Alistair MacLean Sea Thrillers 4-Book Collection: San Andreas, The Golden Rendezvous, Seawitch, Santorini. Alistair MacLean
Shocked, perhaps?’
‘No, I’m not shocked.’ McKinnon looked gloomy. ‘I have troubles of my own in that direction. My sister Jean is married to an Italian. I have a niece and a nephew, two bambinos who can’t – or couldn’t before the war – speak a word of English to their old uncle.’
‘It must make – must have made – communication a bit difficult.’
‘Luckily, no. I speak Italian.’
She removed her glasses as if to examine them more closely. ‘You speak Italian, Mr McKinnon?’
‘Yes. And Spanish. And German. You must be able to speak German – you can try me any time. Surprised, Sister? Shocked?’
‘No.’ She shook her head slowly and smiled a third time. It was borne in upon McKinnon that a smiling Margaret Morrison, with her warm, friendly brown eyes was a totally different creature from the Sister Morrison he thought he had come to know. ‘No, I’m not. Really.’
‘You come from seafaring people, Sister?’
‘Yes.’ This time she was surprised. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But it was a fair guess. It’s the Kiel connection. Many British sailors know Kiel well – I do myself – and it has, or did have, the finest regatta in Europe. Your father’s from Aberdeen. A fisherman? A seaman of some sort?’
‘A seaman of some sort.’
‘What sort?’
‘Well ….’ She hesitated.
‘Well what?’
‘He’s a captain in the Royal Navy.’
‘Good Lord!’ McKinnon looked at her in mild astonishment, then rubbed an unshaven chin. ‘I shall have to treat you with more respect in future, Sister Morrison.’
‘I hardly think that will be necessary, Mr McKinnon.’ The voice was formal but the smile that followed was not. ‘Not now.’
‘You sound almost as if you were ashamed of being the daughter of a Royal Navy captain.’
‘I am not. I’m very proud of my father. But it can be difficult. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. I think I do.’
‘Well, now, Mr McKinnon.’ The glasses were back in position and Sister Morrison was back in business. ‘You’ll be seeing Lieutenant Ulbricht up top?’ McKinnon nodded. ‘Tell him I’ll be up to see him in an hour, maybe two.’
McKinnon blinked, which was about as far as he ever permitted himself to go in the way of emotional expression. ‘You?’
‘Yes. Me.’ If bridling hadn’t gone out of fashion she would have bridled.
‘But Dr Sinclair said he would come –’
‘Dr Sinclair is a doctor, not a nurse.’ Sister Morrison made it sound as if there was something faintly discreditable in being a doctor. ‘I’m the Lieutenant’s sister-in-charge. He’ll probably require to have his bandages changed.’
‘When exactly will you be coming?’
‘Does it matter? I can find my own way.’
‘No, Sister, you won’t. You don’t know what it’s like up top. There’s a full gale blowing, it’s forty below, black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat and the deck’s like a skating rink. No one goes up top without my permission and most certainly not nurses. You will phone and I will come for you.’
‘Yes, Mr McKinnon,’ she said primly. She gave a slight smile. ‘The way you put it, it doesn’t leave much room for argument.’
‘I’m sorry. No offence. Before you come up, put on as much warm clothing as you think you will need. Then double the amount.’
Janet Magnusson was in B ward when he passed through it. She took one quick look at his face and said: ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Prepare thyself, Nurse Magnusson. The end is nigh.’
‘What on earth do you mean, Archie?’
‘The dragon next door.’ He jerked a thumb towards A ward. ‘She has just –’
‘Dragon? Maggie? Yesterday she was a lioness.’
‘Dragon. She’s stopped breathing fire. She smiled at me. First time since leaving Halifax. Smiled. Four times. Unsettles a man.’
‘Well!’ She shook his shoulders. ‘I am pleased. So you admit you misjudged her.’
‘I admit it. Mind you, I think she may have misjudged me a bit, too.’
‘I told you she was nice, Archie. Remember?’
‘Indeed I remember. And indeed she is.’
‘Very nice. Very.’
McKinnon regarded her with suspicion. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘She smiled at you.’
The Bo’sun gave her a cold look and left.
Lieutenant Ulbricht was awake when McKinnon returned to the Captain’s cabin.
‘Duty calls, Mr McKinnon? Another fix?’
‘Rest easy, Lieutenant. No stars. Overcast. More snow, I’m thinking. How do you feel?’
‘Well enough. At least when I’m lying down. That’s physically, I mean.’ He tapped his head. ‘Up here, not so well. I’ve been doing a lot of wondering and thinking.’
‘Wondering and thinking why you’re lying here?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Haven’t we all? At least, I’ve been doing nothing else but wondering about it. Haven’t got very far, though. In fact, I haven’t got anywhere.’
‘I’m not saying it would help any, just call it curiosity if you like, but would you mind very much telling me what’s been happening to the San Andreas since you left Halifax? Not, of course, if it means telling me naval secrets.’
McKinnon smiled. ‘I don’t have any. Besides, even if I did have and told you, what would you do with them?’
‘You have a point. What indeed?’
McKinnon gave a brief résumé of what had happened to the ship since leaving Nova Scotia and when he had finished Ulbricht said: ‘Well, now let me see if I can count.
‘As far as I can make out there were seven different parties involved in the movements of the San Andreas – actually aboard it, that is. To begin with, there was your own crew. Then there were the wounded survivors picked up from this crippled destroyer. After that came the Russian submarine survivors you took from this corvette you had to sink. Then you picked up some wounded servicemen in Murmansk. Since leaving there you’ve picked up survivors from the Argos, the Andover and Helmut and myself. That makes seven?’
‘That makes seven.’
‘We can eliminate the survivors from the broken-down destroyer and the sinking frigate. Their presence aboard your ship could only have been due to sheer happenstance, nothing else. We can equally forget Commander Warrington and his two men and Helmut Winterman and myself. That leaves just your crew, the survivors from the Argos and the sick men you picked up in Murmansk.’
‘I couldn’t imagine a more unlikely trio of suspects.’
‘Neither could I, Bo’sun. But it’s not imagination we’re concerned with here, it’s logic. It has to be one of those three. Take the sick men you picked up in Murmansk. One of them could have been suborned. I know it sounds preposterous but war itself is preposterous, the most unbelievable things happen in preposterous circumstances,