The fleet's stopped for the committal,' • snapped.
There was a flash of anger, but also amusement, in the
C-in-C's eyes. Ackroyd dutifully fell silent. My eyes followed his steady stare at the coffin. I saw, too-the thing weighed a ton! I'd been thinking in terms of a body sewn in canvas. How would they get that heavy object over a ship's side?
The fleet will not heave-to,' replied the C-in-C evenly.
If you get it overboard it'll foul the cruiser's screws!' I expostulated.
Cruiser?' echoed the C-in-C, playing with me. Who said the ceremony was to be from Loch Vennachar?'
I half rose, but he waved me down.
' I think you should get the picture clear in your mind. Commander Peace will not be buried in the ordinary way.
The method might have pleased his own macabre taste. No, the British and American fleets will steam in line ahead, the mourning party being on Loch Vennachar's bridge. The fleet destroyer H.M.S. Amirante will detach and proceed at full speed between the lines of ships. Amirante will carry Commander Peace's body, while the chaplain conducts the service from Loch Vennachar. It will be relayed by radio to the other ships.' He turned to Ackroyd. What is Amirante's speed?'
Thirty-five knots, sir'
I was revolted at the thought of the Hollywood-type spectacle to please millions of television viewers (there was to be a hook-up via Telstar satellites) which would also massage the egos of the British and American naval commanders. The press, radio and television ballyhoo had also been deliberately engineered.
My anger flared. Thirty-five knots! Don't be bloody silly, man-you can't drop a body overboard at thirty-five knots!'
Who said we intended to drop him overboard?'
I rose to my feet in incredulity.
Not drop-fire.'
Fire?'
Yes,' said the C-in-C evenly. We are going to fire Peace into his grave from a depth-charge mortar.
2 MORTAR – RIDE FOR A CORPSE
I could not believe that he was serious. It sounded like a circus display to me.
The C-in-C went on. You must have wondered about the special coffin-I think Loch Vennachar's engineering shop did a fine rush job.'
' You sound like a professional Undertaker,' I grated.
He shrugged. Commander Peace's burial demanded special arrangements. You must have wondered why your request to see the body was not granted.'
' I don't wonder any longer. Whose bloody-fool idea was all this?'
Mine'
I won't have any part in it,' I retorted. You and your your arrangements can go to hell.'
I did not seem to get through to him. It would look rather strange, would it not,' he went on blandly, if John Garland, Peace's friend and comrade-in-arms, sulked while the hero was given the honours and recognition due to him?'
Honours and recognition be-! There is still time to call off this whole silly farce'
Is there?' He was cool, sure of himself. ' Tell the Defence Minister not to come? Tell the top representatives of the Limuria Grand Alliance that John Garland claims the exclusive right to bury his friend as he-and no one else thinks fit? Reverse the chain of communications now in motion to relay the ceremony? Tell millions of television viewers..
I cursed myself for not having broken through the obstructions when I first heard of Peace's death. Now it seemed too late.
Don't you wish Commander Peace to be honoured?'
Not in this way.'
How, then, if I may ask?'
I… I I… all I know is that he should have been buried quietly at sea…' My voice trailed off.
The C-in-C rose to go. You have not made any of the constructive suggestions I had hoped for from someone so close to Commander Peace.' Bloody hypocritical bastard, thought. I think we may take it that the present arrangements will stand. Ackroyd will keep in touch with you. Can you have your things packed in, say, an hour? I must ask 21 you not to come aboard Bellatrix except during the formal lying-in-state hours. Naval guards will be posted with orders.'
He shrugged slightly. I hope you will not embarrass either
Me or yourself. I suggest you be as accommodating as pos sible, Mr. Garland.'
Captain Garland,' I reminded him.
He smiled, the iron hand in the velvet glove. To me, mister. Had you fallen under my orders-well, this interview might have proceeded somewhat differently.'
His remote, formal air was impenetrable. He picked up his cap and ground out his gold-tipped Benson and Hedges cigarette: The two officers matched his actions. A formal salute, and he was gone.
The steel coffin creaked gently under Bellatrix's quiet lift. What had an American Intelligence agent sought to find out with that stethoscope? Had he suspected that Peace might not be dead? I didn't want to look at the dead face again, but the tumult of questions hammering in my brain drew me to the coffin itself. Those heavy rivets! I fingered them. Had Loch Vennachar's engineers indeed fabricated the strange contraption? Could they have made it in a brief two or three days?
I was drawn to the glass trap. What secret big enough for the CIA to be interested in lay behind the closed eyes framed by the monkish cap? I had not noticed previously that Peace's head was pillowed on foam rubber. I wiped away the last of the whisky. The glass still wasn't clear. There seemed some condensation inside, but the humid climate would account for that. They must have embalmed the body. for it to lie another three days in state '-six in all since his death. Then I noticed that the entire interior was of foam rubber.
I took the stethoscope, adjusted the plugs in my ears, and listened. Nothing. That layer of foam rubber would have damped any sound, however. Although the admiral had said Peace was to be fired from a depth-charge mortar, the body did not seem to be strapped in. I calculated the width of Peace's shoulders against the size of the cylinder and recalled his height. Strange! The coffin was much longer and wider than necessary. I explored the, foot. There was a heavy flange. I ran my fingers over it. The metal was rough and painted, but I felt something. I looked round for some instrument, then went and fetched an ice-pick from the bar. With it I scratched and found lettering. It read: Cammell-Laird, Ltd., Shipbuilders, Liverpool.'
I reflected grimly that the key might well lie with the unconscious CIA man. Mac and I would have to make him talk. As far as Cammell-Laird's were concerned, the coffin was probably a stray section of casing or tubing from a submarine bearing their imprint. That would account for its shape and size. The C-in-C had been very much on the defensive with me, but he had warmed a little when he had spoken of the DNI.
The thought of the DNI decided me. I would go and visit the man whose fame behind the scenes was matched only by his anonymity outside the Service. He was, of course, Peace's friend. The C-in-C had said he had settled recently in Mahe. It would not be difficult to track him down in a small place like Port Victoria. Even at this late moment, I thought, he might be able to have some of the undignified extroversion of the funeral modified. He might also know Peace's secret. I started towards the engine-room, and as I did so I heard the naval guard of honour coming alongside.
Mac was wry. ' The bastard's still out. Nothing to be had from him for hours.' He looked down at his oil-stained hands. ' We may have softened him up a little, though.'
' We've got to be off Bellatrix soon,' I reminded him, looking at the muscular figure lying on the gratings. Mac had patched up the wound on his head and he looked corpse-like with the blood cleaned away.
' We can't carry an unconscious man past the guard,' I pointed out. ' We'll lock him up and come back in an hour or two on the pretext that we've forgotten something.'
Mac's voice was savage. ' And-question him.'
I nodded. ' He'll be tough, though. The CIA boys aren't given to shooting off their mouths, least of all to a couple of amateurs like ourselves.'