Desmond Bagley - Night Of Error

Desmond Bagley

Night Of Error

Preface

The Pacific Islands Pilot, Vol. II, published by the Hydrographer of the Navy, has this to say about the island of Fonua Fo'ou, almost at the end of a long and detailed history:

In 1963, HMNZFA Tui reported a hard grey rock, with a depth of 6 feet over it, on which the sea breaks, and general depths of 36 feet extending for 2 miles northwards and 1 1/2 miles westward of the rock, in the position of the bank. The eastern side is steep-to. In the vicinity of the rock, there was much discoloured water caused by sulphurous gas bubbles rising to the surface. On the bank, the bottom was clearly visible, and consisted of fine black cellar lava, like volcanic cinder, with patches of white sand and rock. Numerous sperm whales were seen in the vicinity.

But that edition was not published until 1969. This story began in 1962.

Desmond Bagley

Chapter One

I heard of the way my brother died on a wet and gloomy afternoon in London. The sky was overcast and weeping and it became dark early that day, much earlier than usual. I couldn't see the figures I was checking, so I turned on the desk light and got up to close the curtains.

I stood for a moment watching the rain leak from the plane trees on the Embankment, then looked over the mist-shrouded Thames. I shivered slightly, wishing I could get out of this grey city and back to sea under tropic skies. I drew the curtain decisively, closing out the gloom.

The telephone rang.

It was Helen, my brother's widow, and she sounded hysterical. 'Mike, there's a man here Mr Kane who was with Mark when he died. I think you'd better see him.' Her voice broke. 'I can't take it, Mike.'

'All right, Helen; shoot him over. I'll be here until five-thirty can he make it before then?'

There was a pause and an indistinct murmur, then Helen said, 'Yes, he'll be at the Institute before then. Thanks, Mike. Oh, and there's a slip from British Airways something has come from Tahiti; I think it must be Mark's things. I posted it to you this morning will you look after it for me? I don't think I could bear to.'

'I'll do that,' I said. 'I'll look after everything.'

She rang off and I put down the receiver slowly and leaned back in my chair. Helen seemed distraught about Mark and I wondered what this man Kane had told her. All I knew was that Mark had died somewhere in the Islands near Tahiti; the British Consul there had wrapped it all up and the Foreign Office had got in touch with Helen as next of kin. She never said so but it must have been a relief her marriage had caused her nothing but misery.

She should never have married him in the first place. I had tried to warn her, but it's a bit difficult telling one's prospective sister-in-law about the iniquities of one's own brother, and I'd never got it across. Still, she must have loved him despite everything, judging by the way she was behaving; but then, Mark had a way with his women.

One thing was certain Mark's death wouldn't affect me a scrap. I had long ago taken his measure and had steered clear of him and all his doings, all the devious and calculating cold-blooded plans which had only one end in view the glorification of Mark Trevelyan.

I put him out of my mind, adjusted the desk lamp and got down to my figures again. People think of scientists especially oceanographers as being constantly in the field making esoteric discoveries. They never think of the office work entailed and if I didn't get clear of this routine work I'd never get back to sea. I thought that if I really buckled down to it another day would see it through, and then I would have a month's leave, if I could consider writing a paper for the journals as constituting leave. But even that would not take up the whole month.

At a quarter to six I packed it in for the day and Kane had still not shown up. I was just putting on my overcoat when there was a knock on the door and when I opened it a man said, 'Mr Trevelyan?'

Kane was a tall, haggard man of about forty, dressed in rough seaman's clothing and wearing a battered peaked cap. He seemed subdued and a little in awe of his surroundings. As we shook hands I could feel the callouses and thought that perhaps he was a sailing man steam seamen don't have much occasion to do that kind of hand work.

I said, 'I'm sorry to have dragged you across London on a day like this, Mr Kane.'

That's all right,' he said in a raw Australian accent. 'I was coming up this way.'

I sized him up. 'I was just going out. What about a drink?'

He smiled. That 'ud be fine. I like your English beer.'

We went to a nearby pub and I took him into the public bar and ordered a couple of beers. He sank half a pint and gasped luxuriously. 'This is good beer,' he said. 'Not as good as Swan, but good all the same. You know Swan beer?'