by Robb White
DEEP DANGER
He knew now the meaning of the old saying that the most dangerous thing to the Hfe of a sailboat is the weariness of the men handling her.
It had been too hard, too much, and Bill knew that he was now at the point where, because he was so tired, he might make a stupid mistake—a mistake which could take the life of the ship and the men in her.
He stuck it out there until the squall blew itself out and there was a short lull as the next one gathered. Quickly, he went below to find John soaking wet and filthy from the bilge water which had been sloshing over him. But he was asleep, drugged, Bill thought, by pain itself.
John could not help him.
It took almost all Bill's strength to pull himself back up the companion ladder and then to pull the hatch closed. Almost falling with weariness, he stumbled back to the wheelbox and sat down on it, taking the wheel spokes in his hands which seemed permanently curved to fit them.
The boy, Neal, spoke from the darkness, *'When are you going to stop slamming this boat around?''
Bill looked at him, the face just a gray blur in the
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darkness. A surge of anger rose in him and he almost struck the boy. Then he settled back again.
He remembered John saying that the man was strong as a bull; he remembered the heavy fists with the weight so huge behind them.
There, lying there on the cushions of the cockpit seat, was strength—a lot of it. Strength that he needed.
Slowly, his voice toneless with fatigue. Bill said, **Pay attention, Neal. This storm's not over but Fm about shot. If one of these squalls catches me off guard the boat may turn over or lose her stick.'' He paused and then said, flatly, 'Tou'd die."
Neal didn't answer.
'1 need help," Bill said.
^may."
'The worst part is coming. Without help we'll all be in serious danger. Do you understand that?"
*Tm not stupid, stupid."
"All right, here's the way it's going to be. You're still Sweiner's boy as far as I'm concerned so our fight is still on. Only, because we need each other right now if we want to live, we'll call a truce. When the storm's over we'll start the fight again. Okay?"
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Neal laughed out loud. 'That's all Fm waiting for. Just one more swing at you."
Bill leaned forward and began untying the knots. "Ever do any sailing?*' he asked.
'*No/'
*'Know a halyard from a sheet?'*
"No.**
Bill suddenly wondered if he hadn't just made a lot more trouble for himself by untying the guy. But there was, at least, strength.
Neal sat up and worked his arms and legs, groaning as he stretched the stiff muscles. 'When do I start?'* he asked.
''Right now,'* Bill said, as the roar of a squall swept them up.
, Seven more struck them that day. Sticks Neal was the only thing that kept the ship afloat. He was, as John had said, strong as a bull, but he was fast, too, and not clumsy. He learned quickly and within an hour had developed a lot of feel for the timing of a sailboat. When it was time to let fly he did it right on the dot and when it was time to clamp down a wild sail his strength seemed to tame it instantly.
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They lived through the day with the storm giving Bill hardly time enough to see to John and give him water to drink. They had no time to eat, nor hardly any to talk with the wind whipping words out of their mouths and the rain lashing their faces.
Around midnight, however, another lull came. Bill, now exhausted, slumped back on the box, his body so stiff he couldn't straighten up, his eyes burned raw, his fingers set to the curve of the wheel spokes.
Suddenly Neal asked, *'Okay, do we pick up our little fight now or is there going to be some more of this storm?"
"Some more,'* Bill said.
''You're kind of in the driver's seat, aren't you?" Neal said unpleasantly. "You can sit up there and keep telling me more storm's coming until you get good and ready to play another one of your cute tricks on me."
"That's right," Bill said. "I'll trick you if I can. I don't want to fight you again, nor get hit again."
Neal stood up in the cockpit. "Well, suppose I get up in the driver's seat. Suppose I just pop you one right now and get it over with?"
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Bill felt too tired to argue with him. ''Get the jib oEF and stand by the downhaul/'
*'Cut the kidding/' Neal said. '1 think the storm's
over.
Wearily, Bill said, "Listen.'*
Far away there was the howling of a squall, the screaming of the wind. Around them the sea began to flatten as though crouching in fear.
''Guess you're right," Neal said, going to the jib halyard.
The night was long and dreadful, the day little better. However, at around five in the afternoon Bill felt a subtle change in the wind. The weight of it seemed to be slackening, and the waves, as though released, grew monstrous.
The storm was ending and he knew that, soon, he would have to face the problem of Sticks Neal. He watched him working forward, tightening the reef points on the storm jib.
With NeaFs back to him. Bill reached into the after lazaret and found a length of flag halyard. He threw a running bowline into it and coiled it on the fantail behind him. Then he sat and waited.
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Sticks came aft, checking the roller reefing gear on the boom as he came by. Then he sat down in the cockpit and looked forward. *1 could eat a boy with the measles/' he said, pushing his stomach in with both hands.
Bill picked up the strong, thin line, dropped the noose down over NeaFs shoulders and set it up, the rope biting into the muscles of the big arms. With a second movement. Bill brought a loop behind and around Neal's ankles, snatching them together hard. Then he yanked.
It bent Neal backward and dropped him to the deck.
The whole thing had not taken a second.
With Neal face down. Bill dragged his wrists behind him and retied them, leaving only a short length of line between wrists and ankles. Then he dragged Neal back to the cockpit seat.
Neal twisted his neck and looked back at Bill.
'Tm sorry,'' Bill said quietly, ''but the storm's over. I don't need you any more, Neal."
Neal lay there cursing him for a long time.
But the storm was dying now, the sun appeared, setting, and a quiet night lay ahead of them.
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Bill, ignoring Neal, went below. He couldn't get the Primus started, so just opened a can of soup and took it to John.
He carried soup and bread to Neal and fed it to him.
Then, too exhausted himself to eat, Bill lay down on the seat across the cockpit from Neal and went to sleep.
Cnapter 5
SOMEONE WAS CALLING HIM, BILL THOUGHT, COM-
ing up slowly from the deep pit of his sleep.
"Hey, fella. Hey, Mac."
Somewhere he had heard that before.
Then, for an instant. Bill thought that he was back in the water again.
He jerked upright on the seat and looked around, awake at last.
The sea was still wild, but the wind had died to nothing. The sky was cloudless now, a full moon lighting everything.
Neal's voice brought him completely awake. **Hey, fella, do me a favor, will you?'*
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Bill looked across at him. 'What?''
''Loosen these knots a little, will you? Honest, they're cutting my hands off."
Bill, suspicious, stayed well away from him as he looked down at the knots.
The boy's flesh had swelled until the rope was almost invisible.
"Oh, gosh, fella, I'm sorry," Bill said, meaning it. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Neal's voice was hard. "Skip it."
Bill loosened the knots. "I wish you'd told me. I thought they were loose enough."
"Yeah, sure," Neal said. **Boy, if I ever get another crack at you."
That brought back to Bill all the rest of it. John, hurt below. Sweiner and radar. And Neal.
At least. Bill thought, we lived through the storm.
"See anything of Sweiner?" Neal asked.
"Your pal hasn't showed up yet."
"Cut the 'pal' stuff. Just because I work for a guy doesn't make us pals, see?"
"Anybody'd work for a stinker like that couldn't have a pal."
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"His money doesn't stink. So what do I care who or what he is?''
"As I said before, you're a clean-cut buzzard."
"I don't go around cutting people's hands off with a wet rope."
Bill put his hand down on Neal's shoulder. "I didn't mean to do that, Neal," he said. "I'm sorry as I can be about it."
"Oh, shut up," Neal said.
Bill went over to the chart locker and got the sextant. Leaning down the hatch he called but John didn't answer.
With nobody to check the time for him he could get only a wide fix from three stars but at least he was well clear of any land and that was all that mattered right now.
Bill got sail on again and went aft to the wheelbox. The wind was so light the sails did nothing but steady her in the rolling sea.
After a while Neal asked, "Is that your brother down there?"
Bill nodded.
"Good thing you came along when you did. Sweiner's gang were close to killing him."
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"How much help did you give 'em?*'
''None, chum. My job was to get the papers while they took care of you two/'
'What papers?"
"Sweiner said everything with writing on it/'
"How much did you get?''
"Nothing/'
Bill thought for a moment. "Tell me something, will you? Why did you take so long to show? We must have been sailing for half an hour before you came up with the rifle."
"I'm not nuts," Neal declared. "There were two of you up there ready to jump me in that narrow place. 'Course, if I'd known your brother was just a kid and that you were a pantywaist I'd've come on up before I found the gun."
"Oh," Bill said, understanding.
"Who is Sweiner anyhow?" Neal asked.
"He's a Nazi who spied for Germany during the war. A real nice guy."
"I told you once," Neal said gruffly. "I just work for him, see? He said he'd give me a hundred bucks to get all the papers and maps off this boat, see?"
88
I
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"Is that all? If you'd found this'—Bill held out the notebook—*'it would have meant 250,000 dollars to Sweiner. He was giving you a break, wasn't he?"
*'A hundred bucks is big dough to me. I spent four years in reform school for swiping a lot less than that." Then he paused and looked at Bill. *'Two hundred and fifty thousand. Bahy, that's a lot of money."
"And he was going to give you only a hundred of it."
"Well, he didn't tell me anything about what he was going to get. He just hired me to get the papers."
Bill asked quietly, "Didn't that seem fishy to you? I mean, a man comes up and offers you a hundred dollars to swipe papers out of a boat. Doesn't that sound sort of crooked to you?"
Neal snorted. "So it's crooked. But I get some dough."
"Not any more you don't. How's he going to pay you now? And, anyway, you didn't deliver so why should he pay you?"
Neal laughed unpleasantly. "For a tricky guy you sure can be simple. Sweiner's going to pay me when he tracks you down with that radar. He's going to catch you out here where nobody's looking and finish what
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he started back in Key West. Then he's going to pay me and pay me plenty because Til hold out that little notebook you got until he does."
*'Could be/' Bill said. *'But suppose his radar misses me? There^s a limit to how far they can see, you know. Whatthen?^'
'Til be out a hundred bucks."
Bill leaned toward him and said quietly, "Here's something I want you to think about, Neal, while I go down and cook something to eat. I can unshackle the main halyard and with it hoist you overboard and cut you loose. Think about that, will you?"
Bill put a becket on the wheel and went below.
He dried out the Primus and got it going. He woke up John and while they ate hot pork and beans and bread they talked about the problem of Neal and Sweiner.
'Tve got Neal thinking about my drowning him. But I'm afraid he knows as well as I do that I couldn't do a thing like that."
*'No. That's murder," John said. 'Isn't there any other way you can get to him? What sort of guy is he?"
*1 can't figure him out. He's tough, mean, maybe.
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and has done time in a reform school. But there's something about him you almost have to like. For all his dishonesty you still get the feeling that he's a straight shooter or—could be.''
''Maybe he really is. It's worth trying anyway/'
Bill fixed fresh bandages on John's head; and he saw, with relief, that the swelling had gone down in the ankle.
Then, taking a plate of food up to Neal, he sat beside him and spooned it into him.
When Neal had finished, Bill said, 'I'm not going to drown you."
"I know that. You're a pantywaist."
"Maybe." Bill went over and sat down on the wheel-box.
"Neal, I think I know where there's $250,000. I'm on my way now to get it. So is Sweiner. Whoever gets there first gets the money. And, right now, I'm ahead because I know exactly where in the sea it might be and Sweiner doesn't. That's why he's trying to follow me.
"In the sea? How can you find anything under the water?"
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'That comes later. Right now I want to know if youll work for me instead of Sweiner. If you'll do anything for a little money what difference does it make to you where it comes from?''
"Cut the preaching," Neal said angrily. "As soon as Sweiner shows up Fm going to make a real mess out of you.
"What difference does it make?" Bill asked again. "If you'll work for me, I'll cut you in on a lot more than a hundred."
"When you show me some real money, we'll discuss the matter," Neal said scornfully.
"I haven't got it now. But I'll have it," Bill said. "What if I promise to give it to you?"
"Promise. Oh, go peddle your papers."
"I keep promises. If I give you two hundred dollars as soon as we get back to shore—or maybe before that— will you stop working for Sweiner?"
Neal's face suddenly changed. A sly grin spread over it, as he said, "Naw. No, thanks. I'll just collect my dough right now."
"I haven't got it now," Bill said.
Neal laughed. "But Sweiner has. And—here he
comes."
DEEP DANGER
Bill jerked around on the wheelbox, staring aft.
There, the sails glowing white in the moonlight, was a ship.
Defeat was like a weight on him as he went over and got the nightglasses and focused them.
The ship was the same schooner he had seen in Key West. She was outboard rigged—Bill could see the slice of spray the dolphin striker made through the waves— and, although she looked very trim, there was a sort of heaviness about her. -.^_, .
-?6.{p>,, ff*^-
A shadowy, dark thing was stepped on the mainmast and he was sure that it was a radar grid.
As he continued to study the ship he at last saw the little plumes of smoke puffing steadily out from under her stern overhang. Bill guessed that the engine pushing the schooner along was a diesel— It had that slow pant.
He slumped back on the wheelbox, the glasses dangling from the cord he had subconsciously looped around his wrist.
Neal laughed, the sound grinding and unpleasant. "Now what're you going to do?''
Bill looked at his watch. Five after nine. It would
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take the schooner an hour or so to overtake him, but she cou
ld do it. Perhaps, in real six-meter weather—a good steady stiff wind and not too much sea—the Venture could outrun the schooner even with power. But now the wind wasn't strong enough to take the wrinkles out.
Bill knew what the Venture looked like on Swein-er*s radar. She was a little green blotch on the dark face of the cathode-ray tube. The Navy called them ''pips.'' A little green pip at which Sweiner looked and knew exactly where the Venture was, no matter how she might twist or turn and struggle to get away from him.
And now she could not even attempt to escape.
'That hundred bucks is looking better and better," Neal said. "And you're looking a little sick, chum—I mean, chump."
Bill hardly heard him as he sat, slumped, the glasses in his lap.
This was a wild and lonely sea. This was a night for murder. There would be no trace left of murder here except a wooden ship, sunk and rotting on the ocean floor.
Cnapter 6
BILL WAS FAIRLY SURE THAT HE KNEW WHAT
Sweiner now planned to do. He would come alongside the Venture (on a ship the size of the schooner, Bill figured he'd have six or seven men) and there wouldn't be much of a fight.
The next thing would be to get the position of the Nazi wreck.
For a moment Bill thought of memorizing the numbers and then throwing the notebook away, but he remembered that he had shown Neal the book and just as good as told him what was in it. So Neal would tell Sweiner that Bill knew the position.
Then Sweiner would set to work to beat it out of him.
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And Bill was afraid he could. He was already whipped by the days and nights on the wheel, by the beating from Neal, and by worry about John. It wouldn't take much of those Nazi torture methods to make him talk. He was ashamed of being so weak but— that's the way it was.
Once Sweiner got the position, what would he do?
Make sure. That was the answer to that. He'd take them along with him and make them stay until he had found the money. Or—would he just take one of them? Would he leave John behind? Dead?
Then, after he'd found the money, what?
The answer to that was simple. Murder.
