Hurricane Hole Read online

  ‘You’re leaving.’

  ‘Evelyn….’

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I know it’s wrong, and I was determined not to, but I swear I’m—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ she said with a forlorn look. ‘If it’s Dirk you’re worried about, it’s not just that we’ve been apart all this time. The truth is, there never was much … well, in the way of feeling between us.’

  ‘I’ve made a mess of things,’ said Hamilton, rising from the sofa.

  Evelyn stood up and placed her arms around him. ‘You’ve been wonderful, and a gentleman. And you’ve been honest.’ Hamilton gave her a rueful look. ‘I just wish you would stay. I don’t care how long it lasts … days, weeks….’

  Hamilton held her, running his hand through her hair. ‘I know,’ he murmured, ‘but I can’t.’

  Pulling away, she looked intensely into his eyes. ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘I’m not sure. A few days, I suppose. There’s one more piece of business I need to take care of.’ This time the lie was so feeble she must have seen through it. Whatever her thoughts, her expression revealed nothing.

  ‘Tom,’ she said softly, ‘will you come back? Promise me?’

  ‘I promise.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips.

  Hamilton felt slightly ridiculous as he pulled up at the British Colonial in Sir Philip’s Bentley, wearing the same dinner jacket and rumpled shirt from the night before. Though he managed to make it through the lobby without any disapproving looks, an elderly woman in the elevator stared reprovingly at the smudge of red lipstick on his shirt collar. Grateful when the doors opened, he hurried to his room and went straight for the shower. What he needed, he decided, as he shaved before the fogged-up mirror, was a proper English breakfast.

  Seated at a quiet table, Hamilton peered over his plate of poached eggs, crisp bacon, and toast at the two-day old Miami newspaper. ‘More coffee, sir?’ asked the waiter.

  ‘Sure,’ said Hamilton, sliding over his cup without taking his eyes from the paper. According to Red Army dispatches, the German Sixth Army was completely encircled at Stalingrad. It seemed incredible that Hitler had gambled so much and was actually in jeopardy of a major defeat at the hands of the Russians. Despite the heavy losses to U-boats in the Atlantic, the war news that filled the papers at last had something encouraging to report. Hamilton put aside the Miami paper and eagerly read an account of the duke’s Christmas bash in the Nassau Daily Tribune, with a description of the duchess’s ball gown and jewellery and the names of the fortunate few seated at the royal couple’s table, including ‘Mrs Evelyn Shawcross and companion.’ After a final sip of coffee, Hamilton headed through the lobby out onto the hotel drive where the Bentley was parked. After folding down the top, Hamilton turned the key, shifted into gear and drove through town, smiling to himself as he sailed past Government House and onto the highway toward Cable Beach.

  As he parked on the gravel drive, Hamilton could see Marnie wading out of the surf after her morning swim, lithe and deeply tanned with her wet hair on her shoulders. She waved as he climbed out and started up the flagstones. From the front hall he walked past Marnie’s African grey parrot, which greeted him in a perfect Bahamian dialect, into the blue-tiled living room, where he found Sir Philip in his wheelchair, enjoying a cup of tea and the ocean view. ‘Come in, Tom,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’m keen to hear about your evening with the Windsors. Ah, darling, there you are.’ Marnie, wearing a turban over her damp hair and a terrycloth robe, walked across the room and stopped in front of Hamilton.

  ‘Let me look at you, Tom,’ she said. ‘All in one piece after an evening with the alluring Mrs Shawcross.’ She gave him a knowing look, which Hamilton tried to ignore.

  ‘Come now, darling,’ protested Sir Philip, ‘he was merely doing his duty. Now, Tom. Tell us all about the duke and the duchess.’

  ‘I’ll start with the duchess,’ said Hamilton as he slumped on the sofa. ‘I was expecting her to be cold and haughty, but she was charming. She’s no beauty, but she’s got a terrific figure and she’s sharp as a tack. I can see how she was irresistible to the old boy.’

  ‘Terrific figure,’ said Marnie dismissively. ‘With that flat chest, she ought to be wearing men’s trousers.’

  ‘It sounds as though you were in a position to observe them more than from a distance,’ said Sir Philip.

  ‘As it turned out,’ said Hamilton, ‘we were seated at their table. Along with Ericsson and his wife and a pleasant enough Scot, a friend of the duke’s….’

  ‘Alastair Mackintosh,’ said Sir Philip. ‘Decent chap. The Windsors are very fond of Mrs Shawcross, which accounts for your having ranked so high in the pecking order.’

  ‘I should say so. Even old Harry Oakes didn’t make the cut, or the duchess’s Aunt Bessie.’

  ‘A charming lady, from my brief acquaintance,’ said Sir Philip.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ said Marnie, placing her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Something every social climber in town would give his eye teeth for.’

  ‘The duchess was a knockout in this lavender gown, and you should’ve seen her necklace.’

  Marnie responded with an expression of mild curiosity, as she was the only woman in Nassau with jewellery to rival the duchess. ‘Sapphires and diamonds,’ explained Hamilton. ‘God knows how many carats.’

  ‘And what about HRH?’ asked Sir Philip. ‘Were you able to draw him out?’

  ‘For most of the evening,’ said Hamilton, ‘he treated us to a discussion of the duck hunting in the Out Islands.’

  ‘He’s quite a sportsman,’ said Sir Philip.

  ‘But, finally,’ said Hamilton, ‘I got my chance. After I mentioned my plans for a hotel and casino, Ericsson said, in so many words, over my dead body. And, moreover, the war’s not ending any time soon.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Sir Philip.

  ‘So I turned to the duke and said, maybe there’s a way to bring about an early end to the war. He picked right up on it. Rather sanctimoniously, he said the war with Germany was a big mistake, a ‘useless struggle’, or something like that, and that the Russians are the real enemy.’

  ‘Never one to mince words,’ observed Sir Philip.

  ‘And then he finished,’ said Hamilton, ‘by saying we should try diplomacy, rather than fighting, to end the war with Germany.’

  ‘Well, Tom,’ said Sir Philip, ‘congratulations. You’ve confirmed our worst suspicions. What, if anything, did Ericsson have to say about the duke’s suggestion?’

  ‘He raised a toast to it,’ said Hamilton. ‘If I’m right about Ericsson and what I think he’s up to—’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sir Philip as he stared into the distance. ‘You may very well be right about this U-boat base.’

  ‘Well?’ said Marnie, looking from her husband to Tom. ‘What more can you do? I thought they were sending you back to Washington?’

  ‘They are. I need to make one last reconnaissance trip to Hog Island.’

  ‘Carter and the Chris Craft are at your disposal,’ said Sir Philip. ‘Just say the word.’

  ‘I’ll need a waterproof case for the camera,’ said Hamilton. ‘And a telephoto lens.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Sir Philip. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘I’ll go ashore at night,’ said Hamilton, ‘and make my way to the construction site. The tricky part will be getting close enough to use the camera. In daylight, of course.’

  ‘An awfully risky scheme,’ said Sir Philip with a frown.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Hamilton. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  As dusk fell, Hamilton and Carter grasped the handles of a heavy wooden box and carried it the length of the pier. Hamilton knelt down and removed a pair of powerful binoculars, flashlight, coil of rope, and heavy wire-cutters, which he transferred to the Chris Craft. Lastly, he removed a waterproof case with his 35-mm Hasselblad camera. ‘
All right,’ he said to Carter, ‘that should do it.’ When midnight had come and gone, Hamilton accepted a thermos of coffee from Sir Philip and walked down to the pier, where Carter blackened his face, neck, and hands with shoe polish. After a final check of his Beretta, Hamilton said, ‘OK, let’s shove off.’ With the sliver of moon low in the sky, the boat was barely visible in the black water. Carter turned the ignition and after a few lethargic revolutions, the powerful engine roared to life. Hamilton took his place in the cockpit as Carter lowered the throttle and turned out to sea. Without running lights, it was almost impossible to distinguish the black water from the night sky, causing Hamilton a disturbing sense of vertigo as the boat knifed into the void.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Carter, sensing Hamilton’s unease, ‘after a while your eyes will adjust. Besides we’ve got a nice stretch of open water ahead of us.’

  As predicted, Hamilton’s eyes soon adjusted to the point he could discern not only the horizon but a low mass of land off the starboard bow and the twinkling lights of Nassau in the distance. As the speedboat planed the gentle seas at 40 knots, he unfolded a rudimentary map in the dim light of the dashboard. ‘The coral reef is here,’ said Hamilton, pointing to the map. ‘Four hundred yards offshore.’

  Carter nodded and put the boat into a gentle turn. ‘From here on in,’ he said, ‘we’ll take it slow and easy.’ He throttled back, and the bow settled into the oncoming waves. By the time they reached the reef, the moon had set and the night was utterly black and still. ‘It’s a good thing you know where you’re going,’ said Hamilton as the boat bobbed in the water. ‘I can’t see a damn thing.’

  ‘Good,’ said Carter, as he backed the boat into position. ‘That means those guards can’t see either.’ Positioning the boat on the leeward side of the reef, he said, ‘Now,’ and Hamilton heaved a heavy anchor from the bow, where it caught and held on the coral. ‘All right,’ said Carter as he switched off the engine. ‘That should hold us.’ Hamilton dragged out an inflated rubber boat from the cabin below the bow. Slipping the compass into his pocket, he slung the camera case over his shoulder and loaded the other gear into the inflatable. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’ They lowered the boat and slithered over the side, kneeling in the tiny craft as it rose and fell. Carter pointed toward shore and they began to stroke, making as little sound as possible. After five minutes, a pale strip of beach was visible in the starlight, and the boom of the breakers filled the air. Crouching low, they caught a roller, spun sideways and, after a harrowing split second, glided smoothly into the wash. They leapt out and hauled the rubber boat onto the narrow beach. ‘So far so good,’ whispered Hamilton as he glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got at least a couple of hours.’ Carter slung the binoculars and coil of rope over his shoulder and then helped Hamilton drag the boat under the low branches of a sea-grape. Hamilton crouched on one knee and trained the flashlight on their makeshift map. ‘Hurricane Hole should be about a half-mile as the crow flies.’ He opened the compass, rotating its radium-coated face. ‘This is true north,’ he whispered, signalling with one hand. ‘If we stay on a bearing of three hundred degrees, we should get close enough to find it.’ Closing the compass, he adjusted the strap of the camera case and moved out with Carter close behind him. The dark night was filled with the constant chirr of insects and croaking bullfrogs as the men fought their way through the dense thicket of catclaw, sawgrass, and palmetto. After ten minutes, Hamilton stopped and re-checked the compass. ‘We’re probably off course,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s try this way.’ He started off again, crouching and brushing aside the low hanging branches, peering into the blackness. After another few minutes he halted abruptly. Turning to Carter, he pointed to silvery loops of concertina wire strung along the top of an eight-foot barbed wire fence.

  ‘You figure it’s electrified?’ whispered Hamilton.

  Carter lifted the wire-cutters and brushed the steel tip against a strand of wire. ‘No spark,’ he observed. He quickly severed four wires, twisted back the dangling strands, and motioned for Hamilton to crawl under. Once they were inside the fence, Hamilton rechecked his compass and said, ‘This way.’

  Fifteen minutes later, their shirts stained with sweat and faces and hands covered with scratches, the two men halted before a second, clearly electrified fence. Hamilton stared at the multiple strands of smooth wire strung over glass spools. ‘We might as well cut it,’ said Hamilton with a smile that revealed his white teeth against his blackened face. He quietly dropped to one knee and listened to the faint hum of current. A beam of intense white light suddenly flashed, travelling slowly along the fence line. ‘Damn,’ he said, ducking back into the brush as the light passed by. ‘Searchlights.’

  In the protective darkness, Carter scrambled over to the fence and quickly severed the bottom strand with a spark and pop. Gently pushing the live wire out of the way, he slid the gear through the fence and carefully crawled underneath. Within seconds Hamilton was through and standing beside him. He unscrewed the cap of his canteen and took a long swallow before handing it to Carter.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Carter as he ran his hand over his mouth. ‘Are we getting close?’

  Hamilton peered at his watch. ‘We must have covered at least a half-mile,’ he said. Both men dropped to one knee and stared into the darkness, listening for sounds over the incessant sound of insects and bullfrogs. ‘Hear that?’ whispered Hamilton.

  Carter listened to a deep rumble and the faint sound of men’s voices, muffled by the dense foliage. ‘Backhoe, maybe,’ he said softly, ‘or heavy trucks.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Hamilton, rising to his feet. He brushed aside a branch and started walking in a crouch. As they crept forward, the sounds grew increasingly distinct and were soon accompanied by flashes of light through gaps in the brush. ‘Looks like a construction site,’ said Hamilton as he peered into the distance. ‘Working all night.’ With Carter close behind, he kept moving until he reached the verge of a wide clearing, illuminated by powerful lights on towers. Dropping to his hands and knees, he motioned for the binoculars. As he ranged the lenses across the clearing, Hamilton quietly described the scene: ‘Guard towers, spaced about a hundred yards apart, deuce-and-a-half trucks moving up and down a dirt road, and an overhead crane with a big steel bucket of concrete. Whole thing lit up like a Christmas tree. Hundreds of men, and those same uniformed guards, with rifles.’ He handed the binoculars to Carter, who softly whistled as he studied the scene.

  ‘See that big banyan tree,’ asked Hamilton, ‘on the other side of the clearing?’ Carter nodded. ‘It’s much closer. We can climb up, catch a little sleep and wait till daylight.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WEDGED INTO THE crotch of the sturdy old banyan, Hamilton awoke at the first hint of dawn with the sensation of aching numbness in his limbs. As a light breeze stirred the leaves, he quietly reached for a branch overhead, hoisted himself up, and stretched out his tingling legs. He could just make out Carter’s blue shirt and black face on the branch below him. Even in the dim light, Hamilton realized, their hiding place commanded a superb view of Nils Ericsson’s mysterious Hurricane Hole. Leaning his back against the trunk, he raised the binoculars, found a gap in the foliage, and focused on the remarkable scene. A wide canal meandered through dense vegetation, disappearing into a massive concrete enclosure, the thick roof of which was a good thirty feet above the water. Inside the structure, Hamilton could make out men on scaffolding under electric lights, while other men in khaki stood outside directing the pouring of concrete from a crane. Swarming like ants, black labourers scrambled to ready wooden forms on the unfinished section of the roof, while others raked and smoothed the last pour under the watchful eyes of armed guards. A convoy of trucks was bringing up fresh supplies of planks, cement, aggregate, and rebar. As many as 500 men, Hamilton estimated, were toiling on the massive construction project.

  Hamilton leaned down to hand the binoculars to Carter. ‘Take a look,’ he said. The rising sun s
truck the site at just the right angle to brightly illuminate every aspect of the work, reflecting flashes of sunlight from the trucks’ windshields and polished steel of the guards’ carbines. Hamilton checked his watch and reached for his camera. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘time for some snapshots.’ He carefully removed the large, German-made camera and screwed on the telephoto lens. He peered through the view-finder and carefully calibrated the focus, amazed at the clarity of the images that filled the Zeiss lens, even the bored expression of a guard smoking a cigarette. Hamilton snapped the shutter, advanced the film, and then took a rapid-fire sequence, capturing the loading areas, stockpiles, the workmen on the scaffolding, and the armed guards. When the last exposure was gone, he quickly disassembled the camera and fitted it back in its waterproof case. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  With the camera over his shoulder, Hamilton began his careful descent with Carter climbing down below him. Back on solid ground, they stretched their aching legs and quickly surveyed their surroundings. ‘Let’s head straight into the brush,’ said Hamilton, ‘until we hit the fence line, rather than try to back-track.’ Carter nodded and followed in a low crouch as Hamilton plunged into the dense thicket. Looking out for water moccasins as they slogged through shallow, stagnant pools, they made better time than in the darkness and reached the electrified fence in under ten minutes. Hamilton flipped open his compass as he swatted away swarms of mosquitoes. ‘If we go to the left,’ he said, ‘it should take us in the direction we came from last night.’

  Carter looked uneasily up and down the clearing. ‘We better hurry,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if they patrol this fence.’

  Hamilton started off at a rapid pace. Unhindered by brush, they were moving quickly when suddenly they heard a shrill whistle, followed by men shouting. ‘Jesus,’ said Hamilton, as he instinctively ducked into the undergrowth. After two more blasts of the whistle, a siren began to blare. ‘They must have found where we cut the wire,’ Hamilton whispered to Carter, whose wide eyes betrayed his fear. Tossing away the binoculars, Carter motioned toward the fence and said, ‘Let’s crawl under.’ They hurried to the fence, knelt down, and Carter quickly severed the two bottom strands. As Hamilton dropped to the ground, a shot rang out, the slug smacking into the fence post above his ear. A quick glance revealed a group of uniformed men, one on horseback, a hundred yards down the fence line. In the next instant, a second shot rang out, striking Carter in the thigh and knocking him sideways like a heavy kick.