Читать книгу Alistair MacLean Sea Thrillers 4-Book Collection: San Andreas, The Golden Rendezvous, Seawitch, Santorini - Alistair MacLean, Alistair MacLean, John Denis - Страница 19

‘Have I the ward sister’s permission to have a few words with the Captain?’

‘The Captain is only two beds away.’ Margaret Morrison eyed the Bo’sun speculatively. ‘Or do you have another secret session in mind?’

‘Well, yes, it is rather private.’

‘More U-boat ramming, is it?’

‘I never want to see another U-boat in my life.’ McKinnon spoke with some feeling. ‘The only thing that heroics will get us is an early and watery grave.’ He nodded towards the bed where Oberleutnant Klaussen was lying, moving restlessly and mumbling to himself in a barely audible monologue. ‘Is he like this all the time?’

‘All the time. Never stops rambling on.’

‘Does any of what he says make sense?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

McKinnon guided the Captain into a chair in the small lounge off the crew’s mess.

‘Mr Patterson and Mr Jamieson are here, sir. I wanted them to hear what I have in mind and to have your permission to – perhaps – carry out certain things I have in mind. I have three suggestions to make.

‘The first concerns our destination. Are we absolutely committed to Aberdeen, sir? I mean, how ironclad are the Admiralty orders?’

Captain Bowen made a few pointed but unprintable observations about the Admiralty, then said: ‘The safety of the San Andreas and of all aboard her are of paramount importance. If I consider this safety to be in any way endangered I’ll take the San Andreas to any safe port in the world and the hell with the Admiralty. We’re here, the Admiralty is not. We are in the gravest danger: the biggest peril facing the Admiralty is falling off their chairs in Whitehall.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The Bo’sun half-smiled, ‘I did think those questions rather unnecessary but I had to ask them.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m convinced there’s a German espionage network in Murmansk.’ He outlined the reasons he had given to Lieutenant Ulbricht less than an hour previously, ‘If the Germans know so much about us and our movements, then it’s nearer a certainty than a possibility that they also know that our destination is Aberdeen. Maintaining any kind of course for Aberdeen is like handing the Germans a gift from the gods.

‘Even more important, from my way of thinking, anyway, is why the Germans are so very interested in us. We probably won’t know until we arrive in some safe port and even then it might take some time to find out. But if this unknown factor is so very valuable to the Germans, might it not be even more valuable to us? It is my belief – I can’t give any solid grounds for this belief – that the Germans would rather lose this valuable prize than let us have it. I have the uncomfortable feeling that if we got anywhere near Aberdeen the Germans would have a submarine, maybe two, loitering somewhere off Peterhead – that’s about twenty-five miles nor’-nor’-east of Aberdeen – with orders not to let us move any further south. That could mean only one thing – torpedoes.’

‘Say no more, Bo’sun,’ Jamieson said. ‘You’ve got me convinced. Here’s one passenger who wants Aberdeen struck right off our cruise itinerary.’

‘I have a feeling you’re right,’ Bowen said. ‘Maybe one hundred per cent. Even if the chances were only ten per cent we wouldn’t be justified in taking the risk. I have a complaint to make against myself, Bo’sun. I’m supposed to be the captain. Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘Because you had other things on your mind, sir.’

‘And where does that leave me?’ Patterson said.

‘I’ve only just thought of it myself, sir. I’m sure that when Mr Kennet and I were ashore in Murmansk we missed something. We must have. What I still don’t understand is why the Russians pulled us into Murmansk, why they were so prompt and efficient in repairing the hole in the hull and completing the hospital. If I had the key to answer that question I’d know the answer to everything, including the answer to why the Russians were so helpful and cooperative, in marked contrast to their standard behaviour which usually ranges from unfriendliness to downright hostility. But I don’t have that key.’

‘We can only speculate,’ Bowen said, ‘If you’ve had time to consider this, Bo’sun, you’ve obviously had time to consider alternative ports. Safe ports. Bolt-holes, if you like.’

‘Yes, sir. Iceland or the Orkneys – that is, Reykjavík or Scapa Flow. Reykjavík has the disadvantage of being half as far away again as Scapa: on the other hand, the further west we go the more we steam out of the reach of the Heinkels and Stukas. Heading for Scapa, we should be within easy reach, practically all the way, of the Heinkels and Stukas based in Bergen and there’s the other disadvantage that ever since Oberleutnant Prien sank the Royal Oak up there, the mine defences make entry impossible. But it has the advantage that both the Navy and the RAF have bases there. I don’t know for certain but I should think it very likely that they maintain frequent air patrols round the Orkneys – after all, it is the base of the Home Fleet. I have no idea how far out those patrols range, fifty miles, a hundred, I don’t know. I think there’s a good chance that we would be picked up long before we’re even near Scapa.’

‘Tantamount to being home and dry, is that it, Bo’sun?’

‘I wouldn’t quite say that, sir. There are always the U-boats.’ McKinnon paused and considered. ‘As I see it, sir, four things. No British pilot is going to attack a British hospital ship. We’d probably be picked up by a patrol plane like a Blenheim which wouldn’t waste much time in calling up fighter support and no German bomber pilot in his senses is going to risk meeting up with Hurricanes or Spitfires. The patrol plane would also certainly radio Scapa to have them open a minefield passage for us. Lastly, they’d probably send out a destroyer or frigate or sloop – something fast, anyway, with enough depth-charges to discourage any U-boat that might be around.’

‘Not a very enviable choice,’ Bowen said. ‘Three days to Scapa, you would say?’

‘If we manage to shake off this U-boat which I’m pretty sure is following us. Five days to Reykjavík.’

‘What if we don’t manage to shake off our shadower? Aren’t they going to become very suspicious indeed when they see us altering course for Scapa Flow?’

‘If they do succeed in following us, they won’t notice any course alteration for a couple of days or more. During that time we’ll be on a direct course to Aberdeen. Once we get south of the latitude of Fair Isle we’ll alter course south-west or west-south-west or whatever for Scapa.’

‘It’s a chance. It’s a chance. You have any preference, Mr Patterson?’

‘I think I’ll leave my preference to the Bo’sun.’

‘I second that,’ Jamieson said.

‘Well?’

‘I’d feel happier in Scapa, sir.’

‘I think we all would. Well, Bo’sun, suggestion number one dealt with. Number two?’

‘There are six exits from the hospital area, sir, three for’ard and three aft. Don’t you think it would be wiser, sir, if we had everybody confined to the hospital area, except, of course, for those on watch in the engine-room and on the bridge? We know our latest Flannelfoot is still with us and it seems a good idea to confine his sphere of operations – if he has any left, which we don’t know – to as limited an area as possible. I suggest we seal up four of those doors, two aft, two for’ard and post guards at the other two doors.’

‘Weld them up, you mean?’ Jamieson said.

‘No. A bomb might hit the hospital. The two doors not sealed off might buckle and jam. Everyone would be trapped. We just close the doors in the usual way and give them a couple of moderate taps with a sledge.’

Patterson said: ‘And maybe Flannelfoot has access to his own private sledgehammer.’

‘He’d never dare use it. First metallic clang and he’d have the whole ship’s company on his back.’

‘True, true.’ Patterson sighed, ‘I grow old. You had a third point?’

‘Yes, sir. Involves you, if you will. I don’t think it would do any harm if you were to assemble everybody and tell them what’s going on – not that you can get across to Captain Andropolous and his crew – because I’m sure most have no idea what’s going on. Tell them about Dr Singh, the transceiver and what happened to Limassol. Tell them that another Flannelfoot is at large and that’s why we’ve closed all four doors so as to limit his movements. Please tell them that although it’s not a very nice thing, they are to watch each other like hawks – it is, after all, in their own survival interests – and to report any suspicious behaviour. It might just cramp Flannelfoot’s style and it will at least give them something to do.’

Bowen said: ‘You really think, Bo’sun, that this – the sealing off of the doors and the warning to the ship’s company – will keep Flannelfoot in check?’

‘On the basis of our performance to date,’ McKinnon said gloomily, ‘I very much doubt it.’

The afternoon and the early evening – and even although they were now more than three hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle early evening in those latitudes was still very early indeed – passed away as peacefully as McKinnon had expected. There was no sign of the U-boat but he had been certain that the U-boat would not show itself. There was no sign of any reconnaissance Condor, which only served to confirm his belief in the enemy concealed below, nor did any Heinkels or Stukas appear over the eastern horizon, for the hour of the coup de grâce had not yet come.

Half an hour after sunset the night was as dark as it was likely to become on the Norwegian Sea. Cloud cover was patchy and the rest of the sky hazy although a few pale stars could be seen.

‘Time, I think, George,’ McKinnon said to Naseby. ‘I’m going below. When the engines stop – that should be in seven or eight minutes’ time – bring her round 180° till we’re heading back the way we came. You should be able to pick up our wash even though it is dark. After that – well, we can only hope that you’ll pick up a star. I should be back in about ten minutes or so.’

On his way down he passed the Captain’s cabin. There was no longer anyone there to guard the sextant and chronometer: with two of the for’ard exits from the hospital area closed off and the third under guard it was impossible for anyone to reach the upper deck and so the bridge. On the deck it was so dark, the Bo’sun was pleased to note, that he had to use the guideline to find his way to the hospital. Stephen, the young stoker, was there, acting the part of sentry: McKinnon told him to join the others on the mess-decks. When they got there McKinnon found Patterson waiting for him.

‘Everybody here, sir?’

‘Everybody. Not forgetting Curran and Ferguson.’ Those two had been holed up in the carpenter’s shop in the bows. ‘Riot Act duly read. Anybody making the slightest sound after we stop – after the engines have stopped, rather – inadvertently or not, will be silenced. Talking only in whispers. Tell me, Bo’sun, is it really true that you can pick up the sound of a knife and fork on a plate?’

‘I don’t really know. I don’t know how sensitive the listening devices on a modern U-boat are. I do know that the sound of a spanner being dropped on a steel deck is easily detectable. No chances.’

He went into the two wards, checked that everybody had been told of the need for absolute silence, switched on the emergency lamps and went down to the engine-room. Only Jamieson and McCrimmon were there. Jamieson looked at him and switched on an emergency lamp.

‘Now, I take it?’

‘It’s as dark as it’s going to get, sir.’

Even by the time McKinnon had reached the mess-decks the engine revolutions had fallen away. He sat down at a mess table next to Patterson and waited in silence until the engines had stopped and the sound of the generator had died away. With the complete silence and only the feeble light from the emergency lamps to illuminate the area, the atmosphere held the elements of both the eerie and the sinister.

Patterson whispered: ‘No chance that the U-boat will think that their listening apparatus has failed?’

‘No, sir. You wouldn’t have to be a very efficient Asdic operator to know when engine revolutions are falling, then dying away.’

Jamieson and McCrimmon appeared, each carrying an emergency lamp. Jamieson sat beside McKinnon.

‘All we need now, Bo’sun, is a ship’s chaplain.’

‘A few prayers wouldn’t come amiss, sir. Especially a prayer that Flannelfoot hasn’t got a bug sending out a location signal.’

‘Please. Don’t even talk about such things.’ He was silent for some moments, then said: ‘We’re heeling, aren’t we?’

‘We are, yes. Naseby is making a 180° turn, heading back the way we came.’

‘Ah!’ Jamieson looked thoughtful. ‘So that he will over-shoot us. Turning back on our tracks. But won’t he do the same? I mean, wouldn’t that be the first thing that would occur to him?’

‘Quite honestly, I don’t and wouldn’t have the faintest idea as to what his first, second or tenth thoughts are. His first thought might be that our reversing course is so obvious a ploy that he’s not even going to consider it. He might even think that we’re carrying straight on for the Norwegian coast, which is so ludicrous a possibility that he may even be considering it. Or we might be heading back north-east again for the Barents Sea. Only a madman would do that, of course, but he’ll have to consider the fact, whether we think he thinks we’re mad – or not. Alternatively – and there are a lot of alternatives – he may figure that once we figure we’re clear of his Asdic clutches we’ll just continue on our course to Aberdeen. Or some place in north Scotland. Or the Orkneys. Or the Shetlands. There are an awful lot of options open to us and the chances are that he will pick the wrong one.’

‘I see,’ Jamieson said. ‘I say this in admiration, Bo’sun, and not in reproof: you have a very devious mind.’

‘Let’s just hope the Oberleutnant in charge of that U-boat out there hasn’t an even more devious mind.’ He turned to Patterson. ‘I’m going up top to join Naseby and see if there’s any sign of life around.’

‘Sign of life? You mean you think the U-boat may have surfaced and is looking for us.’

‘May have done.’

‘But it’s dark, you said.’

‘He’ll have a searchlight. Two of them, for all I know.’

Jamieson said: ‘And you think he’ll be using them?’

‘It’s a possibility. Not a probability. He’s bound to know by this time what happened to his fellow U-boat this morning.’

Patterson touched his arm. ‘You wouldn’t – ah – be considering another possibility – another collision?’

‘Heavens, no. I don’t really think the San Andreas could survive another bump like that. Not, of course, that the captain of that submarine is to know that. He may well be convinced that we’re desperate enough for anything.’

‘And we’re not?’

‘It’s a long way down to the bottom of the Norwegian Sea.’ McKinnon paused reflectively. ‘What we really need now is a nice little old blizzard.’

‘Still the Condor, still the flares. Is that it, Bo’sun?’

‘It’s not a thought that goes away easily.’ He turned to Jamieson. ‘Under way in half an hour, sir?’

‘Half an hour it is. But gently, gently?’

‘If you would, sir.’

McKinnon examined the sea from both sides of the upper deck but all was dark and quiet and still. He climbed to the bridge and went out on the wings, but even from this higher perspective there was nothing to be seen, no sweeping finger of a searchlight, nothing.

‘Well, George, this makes a change. All is quiet, all is peaceful.’

‘Is that a good sign or a bad one?’

‘Take your pick. Still quite a bit under way, aren’t we?’

‘Yes. I’ve just picked up our wake. And I’ve just located a couple of stars, one off the port bow, the other off the starboard. No idea what they are, of course, but it should keep us heading more or less west until we come to a halt.’

‘Which should take quite a while yet.’

In just under fifteen minutes the San Andreas was dead in the water and fifteen minutes after that she came to life again, albeit very, very slowly. From the bridge any sounds from the engine-room were quite inaudible, the only indication that they were under way came from the very faint vibration of the superstructure. After a few minutes McKinnon said: ‘Any steerage way yet, George?’

‘Barely. We’re about ten degrees off course right now. To the south. A couple of minutes and we’ll be heading west again. I wonder, I wonder.’

‘You wonder, I wonder, we all wonder – are we alone in the Norwegian Sea or do we have company, company that has no intention of making its presence known? I just guess and hope that we’re alone. Beyond a certain distance a submarine is not very good at picking up a very slow-turning engine and prop. What it can pick up is a generator – which is why there will be no lights down below for another fifteen minutes yet.’

Just under half an hour after McKinnon had arrived on the bridge the telephone bell shrilled. Naseby answered and handed the phone to the Bo’sun.

‘Bo’sun? This is Ward A. Sinclair speaking. I think you had better come down.’ Sinclair sounded weary or dispirited, or both. ‘Flannelfoot has struck again. There’s been an accident. No need to break your neck, though – nobody’s been hurt.’

‘We’ve been far too long without an accident.’ The Bo’sun felt as weary as Sinclair. ‘What happened?’

‘Transceiver’s wrecked.’

‘That’s just splendid. I’m on my way – at a leisurely pace.’ He replaced the phone. ‘Flannelfoot’s at it again, George. It seems that the transceiver in Ward A is not quite what it was.’

‘Oh Jesus.’ It wasn’t an exclamation of shock, horror or anger, just a sign of resignation. ‘Why wasn’t the alarm buzzer pressed.’

‘I shall no doubt find that out when I get there. I’ll send Trent to relieve you. I suggest you broach Captain Bowen’s supplies. Life aboard the San Andreas, George, is like life everywhere, just one damned thing after another.’

The first thing that took McKinnon’s eye in Ward A was not the transceiver in the Cardiac Arrest box but the sight of Margaret Morrison, eyes closed, lying on a bed with Janet Magnusson bending over her. The Bo’sun looked at Dr Sinclair, who was sitting disconsolately in the chair that was normally occupied by the ward sister.

‘I thought you said nobody had been hurt.’

‘Not hurt in the medical sense, although Sister Morrison might take issue with me on that matter. She’s been chloroformed but will be fine in a few minutes.’

‘Chloroformed? Flannelfoot doesn’t seem to have a very original turn of mind.’

‘He’s a callous bastard. This girl has just been wounded, once quite nastily, but this character seems to have been missing when they handed out humanitarian instincts.’

‘You expect delicacy and a tenderness of feeling from a criminal who tries to murder a man with a crowbar?’ McKinnon walked to the side of the table and looked down at the mangled remains of the transceiver. ‘I’ll spare you the obvious remarks. Naturally, of course, no one knows what happened because of course there were no eyewitnesses.’

‘That’s about it. If it’s any use, Nurse Magnusson here was the person to discover this.’

McKinnon looked at her. ‘Why did you come through? Did you hear a noise?’

She straightened from the bed and looked at him with some disfavour.

‘You are a cold-blooded fish, Archie McKinnon. This poor, poor girl lying here, the radio smashed and you don’t even look upset or annoyed, far less furious. I am furious.’

‘I can see that. But Margaret will be all right and the set is a total ruin. I see no point in getting angry about things I can do nothing about and what passes for my mind has other things to worry about. Did you hear anything?’

‘You’re hopeless. No, I heard nothing. I just came in to talk to her. She was crumpled over her table. I ran for Dr Sinclair and we lifted her into this bed here.’

‘Surely someone saw something. They couldn’t all have been asleep.’

‘No. The Captain and the Chief Officer were awake.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘You may have noticed, Mr McKinnon, that the eyes of both Captain Bowen and Chief Officer Kennet are heavily bandaged.’

‘You just wait,’ McKinnon said sotto voce, ‘until I get you to the Shetlands. They think a lot of me in Lerwick.’ She made a moue and the Bo’sun looked across to Bowen. ‘Did you hear anything, Captain?’

‘I heard something that sounded like the tinkling of glass. Wasn’t much, though.’

‘You, Mr Kennet?’

‘Same, Bo’sun. Again it wasn’t much.’

‘It didn’t have to be. You don’t require a sledgehammer to crush a few valves. A little pressure from the sole of the foot would be enough.’ He turned to Janet again. ‘But Margaret wouldn’t have been asleep. She’d have been bound – no, he couldn’t have come that way. He’d have had to pass through your ward. I’m not being very bright today, am I?’

‘No, you’re not.’ She smiled again but this time without malice. ‘Not our usual hawk-eyed selves this evening, are we?’

McKinnon turned and looked past the Sister’s table. The door to the recovery room was about an inch ajar. McKinnon nodded.

‘It figures. Why should he bother to close it when it would be obvious to anyone with half an eye – he must have forgotten about me – that there was no other way he could have entered. Mess-deck, side passage, operating room, recovery room, Ward A – simple as that. Every door unlocked, of course. Why should they have been otherwise? Well, we don’t bother locking them now. When did this happen, anyone know – sometime between engine start-up and the lights coming back on again?’

‘I think it had to be that,’ Sinclair said. ‘It would have been the ideal time and opportunity. About ten minutes after start-up but five minutes before the generator came on Mr Patterson gave permission for people to talk normally and move around as long as they didn’t make any loud noise. The emergency lights are pretty feeble at the best of times, everyone was talking excitedly – relief of tension I suppose, hopes that we had slipped the submarine, thankfulness that we were still in one piece, that sort of thing – and lots of people moving around. It would have been childishly simple for anyone to disappear unnoticed and return again after a minute, still unnoticed.’

‘Had to be that,’ the Bo’sun said. ‘Anyone of the crew, or that lot from Murmansk – in fact, anyone who was out there. Still no nearer the identity of the man with the key to the dispensary. Captain, Mr Kennet, I am wondering why you didn’t call Sister Morrison. Surely you must have smelled the chloroform?’

Janet said: ‘Oh, come on Archie, you can see that their noses are bandaged up. Could you smell anything with a handkerchief to your nose?’

‘You’re just half right, Nurse,’ Bowen said. ‘I did smell it but it was very faint. The trouble is that there are so many medical and antiseptic smells in a ward that I paid no attention to it.’

‘Well, he wouldn’t have gone back to the mess-deck with a sponge reeking of chloroform. Hands too, for that matter. Back in a moment.’

The Bo’sun unhooked an emergency light, went into the recovery room, looked around briefly, then passed into the operating theatre where he switched on the lights. Almost immediately, in a bucket in a corner, he found what he was looking for and returned to Ward A.

‘A sponge – duly reeking of chloroform – a smashed ampoule and a pair of rubber gloves. Quite useless.’

‘Not to Flannelfoot, they weren’t,’ Sinclair said.

‘Useless to us. Useless as evidence. Gets us nowhere.’ McKinnon perched on the Sister’s table and looked in slight irritation at Oberleutnant Klaussen who was muttering away to himself, unintelligibly, incessantly.

‘Is he still like this? Always like this?’

Sinclair nodded. ‘Goes on non-stop.’

‘Must be damned annoying. To the other patients and to the sister or nurse in charge. Why isn’t his bed wheeled into the recovery room?’

‘Because the sister in charge – that’s Margaret, remember? – doesn’t want him removed.’ Janet was being cool and patient. ‘He’s her patient, she wants to keep a close eye on him and she doesn’t mind. Any more questions, Archie?’

‘You mean why don’t I be on my way or keep quiet or go and do something. Do what? Do some detecting?’ He looked gloomy. ‘There’s nothing to detect. I’m just waiting till Margaret comes round.’

‘Signs of grace at last.’

‘I want to ask her some questions.’

‘I might have known. What questions? It’s as certain as can be that the assailant crept up behind her unseen and had her unconscious before she knew anything about it. Otherwise she’d have reached for the button or called for help. She did neither. There are no questions you can ask her that we can’t answer.’

‘As I’m not a gambler I won’t take your money away from you. Question number one. How did Flannelfoot know – and he must have known – that, apart from Captain Bowen and Mr Kennet who are effectively blind at the moment, everyone else in Ward A was asleep? He would never have dared to do what he did if there was even a remote possibility of someone being awake. So how did he know? Answer, please.’

‘I – I don’t know.’ She was obviously taken aback. ‘That had never occurred to me before. But I don’t think it occurred to anyone else either.’

‘Understandable. Such questions occur only to stupid old bo’suns. You’re just being defensive, Janet. Question number two. Who told him?’

‘I don’t know that either.’

‘But maybe Maggie does. Number three. What solicitous member of the crew or passengers made solicitous enquiries about the state of health of the patients in Ward A?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Maggie might know, mightn’t she? After all, she would be the obvious choice to be asked that question, wouldn’t she? And you said you could answer any questions that she could. Bosh! Question number four.’

‘Archie, you’re beginning to sound like a prosecuting counsel. I’m not guilty of anything.’

‘Don’t be daft. You’re not in dock. Fourth question and the most important of all. Flannelfoot, as we all know to our cost, is no fool. He must have taken into account the possibility that someone would ask the question of Maggie: with whom, Sister Morrison, did you discuss the state of health of your patients? He had to assume that Maggie was in the position to put the finger on him. So my question is why, to protect his anonymity, did he not, after rendering her unconscious, slit her throat? A nice sharp knife is just as silent as a chloroform sponge. It would have been the logical thing to do, wouldn’t it, Janet? But he didn’t. Why didn’t he murder her?’

Janet had gone very pale and when she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper.

‘Horrible,’ she said. ‘Horrible, horrible.’

‘Are you referring to me again? Goes well, I must say with what you last called me – a heartless fiend.’

‘Not you, not you.’ Her voice was still unsteady. ‘It’s the question. The thought. The possibility. It – it could have happened that way, couldn’t it, Archie?’

‘I’m more than mildly astonished that it didn’t. But I think we’ll find the answer when Maggie wakes up.’

The silence that fell upon the ward was broken by Bowen.

‘Very gallant of you, Bo’sun, very gallant indeed. Not to have reproached the young lady for being unable, as she had claimed she could, to answer the questions you asked. If it’s any consolation to your friend Janet, not one of those questions occurred to me either.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘That was very kind of you. Makes me feel more than halfway better already. See, Archie, I can’t be all that stupid.’

‘Nobody ever suggested you were. How long will it take her to come round, Dr Sinclair?’

‘Five minutes, fifteen, twenty-five? Impossible to say. People vary so much in their recovery times. And even when she does come out of it she’ll be fuzzy for some time, not mentally clear enough to remember and answer what might be difficult questions.’

‘When she is, call me, please. I’ll be on the bridge.’