For the first time, I smiled back.
An hour later, the 149 cleared the entrance of Grand Harbour. Ravallo was in the wheelhouse with me, sitting on a camp-stool, quietly smoking.
He spoke suddenly.
'We're going to Sicily, Mac. Rendezvous, midnight, two miles northwest of Cape Passero. OK?'
I said nothing, but turned to my charts and tables.
'Half-speed, Chief,' I said to Wilson. 'Course zero-five-zero. Hillyard, Johnson on watch. Right?'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Ravallo jumped to his feet.
'Here, what's this?' he demanded swiftly. 'Half-speed? Look, Mac, we gotta hit the rendezvous on the nose. Midnight, Scotty, midnight — not tomorrow morning. Last time I came from Sicily it took fourteen hours. Including two hours swimming,' he added bitterly.
Wilson and I grinned at each other.
'Chief,' I said sorrowfully, 'I'm afraid we've a doubter on our hands. The Major and I are taking a walk forrard. Ask Taffy to open her up — demonstration purposes only.'
The demonstration was brief and entirely effective. At its conclusion we walked slowly aft to the stern and sat down, leaning against the recently emptied depth-charge racks, Ravallo looking very thoughtful, almost dazed.
The effect was almost always the same. The hypnotic effect of the rushing waters and the gigantic bow-wave, coupled with the sheer physical shock of the bone-jarring vibrations of the deck and the banshee clamour of the great aero-engines, was almost literally stunning.
Ravallo broke the silence.
'Sorry again, Mac.' His face lit up with remembered enthusiasm. 'My God, Mac, that must be one of the last thrills left on earth. What was she doing — forty-five, fifty knots?'
'Official secret,' I said solemnly. 'Seriously, though, I don't think you need worry about anything on the surface of the Mede catching us. And now — how about some more information, Major?'
'Nicky,' he corrected absently. 'Right, Mac, this is how it is.
'This cloak-and-dagger sealed orders act isn't just for fun. It's a must. Do you know how many agents we've lost this year in Italy?' he asked slowly. 'Twenty-six.' He pounded his fist, very gently, on the deck, his eyes quiet, his voice level.
'Twenty-six,' I echoed. 'That's impossible.' (Neither of us knew at the time that the British had already lost twice that number in Holland alone. All died.)
He didn't seem to hear me.
'A couple by natural hazards,' he went on. 'Maybe half-a-dozen through leaks. The rest — ' he waved a hand forrard — 'well, that's what this boat is for.' He paused.
'Well, go on.' I was becoming interested.
'German and Italian radio monitoring stations,' he explained. 'Almost all information is sent out by radio. Fairly powerful transmitting sets which are as easily picked up by the enemy as by us. A few cross-bearings and — finish.'
'But you still haven't explained — '
'I'm coming to that. The idea is to fit our agents with weak, short-range transmitters — hardly more than fields — which cuts out ninety per cent of the risk of detection. Your boat will lie close offshore — two or three miles — pick up our agents' reports on its short-range receiver and re-transmit to base by the big RCA. Starr says he will have six of these boats in action by the end of the year.'
'Aha!' I said. 'Light dawns. I should have thought of that before. It should work.'
'It MUST work,' he said heavily. 'We've lost too many of our best agents already.'
We sat on deck for several minutes, companionably silent, having the last smoke on deck of the day. Presently Ravallo spun his cigarette over the side and rose easily to his feet.
'Mac?'
I turned my head.
'Do you mind if I have a look at the radio room?'
'Help yourself. Passiere's having supper just now.'
He left me. I sat for another couple of minutes, pondering over Ravallo's news, then went to darken ship.
After supper, we went to the wheelhouse. I took over from Wilson, who went below. The sea was as calm as a millpond and there was no moon that night. Conditions were ideal.
I looked at my watch. 11.00 p.m. I wished I could smoke.
'What happens at the rendezvous, Nicky?' I asked.
'Picking up an agent,' he said briefly. 'The Syracuse area is getting too hot these days.'
'Friend of yours?'
'Sort of. One can't afford to have friends in our line,' he said quietly. 'Too much grief. Besides — ' he paused — 'Stella doesn't encourage — er — friendship.'
'Stella?' I glanced quickly at him. 'You mean — '
'Yeah, he's a she.' Nicky was laconic. 'Why not? She's one of the best in the business — and less liable to suspicion. Parachuted in two months ago.'
I turned this over on my mind.
'Speaks the language fluently, I suppose?'
'Strange if she didn't,' Nicky smiled. 'She was born in Leghorn.'
'An Italian!' I made a grimace of distaste. 'Well, I suppose the money's good.'
In two quick strides he was beside me, his hand gripping my shoulder.
'Watch it, Scotty,' he murmured softly. 'Careful of what you say. She's a naturalized American, same as I am.'
Silently I cursed myself and gently disengaged his hand.
'Looks as if this is going to be a record night for apologies, Nicky,' I said wryly. 'Damned stupid of me. Keep your eyes skinned, will you?'
We spent an hour of steadily mounting anxiety waiting at the rendezvous. Nicky, I could see, was worried and upset — not at all in character, I thought.
Shortly after one o'clock we heard the angry hum of a small outboard, a 12-foot skiff with two dark figures aboard appeared out of the darkness and slid smoothly alongside. A bump, a couple of outstretched arms, a heave — just so quickly was the small boat away again and a slender figure in slacks and windbreaker standing there on deck, shivering involuntarily in the cold.
Nicky's voice was harsh and low. Perhaps from relief, perhaps from anger.
'You're late. Far too damn late. How often do you have to be told not to keep a boat waiting in enemy waters? Had to powder your pretty little nose, I suppose?'
'Sorry, Nicky,' she pleaded. Her voice was warm and soft and husky. 'Johnny found a leak in the petrol tank and had to return for more and — '
'Keep quiet!' I whispered urgently.
Nicky spoke angrily: 'Look, Mac, that's the second time-'
'Shut up and listen!'
This time they, too, heard it — a muffled creak, ominous, stealthy.
'Petrol, hell!' I said softly, bitterly. 'Nipped back to give his pals the tip-off, you mean. Take her to my cabin, Nicky, quickly.'
She broke from his grip and caught my lapel.
'Get away as fast as you can,' she whispered. The Germans have two fast motor-launches in harbour. They're armed. They're manned day and night and — '
'Take her below,' I interrupted. I wrenched her hand away. 'And keep her there.'
The crew of the 149 were superbly trained. A couple of low-voiced commands and, as our port and starboard magnesium rockets curved upwards, the 149 was already thrusting through the water at close on twenty knots. Wilson was behind the searchlight and every gun was manned.
There were three of them astern of us, cockleshell rowing boats, with three soldiers — Germans, I thought — in each, every one lifejacketed and armed to the teeth — as wicked looking a boarding party as I'd seen for a long time. But this was going to be easy.
I stopped the engine momentarily, wound down a window, yelled to the crew to get under cover, called to Taffy for full speed and swung the 149 round in a skidding half-turn.
Twenty seconds later it was all over. A brief fusillade of carbine shots — some starring the wheelhouse's bullet-proof windows — a couple of twenty-five knot racing turns and the three boats were swamped and overturned. We stopped, fished a couple of bedraggled soldiers from the water — prisoners were always welcome at HQ — and headed southwest for home.