Medusa

This time he was gone the better part of an hour, and when he came back his face looked grim. 'The BBC News led off with it at seven o'clock. There was a short statement from Madrid to the effect that the Spanish Government was greatly concerned and would be watching events closely.' He was standing at the window looking out towards the town, the white of the buildings touched with gold as the sun rose above the northern arm of the harbour. It was one of those still mornings, the water glassy calm, a molten look that was a sure sign of heat to come. 'In other words, they're not sure of themselves and are waiting upon developments locally. No suggestion at the moment that they are prepared to take any positive and determined action.'- He turned to me. 'How left is this man Fuxa, would you say?'

'We always thought of him as more of an anarchist than a communist,' I said.

'My information is that he has spent some time in the Soviet Union and is probably Russian trained.' He gave a little shrug, went over to his desk and sat down, staring vacantly at the litter of signals that covered it. 'Oh well, we'll know soon enough. If that's correct, then he'll almost certainly request recognition from Moscow, even perhaps some assistance if the going gets rough.'

He seemed to be using me as a sounding board, for he went on talking about how the situation might develop, the political repercussions outside of Menorca. At the back of his mind, of course, was the American bombing of Libya. 'Do you think they're involved?' He was staring at me, but I don't think he was seeing me at all, only what was in his mind, the question purely rhetorical. 'Russian warships, the American Sixth Fleet, and those big guns out on La Mola. If they know how to fire them, somebody's got to take them out before any naval ships hostile to this new regime can enter Port Mahon. There are Spanish Navy ships in Barcelona, but they haven't moved. Perhaps that's why.'

'Surely they could knock them out,' I suggested. 'An air strike…'

But he was shaking his head. 'The situation is too confused for them to do that. They don't know who they'd be attacking. Their own people perhaps.'

'What does Palma say?' I asked him.

The Civil Governor has called for calm throughout the Province and appealed for the maintenance of democratic government. Usual sort of thing.'

'And the Military Governor?'

'Nothing so far from him. Not that we've been able to pick up, and nothing on the BBC News or even the World Service. Madrid seems to be keeping a low profile.' He banged his fist against the arm of his chair. 'Time is passing, and every minute counts. They don't seem to realise — '

'Nor do you/ I said.

He stared at me. 'How do you mean?'

'It's obvious, isn't it — they're afraid of aggravating the situation. If you'd lived in the islands you'd understand something of their history and how recent and how delicate is the matter of provincial autonomy.'

'I know that. But they're dithering and they haven't time for that.' His voice had risen almost to a note of shrillness. They haven't time,' he repeated more quietly, gazing into space. 'God almighty!' It was an invocation that seemed forced out of him by his lone position at the centre of events that were beyond his control. 'Better get some breakfast now.' He got up from the desk and led me over to the table under the portholes, calling for Petty Officer Jarvis.

'Your people knew something like this was going to happen/ I said as we sat down. That's why you were ordered out of Malta in such haste.' He didn't answer, his mind locked in on itself. 'Well, wasn't it? And wasn't that why you came to Menorca in the first place, before you took command of this ship?'

That got through to him, his eyes coming into focus and staring at me across the table. 'I suppose so.' Jarvis appeared with two plates loaded with bacon, sausage and fried egg.

'So what are you supposed to do? A British Navy ship, you can't take any part in a coup d'etat like this.'

'No, of course not.'

'So, what's the point?'

Toast?' He pushed the rack towards me, concentrating now on his food.

'You can't do any good here,' I told him.;He nodded, the broad forehead under the black curly hair creased in a frown. 'Jesus! Do you think I don't know that?'

'So why were you sent here?' I asked him.

'Why?' He looked surprised. 'For the same reason Nelson was here. And poor Byng — executed because he wouldn't face the French.' And he added, 'These people, they have this one priceless asset — the finest deep-water harbour in the Western Med. That's what it's all about. That's why I'm here.' He gave a hollow laugh. 'If there had been any opposition, if Madrid had reacted to the situation…' He stopped there, the loudspeaker breaking in on his thoughts: 'Bridge here, sir. There's a launch approaching. Harbour launch by the look of it.'

Gareth finished his breakfast quickly and a few minutes later the same voice announced that it was the harbour master himself wanting to speak to the Captain. Gareth asked for the man's name, then turned to me. 'Francisco Romacho. Is that right?'

'No,' I said. 'It should be Juan Terron.'

He nodded. 'They haven't wasted any time. A key appointment and he's in position already.' Then into the intercom: 'Does he speak English? No, well get hold of Sykes, then send the two of them up.' He suggested I conceal myself in the steward's pantry. 'See if you recognise him.'

The man who entered was short and very dark with an aquiline face. I had never seen him before. He was dressed in khaki trousers and camouflage tunic. He came straight to the point. 'Senor Fuxa — el Piesidente — feels that, in the circumstances, he cannot accept the presence of a foreign warship in the port of Mahon.' Watching through a crack in the serving hatch, Victor Sykes came into my line of Vision. He was another of the young officers-under-training, probably posted to the ship for his knowledge of Spanish. He looked a little scared, his voice low as he interpreted. The three of them were seated at the coffee table, Gareth pointing out that what went on ashore was not his concern, he was simply in Mahon on a courtesy visit and if there had been some change in the government of the island, he was sure the new regime would extend the same welcome to one of Her Majesty's ships as the old.

The interview went on like that for some time, Romacho insisting that Medusaleave Mahon, Gareth pointing out that his orders came from London and he had no authority to leave without new instructions. At one point he said, 'This is a matter for the Spanish and British governments.' And Romacho answered quickly, 'I don't think so. We are now an independent state.'

'Then I suggest your president takes the question up directly with the Foreign Office in London.'

'He cannot do that until we have recognition. In the meantime, he insists that you leave Mahon.'

'I have explained that my orders — '

'Your orders are to leave. Immediately.' Romacho had jumped tohis feet. 'This is our water. Our port. You have no right to be here when we don't invite you. You will leave immediately please.'

Gareth had risen to his feet. 'Unfortunately we have a problem.' And he went on to explain that the high-pressure boilers delivering steam to the turbines had sprung some leaks and his Marine Engineer Officer had taken the opportunity to close the boilers down for maintenance work on the condenser pipes.

It was obvious that Romacho didn't believe him, but he couldn't very well demand to inspect the engine room. Instead, he said, 'In that case, we will have to arrange a tow for you. Fortunately the tanker that keeps the Cala Figuera depot supplied has just finished off-loading and we have our own harbour tug. I will arrange for the two of them to tow you to Palma in Mallorca.'