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JACK HIGGINS
PASSAGE BY NIGHT
Contents
Title Page Publisher’s Note Dedication Chapter One: The Grace Abounding Chapter Two: Spanish Cay Chapter Three: Dark Waters Chapter Four: A Man Called Garcia Chapter Five: Whistle Up the Duppies Chapter Six: The Man from CIA Chapter Seven: Beware of Greeks Chapter Eight: The Cretan Lover Chapter Nine: South from Andros Chapter Ten: Isle of Tears Chapter Eleven: The Man in the Vaults Chapter Twelve: Enter Comrade Orlov Chapter Thirteen: From the Jaws of the Tyrant Chapter Fourteen: Exuma Sound Chapter Fifteen: At the Caravel Chapter Sixteen: Greek Fire Chapter Seventeen: The Green Light Chapter Eighteen: The Purpose of Terrorism is to Terrorize Chapter Nineteen: The Stern Sea Chase Chapter Twenty: Into An Indigo Dusk Chapter Twenty-one: All Passion Spent About the Author Also by Jack Higgins Copyright About the Publisher
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
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
