before and the odd scratch used to fix him up. I always figured he'd eventually dry up and fall off. The fact that he's still around, places him in a different category, a bit like skin cancer. I'll tolerate him for so long then I guess I'll have no option but to cut him out."
"Will it come to that, do you think?"
Del walked to his chair and sat down again. "I don't know. Depends on how responsible he is for what's been going on here. I need enlightening, Jack, and I think I'd rather hear the facts from you than Les Meyer's version. Take your time." He leered demonstratively at the intercom. "Take as much time as you need. I'm in no hurry."
~o~o~o~o~
Pierce had just got to the part where the chopper returned after losing Eddie's body in the sea, when Meyer burst in. "What kind of a bloody fool are you playing me for....?" He pulled up abruptly when he noticed the diving supervisor in the other chair. After a moment or two, realisation dawned. "I am a bloody fool, aren't I?" He began weaving a figure eight around the room, shaking his head in amazement at his own stupidity. "You set this up, the pair of you! I underestimated you, Jack." He stopped to glare at Pierce. "Those radio messages - I thought you were just trying to make sure your transfer got through without a hitch when, in fact, you were arranging to set your dog on me." He looked pointedly at Presswood so that there was no doubt as to whom he was referring.
Jack could feel the tension building in Presswood. The toolpusher was still seated and apparently in perfect control, but he wouldn't take the insinuations and insults forever - he had said as much before. "Careful, Les," warned Pierce. "You're assuming again, and you're way out of your depth."
"Well, you'd know about that, wouldn't you Jack!" Meyer snarled. "Deep water's your specialty, as long as it's one of your divers in it, divers like MacFarlane. When was the last time you went down, Jack? When did you last go for a swim at the beach, even?"
"What are you saying, Les?" Jack rose slowly from his chair.
"I'm saying you've lost it, Pierce! You've lost your nerve and you've lost touch with reality. YOU killed MacFarlane! You screwed up and now you're trying to land me with the responsibility! I told you it was risky. You should have reconsidered making that dive, but, oh no - you knew better....."
"You lying bastard....!!" Pierce launched himself at Meyer.
Presswood flew out of the chair and tried to separate them. He really did feel like the meat in the sandwich, a very short piece of meat between two very tall pieces of bread. Pierce's bony fingers were around Meyer's neck. Les had hold of Jack's wrists and was heaving and writhing in an effort to break the tightening grip. By the sounds he was making and the colour of his face which was growing ever darker, Del gathered that Les wasn't succeeding too well.
Neither was he. They weren't listening to his pleas for sanity and Jack had hold of Les like a bull terrier which had locked its jaws. Del knew what had to be done and that he would probably hate himself for it afterwards, but there wasn't much choice. Stepping clear, he delivered a short, jabbing punch into Jack's side, just below the ribcage.
Pierce gasped. He released Meyer's throat and staggered back. Ever the opportunist, Les took only a few seconds to regain his breath, then he was rushing for Pierce. Presswood swung a foot. It contacted Meyer's shin and the man was suddenly in a heap at Jack's feet. Del pulled the diving super quickly out of reach before Les recovered. "That's it, gentlemen," he declared authoritatively.
Meyer pushed himself to a kneeling position. "I've had it up to here with your interference, Presswood!" He tapped his forehead to emphasise his point. "I'll deal with you later. Now, get out of my way while I finish putting your friend in his place!"
"The way you were doing before Les? Don't make me laugh. Anyway, I said it's over. You've had your fun, now trundle back to your office and we'll forget the whole incident. What do you say, Jack?" He turned to Pierce who was starting to breathe more naturally. "Bury the hatchet?"
The intercom buzzed. Presswood ignored it, more concerned that the two former antagonists remained calm and separated. Meyer’s focus, however, switched immediately to the speaker on the wall. "Aren't you going to answer that?" he urged.
"If it's important, they'll call back," replied Del, monitoring Jack's recovery carefully, watching for signs of renewed aggression.
"But it could be for me," insisted Les.
"Then you answer it."
Meyer did. A voice said: "This is Jonesy. Is Del Presswood there? There's a call for him. It's some police Inspector. Do I get him to hang on?"
"We'll be right there," snapped Meyer. As he started to move off, he glared at Presswood. "That was the radio shack," he declared unnecessarily in a tone which also said: I told you it was important. "Are you coming, or shall I take it."
Presswood darted a look of warning at Les. "I'm coming,” he grated, then turned to Pierce. "Will you be okay, Jack?" Pierce nodded. "Sorry I had to hit you, mate, but you were behaving like a bloody galah."
"It's alright." Jack waved him away. "You go and take your call."
"Look, lie down on my bunk for a while. Nobody will disturb you here. I'll see you when I get back."
Pierce looked hurt. "Are you afraid I'll try to nick off before they get here?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The police. I assume that was about Eddie?"
"No Jack, not Eddie."
Meyer called from the passage: "Hurry up, Presswood!"
"Bloody wait, will you!" Del snarled irritably. He returned his attention to Jack. "You heard about Sutcliffe?" Pierce acknowledged that he had. "This one wasn't an accident, Jack." Pierce's eyes widened. "Keep it to yourself, will you? If it gets round that there's a psycho on board we could be in for some real trouble."
6
Charlie waited inside the partially open door for the two men to pass. He was bubbling with excitement: it wasn't every day the bosses got stuck into each other. He only wished he could have seen it instead of just hearing sounds of the free-for-all from the passageway outside the toolpusher's quarters. Still, it was something to tell Mac about, a juicy tit-bit his know-all Scotch mate would definitely be interested in. Charlie was pretty sure such a disagreement could be useful to him and his mates. He didn't quite know how, but Mac was smart - he'd find a quid in it.
Once Meyer and the new toolpusher had gone, Charlie stuck his head out to check the corridor before leaving. It was his aim to head for the recreation room as quickly as possible without appearing in a hurry. Neither did he want to get way-laid by anyone, because he had a tendency to mouth off. Mac was always telling him to keep his trap shut, but it was hard when you were a friendly guy like Charlie.
He made it to the rec room and congratulated himself on doing it secretively, oblivious to the fact that those few men he had encountered who might normally have stopped for a chat, had made a definite point of avoiding him because, when Charlie Legget was skulking around with that nervous-jackal look on his face, there was usually trouble in the wind and anyone with an ounce of sense gave him a wide berth. As far as Charlie was concerned, however, he'd simply done it right for a change.
Charlie entered the room and looked around.
