The Key to the Castle

By TONY NASH

Bill Hallorane, a highly talented but flawed seaman, has always had to play second fiddle to Alan Todd. His bitter cup runs over when he is moved to the liner which is captained by Todd, and a drunken orgy, which leads to a fire on the ship, has him sacked by Todd. His long-suffering wife, Mary, also turns to Todd, and Hallorane burns with the desire for vengeance. By pure chance, he meets up with an old shipmate from the submarine he and Todd served on during the Korean war and finds that it is mothballed in a Scottish loch. They steal the sub, with the intention of waylaying Todd's liner in mid-ocean and stealing the gold in its vaults. The plan progresses, but Fate, as always, is waiting in the wings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TONY NASH
• Release date: Dec 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370805952

TONY NASH

Tony Nash is the author of over thirty detective, historical and war novels. He began his career as a navigator in the Royal Air Force, later re-training at Bletchley Park to become an electronic spy, intercepting Russian and East German agent transmissions, during which time he studied many languages and achieved a BA Honours Degree from London University. Diverse occupations followed: Head of Modern Languages in a large comprehensive school, ocean yacht skipper, deep sea fisher, fly tyer, antique dealer, bespoke furniture maker, restorer and French polisher, professional deer stalker and creative writer.

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The Key to the Castle

Tony Nash

Copyright © Tony Nash December 2016

Smashwords edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

Other works by Tony Nash, all published as ebooks:

The Tony Dyce thrillers:

Murder by Proxy

Murder on the Back Burner

Murder on the Chess Board

Murder on the High ‘C’

Murder on Tiptoes

Bled And Breakfast

The John Hunter thrillers:

Carve Up

Single to Infinity

The Most Unkindest Cut

The Iago Factor

Blockbuster

Bloodlines

Beyond Another Curtain

Historical sagas:

A Handful of Destiny

A Handful of Salt

A Handful of Courage

Other books:

The Devil Deals Death

The Makepeace Manifesto

The World’s Worst Joke Book

Panic

The Last Laugh

The Sinister Side of the Moon

Hell and High Water

Hardrada’s Hoard (with Richard Downing)

And The Harry Page Thrillers:

Tripled Exposure

Unseemly Exposure

"But Fate, a lady of the most capricious whims,

Grasps, palm of hand, each harassed, mortal hour

From dawn to dawn and dust to dust;

And he, misguided wretch, who thinks

Himself to guide his destiny

Is bigger fool by far than you or I."

Cape Town December 12th 1976.

CHAPTER ONE – DEAR JOHN

Cool, thrusting fingers of air surged out eagerly from the flat, dust-scoured mountain, to soar and stoop like the great African snow eagle, plummeting down into the rich northern suburbs of the city, stirring the bright red berries and dainty leaves of the jacaranda trees in the neat gardens of the bankers, lawyers and merchants, then down again, into the dusty city centre, lifting last week’s discarded bus tickets and tattered ice-cream papers round the brass-bound, eternally plodding statues of the Vortrekkers outside the Municipal Building, losing strength and purpose with each new street, before embracing with their dying breath the big waiting liner in the harbour, drifting languorously along its corridors and through the open cabin door to stir as a last protest the edge of the cargo manifest in front of Alan Todd.

He moved his hand to steady the paper, added his usual methodical signature, with its full loops and final period at the bottom of the manifest and looked up, the faintest of frowns fleeting over a fractionally raised eyebrow.

Hallorane, he thought grimly, seemed to be living proof of the theory that sex keeps you young.

His lithe figure, finely-chiselled features, dimpled chin, devil-may-care smile and naturally wavy, dark brown hair kept him an eternal thirty-five, in sharp contrast to the captain, who looked ten years older than his forty-eight.

Todd was heavily built, but with no excess weight, and his close-cropped, mousy brown hair was already turning grey from the years of heavy responsibility. With his steel-grey eyes and square jaw he looked as solid and reliable as the plain oak desk he sat behind. Friendly observers took him for a man in his early fifties.

It was not years that made the difference in the two men – they were the same age. Even as boys at school together, Todd’s sober attitude and carefully thought-out actions had made him seem years older than the happy-go-lucky Bill Hallorane. He was, in fact, the senior by just four days.

‘Permission to go ashore, Sir?’

‘Granted. What time are you on duty?’

It was a superfluous question and both of them knew it. When it came to things like duty rosters, Todd had a photographic memory. The question had been asked to ensure that Hallorane knew when he should report. It annoyed the First Officer, as always, but he fought successfully to keep it from showing.

‘Midnight…Sir.’ The merest hint of an insubordinate pause crept in between the two words.

‘There is one small change: we are sailing eighteen minutes earlier than posted, at seven fifty-two. I shall be on the bridge at six thirty.’

‘Aye-aye, Sir.’

‘Goodnight, Hallorane.’

The frown took full possession of Todd’s face as his annoyance curdled with the closing of the door.

Hallorane! Why the hell did they have to give him Hallorane, and especially now? Twenty-three years with both of them on the Cape Town run, Hallorane on the ‘Mafeking Castle’, himself on the ‘Walwick Castle’, and never once had their paths crossed – until this trip.

Todd had spent over an hour combing through Hallorane’s company record after he had joined the ship in Southampton, hoping to find something – anything – that would give him a chance to reject his new First Officer, but there was nothing. It seemed that Hallorane had not blotted his copybook once in those years since Korea, or if he had, had not been found out.

Todd sighed heavily and returned to his paperwork.

Once outside the cabin Hallorane’s carefree smile returned as he strode jauntily along past the first-class salon, with its noisy air of boisterous first-night bonhomie, towards the disembarkation point, but deep down inside there was no smile – just the same deep gut-envy he felt each time he came face to face with Todd since joining the ship – envy that the other man had reached the top and he had not.

One of the youngest submarine commanders in the Navy, Todd had been demobilised and joined the Line a fortnight before him. Hallorane had always been a first-class seaman and navigator, but Todd had that indefinable ‘something’ that Hallorane lacked, and had been promoted Captain three years earlier.

To the First Officer it was another twist of the knife. He had always been the one behind.

Throughout childhood and adolescence and into manhood Todd had kept ahead, his steady forethought more than a match for Hallorane’s erratic brilliance and greater inherent ability. Only once in his life had he got the better of Todd. He had taken Mary from him.

‘Mr Hallorane, Sir!’ A call from above brought him to a halt halfway down the gangplank.

The purser, a jolly little red-faced bachelor from Harwich, with pure salt water running in his veins, and whose only loves were the sea and his ship, jogged down to where Hallorane was standing and handed him a small, flat package done up with blue ribbon.

‘Evening, Sir. The er-lady said to tell you you’d left your cigarette case behind.’ He winked broadly.

Hallorane grinned, ‘What, again, Purser? I’ll forget my head one of these days. Thanks.’

He slipped the package into his pocket – payment for services rendered – services above and beyond the call of duty.

He smiled at the recollection. She had not been at all bad, this one – a little plump, maybe, and not the prettiest flower in the border, but a game girl, and no doubt her Texan oilman husband could well afford the six hundred-odd dollars that the gold case would have cost. The barman at the Michelstein would cash that in for him as usual. It would make a nice bonus.

With a light step he headed up Adderley Street towards the hotel, acknowledging the admiring glances he received from two girls young enough to be his daughters, standing on the corner by Ramshee and Dinshaw’s Oriental Emporium. There would be time enough for that later, when he’d read the letter.

He knew there would be a letter – there always was. Good old Mary – she never failed him. What had he done to deserve her? More to the point, what had she ever done to deserve him? Twenty-six years of love-hate relationship, of her longing for a real marriage and his long-running excuses, of passionate homecomings followed by days of bitter argument and recrimination, of lying and cheating on his part and long-suffering faithfulness on hers.

He had won her from Todd by a carefully planned, deliberately dirty, underhand manoeuvre. Thinking about that always made him feel better. He smiled as his thoughts went back yet again to that Saturday afternoon in nineteen forty-nine…

Life was good – initial training over and the world his oyster. Never short of willing girls before joining the Navy, he found that his lieutenant’s uniform attracted them like moths to the flame. He was grinning broadly as he strolled nonchalantly along towards the dock gates, thinking about the little blonde he was taking out that evening, who was just asking to be laid.

‘You seem amused, Bill.’

He was so lost in thought that he had not noticed Alan Todd standing by the sentry on the gate. Todd had obviously been waiting for him; had something to tell him. The man was so predictable. Hallorane felt that he could read Todd’s every thought. They had not been friends most of their lives for nothing. He looked Todd up and down and had to admit it – he was every inch the Royal Navy officer, from his spit-and-polished shoes to his regulation cap, sitting at exactly the regulation angle on his regulation haircut.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’

Now, that was unusual. Drinking in uniform? Unheard of for Alan ‘Regulation’ Todd. He obviously had something serious on his mind.

Hallorane wondered what it might be. Was he in for another of those monotonous ‘You-know-a-certain-amount-of-decorum-is-expected-of-Naval-officers’ lectures from his brother lieutenant and friend?

‘Have to be a quick one, Alan. I’ve got a date.’

‘Yes, well, all right. Will this do?’ He pointed across the road to the ‘Four Bells’, the first port of call for matelots after leaving their ships.

‘Just the job.’

Todd led the way into the lounge – the bar probably had other ranks in it – and into a quiet corner. He seemed ill at ease as he ordered.

Hallorane lifted his pint with gusto, enjoying the mystery of this little episode.

‘Za zdorovie!’

‘Oh, yes, cheers.’

Todd seemed to be in no hurry to get to the point. He sat silently, gazing introspectively at the condensation clouding the outside of the glass.

Hallorane let the silence stretch into awkwardness before prompting him, ‘Well – spit it out, old son!’

Todd jumped visibly. ‘Eh? Oh, yes.’

He paused again, searching for the words he had so carefully rehearsed.

Hallorane had never before seen him embarrassed in all the years that he’d known him.

‘I know,’ he began at last, ‘how much you think of Mary.’ He hesitated, watching to see what effect his words were having.

Hallorane looked puzzled. Mary? Surely Todd wasn’t going to accuse him of laying Mary? Not that he wouldn’t give his eyeteeth to do so, now he thought about it, but he knew she would rebuff him if he tried. She was more like a virgin sister, not fast like the girls he ran around with.

Todd seemed to be waiting for some sort of response. Hallorane shrugged his shoulders and grunted an affirmative.

‘Well, I thought you ought to know that I have asked her to marry me. Of course, she hasn’t said Yes yet, but I expect her answer soon.’

Todd blurted out the words so fast that Hallorane had difficulty catching the meaning for a second or two. When he did, his mind fought a tremendous battle as it struggled to stop him from being sick and to let him smile at the same time.

The result was a compromise: a sickly smile.

‘You…crafty old sea-dog!’

He just managed to get the words out as he suddenly realised that Todd’s words sounded like a death-knell. That could mean only one thing: he was in love with her himself! Of course – stupid idiot! That funny breathless feeling he had every time he was with her – it was love. He knew in that moment that he had always loved her, and only her. What a time to realise it when he had lost her for good, and what was far worse, to Todd.

‘You don’t mind, then?’

‘Mind? Of course not. I’m delighted for you.’ He forced false joviality into his voice. ‘Let me get you a Scotch to celebrate.’

He stumbled up from his seat, ignoring Todd’s protests, and headed away from him towards the bar – a haven where he could hide his true feelings from the other man and gain time to compose himself.

‘Two double whiskies, please.’

As the blousy blonde barmaid turned to the optic he let his head sink and his eyes close. He breathed deeply several times, his head splitting, wanting to turn and shout, ‘You can’t have her – she’s mine!’

‘Here you are, ducks.’ The barmaid pushed the drinks over the counter towards him.

He drew out a ten-shilling note. ‘Have a drink yourself.’

‘Ooh! Thanks, dearie.’ She gave him a saucy flutter of the eyelashes. Such a good-looking boy, she thought, not my luck to get one as handsome as him.

She could have saved herself the trouble – Hallorane was not in the least interested. He returned to the table and handed a glass to Todd.

‘To Mary.’

‘To Mary.’ Todd, usually an excellent judge of a man’s demeanour, was so relieved that he misread the obvious signs.

‘I’m so glad you’ve taken it like this, Bill. I thought you might have had a similar idea yourself.’

‘Me?’ Hallorane laughed, a little too heartily, a little too high-pitched, ‘You know me, Alan – a girl in every port – safety in numbers – all that sort of thing.’

He downed the whisky in one, grateful for the searing heat that numbed just a little the twisting ache in his gut, and reached for his cap on the peg.

‘Well, must be off now – see you later.’

It was a physical effort to resist the desire to run out of the door.

Outside, the cooler air of the street made him realise that his eyes felt like raw sandpaper; in his throat an unaccustomed lump almost stopped his breathing. He walked blindly, quickly, almost running, passing within a yard of two ratings without acknowledging their salutes, his head down. They turned, amazed, shrugging their shoulders as they watched his receding back.

The larger of the two spat loudly and sneered, ‘Bleeding officers!’

Mixed emotions boiled inside Hallorane’s breast, fighting for supremacy: anger, envy, love. It was at that moment that he began to hate Todd. He had done it again! Once more Hallorane had to eat crow.

But did he?

He came to a dead stop on the pavement, thinking hard. No, by God, not without a fight he didn’t!

As he started to stride away again a plan began to form in his mind, and as if by design he found himself outside an empty telephone kiosk, then inside it, dialling her number with trembling finger, asking for her with shaking voice.

‘Mary!’ He gushed, as if to a long-lost friend.

‘Alan?’

‘No, Bill.’

‘Oh, hello, Bill.’ She sounded happy and genuinely pleased to hear his voice, ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

‘What are you doing this evening?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I’d like to take you dancing.’

‘That would be the first time ever.’

‘Better late than never. What do you say?’

‘Well, I’m not sure. I was rather expecting to have a date.’

‘But you haven’t? Good, then it’s settled. I’ll pick you up at eight.’ He held the receiver between thumb and forefinger and dropped it gleefully onto the cradle as she began to protest, highly satisfied with his fait accompli.

Mary heard the steady tone as the receiver went down at the other end and realised she was protesting in vain. She sighed deeply and considered. Surely there would be no harm in it, just this once. When