Year of the Golden Ape (16 page)

^{'No idea. He never came back. Wednesday night it was. You could enquire at reception ...'}

^{Sullivan drank the rest of his large, neat Scotch in one gulp and didn't feel a thing. Winter was in Alaska.}

^{Sleep was the last thing Sullivan thought of during the next few hours as he stirred up half Anchorage, asking questions, showing the photograph, checking, checking, checking ... The night clerk at the Westward recognised the picture, confirmed that Winter had stayed there one night, the same night Mackay had stayed at the hotel, that he had registered in the name of Robert Forrest, that meals had been sent up to his room - the duplicate copy of the bill was full of information. Winter had booked out the following day, Thursday January 16, the same day the
Challenger
had sailed from Nikisiki at ten in the evening.}

^{Chief of Police Jo Mulligan of Anchorage took Sullivan's information very seriously when he saw the Lloyd's of London identification. Within one hour - close to midnight - an all points bulletin was circulating throughout the whole of Alaska with Robert Forrest's name and description and reproductions of the photograph Sullivan had supplied. And Sullivan himself was driven in a patrol car to the oil terminal at Nikisiki. He arrived there at two in the morning, hardly able to keep his eyes open.}

^{It was something that Winter, believing there was no photo of himself on record, could never have foreseen - that a photograph taken secretly in a German shipbuilder's office in faraway Hamburg would be transported by a persistent British investigator to Alaska, that it would be identified by a barman whose conceit and hobby was his ability to remember people he saw for only a few seconds.}

^{And Chief of Police Mulligan acted with vigour because he immediately linked Winter's record and presence in Alaska with the firebomb attack on the oil terminal. Who knew - Mulligan might be the first policeman in the world to get a lead on the international terrorist gang or gangs which were blowing up pipelines and oil refineries all the way from California to central Europe ? He went to the International airport himself.}

^{Sullivan found nothing at the oil terminal. No one had seen Winter in that sensitive area. The departure of the
Challenger
had been perfectly normal. 'Sure,' the terminal superintendent informed Sullivan, 'the ship left two hours ahead of schedule with two tanks unfilled. But Mackay registered his early departure in advance - he was worried about the fire spreading to the jetties. And no one gets aboard that ship without Mackay knowing about it - he's one hell of a careful guy. There's a seaman at the foot of the gangway until they haul it aboard.'}

^{Dropping from lack of sleep, Sullivan was driven back in the patrol car to the Westward where he flopped into bed at six in the morning and slept through the day. He was consuming a large steak, washed down with a gallon of strong coffee, when the call came through from police headquarters at seven in the evening. Mulligan had found something.}

^{'Thursday, close to midnight, Robert Forrest took the night flight for Seattle. He moved out just as you were moving in, Sullivan. The airport girl who recognised his picture came back on duty an hour ago; hence the delay. Want some more coffee?'}

^{Jo Mulligan was a round-bodied man of fifty, hard-looking and with his still-dark hair cut short to the scalp. A smile rarely crossed his face and he talked quickly. Sullivan liked his businesslike approach to life.}

^{'So, we've lost him,' he said as the chief of police poured more coffee. 'It's curious, you know - he spends twenty-four hours here and he's away.'}

^{'Long enough to detonate that bomb inside the terminal. He could have organised that North Slope pipeline bust we had a couple of months back. My guess is he comes in at the critical moment, sees that the bombs detonate, then moves out. And my further guess is he's on his way now to another prime piece of oil property.'Mulligan leaned back in his swivel chair.'Maybe Texas. There are some nice targets for him in Texas. We're extending the all points bulletin to cover the whole of the States - the FBI are in on this thing now.'}

^{'So you don't think that tanker - the
Challenger -
is involved?'}

^{'No!' Mulligan was emphatic. 'They're not hitting tankers. Yet. These bastards are going for gut - the refineries processing the oil we so desperately need, the pipelines which carry the juice through our industrial veins. Those A-rabs are out to bring western civilisation toppling - so long as Israel exists. The extremists have got the whole Middle East oil bowl in the palm of their hands.' Mulligan sighed. 'We should have seen it coming after 1973. We should have seen it coming ...'}

^{'Nothing for me here any more.' Sullivan pushed his empty coffee cup away. 'I'm catching a plane tomorrow.'}

^{'You going back home. To London ?'}

^{'No. To Seattle...'}

^{The machine landed with a heavy bump, roared forward, its engines filling the interior with vibration. It seemed to be going too fast, to be heading for disaster, and the view beyond the window was a blur. Sullivan pushed a magazine into the pocket of the seat in front of him and relaxed as the Boeing 707 slowed. For the first time in his life he was in Seattle.}

^{It was just after two o'clock in the afternoon of Sunday January 19 when he alighted from the plane. FBI agents Peters and Carmady were waiting for the flight and took him into a private room. They listened to his story without too much enthusiasm when he talked about the
Challenger,
it seemed to the Englishman; perhaps it was because they were so polite.}

^{'You can forget the tanker,' Peters advised. 'This man is sabotaging refineries. After he came off the plane last Friday he spent several hours at the Washington Plaza Hotel here. A reception clerk who booked him in recognised your photograph. And we found a cab driver who dropped him at the bus terminal later. Then he vanished.'}

^{'My bet is we'll never find him again,' Sullivan replied. 'In Europe nobody knows a thing about him - that photo I got from the German shipbuilder is the only one in existence, I gather ...'}

^{'We'll go on trying,' Peters said reassuringly. 'Interpol have nothing on him - and our Washington records don't have him, But one day, somewhere, he has to surface...'}

^{When they had gone Sullivan sat in the airport coffee shop drinking more coffee. The trail had gone dead, and now he was inclined to agree with Mulligan and the FBI agent that the tanker was not involved. When he had finished his coffee he would put in a phone call to Harper, telling him he was catching the Pan Am evening flight back to London.}

^{Staring through the window he was looking north-west where the sun was filtering through a heavy overcast. Somewhere in that direction, about five hundred miles away, the
Challenger
was proceeding southwards on another uneventful voyage.}

¹¹

^{Lot. 47.50 N Lon. 132.45 W1300 hours.}

^{The US Coast Guard helicopter was coming in at no more than a hundred feet above the grey waves. On the starboard wing deck of
Challenger
Captain Mackay focused his glasses and the machine crisped into his vision, filling the lenses, showing the insignia on its pale grey fuselage.
No. 5421. USCG.
First Officer Bennett ran out from the navigating bridge on to the wing deck.}

^{'Emergency, sir. That chopper is in trouble. Message just came in from her - permission to land before she crashes ...'}

^{Inside Mackay's glasses the machine blurred as it passed through a patch of mist, then its silhouette was crisp again. It was impossible to see inside the control cabin. A puff of black smoke was rising from the silhouette now and Mackay thought the engine was coughing.}

^{'Clear the main deck, Mr Bennett . . .' Mackay's expression tightened as the puff expanded into a billow of ominous smoke. 'Turn the ship into the wind. Reduce speed to fourteen knots.' Mackay walked quickly back on to the navigating bridge where Betty Cordell was keeping out of the way, staying close to the front of the bridge. Mackay stood beside her and she was careful to say nothing. The chopper was closer and smoke was pouring off her, plucked away by the wind.}

^{'Fire precautions, Mr Bennett...'}

^{Mackay looked grim: fire was something you could do without aboard a tanker carrying fifty thousand tons of oil. And he faced an impossible choice - either to let her land on deck or signal her to stand clear, in which case the chopper might sink before a boat could reach her.}

^{Sixty feet below where he stood by the bridge window with the American girl, men were already evacuating the main deck. The engine throb was slower. The huge vessel was beginning her turn into the wind. Bennett issued more orders for fire stations to be manned. 'Shall I get off the bridge?' Betty Cordell suggested. Mackay shook his head. 'Might be a story in it for you - so long as it doesn't end in tragedy...'}

^{The huge ship continued its turn as the helmsman gripped the wheel. Mackay checked the time by the bridge clock. It was exactly one in the afternoon of Sunday January 19. 'Get a message off to the mainland,' he ordered. 'I am picking up your helicopter Number 5421 ...'}

^{Bennett phoned the radio cabin, instructed Kinnaird to send the signal instantly, then returned to the front of the bridge. 'I wonder where she comes from, sir ? We're over two hundred miles from the Canadian coast...'}

^{'Must be off some weather cutter.'}

^{There isn't one stationed on the chart within five hundred miles. I'm afraid I don't quite understand this...'}

^{Thank God for small mercies,' Mackay growled. The smoke was disappearing; no more was emitting from the machine which was now turning in a circle to fly towards the bow of the ship, Mackay wasn't too happy about what might happen in the next few minutes. Landing a helicopter aboard a moving ship in mid-ocean calls for a certain skill.}

^{They waited and it was very quiet on the bridge. All the necessary orders had been given. The tanker, originally proceeding at seventeen knots through a gentle swell, had reduced speed to fourteen knots, had turned into the wind. A skilled pilot should have no trouble landing his machine under these conditions -providing his engine kept functioning. Inside three minutes she should have landed.}

^{'Signal final permission to land?' Bennett asked.}

^{Mackay looked down along the main deck. It had been cleared of all personnel except for three fire-fighting seamen on the forecastle - close to the landing point. Visibility was good: the white-painted circle on the port bow where the helicopter should alight showed up clearly. 'Permission to land,' Mackay said. Bennett relayed the message to the radio cabin.}

^{The machine was hovering now, letting the 50,000-ton tanker steam towards it. 'Seems to have his machine under perfect control now,' the sceptical Bennett commented. 'Wonder what's wrong with it?'}

^{Winter maintained his hover, letting the lozenge-shaped steel platform cruising over the ocean come towards him. He had turned off the tap which had fed heavy oil into the exhaust -creating the ominous smoke Mackay had seen from the starboard wing deck.}

^{The psychological timing was important. First he had emitted smoke as they were approaching the
Challenger
to worry the captain, to persuade him to give permission to land. Then he had later turned it off in case Mackay became too worried and decided to refuse permission. The radio cracked and Kinnaird's signal came through. 'Permission to land ...'}

^{'We're going in...'}

^{The
Pêcheur
Winter had flown off was forty miles away, too far away for Mackay to see her even from his high bridge. It had been an anxious time, searching for the tanker even while Kinnaird wirelessed
Challenger's
position at frequent intervals, a reasonably safe action since this was the time of day when he sent a routine report to the London office. But they had found her.}

^{Seated beside Winter, staring at the ocean, LeCat had heard the final words through his headset. 'We're going in ...' His stomach muscles tightened. It was always like this just before an attack -the physical and mental shock to the system when you realised it was really going to happen. Just like Algeria . . .}

^{'Remember what I told you,' Winter warned. 'I go out first. You wait until I'm on the catwalk and almost under the bridge. The others stay inside - the sight of a dozen men piling out on deck will alarm them. We must seize control before the penny drops...'}

^{LeCat took out his Skorpion pistol, balancing the weapon in his hand. A quite unnecessary gesture, it put a finer edge on his nerves. When they got moving it would be all right: it was the last few seconds before the landing which were unpleasant.}