“How soon can the Cambridge go to sea?”
“She’s at immediate notice, sir.”
Hammersley nodded. “Very well, Admiral. Of course, there may be nothing in this Polish ship at all, but London seems to know something which we don’t. Anyway — my orders to you are, that the Cambridge is to proceed to sea at once and patrol out of sight of land off Malaga, and close and board the Ostrowiec the moment she’s outside territorial waters — or before, if ordered to do so by signal. Her captain’s to report if the Pole appears likely to hug the coast all the way down. All right?”
“I’ll see to it at once, sir. And — if I may say so — I think you’re absolutely right. But I hope you’ll bear in mind what I said about hastening the evacuation fleet.” Forbes bounced up, perky once again. Now that there was something definite to be done he too felt better. He also couldn’t help feeling a little twinge of envy for the Cambridge's company… He added, “If I were you, I’d get a little rest. You’ve hardly been away from duty since the flap started.”
“The Governor’s always on duty! Don’t worry about me.”
After Forbes left Hammersley sat for a long time, thinking. Then he took up a telephone, rang the Deputy Fortress Commander. Something else had to be done now, the Admiral’s advice followed; seventy-two hours maximum, and Forbes had made that point now about the increasing rate of rise of that fuel unit’s wedged-up overstock and of its temperature, and the fact that no one knew for certain… every hour counted now, every hour was an important gain.
The telephone crackled at him, and he spoke into it. “Morning, Brigadier. Hammersley here… now listen, Paton. I want you to make a signal asking for the ships to enter earlier. If possible by noon tomorrow…”
By the time Shaw slowed for the San Roque control post the signal had been flashed out to the cypher offices of the various commands, the signal hastening Exercise Convoy, which only a few people knew meant that Gibraltar’s plight was growing desperate; the Mediterranean Fleet, which the night before had steamed out from Malta’s Grand Harbour, had increased speed to the westward; other ships, merchantmen, had wrenched a few extra turns of the screw to send them faster along courses previously adjusted in accordance with urgent instructions from the Admiralty which overrode their owners’ normal itineraries. The Queen Elizabeth’s Master had told his Chief Engineer to give him everything he’d got as his ship came out of Plymouth sound.
If Shaw didn’t succeed some of the people of Gibraltar stood a chance of being saved; but it was touch and go, and it would be the worst blow ever to be suffered by the Commonwealth in peace-time if he failed.
Shaw stopped at the guardia’s signal, pulled in behind the swaying, back-firing bus from Malaga, stinking in its fumes. As the man came up to his window Shaw snapped, “From Malaga, for Algeciras.” He pushed his documents through; the guardia took them, glanced at them, thumbed them over and passed them back. He was a lean man, surly and hard-looking.
“The keys of the boot.”
Shaw seethed angrily. He was jerky with nervous impatience to be on his way. These interminable checks and silly routines… He got out, walked round to the back of the car. The man prodded at the boot, unhurriedly. Shaw wanted to take the oaf by the throat and shake him until he stopped his footling officialdom while Gibraltar’s life ticked to a close. He asked, “Have you seen a car come through here, a big scarlet-and-silver Chevrolet, travelling very fast, with three men and a woman in it?”
The guardia said, “Yes. They stopped here. They were going to Algeciras too.” That confirmed Shaw’s earlier guess.
Shaw was looking at the guardia as the man said that almost absently. He saw the flicker in the eyes as the man noticed the holes made by El Caballero’s bullets… the guardia closed the boot — and pocketed the key. Then he walked round to the side, looked in at Debonnair. It was all so bloody deliberate, thought Shaw furiously, going cold. He didn’t think they were going to get away with this. The guardia studied the car again, intently, saw the scores on the wing, opened the rear door. He said, “There is blood on the seats.” He looked hard at Shaw. “Can you explain how that blood got there, and the bullet-marks?”
Shaw glanced in at Debonnair. She was sitting there tense and rigid, very still, waiting for Shaw to give a lead as to what they were to say. He hadn’t expected this; all he could do now was to try his best to bluff it out — he had to avoid any mention of the dead Civil Guards. He cursed the luck which had put an intelligent guardia in their way like this. He said, “We were ambushed, amigo. Bandits, in the hills.” He shrugged, turned away. “It is nothing — we were lucky.”
He felt the man’s hand on his shoulder and he swung round. The guardia said curtly, “The blood in the car means that it was not nothing. And it cannot be your blood or the woman’s, since neither of you are hurt.” The grip tightened on Shaw’s shoulder. “You will consider yourself under arrest, my friend, you and the woman. I do not believe about the bandits. That you would have reported.”
Shaw’s face was ugly, as much at his own lack of alertness and forethought as anything else. In a low, hard whisper he said, “Listen to me, amigo. I am telling the truth, but I have no time to argue the point now.” He threw off the guardia’s hand, brought out his revolver, and pressed it close to the man’s stomach. Looking round quickly, he saw that the Malaga bus with its sardine-packed passengers standing in groups by the roadside waiting to be checked, chickens for the market fluttering out after them, was engaging the attention of the carabineros. “You will not utter a word of warning to your comrades and you will get into the back of the car. If anyone questions you, you will say that you are accompanying us to the comisaria in Algeciras. If you do not I swear I will blow your stomach out.”
There was, in fact, clear naked murder in Shaw’s eyes at that moment. The guardia gave a sound of sheer terror and licked his lips. “In!” Shaw ordered curtly. The man turned his eyes, desperately, in the direction of the control post, and Shaw jabbed the gun in harder. The man obeyed him then; and as he did so Shaw gestured to Debonnair to get into the back with him. She had that revolver of Don Jaime’s, and Shaw said, “Any trouble, shoot him. And don’t hesitate, Debbie. I mean it. I’m sorry, but things are getting a bit too close for my liking now.” He added, “Take his gun away.”
The girl nodded. She looked white but capable. She’d had the training for this sort of thing, and though Shaw knew she’d always baulked at killing, he also knew that she wouldn’t let him down if it came to the point. Shaw ran round and jumped into the driving-seat and they were off, fast down the road to Algeciras before anyone knew what had happened, even before they saw them go. Shaw felt convinced now that they were nearing the end of the trail, and that it would be very soon that the fun would start. Karina would have her bolt-hole well prepared, and he had to reach her before it opened and closed again behind her.