by Jack Higgins
"Everyone needs somewhere that's their own," she said. "A place to hide. Roots ..."
"... are people not places," I said, "or so it seems to me."
"You're a truly lonely man," she said. "Because you don't need people. I see that now. Take Hannah, for instance. What have you ever given her except money --material things? How much of yourself?"
"She's better off without me," I said. "It's for her own good."
"Who decides that? You? Did you know that girl thinks the sun rises and sets in you?"
"And you?" I said. "What do you think?"
"If you must know, I think I'd like a swim." She stood up, stripped off her jeans and shirt, bra and pants and simply ran down the beach and into the sea without another word. I almost followed her. Perhaps a year or two earlier I would have done just that, but I was getting too old for such romantic nonsense or so I told myself.
I leaned over to light a cigarette from a splinter. As I looked up, she stepped into the light. Water ran from the firm breasts, glistening in the light of the fire and her body was a thing of mystery, shadowed in the secret places, more beautiful than anything I had ever known.
She stood there for what seemed one of the longest moments in my life and then she smiled and dropped to her knees beside me. As I slipped my arms about her, drawing her close, Langley stepped out of the darkness into the firelight. He was wearing bathing trunks and had obviously just swum ashore.
"So sorry, old stick," he said. "I seem to have dropped in at what's known as an inopportune moment."
Simone stiffened in my arms and then, strangely, relaxed. She said, without turning around, "Do you actually enjoy being what you are, Justin, or do you have to work at it?"
"Oh, dear," he said. "Have I embarrassed you?"
She stood up and turned to face him, hands on hips. "How could you?"
It was the first time I'd seen him really hurt and the effect of her simple reply was almost physical. The smile was wiped clean away and for a moment, there was a kind of desolation there.
As she pulled on her pants and bra, he said, "You bitch--you bloody bitch!"
She totally ignored him, buttoned up her shirt and reached for her jeans. I could have reacted physically, I suppose, but somehow it didn't seem appropriate. I slipped her hand in my arm, we walked away. Perhaps he thought I was afraid--perhaps not. It just didn't seem to matter.
Halfway along the beach and well hidden by darkness, Simone stopped me, reached up and kissed me full on the mouth.
"Thanks," she said.
I was genuinely puzzled. "What on earth for?"
She laughed delightfully. "That's what I love most about you, Oliver. All those brains, all that ruthlessness and inside, you're still a little boy back there on your grandfather's farm running through a field of ripest corn."
But by then she had lost me completely, not that it seemed to matter and we continued into the night, walking back toward the boat, arm in arm.
* * *
It was just before nine the following morning when the patrol boat turned up from Tripoli. I was on deck checking the diving equipment with Barzini when Nino gave the alarm.
"There's a boat coming in."
I'd just surfaced after making the first dive of the day and had attached a line to one of the amphorae which Barzini and Angelo were busy hauling in. They got it over the rail and onto the deck where it lay streaming water, looking very impressive what with the mollusks and seashells embedded in it.
I was wearing the top half of an orange wetsuit, a face mask and an aqualung. I came up the access ladder we'd hooked over the rail and said to Langley, "You want to make yourself useful, get one of the other aqualungs on quick and look busy."
He did as he was told without any argument. Simone draped a towel round my shoulders and handed me a lighted cigarette. She was wearing a sweater and jeans. I said, "Go below and get into your bikini. Comb your hair down and wear sunglasses. Anything to gild the lily, then get back up here. Nothing like having a woman around the place to make things look right."
She didn't argue either, which was good because we didn't have much time left to get ready. The boat wasn't much. A shabby old fifty-foot diesel launch that had definitely seen better days and looked capable of fifteen knots at the very most and no more. There were half-a-dozen uniformed sailors on deck and one man stood in the stern behind a Russian RPD light machine-gun, mounted on a swivel and loaded with a hundred-round drum. The red, white, and black tricolor of Libya drooped from a pole behind him.
They came alongside, not too expertly, and Nino and Angelo grabbed the lines they threw. A young officer in a neat khaki uniform and peaked navy cap with what seemed a lavish amount of gold braid in evidence, came out of the wheelhouse and approached the rail.
He straightened his jacket and saluted formally, a handsome young man with a rather melancholy face and a clipped moustache. "I am Lieutenant Ibrahim of the coastguard service. And you?"
"Palmyra out of Palermo," I said and snapped my finger to Barzini. "Have you got our papers, Aldo?"
He produced them from the wheelhouse with a great show of joviality and I passed them to Ibrahim. "There you go, lieutenant. Ship's papers and our permit from your own Ministry of the Interior to dive here."
He examined them quickly, a slight frown on his face. "Archaeological diving."
"Yes," I said. "Perhaps you'd care to give us your opinion on this. We've only just brought it up."
His eyes widened when he saw the amphora. "But this is wonderful. What is it--Roman?"
I shook my head. "No, strangely enough it's a Roman wreck we're looking for, but this is Phoenician. Quite unmistakable."
He examined it with awe. "You've found a wreck then?"
"Timber and planking," I said, "And a sternpost. That's all and several more amphorae. I was just going down for another."
Simone appeared from the companionway looking absolutely devastating in a black bikini, gold sandals, dark glasses, and with her hair combed down as I'd suggested. She was carrying a tray containing a bottle of Scotch and several glasses.
Ibrahim, obviously as impressionable as any normal young man, was knocked sideways. I introduced them and he kissed her hand gallantly.
"If you'll excuse me," I said, "I'd like to see what the situation is below."
I nodded to Langley, pulled on my face mask and went over the side. I paused just beneath the surface to adjust my air supply, gave Langley the thumbs up and followed the line down through the smoky green water.
Fifty or sixty feet and I hovered over a great bank of weeds. I could see one amphora just beneath me, another lying on its side in a patch of open sand. Langley appeared beside me, the line in his hand. I signalled to him, he went down and I followed to float over the amphora. We got the line fastened securely, gave the prearranged signal of three tugs and followed it up.
When we broke surface, it was already being hauled over the rail by Nino and Angelo. Ibrahim was standing beside Simone, the glass in his right hand containing enough whiskey to make Mohammed himself spin in his grave.
I went up the ladder behind Langley and unbuckled my aqualung. Ibrahim said, "This is really tremendous."
I said, "Would you like to take one with you, lieutenant? I'm sure the museum authorities in Tripoli would be more than interested. Naturally we'll be in touch with them ourselves before very long to give them a progress report."
"What a wonderful idea," he said, and then the thing misfired slightly. "However, I'll be staying on this section of the coast for the next two days before returning to Tripoli. Perhaps I could pick up the amphora on my way back?"
"But of course," I said.
He turned and kissed Simone's hand again. "Signorina--a delight to be repeated in the not too distant future, I assure you. Gentlemen."
He went back over the rail, Nino and Angelo cast off and the launch moved away. No one spoke until it had negotiated the passage between the Sisters and turned out to sea.
>
Barzini moved to my shoulder. "What do you think?"
"It worked like a charm," I said. "That's what I think, so now we can get down to more important matters."
I turned, toweling my head and on shore, Zingari's old Ford truck drew up in front of the store.
9
Cape of Fear
The green and fertile landscape of Libya which stretches between the desert and the sea is not unlike southern Italy with olive groves, plantations, vineyards and fields of flowers, but not the Cape Fear section of the coast. There, there was nothing--a place God must have surely forgotten. A hell hole of desert and salt flats and furnace heat.
Langley and Angelo were in the back of the truck and I sat beside Zingari who was obviously as worried as ever. He had provided each of us with a striped cotton burnous of the type worn by many Arabs locally and had begged me to keep the hood up.
We followed the dirt road for several miles, paralleling the single line railway track which, according to Zingari, was only used by the military. Finally, it left the road, looping away into a wilderness of jagged ridges and defiles no more than a mile or two from the sea.
After a while, Zingari pulled off the road and drove up into a narrow, rocky valley. He switched off the engine. "Now we walk," he said and got out.
We followed him to the end of the valley and along a defile with a few thorn bushes on its rim and he whispered, "Very quiet now and great care. We are close to the prison. Very close."
I eased up under a thorn bush with my binoculars and found myself looking down at the main gates of the prison which were no more than a hundred yards away.
A file of wretched looking convicts in leg irons shuffled past on the far side of the road under armed guard, each man carrying a pick or a shovel. There was a sudden shrill whistle from not too far away and a railway engine came round the bend pulling several boxcars.
It had been a long time since I'd seen a steam engine and I examined it closely. It pulled up in front of the main prison gates which opened and a file of soldiers moved out to meet it. At the same time, the passengers on the train got out and waited beside it. There were a few convicts in chains, but the majority were soldiers.
Everyone was searched meticulously and at the same time another squad searched the train. Finally the passengers passed through the main gates on foot and the train followed, passing through into the compound. The gates were closed and all was still again.
"What about the women?" I asked Zingari.
He pointed to a judas in the main gate. "They pass through there in single file. I'll have forty-three tonight."
"Forty-four with the sweetheart of the forces, here," Langley said.
Angelo glanced sharply at him, real dislike in his eyes. "Why don't you try buttoning your lip for a change?"
"Oh, dear, have I upset him?"
You didn't have to be a genius to see in which area the basic tension lay between them, but in any event, I intervened quickly.
"Cut it out, you two, and that's an order." Angelo turned and went back to the truck angrily. I said to Langley, "Any more cracks like that out of you and you walk back. Understand?"
"Didn't mean any harm, old stick. Only a joke," he said, but there was more to it than that. It showed in his eyes.
We got back in the truck and drove back along the road past the turn-off to Gela. Zabia was another seven or eight miles further on. A sprawling sort of place with a population of three thousand. White houses dotted among the palm trees, a market in the main square.
Zingari's bar was on the waterfront of the small harbor. Cafe Zingari, the sign said above the door and certainly the tables under the awning at the front were crowded enough. He took the truck round to a walled courtyard at the rear and we were admitted by a private door.
Someone was playing a very bad piano and there was laughter faintly in the distance. The room he took us into was obviously his own and furnished handsomely enough as a cross between an office and a living room. There was a desk and two or three chairs, a daybed, Persian rugs on the floor.
There was a bottle of whiskey and several glasses standing on a Damascus tray on his desk as if by prior arrangement. He poured everybody a drink and took one himself.
"Finest Scotch, Mr. Grant. You see the label on the bottle?"
I didn't say anything and he smiled nervously and drank a little whiskey. "Right, now I show you a few of the women."
He opened a shutter in the far wall and I moved to join him. Through the slots of the blind on the other side I could see down into a bar that was literally full of whores of just about every size, shape and description. If they had one thing in common it was probably the fact that they'd all very definitely seen better days.
Langley said, "My God, you'll look like the Queen of the May when you get in among that little lot, Carter. Every soldier in the fort will be sniffing around as if you were a bitch in heat."
Angelo punched him in the face and Langley was good, I had to give him that, turning instantly so that the knuckles only grazed his cheek.
He pivoted on one hip and threw Angelo across the desk. Something went with a distinct crack, but Angelo came up on his feet and caught Langley with a good solid punch under the ribs that drove the breath from his body.
Langley grunted and swayed there, apparently defenseless and Angelo fell for it. He swung wildly, forgetting everything he'd ever been taught, and Langley grabbed for the right arm, pushed it round and up in a vicelike grip, running Angelo's face into the wall. Angelo went down and didn't get up again.
The whole affair from beginning to end had lasted no longer than five or six seconds. Too quick for me to interfere, but now I pushed Langley violently to one side and dropped to one knee beside Angelo.
He was groaning slightly, shaking his head, which didn't surprise me in the slightest as his nose was obviously very badly broken and there was a great deal of blood in evidence. Zingari passed me a jug of water and a napkin. I soaked it quickly and wiped away the blood. He opened his eyes almost instantly and looked up at me with a complete lack of comprehension. Something clicked and he tried to sit up. He cried out in pain and clutched at his left side. It was obvious at once that he had one or more ribs fractured.
I turned on Langley. "You stupid bastard. Do you realize what you've done?"
He wasn't smiling now, and when he laughed it was forced and hearty. "Come on, old stick. Nothing to write home about there. He's playing you up."
There were beads of sweat on Angelo's face and his mouth was clenched in agony. "Is there a doctor in Zabia?" I asked Zingari.
He nodded. "I'll send someone for him."
Langley sat in the corner looking sullen. I had another whiskey and waited. The doctor came quite quickly, a small balding man in a neat brown gabardine suit. He gave Angelo an injection, diagnosed two broken ribs and strapped them up. There was nothing he could do about the nose. That needed an expert surgeon. He departed after obtaining his fee in cash from Zingari, leaving a bottle of painkilling tablets.
I could have shot Langley out of hand, but that would hardly have improved the situation. Zingari was beside himself with anxiety. "But what will we do, signor? Everything is ready." And then, as a sudden wild hope struck him, "Maybe you won't be able to go through with it now? Yes, that's it. We'll have to abandon the whole crazy scheme."
"We'll return to Gela," I said. "We'll decide what to do then. Now give me a hand."
He did as he was told with obvious reluctance, helping me take Angelo out to the truck. Langley, for once, was silent, stunned I think, by the enormity of what had happened. We put Angelo up in the cab, I sat beside him and Langley rode in the rear on his own.
Angelo did very well considering, although it was obvious that the painkilling injection had helped considerably. "Don't worry about me," he said. "It's nothing. I'm going to be fine."
I don't know who he was trying to kid the most. Himself or me, but by the time we reached Gela and pulled up
at the pier, it had become obvious that he wasn't being particularly successful in either direction.
I left him in his bunk in the forward cabin with Simone seeing to him and went into the saloon. Barzini sat at the head of the table, the whiskey bottle in one hand, a glass in the other, looking like thunder.
"Now what happens?" he demanded.
I shrugged. "I don't know. He says he'll be able to get by if he swallows enough pain-killers beforehand, but I don't think it's likely. And then there's his face. It's bad enough now. By this evening it'll be so swollen he'll be unrecognizable."
Barzini turned on Langley who sat on one of the bench seats looking defiant. "You bastard, are you satisfied now you've ruined everything? What do we do? Without someone on the inside to pull up that climbing rope we've had it."
"Then you really don't have any choice, do you?" Simone said from the cabin door. "You'll have to send me."
I said, "Don't be a bloody fool!" more as a reflex action than anything else.
It was noticeable that Barzini made no comment. He sat looking at her gravely and beyond him Langley was frowning.
"Let's get it straight," Barzini said. "You'd have to go in with the other girls, handle whoever grabs you on the way in, drop him as soon as you can and make your way up to the north wall."
"Where she'll have to dispose of two sentries," I said. "Be your age, Aldo, the whole thing is crazy. She wouldn't stand a chance."
"Who knows?" he said. "With a gun in the hand all things are possible, and I'll have to go in with you now, of course. You're going to need another man."
"It's worth a try, isn't it, Oliver?" she said. "I mean, we can't just turn back after having come all this way."
I took her by the shoulders, "It's just not on. God knows what could happen to you on the way in, and then the two sentries." I shook my head. "It's impossible."
And yet I think I knew inside me that I was talking for the sake of talking. As she'd said herself, she was our only chance. There was no one else.
