VIII

JOURNEY UNDERGROUND

WE RAISED THE high central ridge of Nueva with still a couple of hours of daylight left. The old Duchess had done us proud. She’d had a soldier’s wind and she’d tramped along like a Guardsman hour after hour. The big squaresail which I’d set at dawn was like a powerhouse aloft, and there were long periods when I reckoned that she was making a good ten knots.

Much as I disliked the thought of entering an unknown bay in darkness, I didn’t want to close the coast by daylight in case anybody spotted us. I didn’t think it was all that likely, but I’d no idea what we were up against, and it would be silly to take any avoidable risk. I got the squaresail and the mainsail off her, and also took in the powerful Yankee. With one staysail up we reduced speed to little over a knot, and pottered towards the island. The main problem was to find the bay, but we were helped here by the fairly easily identifiable mass of the big headland that enclosed it. I aimed to get near enough to the coast by daylight to identify the headland and take bearings, and then to wait far enough offshore to be hull down to any watcher. When it was properly dark, we would go in.

I still had misgivings about what we were doing. I had put my feelings to Ruth again, and to Caval, when we met for breakfast – there was still plenty of time to alter course and bear away for safety and the U.S. Virgins. Neither would contemplate any turning back. Ruth said, ‘When you talked about this before, you asked if it was any of my business. Well, I think it is – they’re using a lot of my maths in whatever it is they’re doing, and I want to know what it is. Whether we can stop them is another matter, but at least we should try to get some facts to report to Washington, or to Peter’s London.’

Caval said, ‘They’re my caves, and I can’t help feeling a personal responsibility for whatever they are being used for. And there’s Adam’s death – he wouldn’t have died if you hadn’t come across the murdered man. Whoever committed that murder is largely responsible for Adam’s death. I’d like to see whoever it was brought to justice. He can’t be tried for Adam’s death, of course, but he can be tried for the other murder.’

So that was that, and we carried on to Nueva.

*

When the short tropical twilight came I got up the mainsail and another jib – that gave us plenty of power for what we had to do. The chart was encouraging as far as it went. As long as we kept away from the headland there were no off-lying dangers, and there seemed to be a least depth of six fathoms well into the bay. What I wasn’t clear about was just how far this relatively deep water extended – I wanted if possible to get up to the fringing bush before anchoring, so that the schooner would be hidden to some extent, and at least not visible in silhouette or moonlight in the open bay. But that would have to be death with when we got there.

It was a pity that Caval had never been greatly interested in boats – he knew and understood the bush, and the configuration of the bay, but things like tidal reach and least depths had not much concerned him. He thought that the bush-shore of the bay was steep-to – there was no beach as there was on the other side of the headland, but he had no idea of how much water there actually was.

The bay faced roughly east, which gave us a clean approach in a north-easterly wind. We glided in like a ghost ship, and I carried on for a couple of cables before checking her. Then I handed all the headsails, and hung in the wind with the main free. There wasn’t a lot of wind in the comparative shelter of the headland, but I thought that the mainsail would provide all the power we needed to glide gently towards the bush. With the sheet free, I gave the wheel to Ruth, telling her to harden the sheet just enough to get us moving when I called to her. Then I went forward with the lead-line. I didn’t dare to use a torch, but I’d marked the line with strips of cloth, which I could feel in the dark. With my first cast all seemed well – there was a good eight fathoms under us. I called to Ruth, the schooner collected herself, and we edged inshore. The floor of the bay seemed a reliable slight slope. I got two more casts of eight fathoms before it went to seven, and the seven-fathom line held for a good cable. The bay was narrowing now, or at least our end of it was, becoming a finger of water running into the bush. I could make out the shapes of trees, several of them taller than the schooner’s masts. I let six fathoms go, then five. When the lead showed four I thought it was time to stop chancing our luck. The tide was somewhere near the last of the ebb, so we could rely on not losing much of our four fathoms. I let go the anchor cable, and we came to rest not more than thirty yards from the shore. As far as I could make out in the darkness we were well screened from anyone not directly watching from the bush in front of us. I set our big jib in stops, and left the mainsail only loosely furled, so that we could get away quickly. Then it was time to go ashore.

*

We’d had much discussion about what, exactly, we could aim to do. My object was simply to get into the caves, discover, if possible, just what was installed there, and then get out again to sail for U.S. territory with whatever information we could gather. Caval would have to come with me, because he knew the caves, and an entrance from the cliff which, he said, would take us through the honeycomb of passages to the main cavern entered from the sea. I hoped he could find the way. I did not want Ruth with us – two was enough for an exploring party, and a third could only add to the hazards of a tricky journey in the dark, and to the possibilities of being spotted if there was anyone in the caves to spot us. Ruth, however, jibbed at this, and she was supported by Caval. ‘What do I do if anything happens to you and you don’t come back?’ she said. ‘I can’t sail the schooner by myself – and I can’t know how long to wait for you, whether to go ashore and try to look for you, or what. If we’re together, at least we all know what is happening. Besides, neither of you knows anything at all of the sort of apparatus that may be there. I can’t pretend that I know much, but I do know a bit about what it has to do, and I might be able to make sense of something that you couldn’t.’

Caval was not greatly impressed by this argument, but he was very much concerned about Ruth’s safety. ‘She doesn’t know the island: if she had to go ashore and try to get anywhere, the Lord alone knows what might happen to her,’ he said. I thought that she’d probably be safer on the schooner than anywhere else – there was plenty of food and water on board, and if the worst came to the worst and we didn’t turn up all she had to do was to stay there until someone spotted her. But I did accept that this would be a harrowing prospect for her, and rather against my own judgment, I accepted that she’d better come with us.

*

We travelled lightly. Caval insisted on taking his Mannlicher rifle, which I thought unnecessary, but he said he was used to it and would feel happier to have it with him. Ruth and I took the two revolvers –‘Though I’ve never fired a gun,’ she said.

‘A gun is either a smooth-bore firearm or a piece of artillery,’ I rebuked her. ‘Only illiterates call revolvers guns.’

‘Well, you’d better keep out of the way if I have to use it.’

Having no bread we could manage nothing in the way of sandwiches, but we took some coconut, and a piece of dried cod. Uncooked it looked repulsive, but it was dried and edible, and would keep us going for a bit if for any reason we got stuck in the caves. The Grand Duchess’s galley was not well off for picnic containers, but there were some empty bottles and I filled one of these with water. I also took one of the remaining full bottles of Caval’s rum. We had two torches between us, and on Caval’s advice we took a hurricane lamp. I also took a coil of line, which I slung over my shoulder.

Caval had been studying the shore, or as much of the general line of it as he could make out in the dark. ‘I don’t think we want to go ashore here – it would be quite a long walk round the bay and it’s rough going,’ he said. ‘If you could row back to the headland it would probably save time.’

There was no problem about this. I launched the dinghy, and pulled away from the schooner.

Caval sat on the fore thwart, peering into the darkness. ‘Make for about the middle of the headland,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you when to go in.’

It was an eerie little voyage. There was no sound but the slight plash of the oars, no light from anywhere ashore. It was just after nine o’clock, and after I’d been rowing for about twenty minutes Caval said, ‘Just beyond that clump of mangroves – it’s not a good beach, but we can get ashore on some rocks; I don’t suppose they’ve moved.’ I looked round, and, my eyes now used to the dark, I could see the mass of mangrove trees growing down into the water. I pulled round them, and into a little inlet that ended with a rocky patch of rather muddy beach. Caval, remarkably agile for his age, went ashore first, pulled us in with the painter, and held the dinghy for Ruth. I followed them, and hunted around for somewhere to make fast. It wasn’t a good place for laying out the anchor, but by going back towards the mangroves I found a strong root to take the painter. She’d be safe enough here, I thought, and nicely screened by the mangrove trees.

‘We’ve got to get about halfway up the cliff,’ Caval said. ‘There’s no path, but it’s more a steep scramble than a climb. Follow me.’

I put Ruth between us, and brought up the rear. We did not go straight up the cliffside, but worked our way diagonally along it, heading seaward. There was certainly no path, but we were in a sort of narrow gully, with bushes and trailing lianas to each side of us, but not much vegetation in the gully itself. I thought we were probably in a watercourse, not a regular stream but a sort of wadi that took water from the hillside in the rainy season. It was quite dry now.

We had climbed for just under half an hour when Caval stopped – indeed, the wadi itself stopped, apparently coming to a dead end under a massive overhanging rock. Caval hunted round for a minute or two, and then suddenly vanished – one moment he was there, the next he wasn’t. I put a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. ‘Where on earth has he got to?’ There was probably no one within a mile or two to hear me, but I found myself whispering – it was that sort of place. Ruth had been nearer to him. ‘He just walked into the hillside,’ she whispered back.

Then we heard Caval’s voice, apparently coming out of the rock. ‘A little to your left,’ he said, ‘and you’ll find a crack in the rock. You can just get through if you go sideways. It’s quite safe.’

Ruth held my hand as we followed the directions of the disembodied voice. We felt our way round the rock, and yes, there was a narrow gap. Ruth wriggled into it. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

I heard her scrabbling for a moment, then ‘Fine now,’ she said. ‘You can stand up once you’re through. Come on, Peter.’

The crack in the rock wall was perhaps two yards long. It seemed horribly narrow, and I had to crouch sideways to get through. I had a stab of claustrophobic panic in the middle. Whether or not Ruth sensed this I don’t know, but she put out her arm towards me and I was thankful to touch her fingers. Then I was standing beside her.

It had been dark outside, but compared with the utter blackness of the cavern we were in the memory of the night seemed brilliant. Something brushed my face, then another something, with a soft whirring sound. Ruth clung to me, shivering. ‘They’re only bats,’ Caval said. ‘Quite harmless.’

‘Oh Peter, don’t let them get in my hair,’ Ruth gasped.

I wasn’t at all clear how to prevent bats from getting in anyone’s hair, but I patted Ruth’s head, which seemed to comfort her a bit. Then there was the sound of a match striking, and a sudden dazzling blaze as the flame came. ‘I’m going to light the lamp,’ Caval said. ‘We’d better save our torches. I don’t think there is any danger of the lamp’s being seen here – we’re at least three-quarters of a mile from the sea part of the caves, and they’re on a different level, anyway.’

The lamp showed that we were in a long passage-cave, the floor rising steeply away from us. Like the caves through which Adam had taken us, it seemed immensely high – the light could not reach the roof. ‘The bats won’t bother you now,’ Caval said.

‘Thank Heaven for that,’ said Ruth.

Caval laughed. ‘The bats are one of the reasons why people are frightened of the caves,’ he said, ‘but they’re only fruit-eating bats, not vampires. There are all sorts of legends about them, of course, but they live on wild fruits from the bush. They’d have a go at mangoes if there were a mango plantation, but there isn’t, and they don’t do anybody any harm. And they don’t go far into the caves – they just live round about the entrances. So don’t worry about them. We’ve got some way to go so we’d better start.’

‘All this is water-made, I suppose,’ I said.

‘Yes, and in the rains we’d have difficulty in getting through – the way we came up becomes a river after heavy rain. We’re quite safe now, though. And you’ll find the passages easy walking, because they’ve all been smoothed by water.’

Caval led on, and we followed in the same order as before, Ruth behind him, and I next to her. The passage climbed straight for a hundred yards or so, then forked. We took the right-hand fork, and, still climbing, seemed to be following a route rather like a corniche road, only we were inside the mountain. We plodded on steadily, and I became conscious of a noise, rather like a distant train. ‘That is the waterfall,’ Caval said. ‘We have got to pass behind it, and that is the only difficult bit – we have to get down to a lower level, and it’s something of a scramble. Fortunately the rock here all seems quite dry.’

The noise rapidly grew louder, and it was hard to hear anyone speak. Caval stopped, raised the lamp and held up his other hand as one halts traffic. There was an opening to the left which seemed to be another passage, but the path in front of us seemed to have become a hole in the ground. The lamplight didn’t reach to the bottom, so I shone my torch. This revealed that the hole wasn’t a vertical fall, but a steep jumble of broken rock. It was not an attractive descent, but looked possible. I shone my torch round the lip of the hole, and found a projecting rock in the wall of the cave along which we’d come. ‘I think we’d better use the line,’ I said, ‘and I think it might be helpful for me to go first, so that if either of you slip I have a chance of catching you.’

The projecting rock was a good hold for the line. With Caval holding the lamp and Ruth shining the other torch, I went down gingerly. I put my own torch in my pocket, so that I had both hands free. The line was a great help, and I was soon at the bottom, where the cave-path seemed to continue, not climbing now, but more or less level. The rock-fall was a descent of perhaps thirty feet. I had plenty of line, and by holding up my end I could give it a clear run. I wanted Caval to send the lamp down the line, but I couldn’t convey what I wanted because of the noise from the waterfall. The only thing was to go up again.

Caval and Ruth couldn’t understand what was happening, and met me anxiously. ‘What’s the matter?’ Caval shouted into my ear.

‘Nothing – the descent’s not all that bad,’ I shouted back. ‘But we want the lamp down there, and it would be easier to send it on the line. I’ve come up to fix it.’

He nodded. I ran my end of the line through the wire handle of the lamp, and there was enough line to cut off a section to make a check-line for letting down the lamp. ‘Hold the lamp until I get to the bottom,’ I said, ‘and when I raise my arm send down the lamp on the check line. The lamp at the bottom will give some light for you and Ruth, and I’ll shine my torch upwards for you too.’

As soon as I was sure that they both understood, I went down again, an easier trip this time because I knew what was in front of me. Our lamp manoeuvre worked well. Ruth came down after the lamp, and Caval followed her, neither having any serious trouble. At the foot of the rockfall we resumed our old positions, Caval leading, Ruth next, and I behind her. I took back the cut piece of line that we’d used for the lamp, but left the rest of it to hang from the projecting rock at the top – it would be handy if we had to come back this way.

The roar of water became deafening, and the cavern path began to be wet and rather slippery. Suddenly the whole of one side of the cave was water, a solid curtain of water falling from a cliff far above our heads. The falling water, hurled several yards over the lip of the cliff that made the waterfall, fell clear of our path – we were safely behind it. But the whole place was wet with spray thrown up from the foot of the fall. We pressed ourselves against the inside wall of the cave. To walk behind the waterfall was a terrifying passage in the lamplight, but I think it was not really very dangerous. The cave, scooped out of the rock by aeons of falling water, was quite spacious, and the floor against the inside wall was relatively dry. I doubt if the river that flowed over the unseen cliff was more than twenty yards wide, but in the dim light of one hurricane lamp the passage behind the waterfall seemed endless. When we had crossed we huddled together instinctively, Ruth putting her arms round me and clinging to me.

But we stopped only for a moment. Then Caval held up the lamp, signed to us to go on, and we continued our strange journey.

Gradually the noise of the fall got fainter, and when it was possible to speak without shouting Caval stopped, and turned out the lamp. ‘Look,’ he said. For a few seconds after the sudden extinguishing of the lamp I could see nothing. Then, as my eyes adjusted themselves, I could make out what he had seen because he had been half-expecting it – a faint light, more a lessening of the darkness, at the end of the passage ahead of us.

‘I doubt if we can be heard, but we mustn’t show any more light,’ he said. ‘About fifty yards on this cave runs into the great sea cavern leading to the Chacarima Inlet – we come out in a sort of gallery, well above the floor of the sea cave. That is where I’d expect to find radio or other installations, if there’s anything to find. And it looks as if there is something, because of the light. It can’t be from outside because we’re much too far inside the caves, and in any case there isn’t any light outside because it’s night.’ I looked at my watch: it was just midnight.

Caval unslung his Mannlicher and went forward slowly. Ruth and I followed, side by side now, for there was plenty of room.

Our cave did not lead directly to the sea cavern, but a side-opening to the left did. It was through this opening that a faint luminosity was coming, like the light at one end of a corridor from a lighted room at the other end. There was also a slight noise – the rhythmic hum of a dynamo.

Keeping close to the rock-wall, we edged round the corner, coming out, as Caval had said, on to a narrow platform that overhung the great sea cavern like a gallery. There, a truly astonishing sight awaited us – we were looking down on a power station, or rather, a combination of power station and dock. The floor of the great cavern ended in a natural quay, and at the quay a small freighter of perhaps 400 tons was unloading. Several large machines were already installed in one part of the cave, and a man with a forklift truck was taking crates from the freighter to the machine area. A group of men round one machine were working round an opened crate. The whole place was well lighted, but fortunately for us the lights, on street-lamp standards, were all below our gallery.

The freighter was almost directly below us. Being broadside on I couldn’t see her stern where her port of registry should have been displayed, but it might not have been there to be seen, for the name on her bow seemed to have been painted out. Two men were standing on the after-deck. I recognised one as the Prime Minister, Mr Li Cook. The other was a European. Ruth gave a little shuddering gasp, and I put my arm round her. Caval fingered his Mannlicher, but didn’t do anything.

By some trick of acoustics in the cave we could hear every word the men were saying, as plainly as if we were standing beside them. The slight hum of the dynamo made no difference; it was constant and low pitched, and had become simply background noise.

‘His Excellency is due here this afternoon,’ the European said.

‘Then I shall meet him here,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘He should, I think, be much impressed.’

‘We’ve laid on a demonstration for him. It will have to be at sea, of course, but it won’t be more than a couple of miles out, and should be clearly visible from the cliff top. There will be a sudden storm over a defined area, and probably a huge waterspout.’

‘Good. He is coming by sea, I suppose.’

‘Yes. He has chartered a big American yacht to pick him up in Jamaica, which he has been visiting as an ordinary tourist. We have had a radio message to say that she is on her way, and as far as we know on time. She should make Chacarima Inlet around four o’clock.’

‘And you think he is fully empowered to come to terms?’

‘I’m sure of it. Can you imagine the Chinese letting such an opportunity slip out of their hands?’

‘No. You have done very well. I shall need troops, of course, to establish my personal rule. I can’t wholly rely on the Nuevan Army – too many of the Staff have been at Sandhurst or West Point.’

‘His Excellency understands that. You have simply to fix a date for Fort James to be occupied, and all will be arranged.’

The Prime Minister looked at his watch. ‘Well, Charles, twenty-four hours from now, or perhaps a little less, I shall be the most powerful man in the world. You will have power, too, and everything else you want. There will be a few small diplomatic difficulties, no doubt – but with the power at our disposal, what can anyone do?’

‘Are you staying here until His Excellency comes?’

‘Yes. The cabin you have arranged for me seems very comfortable. Officially I left this morning on a private visit to Barbados, so I am not even in Nueva. Well, it’s been a long day, and we need clear heads tomorrow. I wish you good night.’

We watched the two of them go below, and then without a whisper to each other we slipped back into our own cave. When we were safely round the corner Caval lighted our lamp again and we went back the way we’d come. When we were past the waterfall, and far enough beyond it to be able to talk, Caval said, ‘I need a drink, and I think five minutes’ rest.’

‘We all do.’ I got out the rum bottle, and since we had no cups I handed it to Caval. ‘You’re the senior citizen, and anyway it’s your rum,’ I said. ‘Ruth after you, then me.’

Caval took a long swig and gave the bottle to Ruth, but she passed it to me. ‘I don’t think I want any rum,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to think.’

‘So have I, and good rum helps thought.’ I took my turn at the bottle, and felt much better for it.

‘I could have shot both of them without the least difficulty. Why didn’t I?’ Caval said.

‘Because you’re not a murderer, and because it wouldn’t have done any good. Whoever is coming tomorrow would still come. What’s the matter, Ruth?’

She’d shut her eyes, and the lamplight emphasised the strain and misery in her face. ‘I can’t work it out,’ she said.

‘Can’t work what out?’

‘The demonstration he talked about. Yes, I know he destroyed the house, and I daresay he thinks it will work again, but he killed Phil, and Phil knew much more about it than he does. Why did he kill Phil?’

‘Because Phil knew too much.’

‘Yes, but it can’t be quite like that. When I thought that I didn’t know how far things had gone – I didn’t know about all the equipment in the cave. He needed Phil.’

‘Perhaps Phil didn’t like what he was doing, and was in a position to stop it.’

‘It may be something like that. But Charles sounded horribly confident, and he can’t really be confident about it.’

‘All that family are gamblers,’ Caval said.

*

The psychology of the Antoine Cavals may have been enthralling to Ruth and Edward Caval, but I felt a sense of desperate urgency. ‘I’m afraid we’ve had our rest,’ I said. ‘There’s very little time left.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Caval asked.

‘I’ve got a sort of plan. It may work or it may not, but I’d rather not talk about it now because I haven’t thought out all the implications. It means getting to Fort James as soon as humanly possible.’

‘I thought we were going to make for one of the U.S. islands.’

‘That was before we knew what we know now. If we just sail for the U.S. Virgins the meeting will have taken place long before we get there, God knows what hellish alliance may be fixed up, and it may be too late to do anything about it. If we can get to Fort James, there’s just a chance we may be able to stop it. Will you come with me to Fort James?’

‘Peter’s inclined to want to take over people,’ Ruth said. She was fighting hard to get back her old self-possession. ‘In this instance I’m game to trust him.’

‘Three against the world? Very well,’ Caval said.

I think I was more deeply moved than ever before in my life.

We made good progress on the journey back through the caves, for once we’d got up the rock-fall the rest of the way was downhill. Then came disaster – Caval slipped on some scree in the dried up watercourse that led down to the sea, and fell heavily. When he tried to get up, he couldn’t. ‘Something’s happened to my left leg,’ he said. ‘I expect it’s only a strain, and will pass off in a few minutes.’

It didn’t. We were trying not to show a light on the open hillside, but I had to use a torch now. As far as Ruth and I could make out there was nothing broken in the leg itself or in knee or ankle, but when he tried to stand, he just couldn’t.

After the fourth try, he said, ‘It’s no good, my children. You’ve got work to do, and as you said before there’s precious little time. Leave me here. Perhaps you can come back for me later on. If not, or if the pain gets very bad, I’ve got my rifle. I’ve had a long and mostly good life, and I’m not in the least afraid of ending it. Indeed, I’d rather end it here, on my own land while it’s still mine, than get in the way of what you’re trying to do.’

‘It’s a point of view,’ I said, ‘and an honourable one. But it isn’t going to be like that. We haven’t far to get down to the boat now, it’s downhill and you’re no great weight. Put your arms round my shoulders, and I’ll get you up on my back. Ruth will stay close behind, to protect your leg, and hold you if you start slipping.’

We were helped by the slope: getting down in front of him I got him up, put one arm under his good leg, and let the other dangle. I threw the Mannlicher into the scrub, also the hurricane lamp – we had to get rid of every ounce we could. The rest of the descent was horrible. Caval was not heavily built and he was old, but he must have weighed at least 130 pounds and he was a dreadful burden. And all the time I was afraid of slipping myself, perhaps injuring him more, or perhaps putting myself out of action. Ruth was splendid. She was carrying both torches, both revolvers, and the bag with our bits of food and bottles of rum and water, which it seemed folly to jettison in case we needed them. With all this, she helped to support Caval, moving step by step with me, and holding him on my back. It was an appalling journey, and just how we managed it I don’t know, but we did.

When at last we got to the boat we all three took a swig of rum. Although he couldn’t stand, Caval found that he could sit upright, and this helped us to get him into the boat. It was a glorious feeling to cast off and leave the blessed sea to take the weight of everything.

Back on the schooner I got a sling under Caval’s arms and hauled him on board with the davits. We didn’t try to get him below, but made him as comfortable as we could on deck.

Then came the problem of getting out of the bay. Until we cleared the headland we should have to beat, and I’d gone so far in towards the bush that there was virtually no wind to get us started.

I couldn’t tow the schooner with the oars, but we had the dinghy’s outboard and so far had used none of the fuel for it. Towing with the dinghy under power from the outboard ought to get the schooner moving. There would be the engine-noise, of course, but that couldn’t be helped. We’d got to get to sea, and if there was anyone on shore within hearing distance of the outboard they could think what they liked.

Ruth and I got up the anchor and then I dropped down into the dinghy and started the engine. At rest the Grand Duchess was a ponderous old boat, and at first I wondered whether the engine really did have enough power to get her moving. But she had clean, fine lines, and slowly her head came round. Once she could follow at the end of the tow line instead of having to be dragged round she moved easily, and I didn’t even have to use full throttle. I took her clear of the bay and the best part of half a mile out to sea before letting the line slacken and catching her boarding ladder as she came up.

Having left the headsails in stops, and the main only loosely furled, it didn’t take long to get under way. I didn’t try to get the dinghy up: I’d shipped the outboard before returning to the schooner so that there should be less drag, and – reversing roles – left the Duchess to tow her small but invaluable partner.

I took the wheel from Ruth as the sails filled and the schooner picked up speed. ‘Now we must decide where to go,’ I said.

It was a few minutes after four a.m.