Southtrap

'Keep on stand-by for the moment,' I told the man. 'Mr Wegger will be along shortly with my orders.'

I put down the phone unnecessarily hard. Linn's eyes followed me.

'Something wrong, John?'

'Could be,' I answered briefly. 'Look, Linn, I've been doing a quick think about the banquet. If I keep the ship at this speed, it will kill the whole occasion. And it is an event, and I promised your father it would go ahead. At this stage Botany Bay's position is guesswork. There's no point in smashing up the banquet and possibly the ship as well at this early stage. I'll reduce speed for an hour or two to give the banquet a steady platform.'

'I'm glad, John. My father would have been, too.'

The bridge phone rang. 'Persson here, sir. I thought you should know. There's something on the radar. Small target. Not clear.'

'What range, Persson? What do you make of it?'

Twenty kilometres, sir. The image isn't very solid. I'd guess it was hail clutter, maybe rain. I can't say. I can't clarify the image on this set.'

'It's not a ship?'

'Definitely not, sir.'

Ice?'

'I doubt it, sir. There's too much speckle. But ice can be tricky. I can't be sure.'

'I'll be along shortly to see for myself. Keep me posted, will you?'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'And — Persson, have you seen Mr Wegger?'

'No, sir. He's not been here.'

'Thank you.'

My anger blazed against the man. Where the devil was he? The first officer is the kingpin of a ship, and now that the Quest was facing a crisis the kingpin was missing.

I rattled the phone. 'Give me Mr Wegger's cabin.'

'No need. I'm here.'

Wegger stalked on to the bridge. I noticed immediately that he wasn't wearing weatherproofing and that his uniform was dry. He was breathing fast, like the time MacFie and I had surprised him in the hold.

I dropped my voice so that the others on the bridge would not hear. 'You will report to me in my cabin in ten minutes.'

He seemed amused, insolently amused.

I added in my normal tone, 'The searchlight isn't manned yet. Nor is the crow's nest.'

He stood swinging on his toes for a moment, and then took a step — the same type of menacing step I'd seen before — towards me. Then he checked himself.

'I know. I was checking the motor-launch for the rescue.'

It was an obvious lie. His dry uniform was proof of that.

'Who told you to check the motor-launch?' I snapped. 'Who said anything about using the boat for the rescue?'

'Of course we'll use the motor-launch,' he replied truculently. 'How else will we get them off?'

'Any rescue arrangements are my affair — get that clear,' I said tautly. 'How we do it is for me to decide.'

He shrugged a shoulder. I was at a complete loss to understand his attitude. It didn't help my anger., I repeated, in as controlled a voice as I could muster, 'I'll see you in ten minutes in my day cabin. Meanwhile, get on with the business of running the ship,'

The ugly lightning flashed in his eyes, but his mouth retained its half-sneer. 'You can rely on me to run this ship. You can be damn sure of that.'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The celebration banquet that evening was shadowed for me by Wegger's exhibition of bloody-mindedness. I couldn't get the man out of my mind as I sat at the head table in the fine teak-and-maple-panelled saloon facing the guests. There was a full turn-out of passengers — Linn had been right when she said they need something to take their minds off the tragedy of Hold-gate. She had provided it in full measure. There was a gala atmosphere and the place buzzed with animated conversation. Overhead two big brass lamps swung in rhythm with the Quest's long rise and fall.

The saloon, which was unusual in running athwart-ships the whole breadth of the ship, was decorated. Streamers were suspended overhead. Klausen, the cook, had excelled himself and provided a culinary masterpiece. It stood on the heavy carved sideboard at my back — red crayfish pincers clasped fish delicacies of all kinds round a centre-piece consisting of a whole fish about a metre long.

My captain's table formed the crosspiece of a T with the other table. Linn, wearing a severely cut white dress with a cowled collar, sat on my left; next to her were the three weathermen, looking uncomfortable in suits. On my right was McKinley, the master of ceremonies. It would be his function, now that the dinner was heading for its climax fuelled by liberal glasses of Kaapse Vonkel, to call on me to propose Captain Jacobsen's toast. That done, Captain Jacobsen would make his speech. He was in high spirits: Mrs Jacobsen appeared to have let him off the leash. McKinley was chatting up his fancy, the dark-haired Barbara, whom he had managed to seat at the junction of the two tables.

Behind me, to my right, a door led aft to the main lounge and bar, — the forward entrance to the saloon, which I faced, was through a pair of swing-doors whose upper sections were diamonds of coloured glass. Miss Auchinleck sat nearest the swing-doors. She wore a feathery pink wig which made her look like a downgraded punk-rock star.

Linn caught my glance and whispered, 'I think she's almost enjoying not being a penguin.'

For all her apparent amusement, I knew that she was as worried as I was about Wegger. He had not shown up in my cabin as ordered, and I had gone to the bridge ready for anything. When I demanded to know where he was, the helmsman pointed to the bows. Amidst the bursting spray Wegger in oilskins was rigging the lifelines. No one was assisting him. As I watched, a sea came over green and threw him to the limit of his securing rope. It was a kind of crazy do-as-you-dare professionalism which partly defused my anger. Whatever his shortcomings, he was a fine sailor.

I gave the order to reduce speed, left the bridge and Wegger to his task, and came on to the dinner. That didn't mean I was any nearer peace of mind. I still wanted to sort it out with him. Also on my mind was the fact that there had been nothing from Botany Bay at the first scheduled signal hour. Persson remained glued to his post.

McKinley broke in on my thoughts. 'Looks as if everyone's about ready, sir. Shall I go ahead?'

'Carry on, Mr McKinley.'

McKinley stood up, rapped the table with a spoon. The chatter died down.

He was suave, easy. 'Ladies and gentlemen, we now come to the highlight of the evening. As you all know, the occasion is to celebrate the war-time escape by our distinguished guest, Captain Jacobsen, from a German raider in these very waters…'

The passengers couldn't have cared less what they were celebrating. It was a good party, that was all.

'… and I call upon Captain Shotton to propose the toast of our guest of honour…'

I got to my feet, my mind blank. My only resolve was not to make a heavy-handed, tedious speech. Still, it was a party and the captain was expected to rise to the occasion.

I half-turned in the direction of Captain Jacobsen on my right. As I did so a slight movement of the door — almost directly behind Jacobsen — caught my eye. Then the door was quickly pulled shut.

I lifted my glass and gave the traditional Scandinavian toast — 'Skoal!'

That wasn't enough from me; I racked my brains for something else to say. Why not rattle off all the other names I knew for toast in other languages to get a laugh? 'Skoal!' I repeated. 'Slainthe! Good health! Gesundheit! Alia salute!..'

The crowd began to laugh and got to its feet.

I went on, 'Bottoms up! Nazdar! Lyia sos! Kenkeh!'

The passengers started chanting after me, lifting their glasses and thumping the table. Captain Jacobsen looked as if he'd come into a million dollars. Mrs Jacobsen was bobbing with gratification.

He rose to reply. 'My friends — you have made for me a happy occasion out of something which was an unhappy occasion. War is an unhappy thing…'