"Don't waste your time on him, Captain, or on thanking me," whipped out Stein. "We'll be ashore in a moment. Get your bearings, or whatever you do, in God's name!"
I swung the pelorus with hands that trembled. I gave John a new course. We were almost opposite Galleon Point.
I could see the spar out to port where Trout had gone aground. I nodded towards it.
"That," I said to John, "is where we damaged the hydroplanes."
He didn't reply. I could see that the deadly swiftness of Johann's attack had shaken him. His helmsmanship remained masterly.
Stein kicked the still figure without compassion.
"All this makes him a better bodyguard than ever, doesn't it," he grinned evilly. "With a score like that to settle, particularly."
He bent down and examined the unconscious man's head. "He'll be out for another hour at least," he said. "Will that get us safe into the anchorage? If it won't, I'll make sure that he doesn't wake up for another couple." He took the kierie and looked questioningly at Johann. The cold precision of it revolted me.
"It'll be enough," I said.
"In this channel you're far more valuable — for my life in particular — than this," he said kicking the still form again without compunction. "But there may well be occasions when the position is reversed."
The high hill to the north, clearly visible, and the three-topped one to the south, peered down at the ship making her way in. The dun beach and the dunes, tonsured by clinging, wind-torn shrub, were half opaque through the driving salt. There was still enough glare, however, to make the eyes wince. I gave John the course. As Etosha came, abreast Galleon Point I could see the tall spar rising from the sand. A sailing ship's mast? A landmark? A beacon? Even at a couple of hundred yards it was impossible in know. One never would know. In silence, John, Anne, Stein and I watched the scene. Etosha swept round the last great whorl of the channel and again turned parallel to the way she had come in, facing due west now. The hammering of the sea eased. The wind continued to lash out blindly.
Etosha was safe inside Curva dos Dunas.
"Course two-seven-oh," I said.
She headed across the anchorage. Through the opaque light I saw what I had been looking for. NP I. The high, fin-like conning-tower was black with rust, the ethereal quality of it as I had seen her that night now gone, like the colour which dies when a lovely deep-sea creature is brought to the surface. The fin was slightly canted, but the merciful salt and whiteness still blanketed the wounds which sank her. I included John and Stein in my nod towards her.
"There's the atomic U-boat."
Stein went forward and I could see how white his knuckles were as he gripped the top of the dodger.
"The ultimate weapon," he murmured almost to himself. "And a British captain with an ordinary submarine sank her with a recognition flare!" He turned to me and his voice rasped with bitterness. "Congratulations, Captain Peace! It is so like the British to reward their heroes with the boot."
John relaxed at the wheel. He grinned a little.
"I'll never forgive you, Geoffrey, for not letting me in on this," he said. "Now you can be reinstated."
"Rubbish!" I said sharply. "There's no question of reinstatement now. That's all in the past."
Anne surprised me by agreeing with John.
"If you're innocent, then the court martial can reverse 'its findings." She turned to John. "It's up to you to tell 1 them."
John nodded.
I rang for slow ahead. I'd anchor near NP I and then send the party ashore in the boat.
"Now see here," I said. "This particular place happens to belong to me. In that sense it's private. And NP I is part of its private history. You, John, can go and tell your story to the Admiralty — if you like. They'll want some proof. And where will you get it? Do you think the Admiralty is going to believe a sentimental, unlikely little story about a hidden anchorage from a friend who feels sorry that his former chief was kicked out of the Service years ago? They'll want proof." I turned to Anne. "John's a sailor. He couldn't find this place, let alone bring in a ship. There's only one man living who can do that, and that is me. The only other man to do it was the skipper of the U-boat, and he's roasted. I expect Johann ate him into the bargain."
The anchor clattered over the side. Eight fathoms and a bottom of hard sand. Good holding ground.
Anne said, a trifle judicially, "I seem to remember an American lieutenant in that famous old-time battle off Boston — what was it?…"
"Shannon? Chesapeake?" said John.
"Yes," said Anne. "That's it — Chesapeake. They reinstated him donkeys' years later…"
I smiled grimly when I thought of the Director of Naval Intelligence. One played that game by their rules — until death do us part.
She might have been arguing for the man, not the cause.
Stein, however, aligned himself with me.
"Captain Peace has too much of a past to let him fo I comfortable," he said amiably. "The present is what matters. The Afrikaaners have an expression — ' Don't haul dead cows out of the ditch.' With Captain Peace in particular they are apt to stink."
Anne turned to John.
"You could send a radio message. There's nothing to stop you."
"Except," I said acidly, "a squadron of American ships which is cruising around here somewhere recovering guided missiles fired from Cape Canaveral. They've got aircraft with them, too. Go ahead. Broadcast to the world our illegal mission. They've got the latest radar and radio-interception devices in the world. Even so, they won't find Etosha. Not in this anchorage, anyway."
Stein glanced at me in veiled admiration.
"This Captain Peace would be a great poker-player — always a new ace up his sleeve."
"See the sand blowing across from the sand-bars there?" I said. It billowed like a windsock of snow from the summit of Mount Everest. '* That sand is laden with mica and chemical salts. You remember a thing the U-boats used in the war — Bold, they called it? They used to release a film of chemical components which hung like a curtain in the water and foxed our asdics. The same thing happens with that sand. Radar will simply not penetrate inside here." I turned to Anne with more vehemence than I really meant. "Go ahead. Get John to signal your American friends. And explain all this away too."
A flush came up on her cheeks, already bright with the wind.
"Computation — you remember?" was all she said.
"Are you ready to go ashore?" I asked Stein.
"In half an hour," he said. "I've got the stores all packed."
"You'll have to put up with the surf-boat," I said. "The others got smashed… er — at sea in a blow. I'll send the Kroo boy, he's the best surfman amongst the crew."
Stein's mouth hardened.
"You're going to send us ashore at the mercy of a single kaffir? What does he know about this anchorage?"
I almost felt sorry for Stein then. It was like dropping an unwanted puppy in a bucket of water with a brick round its neck. But he knew too much. The girl — well, I had a plan for her.
"Of course I'm coming," I said. "How far do you think you'd get without me?"
Stein relaxed. I refused to look at Anne.
"Get the boat alongside," I told John. "Detail the Kroo boy to come with me. Get some of the others to load the stuff into the boat. Smack it about."
Stein had certainly helped himself liberally to Etosha's stores. With typical thoroughness he had labelled everything. Jim, the Kroo boy, stood in the tossing surf-boat with its high prow, and the crew passed down things to him. Stein had even roped up some canvas — for a tent presumably. He came up with a Remington high velocity in one hand and the Luger in the other. He was like a child off on a picnic.