San Andreas Read online

  ‘Sorry about that, Lieutenant, but there’s a time and a place for everything and daydreaming or sightseeing out on that wing is not one of them.’

  ‘The funnel.’ Ulbricht looked slightly dazed. ‘What’s happened to your funnel?’

  ‘It fell off.’

  ‘I see. It fell off. You mean—I—’

  ‘What’s done is done,’ Jamieson said philosophically. He handed a glass to the Lieutenant. ‘To help you with your calculations.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes.’ Ulbricht shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Yes. My calculations.’

  Weak though he was and shivering constantly—this despite the fact that the bridge temperature was already over 55°F.—Ulbricht left no doubt that, as a navigator, he knew precisely what he was about. Working from starsights, he had no need to worry about the vagaries of deviation and variation. With a chart, dividers, parallel rules, pencils and chronometer, he completed his calculations in remarkably short order and made a tiny cross on the chart after having consulted navigational tables.

  ‘We’re here. Well, near enough. 68.05 north, 7.20 east—more or less due west of the Lofotens.Our course is 218. Is one permitted to ask our destination?’

  Jamieson smiled. ‘Quite frankly, Lieutenant Ulbricht, you wouldn’t be much use to us if you didn’t. Aberdeen.’

  ‘Ah! Aberdeen. They have a rather famous prison there, do they not? Peterhead, isn’t it? I wonder what the cells are like.’

  ‘It’s a prison for civilians. Of the more intractable kind. I should hardly think you’d end up there. Or in any prison.’ Jamieson looked at him with some curiosity. ‘How do you know about Peterhead, Lieutenant?’

  ‘I know Scotland well. I know England even better.’ Ulbricht did not seek to elaborate. ‘So, Aberdeen. We’ll stay on this course until we get to the latitude of Trondheim, then south until we get to the latitude of Bergen—or, if you like Mr McKinnon, the latitude of your home islands.’

  ‘How did you know I’m a Shetlander?’

  ‘Some members of the nursing staff don’t seem to mind talking to me. Then on a more westerly course. That’s speaking roughly, we’ll work out the details as we go along. It’s a very simple exercise and there’s no problem.’

  ‘Of course it’s no problem,’ Jamieson said, ‘neither is playing Rachmaninoff, not as long as you are a concert pianist.’

  Ulbricht smiled. ‘You overrate my simple skills. The only problem that will arise is when we make our landfall, which of course will have to be in daylight. At this time of year North Sea fogs are as common as not and there’s no way I can navigate in a fog without a radio and compass.’

  ‘With any luck, there shouldn’t be all that much of a problem,’ McKinnon said. ‘War or no war, there’s still pretty heavy traffic on the east coast and there’s more than an even chance that we can pick up a ship and be guided into harbour.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Ulbricht said. ‘A Red Cross ship is not easily overlooked—especially one with its funnel missing.’ He sipped his drink, pondered briefly, then said: ‘Is it your intention to return me to the hospital?’

  ‘Naturally,’ Sinclair said. ‘That’s where you belong. Why do you ask?’

  Ulbricht looked at Jamieson. ‘I would, of course, be expected to do some more navigating?’

  ‘Expecting, Lieutenant? “Depending” is the word you’re after.’

  ‘And at frequent intervals if cloud or snow conditions permit. We never know when the set of the sea and the wind may change without our being aware of it. Point is, I don’t much fancy dragging myself back down to the hospital, then coming back up here again every time I have to take starsights. Couldn’t I just lie down in the Captain’s cabin?’

  ‘No objections,’ Jamieson said. ‘Dr Sinclair?’

  ‘Makes sense. Lieutenant Ulbricht is hardly on the critical list and it could only help his recuperation. I’ll pop up every two or three hours to see how he’s getting on.’

  ‘Bo’sun?’

  ‘Fine by me. Fine by Sister Morrison too, I should imagine.’

  ‘I shall have company, of course?’

  ‘Company?’ Sinclair said. ‘You mean a nurse, Lieutenant?’

  ‘I don’t mean a nurse. With all respect to your charming young ladies, Dr Sinclair, I don’t think any of them would be much use if this fellow you call Flannelfoot came up to remove or destroy the sextant and chronometer and the way I’m feeling I couldn’t fight off a determined fly. Also, of course, he’d have to dispose of witnesses and I don’t much fancy that.’

  ‘No problem, Lieutenant,’ the Bo’sun said. ‘He’ll have to try to dispose of either Naseby or myself and I don’t much think he would fancy that. We would, though.’

  Sinclair shook his head sadly. ‘Sister Morrison isn’t going to like this one little bit. Further usurpment of her authority. After all, the Lieutenant is her patient, not mine.’

  ‘Again no problem,’ McKinnon said. ‘Just tell her the Lieutenant fell over the side.’

  ‘And how are your patients this morning, sir?’ McKinnon was having breakfast with Dr Singh.

  ‘No dramatic changes, Bo’sun. The two Argos crewmen in the recovery room are much of a muchness—as well as can be expected when one has a fractured pelvis and the other massive burns. The condition of Commander Warrington and his navigating officer is unchanged—Cunningham is still in deep coma and is being fed intravenously. Hudson is stabilized—the lung bleeding has stopped. Chief Officer Kennet is definitely on the mend although heaven knows how long it will be before we can take those bandages off his face. The only one that gives some cause for worry is the Captain. It’s nothing critical, not even serious, just worrisome. You saw how he was when you last saw him—breathing hellfire and brimstone in all directions. He’s gone strangely quiet now, almost lethargic. Or maybe he’s just more calm and relaxed now that he knows the ship’s position and course. That was a fine job you did there, Bo’sun.’

  ‘No credit to me, sir. It was Lieutenant Ulbricht who did the fine job.’

  ‘Be that as it may, Captain Bowen appears to be in at least a more philosophical mood. I suggest you come along and see him.’

  When a man’s face is completely obscured by bandages it is difficult to say what kind of mood he is in. He had the stem of a rather evil-smelling briar stuck between his burnt lips and again it was impossible to say whether he was enjoying it or not. When he heard McKinnon’s voice he removed the pipe.

  ‘We are still afloat, Bo’sun?’ The enunciation was clearer than it had been and was costing him less effort.

  ‘Well, sir, let’s say we’re no longer all gone to hell and breakfast. No more alarms and excursions either. As far as I can tell, Lieutenant Ulbricht is very much of an expert—I don’t think you’d hesitate to have him as your navigating officer. He’s lying down on the bunk in your cabin, sir—but you will have been told that and the reasons why.’

  ‘Broaching my rapidly dwindling supplies, I have no doubt.’

  ‘He did have a couple of tots, sir. He needed it. He’s still a pretty sick man and very weak and the cold out there on the wing bridge was vicious, I don’t think I’ve ever known it worse in the Arctic. Anyway, he wasn’t doing any broaching when I left him. He was sound asleep.’

  ‘As long as he keeps on acting in this fashion he can do as much broaching as he likes. Give him my sincere thanks.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Have you any instructions, sir?’

  ‘Instructions, Bo’sun? Instructions? How can I give any instructions?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, sir. I’ve never been a captain.’

  ‘You bloody well are now. I’m in no position to give anyone instructions. Just do what you think best—and from what I’ve heard to date your best seems to be very good indeed. Not,’ Bowen added deprecatingly, ’that I would have expected anything else of Archie McKinnon.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll try.’ McKinnon turned to leave the ward but was stopped by Sister Morrison. For once,
she was looking at him as if he might even belong to the human race.

  ‘How is he, Mr McKinnon?’

  ‘The Lieutenant? Resting. He’s a lot weaker than he says he is but he’d never admit it. A very brave man. And a fine navigator. And a gentleman. When he says he didn’t know the San Andreas was a hospital ship I believe him absolutely. I don’t believe many people absolutely.’

  ‘I’m quite sure you don’t.’ The return to the old asperity proved to be momentary. ‘I don’t think I believe he knew it either. In fact, I don’t believe it.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ McKinnon smiled at her, the first time, he reflected with some astonishment, that he’d ever smiled at her. ‘Janet—Nurse Magnusson—tells me you come from the east coast. Would it be impertinent to ask where exactly?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She smiled and McKinnon realized with an even greater sense of shock that this was the first time she’d ever smiled at him. ‘Aberdeen. Why?’

  ‘Odd. Lieutenant Ulbricht seems to know Aberdeen rather well. He certainly seems to know about Peterhead prison and isn’t all that keen on ending up there.’

  A brief flicker of what could have been concern registered on her face. ‘Will he?’

  ‘Not a chance. If he brings this ship back to Aberdeen they’ll probably give him a medal. Both your parents from Aberdeen, Sister?’

  ‘My father is. My mother’s from Kiel.’

  ‘Kiel?’

  ‘Yes. Germany. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Of course not. How should I have known? Now that I do know, is that supposed to make a difference?’

  ‘I’m half German.’ She smiled again. ‘Aren’t you surprised, Mr McKinnon? Shocked, perhaps?’

  ‘No, I’m not shocked.’ McKinnon looked gloomy. ‘I have troubles of my own in that direction. My sister Jean is married to an Italian. I have a niece and a nephew, two bambinos who can’t—or couldn’t before the war—speak a word of English to their old uncle.’

  ‘It must make—must have made—communication a bit difficult.’

  ‘Luckily, no. I speak Italian.’

  She removed her glasses as if to examine them more closely. ‘You speak Italian, Mr McKinnon?’

  ‘Yes. And Spanish. And German. You must be able to speak German—you can try me any time. Surprised, Sister? Shocked?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head slowly and smiled a third time. It was borne in upon McKinnon that a smiling Margaret Morrison, with her warm, friendly brown eyes was a totally different creature from the Sister Morrison he thought he had come to know. ‘No, I’m not. Really.’

  ‘You come from seafaring people, Sister?’ ‘Yes.’ This time she was surprised. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t. But it was a fair guess. It’s the Kiel connection. Many British sailors know Kiel well—I do myself—and it has, or did have, the finest regatta in Europe. Your father’s from Aberdeen. A fisherman? A seaman of some sort?’

  ‘A seaman of some sort.’

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘Well…’ She hesitated.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘He’s a captain in the Royal Navy.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ McKinnon looked at her in mild astonishment, then rubbed an unshaven chin. ‘I shall have to treat you with more respect in future, Sister Morrison.’

  ‘I hardly think that will be necessary, Mr McKinnon.’ The voice was formal but the smile that followed was not. ‘Not now.’

  ‘You sound almost as if you were ashamed of being the daughter of a Royal Navy captain.’

  ‘I am not. I’m very proud of my father. But it can be difficult. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. I think I do.’

  ‘Well, now, Mr McKinnon.’ The glasses were back in position and Sister Morrison was back in business. ‘You’ll be seeing Lieutenant Ulbricht up top?’ McKinnon nodded. ‘Tell him I’ll be up to see him in an hour, maybe two.’

  McKinnon blinked, which was about as far as he ever permitted himself to go in the way of emotional expression. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes. Me.’ If bridling hadn’t gone out of fashion she would have bridled.

  ‘But Dr Sinclair said he would come—’

  ‘Dr Sinclair is a doctor, not a nurse.’ Sister Morrison made it sound as if there was something faintly discreditable in being a doctor. ‘I’m the Lieutenant’s sister-in-charge. He’ll probably require to have his bandages changed.’

  ‘When exactly will you be coming?’

  ‘Does it matter? I can find my own way.’

  ‘No, Sister, you won’t. You don’t know what it’s like up top. There’s a full gale blowing, it’s forty below, black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat and the deck’s like a skating rink. No one goes up top without my permission and most certainly not nurses. You will phone and I will come for you.’

  ‘Yes, Mr McKinnon,’ she said primly. She gave a slight smile. ‘The way you put it, it doesn’t leave much room for argument.’

  ‘I’m sorry. No offence. Before you come up, put on as much warm clothing as you think you will need. Then double the amount.’

  Janet Magnusson was in B ward when he passed through it. She took one quick look at his face and said: ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Prepare thyself, Nurse Magnusson. The end is nigh.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean, Archie?’

  ‘The dragon next door.’ He jerked a thumb towards A ward. ‘She has just—’

  ‘Dragon? Maggie? Yesterday she was a lioness.’

  ‘Dragon. She’s stopped breathing fire. She smiled at me. First time since leaving Halifax. Smiled. Four times. Unsettles a man.’

  ‘Well!’ She shook his shoulders. ‘I am pleased. So you admit you misjudged her.’

  ‘I admit it. Mind you, I think she may have misjudged me a bit, too.’

  ‘I told you she was nice, Archie. Remember?’

  ‘Indeed I remember. And indeed she is.’

  ‘Very nice. Very.’

  McKinnon regarded her with suspicion. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’

  ‘She smiled at you.’

  The Bo’sun gave her a cold look and left.

  Lieutenant Ulbricht was awake when McKinnon returned to the Captain’s cabin.

  ‘Duty calls, Mr McKinnon? Another fix?’

  ‘Rest easy, Lieutenant. No stars. Overcast. More snow, I’m thinking. How do you feel?’

  ‘Well enough. At least when I’m lying down. That’s physically, I mean.’ He tapped his head. ‘Up here, not so well. I’ve been doing a lot of wondering and thinking.’

  ‘Wondering and thinking why you’re lying here?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Haven’t we all? At least, I’ve been doing nothing else but wondering about it. Haven’t got very far, though. In fact, I haven’t got anywhere.’

  ‘I’m not saying it would help any, just call it curiosity if you like, but would you mind very much telling me what’s been happening to the San Andreas since you left Halifax? Not, of course, if it means telling me naval secrets.’

  McKinnon smiled. ‘I don’t have any. Besides, even if I did have and told you, what would you do with them?’

  ‘You have a point. What indeed?’

  McKinnon gave a brief résumé of what had happened to the ship since leaving Nova Scotia and when he had finished Ulbricht said: ‘Well, now let me see if I can count.

  ‘As far as I can make out there were seven different parties involved in the movements of the San Andreas—actually aboard it, that is. To begin with, there was your own crew. Then there were the wounded survivors picked up from this crippled destroyer. After that came the Russian submarine survivors you took from this corvette you had to sink. Then you picked up some wounded servicemen in Murmansk. Since leaving there you’ve picked up survivors from the Argos, the Andover and Helmut and myself. That makes seven?’

  ‘That makes seven.’

  ‘We can eliminate the survivors from the broken-down destroyer and the sinking friga
te. Their presence aboard your ship could only have been due to sheer happenstance, nothing else. We can equally forget Commander Warrington and his two men and Helmut Winterman and myself. That leaves just your crew, the survivors from the Argos and the sick men you picked up in Murmansk.’

  ‘I couldn’t imagine a more unlikely trio of suspects.’

  ‘Neither could I, Bo’sun. But it’s not imagination we’re concerned with here, it’s logic. It has to be one of those three. Take the sick men you picked up in Murmansk. One of them could have been suborned. I know it sounds preposterous but war itself is preposterous, the most unbelievable things happen in preposterous circumstances, and if there is one thing that is for certain it is that we are not going to find the answer to this enigma in the realms of the obvious. How many sick men are you repatriating from Russia?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Do you happen to know the nature of their injuries?’

  McKinnon regarded the Lieutenant speculatively. ‘I have a fair idea.’

  ‘All seriously wounded?’

  ‘There are no seriously wounded, far less critically injured patients aboard. If they were, they wouldn’t be here. Poorly, you might call them, I suppose.’

  ‘But bedridden? Immobile?’

  ‘The wounded are.’

  ‘They are not all wounded?’

  ‘Only eight.’

  ‘Good God! Eight! You mean to tell me that there are nine who are not injured?’

  ‘It all depends upon what you mean by injured. Three are suffering from advanced cases of exposure—frostbite, if you like. Then there are three with tuberculosis and the remaining three have suffered mental breakdowns. Those Russian convoys take a pretty vicious toll, Lieutenant, in more ways than one.’