Black Gold

by Paul Kenyon

  She eyed his shotgun. "It looks that way, darling."

  Abruptly, he lowered the shotgun. "For God's sake, Penny, what are those madmen up to?"

  "Don't you know?"

  He came toward her and put an arm around her. She lifted her face for a kiss. He stepped back and looked at her.

  "For that matter," he said, "what are you up to? I'm not blind, you know. Penny, just who are you — and what are you?"

  "Later, darling. Those Bavarian Schauspielers will be here any minute.

  His face tightened with concentration. "All right" he said finally. "I know a place. Come with me."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Down to the firth."

  "That's miles from here. We'd have to get past all Sir Angus' people."

  He grinned. "I've got my car parked just past the last butts. It's sheltered — I didn't want to get it full of holes. I was going to give you a ride back this afternoon after the shooting."

  "Darling, you're brilliant."

  They slipped through the trees silently; Tony was almost as good a woodsman as she was. Three or four times they caught sight of the Germans' bright clothing through the branches, but nobody saw them. They reached the edge of the woods; it was sharply delineated after nine hundred years of estate management. They peered past a screen of brush and saw the low ramparts of the butts facing them across a field, a distant dotted line across the terrain.

  "My car should be over there," he said. "Ah, there it is."

  She saw the apple-green hood of the Triumph nestled between a concealing patch of bushes and a hump in the earth that must have been the remnant of an earlier generation's shooting stand.

  "Darling, I'm so glad I bought it for you. But they got the color wrong."

  "Let's run for it!"

  They dashed across the field. Far away, a couple of heads were raised: Bane people preparing the butts. Little figures started running toward them, but now they were in the car and Tony was turning the ignition key.

  The little car growled and started bouncing across the field. More little figures appeared and started running after the car, futilely. A gun went off, but it was too far away to do any damage.

  "I hate to think of what this is doing to the suspension," Tony grunted, wrestling with the wheel.

  After a mile of bumpy fields they reached the road. "We'll be well on our way before they can get a car on the road," he said, "and they won't know in what direction we've gone."

  He drove with reckless speed along the loch road, tooting his horn at cars and farm vehicles. The loch connected with the firth through a narrow defile. Tony pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the motor.

  "Come on," he said, pulling her out of the car.

  "They'll find your car. They'll know we got out here."

  "It won't matter," he said. "Come on."

  She followed him down the steep bank to the shore of Crombie Firth, grabbing handfuls of shrubbery. There was a natural anchorage, and a small fishing boat with a tiny hutch of a cabin was tied up there.

  They splashed into the water, thigh-deep, not caring about their clothes. Tony pulled himself over the side and gave her a hand up.

  "Got a little surprise for you," he said.

  He looked toward the cabin. She looked, too. A pale-eyed man in rough work clothes came out, holding a gun. He bared rotten teeth at them.

  "Weel, what hae we here?" he said.

  "Hello, Callum," Tony said.

  * * *

  Callum looked Penelope over, the gun sticking out of his grimy fist. It was a .32-caliber Beretta Puma, she noticed. She was uncomfortably conscious of her own gun, a hard lump under her left arm, two blouse buttons out of quick reach.

  "This is the Baroness ye're sae daft aboot?" Callum said.

  "Yes," Tony said, "and watch your tongue, man."

  Callum put the gun in his pocket. "What are ye doing here? We're na' supposed to be seen together. That's what ye said."

  "All that's off, man. Sir Angus has an army after us. Cast off. We're getting out of here."

  Callum made no immediate move to respond. Sly eyes slid across the perforated skirt of Penelope's shooting jacket. "Aye," he finally said. "The Bane is a bad one."

  Tony turned to Penelope. "Callum is a bit of a bad one himself," he said. "He works for me. He's an industrial spy. He's been keeping an eye on my competition in the North Sea. Gave me an edge of a day or two with the banks when the Illingford rig came up with that spoiled oil."

  "Sir Angus was responsible for that, darling. I found out. That's why he's trying to kill me."

  Tony gave a start of surprise. "Sir Angus is behind SPOILER?"

  "What do you know about SPOILER, darling?"

  "I got a blackmail note from them. I'm next. I haven't said anything to the authorities about it, because it would muck up my deal with the banks. The insurance companies are keeping hands off anything to do with SPOILER since that supertanker, the Leviathan, went down."

  Penelope nodded. That explained why Tony had been so cagy. "Biotikum UberGesellschaft is in it with Sir Angus. I guess you've gathered that by now. Tony, love, why did you make believe you didn't know those BUG people?"

  "They're a rotten crowd. To tell you the truth, I'm just plain bloody ashamed of being associated with them. I didn't want you to know anything about it. They don't want to have much to do with me, either. I'm an inconvenience to them on the board of directors. A lot of chaps are — officers they had to swallow when they gobbled up other companies. Nice fellow named Franz Bohm, for example. They've kept us new boys in the dark about company operations."

  "One more thing, darling. How do you explain the murder of the MI5 man who was beheaded in your office?"

  Her hand was on her chest in a natural-looking gesture as she spoke. Surreptitiously she undid a couple of blouse buttons.

  "You know about that?" he blinked. "How… never mind! I suppose he had information that SPOILER was after something in my files, and he wanted to catch them at it." He slammed a fist into his palm. "My God, that's it! The fellow didn't steal anything valuable, just technical data about my drilling platform! Sir Angus must have needed to know something about my rig before he could inject the stuff that turns the oil rotten!"

  "We've got to stop him, darling. There's more at stake than just your own oil well. The whole North Sea reserve is threatened."

  She rebuttoned her blouse.

  "Start the motor, Callum," Tony said. "We can sail down the coast a few miles, out of Sir Angus' territory where it'll be safe, and make a phone call to the authorities."

  "We can't wait," Penelope said. She turned to Callum. "Can you get to the Crombie Inn? They won't be looking for you."

  He nodded slowly. "Aye."

  "Find a man named Joe Skytop. Or Tom Sumo. Either one will do. Tell them you've got a message from me. They're to collect Fiona and the others and meet me at" — she thought — "Lossiemouth. We'll lie off the shore there and wait for them."

  Callum looked inquiringly at Tony.

  "It's all right, man," Tony said. "Do it."

  Callum gathered a few things from the cabin and jumped into the shallow water. "I'll be quick as I can," he said, "but it will take me an hour or two to get there." He splashed ashore. Penelope watched him as he climbed up the slope to the road.

  She started up the boat's engine. Tony gave her a narrow look. "You're a handy wench," he said.

  "Pull up the anchor, darling," she said. "We've been here long enough."

  * * *

  It was dark by the time they reached Lossiemouth. Penelope cut the engines and they drifted silently. They could see a few lights on shore a half-mile away.

  "What now?" Tony said.

  "We wait. Throw out the anchor."

  He tossed the anchor out. "Aren't you going to go ashore and find your chaps?" he said.

  "They'll find us." She reached into her pocket and took out a little box of eye shadow. She twisted the catch on the
cover, and the directional beeper inside came to life. For Tony's benefit, she opened the lid and began preening herself in the mirror inside.

  "I'll take your word for it," he said. "I'm sure they're clever chaps." He laughed. "I heard about that Sumo fellow whacking MacCaig on the head!"

  She put the beeper back in her pocket. She sat on the deck with her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around them, looking up at the emerging stars Venus was there, hovering low over the sea, bright enough to make a sister dot in the black mirror of the ocean.

  "We've an hour or two to kill," she said.

  "I say, what shall we do with it?"

  "I have a marvelous idea," she said, and unbuttoned his fly.

  She fished around inside and found a limp asparagus. By the time she'd worked it outside of his trousers, it had stiffened somewhat. Seconds later, it was a long, hard shaft, dark as brick, jerking slightly with the rhythm of his blood.

  "I'm so glad you brought it along, darling," she said.

  She unbuckled her wide leather belt and stepped out of her shooting pants and suede boots. Tony was working at her blouse and bra. "What's this?" he said as the little Bernardelli automatic fell into his hand.

  She took it away from him and tossed it out of reach. "We won't need that," she whispered. "I'll submit willingly."

  She drew his head down to hers and kissed him on the lips. He stretched one of the arms he had around her and found the side of her breast. His fingers groped for the nipple.

  She stroked his throbbing club while they kissed. It had a marvelous feel to it, warming her hand, pulsing with its feverish life. She grasped it like a dagger handle. It had satisfactory heft, a solid weight, and good density. She imagined it inside of her and shivered with anticipation.

  His clever fingers were manipulating her nipple. It was standing out far enough for him to grasp it with his thumb and two fingers. The ball of his thumb, deliciously rough, was giving the hard protruding button a slow, circular massage that sent tingles through her whole breast. She gasped as a sudden shooting star bloomed in her loins, sending its questing rays outward along her thighs and spine.

  Tony must have sensed it. His other hand swept down along her back, briefly paused to cradle a buttock, then probed between her legs. She moaned, then tightened her grip on his penis. There was a long finger stroking the warm archway between her legs now, moving back and forth like a windshield wiper. She spread her legs further apart to give him a greater surface. The finger moved around her outer lips, exploring their sausage tightness, then plunged inside. Another finger — or was it his thumb? — found the tight knurl of her clitoris and rubbed at it. She gasped, and gave his penis a convulsive squeeze. It was his turn to gasp, and for a second his busy fingers stopped. She released her grip and poked her hand inside his trousers for the fleshy fruits nestled there in his shorts. There was a little ripping sound as she tore a seam slightly, and then she was in possession of his balls. She held their weight in her palm, feeling their lumpy texture, while her fingers ran up to the place where they were attached. She stroked the warm pouch, pulling and twisting gently, not enough to worry him. He groaned in her ear.

  "Easy now, Lord Cavendish, love," she said. She pulled her hand out through the cloth and found his shaft. He took his fingers out of her slippery channel and knelt between her legs.

  The shaft went in like a buttered cob. There was a sudden thrill that illuminated her entire interior with bliss. "Ooooh!" she heard her voice saying. And then she tugged impatiently at him to get him to work.

  He pistoned away, holding onto her legs and pulling her hard against him at each stroke. She had her palms flat on the deck, pushing against it to help him. Each thrust sent a shock of rapture through her. Her vagina fluoresced with ravishing delight down its entire length, while a blazing fire sent off sparks at its socket.

  "Faster!" she gasped. The shivery pleasure mounted. She was spilling over down there in those pulsating caverns. Tony was tugging so hard at her legs that he'd pulled her away from the pilot house. She slid down until her shoulders were resting on the deck. She lifted herself on her elbows, up and down, up and down, in response to his urgent rhythm. She looked up at him. He was a dark, striving silhouette against the starry sky. His eyes were blind. She felt a delicious tearing, a parting, in the curtain that walled off her final release. She strained for a moment to keep it all locked in, letting that giant flood build up, and then she couldn't stand it anymore and she let go. There was a vast molten outpouring, and her entire body was wracked with a huge convulsion.

  The spasm went on, for ever and ever. After an eternity, it subsided enough so that she was aware of Tony, clutching her legs like a dying man, pressing himself into her as far as he could get while he released a hoarse, expiring cry.

  She lay back, panting. She heard little waves lapping against the side of the boat and felt a gentle rocking. Her legs were wrapped around Tony's body. She hadn't remembered doing that.

  He pulled himself out of her carefully and let himself drip on the deck. He was grinning at her, his white teeth flashing. "I didn't think they allowed anything like that inside the three-mile limit," he said. He wiped off his tool on his handkerchief and stuffed it back inside his trousers.

  "We don't have any limits, darling," she said.

  She found her shooting pants and pulled them on. She buckled the wide leather belt. She was just reaching for her bra when the boat was rocked by a sudden swell.

  She looked down into the water. There was a long, dark shape just beneath the surface. A long, skinny, snakelike thing came up, and the yellow eye of a periscope was staring at her.

  She dived for her gun, but it was too late. The Crombie Beastie heaved up out of the water and tipped the boat. Penelope slid along the deck. Her head hit the pilot house, dazing her. She struggled muzzily to her knees. The boat rose into the air. She clutched for the rail.

  And then there was a great splintering sound, and she was in the water, swimming. The boat was gone. There was only the looming shape of the Crombie Monster, rolling in the waves.

  She started swimming for shore, as hard as she was able to. There was the metallic sound of bolts being shot, and a steel hatch opened in the Beastie's back. Rubbery black figures swarmed out of it and slid into the water after her.

  They had fins on their feet. She couldn't outswim them. She stopped in the water and turned to face them.

  Chapter 14

  There were five of them, probably the same bastards who'd gunned down the Japanese. They swam toward her with easy, powerful strokes of their finned feet, not being particularly cautious. They were in their element. There was nothing they had to fear from one helpless, half-naked woman floundering in the water.

  She waited calmly, treading water. One of them was out in front of his companions, reaching for her, moonlight glittering in the circle of his face plate, the regulator with its walrus tusks of hose hiding his lower face. She imagined a grin underneath it, the same grin he'd had when he slaughtered the swimming Japanese.

  Her hand came up like a skipping stone while she twisted her whole body to give it force. It struck the yellow circle, shattering glass. There was a gurgling scream, and he was thrashing around in the water. She backed away. Her hand was cut and bleeding. She didn't care. In his agony, he'd lost the regulator. He'd lost his eyes, too.

  His friends stopped in the water a healthy distance away. They put their heads together, conferring. She stayed where she was, conserving energy.

  One of them swam over to the blinded man. The fellow was making sobbing noises and clawing at his face. The other swimmer towed him over to the sub and pushed him up toward waiting hands.

  The other three kelpies waited where they were until their companion returned. Again there was a conference. Then two of them disappeared under the water while the other two approached her from either side.

  She took a deep breath and dived. There they were, already reaching for her feet. She chopped at o
ne of them, but the water dragged at her hand. The blow didn't hurt him at all. She snatched at his air hose and pulled it loose. He wriggled to the surface, but now the other man was holding her from behind, wrapping his rubber arms around her chest. She gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs, but the rubber suit and the water cushioned the jab. She felt him wince, but he hung on.

  Air was getting to be a problem. She chose one of his fingers and bent it backward until it broke. He let go of her immediately, but now there was somebody underneath her, pulling at her ankles.

  She couldn't reach the surface for a lungful of air. She hairpinned her body and grabbed at his face mask. She couldn't break it here, underwater, but she could pull it off. Her fingers clawed at his eyes. He let go of her, but now another one of them had a pair of paws on her head, pushing her down.

  Her lungs heaved and labored. Her vision was going purplish. She reached up for his wrists and was shocked to find that she was too weak to pull them away. Now the first one had returned to embrace her from behind. Her struggle grew weaker. They weren't worried about her anymore. The bastard behind her was fooling with her breasts. She grabbed one of his fingers, but now there was another pair of strong hands clamping her wrists. Her lungs heaved convulsively. There was a sharp, sharp pain in her chest. And then the water was burning as if it were fire, and a dark whirlpool was spinning in front of her face. And then there was nothing.

  * * *

  She was being sick. She was lying face down on a cold steel surface, and there was a weight crushing her back, and she was vomiting floods of warm salt water.

  "There she comes around now," a voice said. The weight on her back became a pair of hands that pushed down hard, and she was coughing and choking and spluttering. The weight disappeared and she struggled to turn over and sit up. Her wrists seemed to be tied behind her back.

  She was bare to the waist and barefoot. She still had her shooting pants on. She was in a low cylindrical chamber that was braced with thick steel members. It was crowded with men: tough-looking men in dungarees and blue-striped jerseys and sailor hats, their faces sallow in the sulphurous light of a yellow bulb in a cage.