^ When the ^ Challenger ^ was within twelve hours' sailing time of San Francisco it was almost a year to the day since the Gulf states, led by Sheikh Gamal Tafak, had cut the flow of oil to the West by fifty per cent. The reaction to this event inside Soviet Russia was strangely muted.
^ The Soviet government, which in the past had urged the Arabs to use their oil weapon, was appalled by the revelation of what it involved, by the sheer immensity of Arab power. It suddenly dawned on the Russians that they had spawned a monster. A Golden Ape was now stalking across the face of the earth, an ape which could destroy the great industrial machines of the West on which Russia depended for aid to develop her own industrial machine.
^ So, the Soviet government absorbed the shock, recognised the potential danger of the situation, and waited. While Sheikh Gamal Tafak remained convinced that he held all the trump cards, to the north of the Arab oil bowls the Russian colossus loomed like a giant shadow, patient, watchful, waiting.
^ Moving ever closer to San Francisco, the ^ Challenger ^ limped out of the embrace of Typhoon Tara. On the morning of Tuesday January 21, as the sun broke through a heavy overcast, the British tanker was a grim sight.
^ Her funnel was bent at a weird angle, although still functioning. The port derrick was twisted into a bizarre shape. Hatch covers had been blown away in the night. The port-side lifeboat had been wrenched clear of its davits and lost in the ocean. Three port-side portholes with inch-thick glass had been smashed in. The bridge window which Mackay had heard crack was gone, blasted into the bridge interior by a later wave, and it was only by a miracle that the men on the bridge at that moment hadn't been cut to pieces by flying glass. The bridge structure itself had a lop-sided tilt. The ^ Challenger ^ looked a wreck but she was still steaming for California at a speed of seventeen knots.
^ From the main deck Winter looked up at the ruination with quiet satisfaction. In this state he had no doubt the port authority at San Francisco would permit ^ Challenger ^ immediate entrance into the Bay beyond. It was a sentiment he was careful not to share with Captain Mackay. He looked up as LeCat called down to him from the battered bridge. 'A signal from the mainland has just arrived…'
^ Winter went up on to the bridge quickly and LeCat handed him the signal Kinnaird had just received. Reading it with an expressionless face, Winter stared critically at Mackay. The captain was grey with fatigue He had been on the bridge all night, guiding his ship through the worst Pacific typhoon in thirty years.
^ Mackay stared back at Winter with an equal lack of expression. The only Sullivan he could think of was Larry Sullivan, the man from Lloyd's he had once invited aboard the ^ Challenger. ^ Something told him to be careful.
^ Mackay blew his top. 'Damn you!' he roared. 'I've taken my ship through one hell of a typhoon. I've done that with you ^ ^ bastards aboard, standing around with your popguns in your hands, getting in the bloody way when my whole attention should have been concentrated on saving my ship…'
^ 'Jump over the bloody side! I've just about reached the end of my tether with you swine. If you talk to me like that again on my bridge I'll order the engine-room to stop the ship and you can do what you like…'
^ 'No, you shut up!' Mackay roared. 'You can shoot every man jack aboard and where will that leave you? Floating around out here in the bloody Pacific not able to sail one mile closer to San Francisco…'
^ Winter pushed down LeCat's pistol arm, told him to shove off the bridge. Mackay, driven too far, was on the verge of calling his bluff. Shoot us all… Winter wasn't prepared to shoot anyone. 'I withdraw the remark,' he said quietly. 'I think you ought to get a few hours' sleep in a minute. But first, could you tell me who this Sullivan is?'
^ Tired out as he was, Mackay had had time to think while he raved on at Winter. He wished to God he knew what was in that signal. He sensed that there could just be a chance to warn the mainland of the terrible situation aboard his ship. If only he could get a look at that signal – before he replied to Winter's questions.
^ 'So it wouldn't surprise you to hear that Sullivan was at this moment in San Francisco?'
^ Winter handed the signal to him. 'What do you make of that?' Mackay took his time absorbing it while Bennett read it over his shoulder. ^ Suspect contraband was taken aboard at Cook Inlet. Possibly drugs. Please confirm immediately whether new personnel joined ship at Nikisiki for present voyage. Will expect immediate reply to Sullivan, St Francis Hotel, San Francisco. Repeat expect immediate reply. Sullivan.
^ ^ ^ backwards and forwards. Contraband? New personnel? Was it even barely possible that Sullivan, who had turned up in California, had even an inkling that something was wrong? In a turmoil, Mackay felt he was treading through a minefield.
^ 'Why doesn't he know Kinnaird is a replacement wireless operator? Why the question about new personnel being taken on board? Isn't he in touch with head office? Didn't you tell Harper about Kinnaird?'
^ 'Then why doesn't Sullivan know about that? Isn't he in constant touch with head office?'
^ 'It's happened aboard the ^ Challenger ^ before?' Winter asked casually. He gave no sign that this was a trick question. If Mackay said yes, all he had to do was to question another member of the crew to check the captain's story.
^ 'Do what the hell you like.' Mackay stretched his weary shoulders. 'Mr Bennett, take over command on the bridge – I'm going to get a few hours' sleep. Call me if there's trouble of any kind,' he added.
^ He was in a dilemma. If he didn't reply to this Sullivan they might think something was wrong on the mainland, but he was suspicious. It seemed such a strange coincidence – that on this particular voyage there should be trouble of an entirely different nature. On the other hand. Mackay didn't seem to care whether he replied or not, which was exactly the impression the captain had struggled to convey. But if he didn't reply to this urgent request…
^ 'I've changed my mind,' he told them suddenly. 'We will reply…'
^ He watched the two officers closely as he made the remark. Mackay looked out of the bridge window, bored. Bennett took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. 'I'll word the reply myself,' Winter went on, 'telling him a search is being made of the ship and that you'll report the result when we dock at Oleum…' Mackay, who had hoped to word the reply himself, managed to hide his bitter disappointment. He started walking off the bridge.
^ 'Just a minute,' Winter called out. 'Sullivan is a pretty common name – and I want this message to reach him at the St Francis. What's his Christian name?'
^ The signal signed Mackay reached Sullivan at the St Francis at eleven in the morning of Tuesday – eleven hours before the ^ Challenger ^ was due to dock at Oleum. ^ Message received and understood. Am instituting general search of ship. Will report result on arrival at Oleum. ^ Sullivan stared at the signal he had taken down over the phone on a scribble pad, stared at the address. ^ Ephraim Sullivan, St Francis Hotel ^… He stood up, feeling almost light-headed, as though the jet lag had come back. I was bloody right, he said to himself, bloody right all the way from Bordeaux, and now I'm going to get some action.
^ After a lot of persuasive talking on the phone he was put through to the Mayor's secretary. Sullivan soon realised that she was well-chosen for her job of protecting the Mayor from crank callers. He went on talking and she was like a Berlin Wall. Taking a deep breath, he went overboard.
^ 'I'm trying to warn him about a threat to the whole city of San Francisco, an imminent threat – as from about ten o'clock tonight…'
^ Mayor Aldo Peretti was a handsome-looking man of forty who smiled easily and frequently. Dark-haired, smooth-skinned, he had propelled himself upwards in the world from lower than zero as he was fond of putting it. Which was quite true; his father had been a fruit-picker from Salinas in the Salinas valley. Because of this background, Peretti was a man deeply interested in all forms