Passage by Night - Jack Higgins

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lay there, caught between the shadowy lines of sleep and waking for quite some time, aware that the wind had strengthened and somewhere far out to sea a single clap of thunder echoed hollowly.

      After a while, he stretched out a hand and realized that he was alone. He threw back the bedclothes and reached for his watch. It was just after eleven. For a moment, he sat there frowning and then remembered that it was Friday and she had a late show. She’d obviously decided not to waken him.

      He got to his feet, padded across the bathroom and turned on the shower. The cold stinging lances of water invigorated him and by the time he was dressed his body was glowing and alive.

      It was eleven-thirty when he went downstairs and the wind was rattling the shutters of the windows along the terrace. There were still a few people in the casino, but the bar was strangely deserted.

      Morrison was sitting on a high stool, drinking a gin sling and leafing through an old yachting magazine. He looked up and smiled. ‘Hello there. How about a drink?’

      Manning looked down at the deserted dance floor with a frown. ‘What’s happening around here? When did the show finish?’

      ‘There wasn’t a late show tonight,’ Morrison said and a sudden gust of wind rattled the front of the building. ‘Looks like we’re in for a blow.’

      As Manning started to turn, that vague, irrational unease moving inside him again, Viner came in from the casino carrying a cash box. As he started to go behind the bar, Manning caught him by the arm.

      ‘What the hell’s going on here? Maria told me she had another show at eleven. Where is she?’

      Viner put the cash box down on the bar and sighed heavily. ‘Maybe you’d better have a drink, Harry.’

      Before Manning could reply, a cry sounded outside and the front door burst open, a gust of wind sending it crashing back against the wall.

      The man who staggered in had been running hard and his oilskin coat streamed water. He grabbed for the edge of the bar and leaned against it, moaning softly.

      He was an old deep-sea fisherman called Saunders who ran a charter boat during the season. Viner went behind the bar, poured rum into a glass and pushed it across.

      ‘Drink that and pull yourself together. What’s happened?’

      ‘Jimmy Walker’s gone down in the sea in that old plane of his.’ Saunders swallowed some of the rum and coughed. ‘I was about two miles out close by Blackstone Reef. There’s a sea like a millrace running out there.’

      ‘Never mind that,’ Manning said. ‘What happened?’

      ‘Search me. There was one hell of a bang. When I looked up, she fell into the water like a stone.’

      ‘Didn’t you go back to help?’ Morrison demanded.

      ‘In my old tub? Mister, the way that sea’s running I’d all I could do to get in here in one piece. I figured the best thing to do was to get some help – real help.’

      There was a sudden crash as Viner dropped the rum bottle he was holding. He swayed slightly, his face very white, and steadied himself against the bar.

      ‘For God’s sake, pull yourself together,’ Manning told him. ‘Grab a coat and let’s get out of here.’

      ‘But you don’t understand, Harry,’ Viner said. ‘Maria was on that plane.’

      Manning stood there gazing at him, the coldness flooding through him. At that moment, the heavens opened with a clap of thunder and rain started to rattle against the roof.

       3

       Dark Waters

      It was raining hard as the Grace Abounding left the shelter of the harbour and turned out to sea. Manning opened the throttle wide and she lifted to meet the waves with a surge of power that left Joe Howard in his old police launch far behind.

      Manning felt strangely calm, pushing all other possibilities from his mind except the one that they would get there in time to do some good. He fumbled for a cigarette and Morrison handed him one quickly and offered a light.

      ‘What kind of a chance have they got?’

      ‘Pretty good,’ Manning said. ‘It’ll take a lot to sink that old Walrus and Jimmy carries a full complement of dinghies and so on in case of ditching. He was strict about things like that. Came from his R.A.F. training, I suppose.’

      ‘What about the reef where they came down?’

      ‘The one thing I’m worried about.’

      Old Saunders removed his pipe and nodded. ‘The sea can play strange tricks out there when the weather gets rough.’

      As the Grace Abounding rose to the crest of a wave, a sudden squall hit her broadside and the whole boat shuddered and slid sideways into the valley below.

      Morrison and Saunders were thrown violently to one side and Manning grabbed for the wheel as it spun and brought her round in time to meet the next wave as it lifted to meet them.

      In the light from the binnacle, Morrison looked sick and frightened. ‘Does that happen often?’

      ‘Usually not more than once.’ Manning said dryly.

      The door of the saloon opened, light flooded out, and Seth came up the companionway carrying a jug of tea and a mug. ‘Man, but there’s a sea running tonight.’

      ‘You can say that again,’ Morrison told him. ‘How’s Viner?’

      ‘Sick to his stomach as usual. We might as well have left him on dry land.’

      Manning swallowed some of the scalding tea and passed the mug to Saunders. The red and green navigation lights cast a strange glow over the deck and beyond, nothing existed except the sea and the night.

      A few moments later, it stopped raining and the moon appeared in a patch of clear sky between clouds that moved smoothly across the sky. The wind died and the squall was over as suddenly as it had begun.

      In the moonlight, the sea stretched to the horizon and the Grace Abounding slid across great heaving swells smoothly, her prow biting into the water. Above the roar of the engine, a hollow booming sounded and a white fountain of water lifted fifty feet into the night.

      ‘What in hell was that?’ Morrison demanded in alarm.

      ‘A blow-hole,’ Saunders said. ‘Always happens in bad weather. The reef’s hollow underneath.’

      Conversation died as they approached. Waves rolled in to dash upon the great, jagged black rampart that towered thirty feet above the sea. An undertow sucked at them as Manning started to turn to port and there was a hollow slapping sound against the keel of the boat. At one side, the water broke into spray, foaming high into the air, while all around, white patches appeared as jagged rocks showed through.

      As he throttled down, the steering became increasingly sluggish and they drifted in towards a great green slab of rock. Manning and Seth heaved on the wheel together and they were round the southern tip of the reef and into the comparative shelter of the lee side.

      The sea stretched away into the night, surrounding rocks and cays clearly visible in the bright moonlight. There was no sign of the Walrus. Seth opened the front window and Manning switched on the spot and turned it slowly, the beam splaying across the water towards the reef.

      Saunders called out excitedly and pointed. Caught in the light of the beam was a section of silver fuselage. Seth ran to the stern to throw out the anchor and Manning switched off the engine. Morrison and Saunders had

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