Santorini. Alistair MacLean

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      ‘Yes, sir. The three dead men aboard the Delos—well, to be specific, just one of them. That’s why I asked the doctor here to come along. The three of them were so smoke begrimed and blackened that it was difficult to tell what they were wearing but two of them appeared to be dressed in white while the third was in a navy blue overall. An engineer wouldn’t wear whites. Well, I admit our engineer Lieutenant McCafferty is a dazzling exception; but he’s a one-off case, he never goes near his engines anyway. In any event I assumed the man in the overalls was the engineer and he was the one who caught my attention. He had a vicious gash on the back of his head as if he had been blown backwards against a very hard, very sharp object.’

      Grierson said: ‘Or been struck by a very hard, sharp object?’

      ‘Either way, I suppose. I wouldn’t know. I’m afraid I’m a bit weak on the forensic side.’

      ‘Had his occiput been crushed?’

      ‘Back of his head? No. At least I’m reasonably certain it hadn’t been. I mean, it would have given, wouldn’t it, or been squashy. It wasn’t like that.’

      ‘A blow like that should have caused massive bruising. Did you see any?’

      ‘Difficult to say. He had fairly thick hair. But it was fair. No, I don’t think there was any.’

      ‘Had it bled a lot?’

      ‘He hadn’t bled at all. I’m quite sure of that.’

      ‘You didn’t notice any holes in his clothing?’

      ‘Not that I could see. He hadn’t been shot, if that is what you’re asking and that is what I think you are asking. Who would want to shoot a dead man? His neck was broken.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Grierson seemed unsurprised. ‘Poor man was through the wars, wasn’t he?’

      Talbot said: ‘What do you think, Andrew?’

      ‘I don’t know what to think. The inflicting of the wound on the head and the snapping of the vertebra could well have been simultaneous. If the two weren’t simultaneous, then it could equally well have been—as Vincent clearly seems to think—a case of murder.’

      ‘Would an examination of the corpse help at all?’

      ‘It might. I very much doubt it. But an examination of engine-room bulkheads would.’

      ‘To see if there were any sharp edges or protrusions that could have caused such a head wound?’ Grierson nodded. ‘Well, when—and if—we ever raise that hull, we should be able to kill two birds with one stone: to determine the causes of both the explosions and this man’s death.’

      ‘Maybe three birds,’ Van Gelder said. ‘It would be interesting to know the number and layout of the fuel tanks in the engine-room. There are, I believe, two common layouts—in one case there is just one main fuel tank, athwartships and attached to the for’ard bulkhead, with a generator or generators on one side of the engine and batteries on the other, plus a water-tank to port and another to starboard: or there could be a fuel tank on either side with the water-tank up front. In that case the two fuel tanks are interconnected to keep the fuel levels equal and maintain equilibrium.’

      ‘A suspicious mind, Number One,’ Talbot said. ‘Very suspicious. What you would like to find, of course, is just one fuel tank because you think Andropulos is going to claim that he didn’t abandon ship because he thought another fuel tank was about to go and he didn’t want his precious passengers splashing about in a sea of blazing fuel oil which would, of course, also have destroyed the rubber dinghies.’

      ‘I’m grieved, sir. I thought I’d thought of that first.’

      ‘You did, in fact. When the passengers are cleaned up see if you can get this young lady, Irene Charial, alone and find out if she knows anything about the layout of the engine-room. The casual approach, Vincent, the innocent and cherubic expression, although I doubt the last is beyond you. Anyway it’s possible she’s never been there and may possibly know nothing about it.’

      ‘It’s equally possible, sir, that she knows all about it and may well choose to tell me something. Miss Charial is Andropulos’s niece.’

      ‘The thought had occurred. However, if Andropulos is not all he might be, then the chances are high that there is some other member of his ship’s company in his confidence and I would have thought that would be a man. I don’t say that that’s because you know what the Greeks are like because I don’t know what the Greeks are like. And we mustn’t forget that Andropulos may be as innocent as the driven snow and that there is a perfectly rational explanation for all that has happened. Anyway, it would do no harm to try and you never can tell, Vincent—she might turn out to be a classic Greek beauty.’

      From the fact that the whaler was lying stopped in the water and that Cousteau, his hand resting idly on the tiller, appeared to be expressing no great degree of interest in anything, it was obvious that his wait had been a vain one, a fact he confirmed on his arrival on the bridge.

      Talbot called the sonar room. ‘You have pinpointed the location of the plane?’

      ‘Yes, sir. We’re sitting exactly above it. Depth registered is eighteen fathoms. That’s the echo from the top of the fuselage. Probably lying in about twenty fathoms. It’s lying in the same direction as it was flying when it came down—northeast to south-west. Picking up some rather odd noises down here, sir. Would you care to come down?’

      ‘Yes, I will.’ For reasons best known to himself Halzman, the senior sonar operator, preferred not to discuss it over an open line. ‘A minute or two.’ He turned to Van Gelder. ‘Have McKenzie put down a marker buoy, about midships. Tell him to lower the weight gently. I don’t want to bump too hard against the plane’s fuselage in case we do actually come into contact with it. When that’s been done, I want to anchor. Two anchors. A stern anchor to the north-west, about a hundred yards distant from the buoy, then a bow anchor a similar distance to the south-east.’

      ‘Yes, sir. May I suggest the other way around?’

      ‘Of course, you’re right. I’d forgotten about our old friend. Taking a holiday today, isn’t it? The other way around, of course.’ The ‘old friend’ to which he referred and which Van Gelder clearly had in mind, was the Meltemi wind, referred to as the ‘Etesian’ in the British sailing directions. In the Cyclades, in the summer months—and indeed in most of the Aegean—it blew steadily, but usually only in the afternoon and early evening, from the north-west. If it did start up, the Ariadne would ride more comfortably if it were bows on to it.

      Talbot went to the sonar room which was only one deck down and slightly aft. The sonar room was heavily insulated against all outside noise and dimly lit by subdued yellow lighting. There were three display screens, two sets of control panels and, over and above all, a considerable number of heavily padded earphones. Halzman caught sight of him in an overhead mirror—there were a number of such mirrors around, speaking as well as any other kind of sound was kept to a minimum in the sonar room—removed his earphones and gestured to the seat beside him.

      ‘Those earphones, sir. I thought you might be interested in listening for a minute.’

      Talbot sat and clamped the earphones on. After about fifteen seconds he removed them and turned to Halzman, who had also removed his.

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