"Plenty of time for that when we see what the timetable's like. Let's talk to the scientific trio and give them the option."
After returning to San Juan, they strolled through the narrow, gaudy streets of the old town, the shops dispensing garish souvenirs. Finally, at the end of their long day out, they stood on the top gun platform of El Morro, having seen everything else within the massive thick stone walls. The fortress still had about it an atmosphere of unreality, for it was built at the far promontory entrance to the harbor, rising up several levels and sweeping down to the sea itself.
Its strategic position, coupled with the amazing ingenuity of its construction, had made this place impregnable. Even Drake had been unable to conquer it, and others who tried had always been beaten back.
The secret was in its layered construction, coupled with the masterly design that had enabled great cannons to be let down or winched up steep cobbled ramps, so that the lowest emplacements – only feet away from the rocks and sea – could cut down any men who happened to get a toehold on land. Above this the gun positions were set in higher, serrated walls that allowed them to fire with accuracy on the old big men-of-war, cutting the masts and crippling the ships with ease.
Here, at the highest elevation, the large cannon, still in position, would fire heated cannonballs down into the ships. When Drake had tried to take the place in the 1590s, he had finally been dissuaded when one of the heavy red-hot balls had crashed into the stern of his ship, through his personal cabin window.
They made their way down to the so-called patio, really the parade ground, living quarters, and storehouses. It also contained a big water cistern, the chapel of Santa Bárbara, and the old center of all social life within the castle.
"Now, this place is haunted." Flicka was at the guidebook again. "A lady walks around at night searching for her lost love, and sometimes soldiers appear, sitting around and talking."
Felix sniffed the air. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if the place is haunted. Nobody stays here at night, you know. These Historic Park Rangers all pack up and go home when they close."
They walked back to El Convento to change for dinner, then set off to the harbor. Rexinus had given them explicit directions as to where Mare Nostrum was tied up. "You can't miss her," he had said, rightly, because nobody could possibly have missed the exotic-looking ship.
That she had been purpose-built was obvious. This sleek 250-foot, seagoing motorized yacht still had the patina of newness on her. She also looked like the kind of craft you saw only on classified documents. The mortarlike tubes, about which Felix had told them, poked into the air at forty-five-degree angles, but it was the superstructure that immediately caught the eye. Aft of the wheelhouse was a long, square Plexiglas framework that looked like a modern greenhouse. It climbed higher than the wheelhouse, and the edges along the top were curved, giving it the look of something from science fiction.
Rex Rexinus stood by the gangway, his infectious laugh splitting the air.
"You found us, then."
"How could we miss you, Dr. Rexinus?" Flicka had already said that she would handle Rexinus should he get difficult when they laid the news on him.
The marine biologist welcomed them on board, saying that he would take them on a tour of the ship after dinner. "Poor Vesta doesn't get to entertain very often. She's provided only a cold supper, but it seems to have taken her all day." He turned and laughed again as though this were a great joke.
Bond was finding his laughter a little hard to bear.
Belowdecks the quarters were more palatial than they expected: a wide and high oblong, oak-paneled living area had been arranged as a dining room, complete with a long adjustable table that was laid out with plates of cold meats and salads of every possible variety. There were crystal glasses and bottles of both a good claret and a somewhat fine Chablis.
"What's through there?" Bond asked immediately, nodding to the closed door at the far end. He always liked to know the quickest exit when he arrived in a new environment
"Our modest sleeping quarters." Fritz had the distinct trace of a squashed mid-European accent.
"Modest indeed." Vesta Motley came forward to greet them. "I have the best bedroom I've ever had in the whole of my life. I do hope you don't mind this buffet thing I've thrown together." The cut-glass British accent clashed heavily with Rexinus's American.
"Just what we'd have chosen for ourselves," Bond said gallantly. In the depth of his heart he could have done with a really good dinner tonight, but he figured that beggars could not be choosers.
Vesta Motley did not appear to have any of the social graces. They had hardly entered the living quarters when she started to pour wine and asked them to "Dig in, chaps," which made Bond wince and Flicka stifle a snort of laughter.
While they moved around, eating and drinking, they tried to chip away at the job the trio of scientists were doing for Max Tarn. To give credit, Rexinus himself tried to explain the theory behind what he referred to as "an automatic anti-oil pollution system – AAOPS for short," but the concept was daunting, and they really were none the wiser by the time he had finished.
Eventually, Bond nodded to Felix, who, they had agreed, would set things in motion. "Well, folks," he began, using the same old Texas cowboy manner that he had kept up all evening. "I fear we've brought you some disturbing and almost certainly dangerous news."
The three scientists looked at him as though he were quite mad.
"What kind of news?" Rexinus did not laugh.
"You haven't yet been able to get any instructions from Tarn International in London?"
"We told you that last night. Since Sir Max's death we aren't getting any answers at all. It's like the whole organization has died with him."
"Max Tarn isn't dead." It was Bond who exploded the bombshell.
"Isn't… But…?"
"Worse still to come," Flicka said softly.
"The man is wanted for a number of quite heinous crimes, I fear." Back to Felix. "Murder is probably the least important. He's wanted for weapons running on a huge scale. I don't mink we need to go into the complete story now, but you have to believe us, he's very dangerous, has firepower of his own – they travel with him usually – and we expect him in Puerto Rico any day."
Flicka finished it off: "The really amusing thing about him is that he thinks he's the Nazi Messiah, and it appears that a zillion or so German far-right groups believe him."
"Oh, my God!" from Vesta.
"Who the hell are you, with these idiotic stories?" Rexinus had possibly given up laughing for a long time, and his face became even more grave as Felix showed them his own credentials and introduced Bond and Flicka in their true identities.
"We're going to suggest that you pull out of Puerto Rico tonight," Bond told them. "You can always make for Miami or somewhere, and Felix can organize protection for you. Really you are in the gravest danger. Max Tarn will brook no explanations. I doubt if he'll even listen when you tell him the AAOPS won't work. The man thinks he's above any laws, natural, man-made, or scientific. Tell him your original concept doesn't work and he'll tell you that's nonsense. Also, we believe that he's all set to show your invention off to the world, and we think his planned display will cause many problems – including death on a fairly grand scale."
"I don't believe it." Rexinus seemed to be standing his ground. "This is some kind of trick."
"Wish it were, friend," from Felix.
"Rex." Flicka dropped her voice slightly, an old artifice used to gain everyone's attention. "Rex, please, listen to us. Max Tarn is very dangerous, and when he gets here he'll bring some of his playmates. They're an ugly bunch. I'm pleading with you. Get out while there's time. Let us deal with him. Us and the local authorities."