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"Let's go down into the plotting room." Sir Percy heaved his bulk out of the chair, and headed for the door.
His shoulders hunched, massive jaw jutting, Admiral Howe brooded over the plot of the Indian Ocean.
"Where was this column intercepted?" he asked.
"Here, sir." Green touched the vast map with the pointer.
"About fifteen miles south-east of Kibiti. It was moving southwards towards..." He did not finish the statement but let the tip of the marker slide down on to the complexity of islands that clustered about the mouth of the long black snake that was the Rufrii river.
"Admiralty plot for East Africa, please." Sir Percy turned to the lieutenant in charge of the plot, and the lieutenant selected Volume 11 of the blue-jacketed books that lined the shelf on the far wall.
"What are the sailing directions for the Rufiji mouth?" demanded the Admiral, and the lieutenant began to read.
"Ras Pombwe to Kikunya mouth, including into Rufiji and Rufrii delta (Latitude 8" 17S, Longitude 39" 20"E). For fifty miles the coast is a maze of low, swampy, mangrove-covered islands, intersected by creeks comprising the delta of into Rufiji. During the rainy season the whole area of the delta is frequently inundated.
The coast of the delta is broken by ten large mouths, eight of which are co
"Arabic word for "river", sir."
"Well, why don't they say so? Carry on."
"With the exception of Simba Uranga mouth and Kikunya mouth, all other entrances are heavily shoaled and navigable only by craft drawing one metre or less."
"Concentrate on those two then," grunted Sir Percy, and the lieutenant turned the page.
"Simba Uranga mouth. Used by coasting vessels engaged in the timber trade. There is no defined bar and, in 1911, the cha
"The cha
"All right!" Sir Percy halted the recitation, and every person in the plotting room looked expectantly at him. Sir Percy was glowering at the plot, breathing heavily through his nose. "Where is Blikher's plaque?" he demanded harshly.
The lieutenant went to the locker behind him, and came back with the black wooden disc he had removed from the plot two months previously. Sir Percy took it from him, and rubbed it slowly between thumb and forefinger. There was complete silence in the room.
Slowly Sir Percy leaned forward across the map and placed the disc with a click upon the glass top. They all stared at it. It sat sinister as a black cancer where the green land met the blue ocean.
"Communications!" grunted Sir Percy and the yeoman of signals stepped forward with his pad ready.
"Despatch to Commodore Commanding Indian Ocean.
Captain Joyce. HMS. Renounce. Maximum Priority. Message reads: Intelligence reports indicate high probability. "You know something, Captain Joyce, this is bloody good gin." Fly
"Are you all right?" Anxiously Captain Joyce leapt across the cabin and began pounding Fly
"Pips!" gasped Fly
"Steward!" Captain Joyce called over his shoulder without interrupting the tattoo he was playing on Fly
Bring the major a glass of water. Hurry!"
"Water?" wheezed -Fly
The steward, who from experience could recognize a drinking man when he saw one, rose nobly to the occasion.
He hurried across the cabin with a glass in his hand. A mouthful of the raw spirit effected a near miraculous cure, Fly
Fly
There was a pause while everybody recovered their breath, then Joyce picked up where he had left off.
"I -was saying, Major, how good it was of you to return so promptly to meet me here."
"I came the moment I received your message. The ru
"Damn good show!" agreed Joyce, and looked across at the other two men in the cabin for confirmation. With the Portuguese Governor's aide-de-camp was a young army lieutenant. Neither of them could understand a word of English. The aide-de-camp was wearing a politely noncommittal expression, and the lieutenant had loosened the top button of his tunic and was lolling on the cabin's day couch with a little black cigarette drooping from his lips. Yet he contrived to look as gracefully insolent as a matador.