The Liquidator

by Nick Carter

  We found a taverna overlooking the quay, and the dinner was so surprisingly good that we lingered over it until well after dark. The place was obviously designed for touring yachtsmen; the menu was partly in English, decorated with crudely drawn anchors and seashells. In the beginning we were the only ones in the place, but shortly afterward a group of men and women clattered in, their sunburned faces and well-pressed nautical clothes branding them plainly. From the snatches of talk I heard it seemed to be a mixed group of Americans and British, with an Italian woman and two apparent Frenchmen included. Nothing out of the way, I told myself, and glanced at Christina.

  She was staring straight ahead, as though at something beyond my left shoulder, but I could tell by the set of her chin and the shallowness of her breathing that she was tense.

  "What is it?" I asked, leaning forward so we couldn't be heard.

  "I… it is nothing." She smiled briefly. "I seem to suspect everyone. I will be glad when this is all over."

  "Will you?"

  "Yes."

  I reached for her hand across the table. "I'm not sure I'll be."

  She looked at me for a long moment. "No," she said finally. "Perhaps I won't be either."

  No one spoke to us until we were having coffee, but then one of the Frenchmen across the room got up and made his way deliberately to our table. He was a slight man with a mop of sandy hair and a shy smile that was full of confidence.

  "Excuse me," he said, looking mostly at Christina. "You are Americans?"

  "I am," I said. "She's not."

  "My friends and I were wondering if you would care to join us for a drink." He was still looking at Christina; I couldn't blame him. I queried her with my eyebrows.

  She shook her head firmly. "I am terribly sorry," she said with cool politeness. "But we must go to bed early; it has been a long day." She stood up with the fluid grace of a princess dismissing an unworthy admirer. "Will you pay the check, Daniel? We must be going. I shall return in a moment."

  The Frenchman retreated, with a visible effort to retain his nonchalant composure. I smiled to myself as I laid out the drachmas; the girl was still surprising me. Watching her move toward the rest room, I enjoyed the view, even from the rear, of nicely filled white slacks with a loose blue shirt over them. The simple costume made it clear what she wasn't wearing underneath, and suddenly, recalling the previous night, I wasn't looking forward to this one.

  The waiter came, took my money, and gave it to the plump, mustached woman behind the cash register. He was taking a long time about it, and I was starting to get impatient. When he finally returned I was already on my feet, but as he departed I sat down again. Christina still hadn't come back.

  "It must be my impatience," I told myself, and deliberately didn't look at my watch. I checked the table across the room; they were looking in my direction, and the young Frenchman was grinning.

  I made myself sit still, sipping at the dregs of my coffee while my gut tightened as the minutes ticked by. I was recalling her alarm when she saw the man at the restaurant in Argostilion and was starting to get as jumpy as she had been.

  The woman behind the register was looking at me questioningly. I looked back, finally got up and approached her.

  "I hope you speak English."

  "But of course," she replied.

  "The young lady." I gestured toward the rest room — or at least the corridor leading to it. "We've had a long day of sailing and maybe she's not well…"

  "But of course," she repeated and heaved her black-clad bulk off the high stool to waddle toward the ladies' room. A moment later she returned, shrugging. "No one there," she declared.

  "Where the hell…?"

  "Rear door, perhaps." She glanced toward the table where the Frenchman was looking suspiciously smug, like a man who has everything sorted out and is in no hurry to put. the pieces together.

  Except that I didn't believe it for a minute. No one had left that table, and it seemed damned unlikely that Christina would have ditched me for an evening with a casual pickup. Not now, anyway. I ignored him.

  "Thank you," I said to the woman and hurried out of the taverna. When I came to the spot where we'd left the dinghy, I wasn't surprised to find it there; she certainly wouldn't have gone back to the boat alone. But as I looked out over the darkened harbor, I could make out a dark shape drifting close to Scylla. It was a small outboard boat, its prow nudging the hull of the sloop, and from the way it bobbed and dipped, I got the impression it had been left there only moments ago. As I watched, a light gleamed through the ports of the main cabin, and there were no doubts left.

  I got into the dinghy, cast off, and rowed as quickly as possible across the crowded harbor. The thumping of the oars in the oarlocks seemed like thunder in my ears, but just as I paused to figure a way to muffle the sound, a motorboat roared by. Its wake nearly swamped me, but I kept control and used the noise to stroke the rest of the distance to Scylla.

  I tied up at the bow, then eased up onto the forward deck. The surface was damp with dew, and as I lay there, I could feel the moisture soaking through my shirt. It didn't bother me; I was more concerned with the fact that no light came through the plexiglas hatch cover right in front of my nose. That meant the doorway between the cabins was closed.

  I eased the hatch open, thankful I hadn't dogged it down from the inside earlier. It swung up silently, and I let myself down between the two narrow bunks below. The hatch swung closed again, slowed by my hand until it snugged shut. I moved toward the doorway, checking Hugo in its forearm sheath as I put my ear to the thin wooden panel.

  If my Greek had been better, I might have been able to tell what they were saying, but the man's words spewed out too rapidly for me to take in more than a few fragments of the conversation. But his voice made it clear that he was threatening someone, and when I heard Christina reply, there was no question who. I heard the sound of a hard slap and a muffled cry. I started to slip my knife into my hand when a ton of bricks dropped on me from above.

  He had come through the hatch I'd just closed and again hadn't dogged. In the darkness I couldn't see a thing except a bulky shadow pressing down on me; in the cramped space between the bunks I couldn't even roll over to get at the man. A blast of garlic-laden breath almost suffocated me, and that gave me the strength of desperation. I heaved up, like a mustang with a burr under its saddle, trying to shake the foul-smelling man loose from my back. His head thumped against the low ceiling; he grunted heavily while his hands still sought a grip around my throat. I bucked him again, started to slam him over onto one of the bunks when the door swung open.

  The light in the main cabin was dim, but after the total darkness, I was blinded for a moment. All I saw was a silhouette and the gleam of metal in his hand. I lashed out with my feet but couldn't quite reach him. There was the chilling click of a hammer being drawn back; I wrenched my body around, trying to get the man on my back between me and the gun, but I knew it was too late.

  The shot was like a thunder clap in the cramped little space. For a moment I froze, waiting to feel where I had been hit. But there was no pain, not even the early numbness that precedes the agony of a serious hit. As I looked again at the silhouette in the doorway, I saw him stagger back. The man who had jumped me relaxed his grip, and I tore free, intent on the gunman.

  I kicked the pistol from his hand and shoved him backward. In the dim light beyond I saw Christina, her hand twined in his hair, tugging at it with all her might. But in the struggle her free arm flailed out behind her and hit the kerosene light, knocking it loose from its gimbals.

  Flaming liquid spilled over the table, then to the deck, licking along the planking toward us in the sudden darkness. I pushed the man aside, heedless now even of Christina. Fire aboard a boat is maybe the most terrifying thing there is, especially when you're trapped below and the fire is headed straight for the gas tanks.

  I grabbed blankets from the bunks and threw them over the biggest burning areas; as
they smoldered, I turned on the water in the galley sink, then dove into the big hanging locker and hauled out the foul-weather gear to toss over other burning spots. The whole business couldn't have taken more than a minute and a half — otherwise we'd have lost the boat and probably our lives — but when I finally had the fire out, our visitors were gone. I heard the outboard start, tried to get up to the cockpit, but crashed into Christina.

  "McKee!" she shrieked, throwing her arms around my neck. "Oh God! McKee!"

  "Yeah, yeah." I patted her absently, listening to the fading sound of the motor. "What happened here?"

  "I… they took me away from the taverna. The man had a gun and…"

  "Okay." I pushed her away, just a little, so I could bend down and check the deck underfoot. "Get me a flashlight, huh?"

  For all the fire and confusion, there wasn't much damage to speak of. Luckily the table that had taken the first wave of burning kerosene was formica-topped; a few swipes with a rag would clear away the smudges. The planking in the deck that ran through the middle of the cabin was always damp from bilgewater sloshing just below, and only the paint was scorched. When I was satisfied there was nothing left smoldering anywhere on board I turned the light on Christina.

  "Sorry," I said curtly. "Since the bully boys have gone, I figured it would be better to make sure we don't explode before getting around to questions."

  The girl nodded heavily, head slumped between her shoulders as she sat on the portside bunk. "I understand."

  "Want to help me now?"

  "Help you?"

  "We're not going to stay here tonight, sweetheart. Let's go pick up some other mooring — unless you want to sail all night again."

  "Oh, God no, McKeel." She buried her face in her hands. "So much…"

  "Well don't cave in now. Come on. Bring the dinghy around from the bow and tie it at the stern while I get the engine started."

  In a way, it would have made better sense to take off that night, but I was beginning to get some more crazy feelings about this operation. If they wanted us, they could get us. Especially out on the open sea. So maybe a different location for the rest of the night would be just as safe. Anyway, I was tired, too.

  We found a mooring at the outer fringe of the harbor, tied on to it and finished cleaning up. We put another lantern in the bracket, and while Christina scrubbed the table top, I made a thorough check of the rest of the cabin, clearing away the last of the broken glass and other debris. I found the gun I'd kicked from the man's hand, an old .32 revolver with only one other cartridge in the cylinder. Not much use, but I stuck it on a shelf in the galley, just in case.

  "You don't ask any questions," Christina said quietly.

  "I was waiting for you."

  "What do you want me to say?"

  "Maybe what the hell happened."

  "It seems so… silly."

  "Silly?"

  "Yes. You see, the man, the one with the gun, grabbed me back at the taverna. A coarse man, no better than a hoodlum, do you know? He and his companion forced me to come back to the boat…"

  "Why? And why here?"

  "That is what is so silly. They thought you were a rich American, cruising around to find boats to buy. They thought you had much money hidden aboard here, and they were trying to force me to tell when… well… you came along."

  I looked at her skeptically. She looked as delicious as ever, and with her hair drooping beside her face, she invited sympathy and reassuring caresses. When I didn't say anything, she looked up at me. "What is it, McKee?"

  "Nothing," I said, almost convincing myself. It could have been true, after all. And what reason would the sister of Alex Zenopolis have to be playing such an elaborate game with me? I managed a sympathetic smile. "Well, it's over now. One of those things, I guess. How do you feel?"

  Slowly her head came up, and she tossed the hair back from her face. It would have taken most women hours in a beauty parlor to achieve the same change in appearance.

  "Like a nightcap," she said, and grinned.

  There was brandy aboard, and a bottle of bourbon I'd located in Athens. It seemed like a good time to break it out.

  "Which will it be?" I asked, holding up both bottles.

  "Ah! You have bourbon!" Her eyes danced in the dim light.

  "Don't tell me you learned other things from that American ensign."

  "We learn many things from the Americans." She sank down on the narrow bunk opposite the table, looking up at me. My throat went dry, and I needed that drink.

  After I poured a couple of healthy jolts, she patted the bunk beside her. "Sit down, McKee."

  I did. Her hand came to rest casually on my thigh and the cool warmth of her seemed to radiate through the thin dark blouse she wore. I cleared my throat.

  "Here's to… Paxos."

  "Yes," she murmured, and took a long, slow swallow.

  "Now," I said.

  She turned to me in mock surprise. "Right away?"

  "Yes. You promised. About your contact with Alex."

  For a moment she stared, then slowly shook her head. "Must we? Now?"

  "What better time?"

  "Oh… later?" She moved closer, and somehow a couple of the buttons at the top of her blouse had managed to work loose. There was a delicious swelling of flesh at the opening, and my left hand lifted of its own accord to gently cup the breast that pressed against my chest. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes…"

  I moved away. "What is it with you?" I snapped. "Last night you were playing virgin; tonight you're a whore again."

  She didn't react as I'd expected; her eyes stayed at half-mast as she took my hand and replaced it on her breast. "Do not try to understand me all at once, McKee. Trust me. Trust my instincts."

  "Your instincts?"

  "Later, McKee. But now…" Another button opened, then another; at the same time she leaned forward to press her lips softly against mine. For the moment my questions were forgotten.

  Her tongue darted against mine, probing, reaching. My hand slipped inside the open blouse, felt the nipple growing and hardening under my fingers. She gasped, then slid her hand up my thigh. There was no mistaking my interest, and she chuckled deep in her throat.

  Peeling back the blouse, I kissed her shoulder, the deep, shadowed cleft, one breast, then the other. Then I pulled back to look and admire; the nipples stood stiff and erect, tilting up slightly as though reaching for my mouth. Christina's hips were moving slowly while her hand crept inside the waistband of my trousers. I sucked in my belly to give her a little more room, and she took full advantage of it…

  Don't ask how I managed to turn out the cabin lamps — boating people are so damned casual about just dropping by — and turning that table and benches into a bed, but in a few moments we were lying naked together, her body clamped against mine from toes to shoulders. We explored each other with growing hunger, and her tongue was busy and deft; and then when it seemed as though we would both burst with the urgent wanting she opened herself to me.

  She gasped as I thrust, taking it slow; she said something I didn't understand and tried to pull me deeper inside. I resisted just enough to show who was boss, then began the long, slow movements that probed ever deeper with each stroke. She raised her legs, clasped them around my back, jerking her hips upward to meet my deepening thrusts. She began to moan, pulling me down to kiss me with growing fierceness as her movements became quicker, more frantic.

  When it happened she threw her head back, eyes and mouth wide open, hands clawing at my shoulders, her hips pumping like pistons. It seemed to go on forever, our mutual gasps blending as I exploded inside her, and when at last we were both drained I lay helplessly across her, aware of that delicious weakness and the slipperiness of sweat-soaked bodies. It was a long time before she spoke.

  "McKee?" she said, her voice husky.

  "Yes?"

  "Thank you."

  I chuckled. "Thank you"

  "No. You can't understand." There was an odd n
ote of resignation in her voice.

  "Try me."

  She shook her head. "No. I cannot say."

  "Say what?"

  "What I wish to."

  She was going around in circles again, but I resisted my exasperation. I rolled partly off her, but she clung with astonishing strength.

  "No! Do not leave me!"

  "I'm not going anywhere. The night has a long way to go, Christina." I reached over the side of the bed and found a glass on the floor, picked it up and took a long swallow of bourbon. As the liquid burned its way down my throat to my stomach I could already feel my strength returning…

  "Yes," the girl breathed, reaching for the glass and raising her head to sip. "It is our night, and I fear it will be the only one, McKee."

  She was right, as I found out too damned quickly, but even Christina didn't know how right she was.

  Twelve

  They were waiting for us in Korfu, right down to the tan Mercedes parked conspicuously by the principal docks. Two men, indistinguishable in dark suits with hats hiding most of their faces, sat gazing impassively as Christina and I walked along the harborside promenade, a couple of seagoing tourists pleasantly exhausted from the night of love and the long, slow day of sailing to what some call the most beautiful of all the Greek islands.

  We had picked a mooring place at the northernmost part of the harbor, away from the bustling activity at the center. Out on the water, everywhere we looked, there were boats of all sizes and types, from tiny daysailers to native fishing craft to huge ocean-going yachts. The late afternoon sun was casting long shadows as we strolled past the rows of stalls offering native clothing, jewelry, art objects, food of all kinds whose smells mingled with the salt air and the indefinable odors of the mountainous countryside that loomed behind the town. There was the steady racket of motor scooters, cries of the stall vendors and music coming from the open doors of every other eating establishment. We were almost beginning to be caught up in the festive atmosphere ourselves when I spotted the Mercedes.