The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter
Double action thrillers by the classic adventure writer set in Italy and South America.THE GOLDEN KEELWhen the Allies invaded southern Italy in 1943, Mussolini's personal treasure was moved north to safety under heavily armed guard. It was never seen again. Now, an expedition plans to unearth the treasure and smuggle it out of Italy. But their reckless mission is being followed - by enemies who are as powerful and ruthless as they are deadly…THE VIVERO LETTERJeremy Wheale's well-ordered life is blasted apart when his brother is murdered. The killer was after a family heirloom - an antique gold tray - which sets Wheale on a trail from Devon to the tropical rainforest of Yucatan. There he joins the hunt for a lost Mayan city. But in the dense cover of the jungle a band of vicious convict mercenaries are waiting to strike…Includes a unique bonus - Desmond Bagley's rare introduction to these books.
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DESMOND BAGLEY
The Golden Keel
AND
The Vivero Letter
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
This omnibus edition 2009
The Golden Keel first published in Great Britain by Collins 1963 The Vivero Letter first published in Great Britain by Collins 1968 Postscript first published in Great Britain by Collins 1979
Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1963, 1968, 1979
Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of these works
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007304776
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007347643 Version: 2018-10-12
CONTENTS
For Joan – who else?
My name is Peter Halloran, but everyone calls me ‘Hal’ excepting my wife, Jean, who always called me Peter. Women seem to dislike nicknames for their menfolk. Like a lot of others I emigrated to the ‘colonies’ after the war, and I travelled from England to South Africa by road, across the Sahara and through the Congo. It was a pretty rough trip, but that’s another story; it’s enough to say that I arrived in Cape Town in 1948 with no job and precious little money.
During my first week in Cape Town I answered several of the Sit. Vac. advertisements which appeared in the Cape Times and while waiting for answers I explored my environment. On this particular morning I had visited the docks and finally found myself near the yacht basin.
I was leaning over the rail looking at the boats when a voice behind me said, ‘If you had your choice, which would it be?’
I turned and encountered the twinkling eyes of an elderly man, tall, with stooped shoulders and grey hair. He had a brown, weather-beaten face and gnarled hands, and I estimated his age at about sixty.
I pointed to one of the boats. ‘I think I’d pick that one,’ I said. ‘She’s big enough to be of use, but not too big for single-handed sailing.’
He seemed pleased. ‘That’s Gracia,’ he said. ‘I built her.’
‘She looks a good boat,’ I said. ‘She’s got nice lines.’
We talked for a while about boats. He said that he had a boatyard a little way outside Cape Town towards Milnerton, and that he specialized in building the fishing boats used by the Malay fishermen. I’d noticed these already; sturdy unlovely craft with high bows and a wheelhouse stuck on top like a chicken-coop, but they looked very seaworthy. Gracia was only the second yacht he had built.
‘There’ll be a boom now the war’s over,’ he predicted. ‘People will have money in their pockets, and they’ll go in for yachting. I’d like to expand my activities in that direction.’
Presently he looked at his watch and nodded towards the yacht club. ‘Let’s go in and have a coffee,’ he suggested.
I hesitated. ‘I’m not a member.’
‘I am,’ he said. ‘Be my guest.’
So we went into the club house and sat in the lounge overlooking the yacht basin and he ordered coffee. ‘By the way, my name’s Tom Sanford.’
‘I’m Peter Halloran.’
‘You’re English,’ he said. ‘Been out here long?’
I smiled. ‘Three days.’
‘I’ve been out just a bit longer – since 1910.’ He sipped his coffee and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘You seem to know a bit about boats.’
‘I’ve been around them all my life,’ I said. ‘My father had a boatyard on the east coast, quite close to Hull. We built fishing boats, too, until the war.’
