lumbering away from them, gathering speed and lifting off, making for the open sky. But a shout of alarm from Aoife forestalled his dwelling on Raeburn's escape.
"There's Adam!" she shouted. "Where's Peregrine? Does anybody see him?"
Looking down in the water where she was agitatedly pointing, McLeod spotted a second puppet-like shape floating face-down in the waves a short distance away. Neither was moving.
"Eamonn, get a spotlight on them!" he called up sharply to the pilothouse, already struggling out of his jacket and kicking off his shoes.
Chapter Thirty-Five
ADAM came groggily to his senses to find himself lying face down on the deck of the Lady Gregory. His chest felt bruised and his mouth tasted of bile. His ears were ringing. He heard someone coughing beside him and lifted his head to see Peregrine, half on his hands and knees, retching as a waterlogged Magnus grabbed him around the middle, helping him clear his lungs. The artist's face was a pasty shade of green, similar to the olive-drab blanket Aoife laid around his shoulders, and he hugged it around him, shivering, as Magnus helped him collapse to a sitting position.
Rolling gingerly onto his side, Adam tried to speak, but nothing came out but a soggy-sounding cough.
"I'd stick to breathing just now, if I were you," said McLeod's gruff voice.
Strong hands helped him sit, as another blanket was drawn around his shoulders. A coughing fit brought up what seemed like gallons of sea water and left him wheezing, lightheaded. When he could focus again, he saw that McLeod, like Magnus, was drenched to the skin, and guessed that the two must have been responsible for pulling him and Peregrine out of the water after the explosion. Part of him wanted simply to lie down and sleep off the shock and the chill of near-drowning. But there were too many things he wanted - and needed - to know.
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Where's Raeburn?"
"Flown the coop," McLeod said sourly. "There wasn't much we could do to stop him, by the time we were sure the two of you hadn't drowned. Magnus called the mainland on the cell phone and put out an APB on the plane - our radio's kaput - but I doubt it'll do much good. This part of the coast is honeycombed with places where he could have hidden another boat to take him well away from here."
"And the chest?" Adam's voice was starting to come back to him.
McLeod allowed himself a brief, wolfish grin. "We've still got that. Raeburn didn't have it all his own way."
Moving cautiously, Adam edged himself back to lean against the side of a locker. From where he sat, he could see the open sea through the Lady G's railings. There was no sign of the submarine. McLeod glanced in the direction of his gaze, then looked back at him and answered the question Adam had not yet summoned strength to ask.
"I don't know whether Raeburn actually rigged that explosion, or whether all that jostling was enough to set off one or more of those fifty-year-old torpedoes," he said. "Or maybe it was some after-reaction from all that magic being released. Whatever the case, the sub is history again."
"Which is all for the best," Aoife said, leaning down to press a mug of hot coffee into Adam's icy hands. "Can you imagine the flap it would have caused if she'd been found adrift and intact?"
Adam managed a shaky swallow of coffee, suppressing another cough, then nodded.
"Requiring a nimble display of press-obfuscation, at very best," he agreed.
"I do love your understatements," Aoife said with a chuckle. "Fortunately, Tory Sound is littered with old wrecks. If any of the wreckage from U-636 should eventually turn up, it will be assumed that it came from the sea-bottom - just one more wreck among so many others."
"What about the cave?" Peregrine asked hoarsely, over his own steaming mug.
"I'm about to deal with that,'' Magnus replied, getting to his feet.' 'First, though, I want to check again on our guest below."
In the heat of battle, Adam had forgotten the crewman from the Rose of Tralee.
"Is he awake?" he asked.
"Aye," said Magnus, "and pretty shaken up to find himself under lock and key. I'd cuffed him to a berth, just for good measure, since we didn't know who he was. I've given him to understand that the outfit he and his mates were messing with was a band of terrorists out to recover a cache of arms. When the cache goes up - in, say, about two minutes from now - I think he'll be relieved enough at the thought of staying out of jail not to pry too deeply into the matter. He hasn't said anything about seeing any monks with funny knives, so maybe he doesn't remember.
"The chaps on the Rose present different problems, but I'll think of something before the authorities get here. The one's no problem; the terrorist story will stick, so far as he's concerned. And the Lynx chap can't very well tell the truth without digging himself in deeper. We might make a hijacking charge stick, if the crew from the Rose are cooperative, but I expect we'll eventually have to let him skate. At least we'll have given him a scare, and we'll know to keep an eye out for him in the future."
He disappeared down into the hold. While he was gone, Adam prevailed upon McLeod to help him move around to the other side of the ship. To his surprise, the Lady Gregory was standing several hundred yards off the dark entrance to the sea cave opened by the departing submarine. Peregrine retrieved his glasses from his coat pocket and came limping to join him at the rail, gazing silently at the cave and the Rose of Tralee still lying at anchor off the little crescent beach. When Magnus returned a few minutes later, he was carrying a shoulder-fired rocket-launcher and a small but heavy canvas satchel.
"A parting gift from my friendly armorer," he explained as he set it up and aimed a charge at the shore. "We've only got two shots to get this right, so keep your fingers crossed. And it would be nice to have the second shot to dispose of that torpedo that ran up on the beach. Hold your ears, everyone.''
He succeeded with his first shot. A rumbling blast inshore collapsed the remains of the cave where U-636 had slept hidden for so long with its dangerous cargo. The second shot accounted for the inconvenient torpedo. As the Hunting Party watched the du.- clear away in the moonlight, Peregrine alone appeared dissatisfied.
"What's the matter?" Adam asked, as Eamonn advanced the throttles and began easing the Lady G in the direction of the Rose.