‘But, of course… Lieutenant Hamilton.’ He did not miss the momentary flicker of fear on the girl’s face as she heard the name. ‘He saved your life when your launch was bombed. And, as I understand it, he has been a constant visitor to your step-father’s home.’ Aritsu paused, to give Chai Chen time to digest the fact that he knew rather more about her activities than she might have expected. ‘That is why you are carrying diesel oil◦– to refuel the English submarine!’
Chai Chen knew it was useless to lie. She shivered and, as if suddenly conscious of her nakedness, squeezed her thighs together as she saw the sailors looking at her body. Lowering her head, she stared down at the deck.
Mihoro’s impatience exploded with a savage snarl. Before Aritsu could stop him, the sub-lieutenant stepped forward and, motioning the guards to hold her securely, he raked his clawed hands along the girl’s rigid body. Chai Chen endured the indignity in silence until the probing fingers found a new and more subtle way to hurt her, and the Korean smirked with complacent satisfaction as he heard her soft whimper of disgust.
1Leave her alone, Sub-Lieutenant!’
Mihoro retreated reluctantly. The expression on his face was like that of a child deprived of its favourite toy. He stared at his erstwhile victim and his eyes glittered at the memory as he saw the ugly marks left by his fingers. Aritsu swallowed back his anger, regained his composure, and steeled himself for the distasteful task that lay ahead.
‘It is useless to resist,’ he told Chai Chen quietly. ‘Nothing can save the English submarine. If you tell me the rendezvous position I might be able to persuade Lieutenant Hamilton to surrender. There is no other way in which his life can be saved. But I am powerless to help him unless I know where the refuelling is to take place.’ Chai Chen continued to stare at the deck and Aritsu made one last despairing effort to persuade her. ‘If you continue to remain silent I will be forced to hand you over to the Sub-Lieutenant. And if I do, you will undoubtedly suffer a great deal of unnecessary pain. Make no mistake about it◦– your obstinacy will be broken in the end and you will tell me everything I want to know. Why not be sensible?’ Chai Chen raised her head slowly. She stared at Aritsu as if judging the sincerity of his offer and then glanced at Mihoro. She turned away with a shiver as she read the cruelty in the Korean’s face.
‘I know nothing,’ she said simply.
Aritsu closed his eyes for a brief moment as if suffering a spasm of physical pain. Then, with a stiffly formal bow, he walked to the side where the motorboat was waiting to take him back to Suma. Mihoro followed him like a dog eager to be loosed in search of a rabbit.
‘You may proceed with the interrogation of the prisoner, Sub-Lieutenant,’ he instructed the Korean. ‘Report to me when you have obtained the information. You have precisely thirty minutes to achieve your object.’
Aritsu acknowledged Mihoro’s salute and climbed down into the motorboat. Settling himself in the stern, he placed his fingertips together in an attitude of prayer and tried to come to terms with his conscience, as the launch reversed away from the junk and turned its bows in the direction of the waiting destroyer. The commander sat in contemplative silence for several minutes and then, as if forcing himself to perform an act of penance for his sins, he turned his head and stared back at the junk.
He could not see what Mihoro was doing, but Chai Chen was already tied spread-eagled and naked against the side of the deckhouse and the steel blade of the bayonet which the Korean was holding in his right hand glistened in the sun. Aritsu shuddered as her first screams echoed across the water.
HAMILTON WAITED until the hands of the control room clock settled exactly on 11-59, before easing himself out of his canvas chair and moving to the center of the compartment. The heat and humidity inside the submarine was unbearable and, in spite of his earlier warnings to the crew, his hooked fingers scratched relentlessly at a patch of inflamed and itching skin around his waist. He felt tired and dirty, and was acutely conscious of the unpleasant odour of the stale sweat clinging to his unwashed body.
Despite the personal discomforts, however, Hamilton was still optimistic and he was well satisfied with the efforts of Rapier’s crew. Even Villiers, the young fourth hand, had turned out to be an unexpected asset. During a recent tour of duty with the Diplomatic Corps in Tokyo, he had made frequent trips to the Japanese island of Kuro to observe and learn the secrets of the pearl divers◦– and it was this knowledge which Hamilton had made good use of.
With Villiers’ ability to dive and remain underwater for upwards of two minutes at a time with no more specialized equipment than a heavy stone and a primitive nose-clip, it had proved possible to repair the damage to the fuel tank while the submarine lay stopped on the surface during the night. Admittedly with the tools available, it was a rough and ready job◦– canvas and a wooden plug◦– but it was adequate for the purpose. And as a result Hamilton had been able to reach the pre-arranged rendezvous without forcing Rapier beyond her normal cruising speed. With fuel supplies dwindling by the hour, economy was an all-important consideration…
‘12 o’clock, sir,’ Scott reported from the chart tables. ‘We should be in exactly the right position according to the DR plot.’
‘Well done, Pilot. Up periscope!’
The men in the control room watched expectantly as Hamilton carried out a quick preliminary sweep of the horizon, and waited quietly while he worked his way slowly around the full circle. It was apparent from the tension in his hands and the set of his shoulders that the rendezvous vessel was nowhere in sight; but the expression on his face gave nothing away as he closed the steering handles with a decisive snap and stepped back from the column.
‘Down periscope!’ He turned to Scott. ‘Are you quite certain of our position, Pilot?’
‘Yes, sir. I took some star sights an hour before dawn.
Even allowing for an unexpected alteration in the wind, I’d guarantee we’re within a mile of the position you gave me yesterday.’
Hamilton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Despite his outward skepticism, he had complete faith in Scott’s ability as a navigator. So, for the moment, he could only assume that Album’s supply vessel had not arrived. Unless◦– and he tried to keep the suspicion out of his mind◦– something had happened to it.
‘What direction is Macao, Alistair?’
Scott checked the chart. ‘North-east by east, sir.’
Hamilton waited for five minutes, raised the periscope again, and drew another blank. He was certain that Alburra would not let him down, but where the hell was his ship?
‘Stand by to surface. Duty Watch to close up◦– negative deck party.’ He glanced at Scott apologetically. ‘It’s not that I doubt you, Alistair, but I want another sun sight.’
Scott grinned understandingly and reached for his sextant. Then, moving across to the conning tower ladder, he waited to follow the duty watch up on deck.
‘Surface!’
‘Up helm ’planes! Blow main ballast and close all vents!’
‘Ten feet, sir.’
Hamilton started up the ladder, unclipped the upper hatch, and pushed it open. The normally clean-tasting sea air seemed slightly tainted with oil fumes but he put it down to the fuel leak from the damaged bunker and, dismissing it from his mind, hauled himself up on to the bridge. Picking up his glasses he carried out a quick preliminary sweep of the horizon, while the look-outs hurried to their positions on the port and starboard sides of the conning tower.