LITMIR.BIZ

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on, still fell as heavily as ever. He was reasonably certain that when an attack did come it would come during the brief hours of daylight but was well aware that a determined U-boat captain would not hesitate to press home an attack in moonlight. In his experience most U-boat captains were very determined indeed – and there would be a moon later that night. Snow would avail them nothing in daytime but during the hours of darkness it was a virtual guarantee of safety.

      He went to the Captain’s cabin where he found Lieutenant Ulbricht smoking an expensive Havana – Captain Bowen, a pipe man, permitted himself one cigar a day – and sipping an equally expensive malt, both of which no doubt helped to contribute to his comparatively relaxed mood.

      ‘Ah, Mr McKinnon. This is more like it. The weather, I mean. Moderating by the minute. Still snowing?’

      ‘Heavily. A mixed blessing, I suppose. No chance of starsights but at least it keeps your friends out of our hair.’

      ‘Friends? Yes. I spend quite some time wondering who my friends are.’ He waved a dismissive hand which was no easy thing to do with a glass of malt in one and a cigar in the other. ‘Is Sister Morrison ill?’

      ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

      ‘I’m supposed to be her patient. One could almost term this savage neglect. A man could easily bleed to death.’

      ‘We can’t have that.’ McKinnon smiled. ‘I’ll get her for you.’

      He phoned the hospital and, by the time he arrived there, Sister Morrison was ready. She said: ‘Something wrong? Is he unwell?’

      ‘He feels cruelly neglected and says something about bleeding to death. He is, in fact, in good spirits, smoking a cigar, drinking malt whisky and appears to be in excellent health. He’s just bored or lonely or both and wants to talk to someone.’

      ‘He can always talk to you.’

      ‘When I said someone, I didn’t mean anyone. I am not Margaret Morrison. Crafty, those Luftwaffe pilots. He can always have you up for dereliction of duty.’

      He took her to the Captain’s cabin, told her to call him at the hospital when she was through, took the crew lists from the Captain’s desk, left and went in search of Jamieson. Together they spent almost half an hour going over the papers of every member of the deck and engine-room crews, trying to recall every detail they knew of their past histories and what other members of the crew had said about any particular individual. When they had finished consulting both the lists and their memories, Jamieson pushed away the lists, leaned back in his chair and sighed.

      ‘What do you make of it, Bo’sun?’

      ‘Same as you do, sir. Nothing. I wouldn’t even begin to know where to point the finger of suspicion. Not only are there no suitable candidates for the role of saboteur, there’s nobody who’s even remotely likely. I think we’d both go into court and testify as character witnesses for the lot of them. But if we accept Lieutenant Ulbricht’s theory – and you, Mr Patterson, Naseby and I do accept it – that it must have been one of the original crew that set off that charge in the ballast room when we were alongside that corvette, then it must have been one of them. Or, failing them, one of the hospital staff.’

      ‘The hospital staff?’ Jamieson shook his head. ‘The hospital staff. Sister Morrison as a seagoing Mata Hari? I have as much imagination as the next man, Bo’sun, but not that kind of imagination.’

      ‘Neither have I. We’d both go to court for them, too. But it has to be someone who was aboard this ship when we left Halifax. When we retire, Mr Jamieson, I think we’d better not be applying for a job with Scotland Yard’s CID. Then there’s the possibility that whoever it is may be in cahoots with someone from the Argos or one of the nine invalids we picked up in Murmansk.’

      ‘About all of whom we know absolutely nothing, which is a great help.’

      ‘As far as the crew of the Argos is concerned, that’s true. As for the invalids, we have, of course, their names, ranks and numbers. One of the TB cases, man by the name of Hartley, is an ERA – Engine-Room Artificer. He would know about electrics. Another, Simons, a mental breakdown case, or an alleged mental breakdown case, is an LTO – Leading Torpedo Operator. He would know about explosives.’

      ‘Too obvious, Bo’sun.’

      ‘Far too obvious. Maybe we’re meant to overlook the far too obvious.’

      ‘Have you seen those two? Spoken to them, I mean?’

      ‘Yes. I should imagine you also have. They’re the two with the red hair.’

      ‘Ah. Those two. Bluff, honest sailormen. Don’t look like criminal types at all. But then, I suppose, the best criminals never do. Look that way, I mean.’ He sighed. ‘I agree, with you, Bo’sun. The CID are in no danger from us.’

      ‘No, indeed.’ McKinnon rose. ‘I think I’ll go and rescue Sister Morrison from Lieutenant Ulbricht’s clutches.’

      Sister Morrison was not in the Lieutenant’s clutches nor did she show any signs of wanting to be rescued. ‘Time to go?’ she said.

      ‘Of course not. Just to let you know I’ll be on the bridge when you want me.’ He looked at Ulbricht, then at Sister Morrison. ‘You managed to save him, then?’

      Compared to what it had been only a few hours previously the starboard wing of the bridge was now almost a haven of peace and quiet. The wind had dropped to not more than Force four and the seas, while far from being a millpond, had quietened to the extent that the San Andreas rarely rolled more than a few degrees when it did at all. That was on the credit side. On the debit side was the fact that the snow had thinned to the extent that McKinnon had no difficulty in making out the arc-lit shape of the red cross on the foredeck reflecting palely under its sheathing of ice. He went back inside the bridge and called up Patterson in the engine-room.

      ‘Bo’sun here, sir. Snow’s lightening. Looks as if it’s going to stop altogether pretty soon. I’d like permission to switch off all exterior lights. Seas are still too high for any U-boat to see us from periscope depth, but if it’s on the surface, if the snow has stopped and we still have the Red Cross lights on, we can be seen miles away from its conning-tower.’

      ‘We wouldn’t want that, would we. No lights.’

      ‘One other thing. Could you have some men clear a pathway – sledges, crowbars, whatever – in the ice between the hospital and the superstructure. Two feet should be wide enough.’

      ‘Consider it done.’

      Fifteen minutes later, still without any sign of Margaret Morrison, the Bo’sun moved out on the wing again. The snow had stopped completely. There were isolated patches of clear sky above and some stars shone, although the Pole Star was hidden. The darkness was still pretty complete, McKinnon couldn’t even see as far as the fo’c’s’le with the deck lights extinguished. He returned inside and went below to the Captain’s cabin.

      ‘The snow’s stopped, Lieutenant, and there are a few stars around, not many, and certainly not at the moment the Pole, but a few. I don’t know how long those conditions might last so I thought you might like to have a look now. I assume that Sister Morrison has staunched the flow of blood.’

      ‘There never was any flow of blood,’ she said. ‘As you know perfectly well, Mr McKinnon.’

      ‘Yes, Sister.’

      She winced, then smiled. ‘Archie McKinnon.’

      ‘Wind’s dropped a lot,’ McKinnon said. He helped Ul-bricht on with outer clothing. ‘But those are just as necessary as they were before. The temperature is still below zero.’

      ‘Fahrenheit?’

      ‘Sorry. You don’t use that. It’s about twenty degrees below, Centigrade.’

      ‘May his nurse come with him? After all, Dr Sinclair went with him last time.’

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