Passage by Night

Passage by Night
Jack Higgins

The classic bestseller from the master of the gameHarry Manning had fled the Cuban revolution, sacrificing everything for freedom and seeking solace on the tranquil waters of the Bahamas. For a time he found solace in the arms of the beautiful Maria and oblivion in alcohol.Then once again his life is shattered when a terrorist bomb claims the lives of those he loves and suddenly his descent into desitituition is replaced by a deep seething desire to avenge his friends.But unknowingly his lust for retribution has unearthed a deadly conspiracy that threatens to bring the world to the brink of the ultimate war.

JACK HIGGINS

PASSAGE BY NIGHT

Contents

Title Page (#ue55a9b9e-3019-564f-a5d5-e7485d54c8e3)Publisher’s Note (#ube3c0f4c-bc52-509b-bd48-a73bf46ec429)Dedication (#ufa1b4eeb-b387-5406-83d9-dcbe3b60890e)Chapter One: The Grace Abounding (#u46e369af-a30e-5ff2-a626-b8ba8a1f4a75)Chapter Two: Spanish Cay (#uc25fd958-2ccc-5040-a696-33e961a728a3)Chapter Three: Dark Waters (#uc3e4a6e9-9b5a-538e-bff3-09446bd425ec)Chapter Four: A Man Called Garcia (#u604e5a13-0615-5680-9789-e4ae4f829c5f)Chapter Five: Whistle Up the Duppies (#ue5577a2e-0fa7-5613-98fe-ca45048a7f62)Chapter Six: The Man from CIA (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven: Beware of Greeks (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight: The Cretan Lover (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine: South from Andros (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten: Isle of Tears (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven: The Man in the Vaults (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve: Enter Comrade Orlov (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen: From the Jaws of the Tyrant (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen: Exuma Sound (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen: At the Caravel (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen: Greek Fire (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen: The Green Light (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen: The Purpose of Terrorism is to Terrorize (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen: The Stern Sea Chase (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty: Into An Indigo Dusk (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-one: All Passion Spent (#litres_trial_promo)About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)Also by Jack Higgins (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PUBLISHER’S NOTE (#u9fdb3ba5-1a24-52a4-8420-5ee4dd0c9725)

PASSAGE BY NIGHT was first published in the UK by Abelard Schuman Limited in 1964 and in 1989 by Pan Books, but has been out of print for some years. While it was originally written under the authorship of Hugh Marlow, the author was, in fact, the writer familiar to modern readers as Jack Higgins.

In 2008, it seemed to the author and his publishers that it was a pity to leave such a good story languishing on his shelves. So we are delighted to be able to bring back PASSAGe BY NIGHT for the pleasure of the vast majority of us who never had a chance to read the earlier editions.

And this one for Uncle Bob

1 (#u9fdb3ba5-1a24-52a4-8420-5ee4dd0c9725)

The Grace Abounding (#u9fdb3ba5-1a24-52a4-8420-5ee4dd0c9725)

Manning came awake quickly from a deep and dreamless sleep. It was as if he had come into existence at the moment his eyes opened and he lay there staring at the cabin roof, conscious of the sweat on his body.

He was stripped to the waist and wore a pair of blue denims much faded by the sun and salt water. He glanced at his watch and then swung his legs to the floor and sat there looking down at his bare feet, conscious of a nagging pain behind his right eye. After a moment, a step sounded on the companionway.

The man who entered was a black man of indeterminate age, eyes bright and intelligent in a face seamed and wrinkled by years of the sea. He wore a battered peaked cap, a scarlet shirt and a pair of bright blue denims. Manning looked up and said solemnly, ‘Seth, who the hell am I?’

The seaman grinned. ‘One of those days, is it? Maybe you should lay off the rum for a while. I just made some fresh tea.’

‘Sounds fine. Where’s our client?’

‘Mr Morrison went spear fishing on the reef. Said I wasn’t to disturb you. I hope he has better luck than he did with that tuna. He sure ain’t no fisherman.’

‘For a hundred and fifty dollars a day he can be anything he likes as far as we’re concerned, and don’t you forget it,’ Manning said.

He followed Seth up the companionway and stood with one foot on the rail looking out into the gulf. He was a tall, powerful man with good shoulders. His brown hair was bleached by the sun and there was a two-day growth of beard on his chin. The sun-dried skin of his face was drawn tightly over the bones that framed calm and expressionless eyes.

A two-masted yacht passed a mile out in the gulf on the run down from Nassau, sails bellying in the North-West Trades and a small seaplane crossed to the north, sunlight gleaming on her silver and blue fuselage.

‘Jimmy Walker running tourists across to Eleuthera,’ Seth said as he arrived with the tea. ‘He’s been doing well this season.’

‘And spending it,’ Manning said. ‘Propping up the bar at the Caravel every night.’

‘I don’t think it’s the rum that’s the attraction,’ Seth said.

‘Sometimes I think you like to stir up trouble, Seth.’ Manning emptied over the side what was left in his cup. ‘Time I went looking for Morrison. We can’t afford to lose him. My reputation won’t stand it.’

‘You can say that again,’ Seth said sourly and helped Manning into his aqualung, buckling the straps securely in place.

‘What about a spear gun?’ Manning asked.

He shrugged. ‘You broke one last week, never got it fixed. Mr Morrison took the other.’

‘Probably put a shaft through his right foot by now.’

Manning pulled his diving mask over his face and vaulted over the side into the clear water. For a moment he paused to adjust his air supply and then swam down in a long sweeping curve.

The sensation of floating in space, alone in a silent world, had never lost its attraction. The sunlight, reflected by the waves, shimmered through gaudy seagrass which carpeted the bottom and shells and red starfish stood out clearly against the white sand in the clearings.

The reef was a forest of coral twisted into fantastic shapes, ugly, dangerous, nigger-heads rising towards the surface like ruined pillars. A few big striped silver perch chased each other through the coral shrubs. He paused, watching them for a moment, and then swam onwards with a powerful kick of his webbed feet, fish scattering to avoid him.

Beyond the coral, the bottom vanished from sight as he went over the edge. Down in the depths, shoals of rainbow fish filled the deep blue space, rising and falling in a shimmering cloud, changing colour with each movement.

They disintegrated in a silver cloud as several blue mackerel burst through them followed by a shark. Manning was brushed to one side by an invisible hand as the shark swerved by. He rested for a moment, holding onto the jagged edge of a crevasse in the face of the cliff and Morrison swam out of the green mist and started upwards.

In one hand he held his harpoon gun, in the other, the spear on which was impaled a silver perch. Manning swam towards him, and the American poised there in space and brandished the fish. Blood hung in a brown cloud above his right shoulder, drifting in long strings through the green water. As Manning approached, he saw that the upper arm had been badly lacerated by coral.

The American grinned and shrugged as if to say that it was nothing and, in the same moment, his eyes widened in alarm. As Manning started to turn, something grazed his back with stunning force, sending him bouncing against the cliff. He was aware of a blue and silver flash and turned to see an eight-foot barracuda vanish into the gloom.

Morrison dropped his harpoon gun in alarm and it drifted down into the green depths trailing the spear on its recovery line. Manning jackknifed and went after it, grabbing for the line, pulling the gun towards him. As he quickly reloaded, he could see Morrison vainly trying to squeeze into a narrow crevasse in the rocks.

At that moment the barracuda flashed from the mist and poised perhaps twenty feet away from the American. A second later it was joined by another.

The drifting brown cloud of blood grew even larger and Manning knew that within seconds it would attract more of the deadly fish. He drove upwards, firing at point-blank range into the white underbelly of the nearest one. It twisted in agony, jerking the gun from his hands and rolled over onto its back, tail threshing the water into a white cauldron, blood staining the sea.

Manning swam towards Morrison and pulled him from the crevasse. As they turned, the other barracuda swung in at its mate; lower jaw hanging to expose its murderous, overlapping teeth. The sea vibrated and it turned away, shreds of skin and bone hanging from its mouth. As other slim, silvery shapes darted from the gloom, Manning grabbed Morrison by the arm and pushed for the surface.

They swam through the shallows above the brilliant red and green coral and then the hull of the Grace Abounding appeared above them and they surfaced astern. Morrison went up the ladder first and Seth helped him over the rail. When Manning followed, he found the American collapsed on deck, shoulders heaving.

Seth looked up enquiringly as Manning pulled off his diving mask and unstrapped his aqualung. ‘Run into trouble?’

‘Mr Morrison grazed his shoulder and a couple of barracuda showed interest.’

Morrison sat up and Seth examined him, shaking his head. ‘I told you to watch out for those nigger-heads, Mr Morrison. A man can’t afford to draw blood spear fishing. Most of the big boys, they leave you alone, but not when they taste blood.’

‘I’ll try to remember that,’ Morrison said.

Manning helped him to his feet. ‘Let’s go below. I’ll fix that shoulder for you. Seth will see to the gear.’

Morrison sat on one of the bunks, a towel round his shoulders, shivering slightly. Manning took a bottle of rum from one of the cupboards, filled a glass and gave it to him. The American swallowed and smiled gratefully.

‘I thought this stuff about sharks and barracuda attacking skin divers was supposed to be all hogwash?’

‘Not when they taste blood,’ Manning said as he gently swabbed the deep cuts with merthiolate. ‘And another thing. Always reload your spear gun after using it. You never know when you might need it in a hurry.’

‘I don’t think I’m ever likely to forget that again,’ Morrison said wryly and Seth appeared in the doorway.