The Golden Keel

The Golden Keel
Desmond Bagley

The first action thriller by the classic adventure writer, set in Italy.

When 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…

DESMOND BAGLEY

The Golden Keel

COPYRIGHT (#ulink_a101df5d-ec1f-5718-959f-71fdcb2a0889)

HARPER

an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by Collins 1963

Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1963

Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

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.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008211134

Ebook Edition © January 2016 ISBN 9780008211417

Version: 2016-11-21

CONTENTS

Cover (#u4ec1bb77-8cef-5aef-9210-98498712b378)

Title Page (#u7a537827-bcce-5186-a7ad-1e67d67eb373)

Copyright (#u6006fbf0-1fc1-5cf8-8e6a-c5b854d55e2d)

The Golden Keel (#u11b5e41e-9e29-577f-9c3d-a8000222e356)

Dedication (#u0a9f1ce8-7aa3-5895-a2c9-671d90697916)

Book One: The Men (#u2ec63b62-2d7d-54fc-8004-11f38785e91e)

Chapter One: Walker (#u65688ecd-5cc9-58f7-8986-95a0c516a68c)

Chapter Two: Coertze (#u70fb092a-01a7-5e24-95e5-70c4fe55c6f9)

Book Two: The Gold (#u7c85d487-5974-5a75-826c-2c55c4b507f4)

Chapter Three: Tangier (#uf78f1c7c-364f-5080-8871-acf520c3034b)

Chapter Four: Francesca (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five: The Tunnel (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six: Metcalfe (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven: The Golden Keel (#litres_trial_promo)

Book Three: The Sea (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight: Calm and Storm (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine: Sanford (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

THE GOLDEN KEEL (#ulink_352f505f-b572-559b-857e-18754b43678f)

DEDICATION (#ulink_250a9908-8715-543a-8c50-50f3b667842d)

For Joan – who else?

BOOK ONE The Men (#ulink_acf2f91f-9610-530b-92af-16af3ba62a5e)

ONE: WALKER (#ulink_a23645fe-1979-5e57-a6c9-39900eb0d7e6)

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.’