Above the opening in the bottom of the platform swung a cabin cruiser in a cradle. It could have been that the whole installation had been built into the original fort. Or it could have been that Fowler had managed to rig it up himself. In any case, the boat was there, and to the creak of pulleys and the metallic grinding of a winch it began to sink down through the opening and descend towards the surface of the water.
The Saint quickly dived under the hull of Kalki’s smaller boat and re-emerged on the far side, keeping his head well down in the water. He heard the cradle and keel of Fowler’s boat settle into the sloshing swells of the estuary, and the which overhead ground to a stop.
“Right!” Fowler’s voice called from just a few feet away. “I’ll get going. Follow my lights as soon as you can — but lock up first. We might want to use this place again when Templar’s out of the way.”
Simon heard the platform’s sliding panel groaning back into place, and over it the engine of Fowler’s cruiser, as it spat and coughed and grumbled into full life. He heard it pull away slowly, scraping lightly against one of the far legs of the fort, before it began to pick up speed.
Up above, Kalki was wasting no time. Simon heard him slam a metal door, rattle something, and then run across the metal deck. A moment later his large feet appeared on the topmost rung of the ladder.
The Saint was waiting in the water when Kalki reached the bottom of the ladder and stretched out a leg to grope for the side of his boat. Simon’s actions were lightning-swift and simple: he had formed the end of the anchor rope into a noose.
He slipped the loop around Kalki’s ankle, jerked it tight, and swung several half-hitches around the giant’s leg.
Kalki was taken so completely by surprise that he could only bellow, kick, and try to climb back up the ladder. Which only pulled the knots tighter.
“Give up?” Simon asked. “If you’re a good boy I’ll just tie you up and leave you for the cops.”
In time he saw Kalki’s fist stretch out from his body, clutching a small revolver. The Saint’s next act was even more deadly in its simplicity than the looping of the rope: he grasped the anchor and pulled it out over the side into the water. At the same moment as its weight came on the rope, he added his own weight to it.
The sudden shock of the combination jerked Kalki’s hand and foot clean away from the ladder, With a howl he sailed over Simon’s head, and splash of the anchor was followed by the splash of Kalki. The howl was instantly swallowed up too, and there was only the sound of the water washing against the piers of the fort.
Simon hoisted himself with lithe agility into the speed-boat and waited for a minute or two with his automatic in hand to see if Kalki’s great strength would be enough to overcome about fifteen kilos of iron ballast. The seconds passed. Simon quietly put the gun back into the pocket of his dripping trousers. Kalki would break no more bones.
The Saint found a black slicker and hat in the boat. He put them on, started the motor, and cast off in pursuit of Fowler.
It was not a long chase. The lights of Fowler’s cruiser came into sight far ahead of him in the open water. It was simple then to follow, but it was important not to come too close. If Fowler should turn a spotlight on him and recognise that it was not his partner, Kalki, in the following boat, things would become considerably more complicated. He would have to time his approach carefully, coming up to Fowler when Fowler’s attention was diverted.
They churned on out to sea, Simon’s boat two hundred yards behind Fowler’s. Finally the Saint found the distance between himself and the bigger craft narrowing. The cruiser had stopped. He cut his own power, holding back. Over the splashing waves he heard a new, sharp sound: the smashing of an axe into wood. Fowler was hacking a hole in his boat’s hull just below the waterline.
Simon was already less than a hundred yards away. As he came closer he heard another sound: the yells and screams of the captive passengers below deck who now must see the axe blade and water breaking into the cabin where they were imprisoned.
The Saint pushed his throttle forward and bore down on the bigger boat at full speed, keeping his face hidden behind the black hat he was wearing. He turned on his own searchlight — a movable light that could be manipulated by the pilot at the wheel. In the beam he saw Fowler, a shotgun at the ready, facing the door from the cockpit and shouting over his shoulder:
“Hurry up! They’re breaking out! Get me off here!”
The Saint obliged, and as he continued to race the last yards towards Fowler’s listing boat he saw the doors burst open, wood splintering as the panic-stricken immigrants hurled themselves against it with a terror-inflamed vigour that Fowler had completely underestimated. Simon’s timing was such that he managed to ram the cruiser at just the instant that Fowler pulled the trigger of his shotgun. The blast went harmlessly into the air instead of into the Indians and Pakistanis who now swarmed frantically and furiously over Fowler like ants from a disturbed nest.
“I’m a friend!” the Saint shouted to them. “Some of you can get in my boat. And throw over the rubber dinghy on the cabin trunk — you know, the roof. Keep calm! There’s plenty of time for you all to get off.”
Simon was trying to hold his own confiscated craft alongside the cruiser. The foreign passengers paused, confused and uncertain. Fowler was prostrate. Somebody appeared to be standing on his arm.
“I didn’t exactly mean you’ve got all night,” Simon called. “Come on — get that dinghy launched!”
There was a babble of English and other languages. Two of the men climbed over into the speedboat while others untied and pulled down the already inflated Zodiac. They shoved it headlong off the deck, making it ship a few gallons of water, but fortunately it was by nature unsinkable unless punctured in several places.
Then Fowler made a bad mistake: he rolled over and tried to recover his shotgun, which had fallen nearby. Simon had just time to prove the validity of his good intentions to the Indians and Pakistanis by levelling his pistol at Fowler, but he did not have to use it. Dark forms pounced in the dancing glare of the spotlight, and three knives entered Fowler’s body almost simultaneously.
4
Fowler’s boat was listing heavily stern down, but before the water began to spill into the cockpit the Zodiac was ready loaded. If badly overcrowded, it at least floated. Nine men were in it, and three in the outboard with Simon.
“What happened?” one of the frightened passengers asked him. “Where are we?”
“The man who was supposed to take you ashore got frightened and decided to kill you instead.”
He got his party organised, tying the raft behind so that he could tow it. Then he set out at a low speed towards the coast.
A shout went up, and he turned to look back. The lights of Fowler’s cruiser had just disappeared beneath the waves, and the sea all around was dark except for the bead strings of lights along the distant shore.
Most of the way back to the vicinity of the fort was taken up by Simon’s explanations to the smuggled aliens of just what had gone wrong to destroy their hopes — and almost to destroy them.
“Are you the police?” one of them asked.
“No.”
“Where are we going? What can we do? Must we go to jail?”
“I’m afraid you must go back home,” Simon told them. “As long as you don’t go inside the territorial limits of Great Britain you haven’t broken any laws. I’m going to leave you off at the fort you just came from. I’ll arrange transportation so you can get back to the continent. You’re on your own from there.”
“I have no money!” one of them cried.