Wyatt’s Hurricane / Bahama Crisis

‘Perhaps that would be best,’ agreed Hippolyte unwillingly. ‘Could you tell me at least the … er … subject-matter of your communication?’

‘I could not,’ said Rawsthorne severely. ‘It’s a Matter of State.’

‘All right,’ said Hippolyte. ‘I will ask the President. If you would wait here …’ His voice tailed off and he backed out of the room.

Wyatt glanced at Rawsthorne. ‘Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?’

Rawsthorne mopped his brow. ‘If this gets back to Whitehall I’ll be out of a job – but it’s the only way to handle Hippolyte. The man’s in a muck sweat – you saw that. He’s afraid to break in on Serrurier and he’s even more afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t. That’s the trouble with the tyranny of one-man rule; the dictator surrounds himself with bags of jelly like Hippolyte.’

‘Do you think he’ll see us?’

‘I should think so,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘I think I’ve roused his curiosity.’

Hippolyte came back fifteen minutes later. ‘The President will see you. Please come this way.’

They followed him along an ornate corridor for what seemed a full half mile before he stopped outside a door. ‘The President is naturally … disturbed about the present critical situation,’ he said. ‘Please do not take it amiss if he is a little … er … short-tempered, let us say.’

Rawsthorne guessed that Hippolyte had recently felt the edge of Serrurier’s temper and decided to twist the knife. ‘He’ll be even more short-tempered when I tell him how we were treated on our arrival here,’ he said shortly. ‘Never have I heard of the official representative of a foreign power being searched like a common criminal.’

Hippolyte’s sweat-shiny face paled to a dirty grey and he began to say something, but Rawsthorne ignored him, pushed open the door and walked into the room with Wyatt close behind. It was a huge room, sparsely furnished, but in the same over-ornate style as the rest of the palace. A trestle-table had been set up at the far end round which a number of uniformed men were grouped. An argument seemed to be in progress, for a small man with his back to them pounded on the table and shouted, ‘You will find them, General; find them and smash them.’

Rawsthorne said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘That’s Serrurier – with the Army Staff – Deruelles, Lescuyer, Rocambeau.’

One of the soldiers muttered something to Serrurier and he swung round. ‘Ah, Rawsthorne, you wanted to tell me something?’

‘Come on,’ said Rawsthorne, and strode up the length of the room.

Serrurier leaned on the edge of the table which was covered with maps. He was a small, almost insignificant man with hunched shoulders and hollow chest. He had brown chimpanzee eyes which seemed to plead for understanding, as though he could not comprehend why anyone should hate or even dislike him. But his voice was harsh with the timbre of a man who understood power and how to command it.

He rubbed his chin and said, ‘You come at a strange time. Who is the ti blanc?’

‘A British scientist, Your Excellency.’

Serrurier shrugged and visibly wiped Wyatt from the list of people he would care to know. ‘And what does the British Government want with me – or from me?’

‘I have been instructed to bring you something,’ said Rawsthorne.

Serrurier grunted. ‘What?’

‘Valuable information, Your Excellency. Mr Wyatt is a weather expert – he brings news of an approaching hurricane – a dangerous one.’

Serrurier’s jaw dropped. ‘You come here at this time to talk about the weather?’ he asked incredulously. ‘At a time when war is imminent you wish to waste my time with weather forecasting?’ He picked up a map from the table and crumpled it in a black fist, shaking it under Raws-thorne’s nose. ‘I thought you were bringing news of Favel. Favel! Favel – do you understand? He is all that I am interested in.’

‘Your Excellency –’ began Rawsthorne.

Serrurier said in a grating voice, ‘We do not have hurricanes in San Fernandez – everyone knows that.’

‘You had one in 1910,’ said Wyatt.

‘We do not have hurricanes in San Fernandez,’ repeated Serrurier, staring at Wyatt. He suddenly lost his temper. ‘Hippolyte! Hippolyte, where the devil are you? Show these fools out.’

‘But Your Excellency –’ began Rawsthorne again.

‘We do not have hurricanes in San Fernandez,’ screamed Serrurier. ‘Are you deaf, Rawsthorne? Hippolyte, get them out of my sight.’ He leaned against the table, breathing heavily. ‘And, Hippolyte, I’ll deal with you later,’ he added menacingly.

Wyatt found Hippolyte plucking pleadingly at his coat, and glanced at Rawsthorne. ‘Come on,’ said Rawsthorne bleakly. ‘We’ve delivered our message as well as we’re able.’

He walked with steady dignity down the long room, and after a moment’s hesitation Wyatt followed, hearing Serrurier’s hysterical scream as he left. ‘Do you understand, Mr British Scientist? We do not have hurricanes in San Fernandez!’

Outside, Hippolyte became vindictive. He considered Rawsthorne had made a fool of him and he feared the retribution of Serrurier. He called a squad of soldiers and Wyatt and Rawsthorne found themselves brutally hustled from the palace to be literally thrown out of the front door.

Rawsthorne examined a tear in his coat. ‘I thought it might be like that,’ he said. ‘But we had to try.’

‘He’s mad,’ said Wyatt blankly. ‘He’s stark staring, raving mad.’

‘Of course,’ said Rawsthorne calmly. ‘Didn’t you know? Lord Acton once said that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Serrurier is thoroughly corrupted in the worst possible way – that’s why everyone is so afraid of him. I was beginning to wonder if we’d get out of there.’

Wyatt shook his head as though to clear cobwebs out of his brain. ‘He said, “We do not have hurricanes in San Fernandez,” as though he has forbidden them by presidential decree.’ There was a baffled look on his face.

‘Let’s get away from here,’ said Rawsthorne with an eye on the surrounding soldiers. ‘Where’s the car?’

‘Over there,’ said Wyatt. ‘I’ll take you back to your place – then I must call at the Imperiale.’

There was a low rumble in the distance coming from the mountains. Rawsthorne cocked his head on one side. ‘Thunder,’ he said. ‘Is your hurricane upon us already?’

Wyatt looked up at the moon floating in the cloudless sky. ‘That’s not thunder,’ he said. ‘I wonder if Serrurier has found Favel – or vice versa.’ He looked at Rawsthorne. ‘That’s gunfire.’

THREE

It was quite late in the evening when Wyatt pulled up his car outside the Imperiale. He had had a rough time; the street lighting had failed or been deliberately extinguished (he thought that perhaps the power-station staff had decamped) and three times he had been halted by the suspicious police, his being one of the few cars on the move in the quiet city. There was a sporadic crackle of rifle fire, sometimes isolated shots and sometimes minor fusillades, echoing through the streets. The police and the soldiers were nervous and likely to shoot at anything that moved. And behind everything was the steady rumble of artillery fire from the mountains, now sounding very distinctly on the heavy night air.

His thoughts were confused as he got out of the car. He did not know whether he would be glad or sorry to find Julie at the Imperiale. If she had gone to Cap Sarrat Base then all decision was taken out of his hands, but if she was still in the hotel then he would have to make the awkward choice. Cap Sarrat, in his opinion, was not safe, but neither was getting mixed up in a civil war between shooting armies. Could he, on an unsupported hunch, honestly advise anyone – and especially Julie – not to go to Cap Sarrat?

He looked up at the darkened hotel and shrugged mentally – he would soon find out what he had to do. He was about to lock the car when he paused in thought, then he opened up the engine and removed the rotor-arm of the distributor. At least the car would be there when he needed it.

The foyer of the Imperiale was in darkness, but he saw a faint glow from the American Bar. He walked across and halted as a chair clattered behind him. He whirled, and said, ‘Who’s that?’ There was a faint scrape of sound and a shadow flitted across a window; then a door banged and there was silence.

He waited a few seconds, then went on. A voice called from the American Bar, ‘Who’s that out there?’

‘Wyatt.’

Julie rushed into his arms as he stepped into the bar. ‘Oh, Dave, I’m glad you’re here. Have you brought transport from the Base?’

‘I’ve got transport,’ he said. ‘But I’ve not come directly from the Base. Someone was supposed to pick you up, I know that.’

‘They came,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t here – none of us were.’

He became aware he was in the centre of a small group. Dawson was there, and Papegaikos of the Maraca Club and a middle-aged woman whom he did not know. Behind, at the bar, the bar-tender clanged the cash register open.

‘I was here,’ said the woman. ‘I was asleep in my room and nobody came to wake me.’ She spoke aggressively in an affronted tone.

‘I don’t think you know Mrs Warmington,’ Julie said.

Wyatt nodded an acknowledgement, and said, ‘So you’re left stranded.’

‘Not exactly,’ said Julie. ‘When Mr Dawson and I came back and found everyone gone we sat around a bit wondering what to do, then the phone rang in the manager’s office. It was someone at the Base checking up; he said he’d send a truck for us – then the phone cut off in the middle of a sentence.’

‘Serrurier’s men probably cut the lines to the Base,’ said Wyatt. ‘It’s a bit dicey out there – they’re as nervous as cats. When was this?’

‘Nearly two hours ago.’

Wyatt did not like the sound of that but he made no comment – there was no point in scaring anybody. He smiled at Papegaikos. ‘Hello, Eumenides, I didn’t know you favoured the Imperiale.’

The sallow Greek smiled glumly. ‘I was tol’ to come ‘ere if I wan’ to go to the Base.’

Dawson said bluffly, ‘That truck should be here any time now and we’ll be out of here.’ He waved a glass at Wyatt. ‘I guess you could do with a drink.’

‘It would come in handy,’ said Wyatt. ‘I’ve had a hard day.’

Dawson turned. ‘Hey, you! Where d’you think you’re going?’ He bounded forward and seized the small man who was sidling out of the bar. The bartender wriggled frantically, but Dawson held him with one huge paw and pulled him back behind the bar. He looked over at Wyatt and grinned. ‘Whaddya know, he’s cleaned out the cash drawer, too.’

‘Let him go,’ said Wyatt tiredly. ‘It’s no business of ours. All the staff will leave – there was one sneaking out when I came in.’

Dawson shrugged and opened his fist and the bartender scuttled out. ‘What the hell! I like self-service bars better.’

Mrs Warmington said briskly, ‘Well, now that you’re here with a car we can leave for the Base.’

Wyatt sighed. ‘I don’t know if that’s wise. We may not get through. Serrurier’s crowd is trigger-happy; they’re likely to shoot first and ask questions afterwards – and even if they do ask questions we’re liable to get shot.’

Dawson thrust a drink into his hand. ‘Hell, we’re Americans; we’ve got no quarrel with Serrurier.’

‘We know that, and Commodore Brooks knows it – but Serrurier doesn’t. He’s convinced that the Americans have supplied the rebels with guns – the guns you can hear now – and he probably thinks that Brooks is just biding his time before he comes out of the Base to stab him in the back.’

He took a gulp of the drink and choked; Dawson had a heavy hand with the whisky. He swallowed hard, and said, ‘My guess is that Serrurier has a pretty strong detachment of the army surrounding the Base right now – that’s why your transport hasn’t turned up.’

Everyone looked at him in silence. At last Mrs Warmington said, ‘Why, I know Commodore Brooks wouldn’t leave us here, not even if he had to order the Marines to come and get us.’

‘Commodore Brooks has more to think of than the plight of a few Americans in St Pierre,’ said Wyatt coldly. ‘The safety of the Base comes first.’

Dawson said intently, ‘What makes you think the Base isn’t safe, anyway?’

‘There’s trouble coming,’ said Wyatt. ‘Not the war, but –’

‘Anyone home?’ someone shouted from the foyer, and Julie said, ‘That’s Mr Causton.’

Causton came into the bar. He was limping slightly, there was a large tear in his jacket and his face was very dirty with a cut and a smear of blood on the right cheek. ‘Damn’ silly of me,’ he said. ‘I ran out of recording tapes, so I came back to get some more.’ He surveyed the small group. ‘I thought you’d all be at the Base by now.’

‘Communications have been cut,’ said Wyatt, and explained what had happened.

‘You’ve lost your chance,’ said Causton grimly. ‘The Government has quarantined the Base – there’s a cordon round it.’ He knew them all except Mrs Warmington, and regarded Dawson with a sardonic gleam in his eye. ‘Ah, yes, Mr Dawson; this should be just up your street. Plenty of material here for a book, eh?’

Dawson said, ‘Sure, it’ll make a good book.’ He did not sound very enthusiastic.

‘I could do with a hefty drink,’ said Causton. He looked at Wyatt. ‘That your car outside? A copper was looking at it when I came in.’

‘It’s quite safe,’ said Wyatt. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Doing my job,’ said Causton matter-of-factly. ‘All hell’s breaking loose out there. Ah, thank you,’ he said gratefully, as Papegaikos handed him a drink. He sank half of it in a gulp, then said to Wyatt, ‘You know this island. Supposing you were a rebel in the mountains and you had a large consignment of arms coming in a ship – quite a big ship. You’d want a nice quiet place to land it, wouldn’t you? With easy transport to the mountains, too. Where would such a spot be?’

Wyatt pondered. ‘Somewhere on the north coast, certainly; it’s pretty wild country over there. I’d go for the Campo de las Perlas – somewhere round there.’

‘Give the man a coconut,’ said Causton. ‘At least one shipload of arms was landed there within the last month – maybe more. Serrurier’s intelligence slipped up on that one – or maybe they were too late. Oh, and Favel is alive, after all.’ He patted his pockets helplessly. ‘Anyone got a cigarette?’

Julie offered her packet. ‘How did you get that blood on your face?’

Causton put his hand to his cheek, then looked with surprise at the blood on his fingertips. ‘I was trying to get in to see Serrurier,’ he said. ‘The guards were a bit rough – one of them didn’t take his ring off, or maybe it was a knuckleduster.’

‘I saw Serrurier,’ said Wyatt quietly.

‘Did you, by God!’ exclaimed Causton. ‘I wish I’d known; I could have come with you. There are a few questions I’d like to ask him.’

Wyatt laughed mirthlessly. ‘Serrurier isn’t the kind of man you question. He’s a raving maniac. I think this little lot has finally driven him round the bend.’

‘What did you want with him?’

‘I wanted to tell him that a hurricane is going to hit this island in two days’ time. He threw us out and banished the hurricane by decree.’

‘Christ!’ said Causton. ‘As though we don’t have enough to put up with. Are you serious about this?’

‘I am.’

Mrs Warmington gave a shrill squeak. ‘We should get to the Base,’ she said angrily. ‘We’ll be safe on the Base.’

Wyatt looked at her for a moment, then said to Causton in a low voice, ‘I’d like to talk to you for a minute.’

Causton took one look at Wyatt’s serious face, then finished his drink. ‘I have to go up to my room for the tapes; you’d better come with me.’

He got up from the chair stiffly, and Wyatt said to Julie, ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ then followed him into the foyer. Causton produced a flashlight and they climbed the stairs to the first floor. Wyatt said, ‘I’m pretty worried about things.’

‘This hurricane?’

‘That’s right,’ said Wyatt, and told Causton about it in a few swift sentences, not detailing his qualms, but treating the hurricane as a foregone conclusion. He said, ‘Somehow I feel a responsibility for the people downstairs. I think Julie won’t crack, but I’m not too sure about the other woman. She’s older and she’s nervous.’

‘She’ll run you ragged if you let her,’ said Causton. ‘She looks the bossy kind to me.’

‘And then there’s Eumenides – he’s an unknown quantity but I don’t know that I’d like to depend on him. Dawson is different, of course.’

Causton’s flashlight flickered about his room. ‘Is he? Put not your faith in brother Dawson – that’s a word to the wise.’

‘Oh,’ said Wyatt. ‘Anyway, I’m in a hell of a jam. I’ll have to shepherd this lot to safety somehow, and that means leaving town.’

A cane chair creaked as Causton sat down. ‘Now let me get this straight. You say we’re going to be hit by a hurricane. When?’

‘Two days,’ said Wyatt. ‘Say half a day either way.’

‘And when it comes, the Base is going to be destroyed.’

‘For all practical purposes – yes.’

‘And so is St Pierre.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So you want to take off for the hills, herding along these people downstairs. That’s heading smack into trouble, you know.’

‘It needn’t be,’ said Wyatt. ‘We need to get about a hundred feet above sea-level and on the northern side of a ridge – a place like that shouldn’t be too difficult to find just outside St Pierre. Perhaps up the Negrito on the way to St Michel.’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Causton definitely. ‘Favel will be coming down the Negrito. From the sound of those guns he’s already in the upper reaches of the valley.’

‘How do we know those are Favel’s guns?’ said Wyatt suddenly. ‘Serrurier has plenty of artillery of his own.’

Causton sounded pained. ‘I’ve done my homework. Serrurier was caught flat-footed. The main part of his artillery was causing a devil of a traffic jam just north of the town not two hours ago. If Favel hurries up he’ll capture the lot. Listen to it – he’s certainly pouring it on.’

‘That shipment of arms you were talking about must have been a big one.’

‘Maybe – but my guess is that he’s staking everything on one stroke. If he doesn’t come right through and capture St Pierre he’s lost his chips.’

‘If he does, he’ll lose his army,’ said Wyatt forcibly.

‘God, I hadn’t thought of that.’ Causton looked thoughtful. ‘This is going to be damned interesting. Do you suppose he knows about this hurricane?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Wyatt. ‘Look, Causton, we’re wasting time. I’ve got to get these people to safety. Will you help? You seem to know more of what’s going on out there than anybody.’

‘Of course I will, old boy. But, remember, I’ve got my own job to do. I’ll back you up in anything you say, and I’ll come with you and see them settled out of harm’s way. But after that I’ll have to push off and go about my master’s business – my editor would never forgive me if I wasn’t in the right place at the right time.’ He chuckled. ‘I dare say I’ll get a good story out of Big Jim Dawson, so it will be worth it.’

They went back to the bar and Causton called out, ‘Wyatt’s got something very important to tell you all, so gather round. Where’s Dawson?’

‘He was here not long ago,’ said Julie. ‘He must have gone out.’

‘Never mind,’ said Causton. ‘I’ll tell him myself – I’ll look forward to doing that. All right, Mr Wyatt; get cracking.’ He sat down and began to thread a spool of tape into the miniature recorder he took from his pocket.

Wyatt was getting very tired of repeating his story. He no longer attempted to justify his reasons but gave it to them straight, and when he had finished there was a dead silence. The Greek showed no alteration of expression – perhaps he had not understood; Julie was pale, but her chin came up; Mrs Warmington was white with two red spots burning in her cheeks. She was suddenly voluble. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she exploded. ‘No American Navy Base can be destroyed. I demand that you take me to Cap Sarrat immediately.’

‘You can demand until you’re blue in the face,’ said Wyatt baldly. ‘I’m going nowhere near Cap Sarrat.’ He turned to Julie. ‘We’ve got to get out of St Pierre and on to high ground, and that may be difficult. But I’ve got the car and we can all cram into it. And we’ve got to take supplies – food, water, medical kit and so on. We should find plenty of food in the kitchens here, and we can take soda- and mineral-water from the bar.’

Mrs Warmington choked in fury. ‘How far is it to the Base?’ she demanded, breathing hard.

‘Fifteen miles,’ said Causton. ‘Right round the bay. And there’s an army between here and the Base.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘I wouldn’t try it, Mrs Warmington; I really wouldn’t.’

‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you all,’ she snapped. ‘These natives wouldn’t touch us – the Government knows better than to interfere with Americans. I say we should get to the Base before those rebels come down from the hills.’

Papegaikos, standing behind her, gripped her shoulder. ‘I t’ink it better you keep your mout’ shut,’ he said. His voice was soft but his grip was hard, and Mrs Warmington winced. ‘I t’ink you are fool woman.’ He looked across at Wyatt. ‘Go on.’

‘I was saying we should load up the car with food and water and get out of here,’ said Wyatt wearily.

‘How long must we reckon on?’ asked Julie practically.

‘At least four days – better make it a week. This place will be a shambles after Mabel has passed.’

‘We’ll eat before we go,’ she said. ‘I think we’re all hungry. I’ll see what there is in the kitchen – will sandwiches do?’

‘If there are enough of them,’ said Wyatt with a smile.

Mrs Warmington sat up straight. ‘Well, I think you’re all crazy, but I’m not going to stay here by myself so I guess I’ll have to come along. Come, child, let’s make those sandwiches.’ She took a candle and swept Julie into the inner recesses of the hotel.

Wyatt looked across at Causton who was putting away his tape-recorder. ‘What about guns?’ he said. ‘We might need them.’

‘My dear boy,’ said Causton, ‘there are more than enough guns out there already. If we’re stopped and searched by Serrurier’s men and they find a gun we’ll be shot on the spot. I’ve been in some tough places in my time and I’ve never carried a gun – I owe my life to that fact.’

‘That makes sense,’ said Wyatt slowly. He looked at the Greek standing by the bar. ‘Are you carrying a gun, Eumenides?’

Papegaikos touched his breast and nodded. He said, ‘I keep it.’

‘Then you’re not coming with us,’ said Wyatt deliberately. ‘You can make your own way – on foot.’

The Greek put his hand inside his jacket and produced the gun, a stubby revolver. ‘You t’ink you are boss?’ he asked with a smile, balancing the gun in his hand.

‘Yes, I am,’ said Wyatt firmly. ‘You don’t know a damn’ thing about what a hurricane can do. You don’t know the best place to shelter nor how to go about finding it. I do – I’m the expert – and that makes me boss.’

Papegaikos came to a fast decision. He put the gun down gently on the bar counter and walked away from it, and Wyatt blew out his cheeks with a sigh of relief. Causton chuckled. ‘You’ll do, Wyatt,’ he said. ‘You’re really the boss now – if you don’t let that Warmington woman get on top of you. I hope you don’t regret taking on the job.’

Presently Julie came from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches. ‘This will do for a start. There’s more coming.’ She jerked her head. ‘We’re going to have trouble with that one,’ she said darkly.

Wyatt suppressed a groan. ‘What’s the matter now?’

‘She’s an organizer – you know, the type who gives the orders. She’s been running me ragged in there, and she hasn’t done a damned thing herself.’