Wyatt’s Hurricane / Bahama Crisis. Desmond Bagley

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СКАЧАТЬ – we know he is your leader – but my government is sending a strong protest to London about his conduct. He is non persona grata.’ Roseau’s smile widened. ‘You see I have Latin, too, Mr Wyatt. Not bad for an ignorant nigger.’

      ‘Ignorant is exactly the right word,’ said Wyatt tightly.

      Roseau sighed, as a teacher sighs when faced with the obtuseness of a particularly stubborn pupil. ‘This is not the time to insult me, Wyatt. You see, your companion – your accomplice – the American agent, Dawson, has confessed. These Americans are not really so tough, you know.’

      ‘What the devil could he confess?’ asked Wyatt. ‘He’s as innocent of anything as I am.’ He moved his hand and felt a slight wetness on the palm. Turning his hand over he saw a smear of blood, and there were a few more drops spattered along the edge of the desk. He lifted his eyes and looked at Roseau with loathing.

      ‘Yes, Wyatt; he confessed,’ said Roseau. He drew a blank piece of paper from a drawer and placed in neatly before him. ‘Now,’ he said with pen poised. ‘We will begin again. When did you last see Manning?’

      ‘I’ve never seen Manning.’

      ‘When did you last see Fuller?’

      ‘I’ve never seen Fuller,’ said Wyatt monotonously.

      Roseau carefully put down his pen. He said softly, ‘Shall we see if you are more stubborn than Dawson? Or perhaps you will be less stubborn – it is more convenient for you as well as for me.’

      Wyatt was very conscious of the two policemen standing behind him near the door. They had not moved or made a sound but he knew they were there. He had known it ever since Dawson’s blood had stained his hand. He decided to take a leaf out of Rawsthorne’s book. ‘Roseau, Serrurier is going to have your hide for this.’

      Roseau blinked but said nothing.

      ‘Does he know I’m here? He’s a bad man when he’s crossed – but who should know that better than you? When I saw him yesterday he was giving Hippolyte a going over – had Hippolyte shaking in his shoes.’

      ‘You saw our President yesterday?’ Roseau’s voice was perhaps not as firm as it had been.

      Wyatt tried to act as though he was always in the habit of meeting Serrurier for afternoon drinks. ‘Of course.’ He leaned over the desk. ‘Don’t you know who Dawson is – the man you’ve just beaten up? He’s the famous writer. You must have heard of Big Jim Dawson – everyone has.’

      Roseau twitched. ‘He tried to make me believe he was –’ He stopped suddenly.

      Wyatt laughed. ‘You’ve put Serrurier right in the middle,’ he said. ‘He has his hands full with Favel but that’s all right – he can handle it. He told me so himself. But he was worried about the Americans at Cap Sarrat; he doesn’t know whether they’re going to come out against him or not. Of course you know what will happen if they do. The Americans and Favel will crack Serrurier between them like a nut.’

      ‘What has this got to do with me?’ asked Roseau uncertainly.

      Wyatt leaned back in his chair and looked at Roseau with well-simulated horror. ‘Why, you fool, you’ve given the Americans the chance they’ve been waiting for. Dawson is an international figure, and he’s American. Commodore Brooks will be asking Serrurier where Dawson is in not too many hours from now, and if Serrurier can’t produce him, alive and unhurt, then Brooks is going to take violent action because he knows he’ll have world opinion behind him. Dawson is just the lever the Americans have been waiting for; they can’t take up arms just because a few Americans got mixed up in your civil war – that’s not done any more – but a potential Nobel Prizewinner, a man of Dawson’s stature, is something else again.’

      Roseau was silent and twitchy. Wyatt let him stew for a few long seconds, then said, ‘You know as well as I do that Dawson told you nothing about Manning and Fuller. I know that because he knows nothing, but you used him to try to throw a scare into me. Now let me tell you something, Sous-Inspecteur Roseau. When Commodore Brooks asks Serrurier for Dawson, Serrurier is going to turn St Pierre upside down looking for him because he knows that if he doesn’t find him, then the Americans will break in the back door and stab him in the back just when he’s at grips with Favel. And if Serrurier finds that Sous-Inspecteur Roseau has stupidly exceeded his duty by beating Dawson half to death I wouldn’t give two pins for your chances of remaining alive for five more minutes. My advice to you is to get a doctor to Dawson as fast as you can, and then to implore him to keep his mouth shut. How you do that is your business.’

      He almost laughed at the expression on Roseau’s face as he contemplated the enormity of his guilt. Roseau finally shut his mouth with a snap and took a deep breath. ‘Take this man to his cell,’ he ordered, and Wyatt felt a firm grip on his shoulder, a grip more welcome now than it would have been five minutes earlier. After being thrust into the cell it was a long time before he stopped shaking. Then he sat down to contemplate the sheer, copper-bottomed brilliance of the idea he had sold Roseau.

      He thought that he and Dawson were safe from Roseau. But there was still the problem of getting out before the hurricane struck and that would not be easy – not unless he could manage to work on Roseau’s fears some more. He had an idea that he would be seeing Roseau before long; the Sous-Inspecteur would remember that Wyatt had claimed acquaintance with Serrurier and he would want to know more about that.

      He looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock and the sunlight was streaming through the small window. He hoped that Causton would have sense enough to get the others out of St Pierre – even by walking they could get a long way.

      The noise outside suddenly came to his attention. It had been going on ever since he had been pushed into the cell but he had been so immersed in his thoughts that it had not penetrated. Now he was aware of the racket in the square outside – the revving of heavy engines, the clatter of feet and the murmur of many men interspersed by raucous shouts – sergeants have the same brazen-voiced scream in any army; it sounded as though an army was massing in the square.

      He kicked the stool across to the window and climbed up, but the angle was wrong and he could not see the ground at all, merely the façade of the buildings on the opposite side of the square. He stood there for a long time trying to make sense of the confused sounds from below but finally gave up. He was just about to step off the stool when he heard the sudden bellow of guns from so close that the hot air seemed to quiver.

      He stood on tiptoe, desperately trying to see what was happening, and caught a glimpse of a deep red flash on the roof of the building immediately opposite. There was a slam and the front of the building caved in before his startled eyes, seeming to collapse in slow motion in a billowing cloud of dust.

      Then the blast of the explosion caught him and he was hurled in a shower of broken glass right across the cell to thud against the door. The last thing he heard before he collapsed into unconsciousness was the thump of his head against the solid wood.

       FOUR

      The drumfire of the guns jerked Causton from a deep sleep. He started violently and opened his eyes, wondering for a moment where he was and relieved to find the familiarity of his own room at the Imperiale. Eumenides, to whom he had offered a bed, was standing at the window looking out.

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