by Jack Higgins
"Give or take a few bucks."
There was another long silence. Simone looked at me, I turned away, stood up and lit a cigarette. "Oliver?" she said.
"You're going to hand me over anyway, aren't you, Mr. Grant?" Wyatt's face was calm and one corner of his mouth lifted in a slight, ironic smile.
I turned, my back to the door. "What else can I do? He has my sister."
Simone plucked at my sleeve and I turned on her savagely. "The purpose of the exercise wasn't to take sides, it was to save Hannah. You know that as well as I do."
"You're living in a fool's paradise, Mr. Grant," Wyatt said. "You won't get your sister back. He never intended it All he wants is me--dead. Do you know what a truly evil man is?"
Barzini said, "I think maybe it's time we put Langley under wrappers."
"A good point," I said. "Any further discussion can come later."
"Who's Langley?" Wyatt asked me.
"Let's say he plays for the other team." I took the Stechkin from him and stuck it in my belt. "Sorry to be an Indian giver, but I've an idea I'm going to be needing this. You stay with him, Simone."
I opened the door and went out, followed by Barzini. The saloon was deserted and Barzini called, "Heh, Nino, where are you?"
"In here," Angelo replied from the forrard cabin.
The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and found Nino on the floor, hands lashed together, mouth taped, eyes blazing. Angelo slipped from behind the door and rammed the muzzle of an Uzi sub-machine gun under my chin.
"One move out of you, buster, and I'll blow the top of your head off."
He took the Stechkin from my belt and stuck it into his hip pocket then got a handful of hair and twisted me round, still keeping the muzzle of the Uzi tight under my chin.
Aldo had the Smith and Wesson in his hand. Angelo said, "Put it on the table slowly or he gets it. I'll only tell you once."
"I'd do as he says if I were you." Langley spoke from the companionway. He stepped in holding a revolver and plucked the Smith and Wesson from Barzini's hand. "That aft cabin ventilator's as good as a voice pipe, old stick," he told me. "You're slipping, aren't you, or perhaps you never really had it in the first place?"
"Bastard!" Barzini said to Angelo and spat on the floor.
"Oh, I don't know," Langley said. "He has his points. Hates my guts, but he does like the money in large amounts. Thirty thousand dollars, for example, as opposed to the twenty you were offering."
"Nothing personal," Angelo said. "I mean, I think you're a great guy, major, and all that, but like I said when we first met, I never did have much in common with officers."
Simone opened the door of the aft cabin and stepped into the saloon. She showed no kind of surprise at the situation. Her face was perfectly calm.
Langley said, "Ah, there you are, sweetie. How's our friend?"
"Not too good," she said, "but he'll survive."
"Do you really think so?" Langley chuckled. "All right, let's have him out of his bunk."
"You bloody lying bitch," I said.
She looked me over calmly, almost casually, a hand on one hip, no emotion in her eyes at all, then turned and went into the cabin.
"Put not thy trust in women, old stick." Langley sighed heavily. "My word, you really do have a lot to learn, don't you?"
"And what happens to Wyatt?" I said. "Over the side with sixty pounds of chain around his ankles?"
"You know, I'm beginning to despair of you." Langley leaned against the bulkhead casually. "I mean, he has to be identified, doesn't he, by competent witnesses so a Sicilian coroner can certify that Stephen Wyatt is beyond any shadow of a doubt legally deceased? Badly wounded while escaping from prison in Libya--died on the voyage back. Rather good that, don't you think?"
"And the rest of us?"
"It was carnage, old stick. Absolute bloodbath. A miracle any of us escaped with our lives."
"Just you and Angelo?"
"I should imagine so."
"Why bother?" I said. "I mean at thirty thousand dollars he comes expensive. Much cheaper to dump him too."
Angelo delivered a punch to my right kidney very expertly indeed. The pain was exquisite and I went down on one knee, fighting to control it. He raised a boot and Langley said sharply, "Leave it! Let's get this over with. I'm tired of conversation. Everyone on deck."
Wyatt shuffled out of the aft cabin leaning on Simone's shoulder. He looked at me questioningly as I hauled myself up by the table. "I'm sorry," I croaked. "Looks like the other team made it after all."
"Never mind," he said. "Morning soon and I'll wake up. Cell seventy-three, landing D."
Langley stepped back and said to Angelo, "Right, you first and stop the engines when you get up there." He nodded to Barzini, "You help Wyatt--all right? Then you, old stick, and nothing heroic, please, I do like to keep things tidy."
It was difficult for Barzini in the narrow companionway, especially when the engines stopped and Palmyra started to wallow, rolling heavily. Wyatt faltered and Langley shouted, "Go on, get moving, for God's sake!" They reached the deck safely and he waved his gun at me. "Now you."
I brushed past Simone as I moved forward, her fingers touched me quite deliberately--or did they? I couldn't be sure, but at least I went up the companion-way prepared for action, in spite of the terrible ache in my back.
It was raining hard, a cold wind lifting the waves into whitecaps and the deck seemed to be heaving in several directions at once. Angelo leaned against the wheelhouse covering Wyatt, who had slumped to the deck, and Barzini, who stood over him.
Langley waited until I had stepped out of the companionway before coming up followed by Simone. He kept his distance, cautious to the end. "Well now, how would you like it, old stick?" he said cheerfully.
Simone screamed, "Now, Oliver!" and grabbed his arms from behind.
But he already had a foot out to stamp in my chest as I jumped at him, sending me staggering back against the main hatch cover.
What really spoiled things was Angelo and all that Green Beret training because without a second's hesitation he clubbed Barzini over the back of the head with the Uzi. As Barzini went down, Wyatt grabbed Angelo's legs, trying to bring him over, and Angelo shot him in the body at close quarters.
Simone was still hanging on like a wild cat. Langley loosed off a shot into the deck then managed to get an elbow free and rammed it into her face, sending her flying. It was enough and as he swung to face me, the gun coming up, I took a very graceful header over the port rail.
I hit the water awkwardly and didn't have time to take in much air, but kept on going, turning to pass under the hull. The keel scraped my back painfully. For a moment I seemed to stop right there, lungs bursting, but I kicked and struggled for all I was worth and finally surfaced on the starboard side of Palmyra.
"Any sign of him?" I heard Langley call.
"He's had it," Angelo replied. "Must have done."
There was the sound of a slap. "You bloody bitch!" Langley said. "Couldn't stand to see him go when it came to the crunch, could you? I'll teach you." There was another heavy slap and Simone cried out.
I was bitterly cold and the pain in my back was excruciating, but hate has its own kind of strength and of one thing I was certain. I was going to get that bastard if it was the last thing I did on top of this earth.
I took a deep breath, hauled myself under the rail and started to crawl for the wheelhouse entrance.
"Ah, there you are, old stick," Langley called.
I glanced up instinctively and found him standing in the stern by the starboard rail. He fired twice from the waist, almost casually, and one of the bullets caught me in the right leg, knocking me over. I kept on going, scrambling into the wheelhouse, but he ran along the deck very quickly and stood in the doorway before I could reach what I was looking for.
I hung on to the open window to stop myself from falling down. He smiled gently and lowered the revolver, holding it against his thi
gh. "You don't look too good, old stick."
I was taking the greatest chance of my life, but I knew then with absolute certainty that there was only one way to handle it. To play to his vanity, that warped sense of humor. I scrabbled at the bulkhead as if trying to hold myself up, then pulled down the flap, grabbed the Uzi and turned, firing.
There was a series of dull clicks and Langley laughed delightedly. "Life's just full of surprises, isn't it? What a pity your girlfriend told me about that before her conscience started playing her up. Never mind. I'll see to her manners for her. Think about that in hell, won't you?"
I dropped the Uzi and slid down the bulkhead to the floor, my face a mask of despair. Langley was obviously thoroughly enjoying himself. He said, "Yes, you really look your age today, old stick. Definitely a tiny bit passe."
As he put a cigarette in his mouth my right hand found the button under the chart table, the flap fell, I grabbed the Stechkin and shot him through the right forearm, all in one quick movement. And part of the whole was wondering whether the thing would fire--whether Simone had been true to me.
The revolver dropped from his nerveless fingers, skidded across the swaying deck and under the rail into the sea. He clutched his arm, blood pouring between the fingers, that slight, fixed smile still in place.
"Lesson number one," I said. "If you're going to shoot somebody, do it, don't just talk about it."
"Well, I'll be damned," he said.
"I should think that's a cold, stone certainty," I told him. "Goodbye, old stick!"
I shot him in the left shoulder, turning him around, an echo of Husseini. The other two bullets shattered his spine, driving him across the starboard rail to land head-down. I crawled out of the wheelhouse, got him by the ankles with one hand, and tipped him over into the sea.
Angelo called, "Langley, you okay?"
I pulled myself along the deck by the starboard rail, dragging my wounded leg and he called out again, a certain amount of anxiety in his voice. "Heh, Langley --where are you?" And then he said impatiently, "For Christ's sake, be still or I'll crown you."
I pulled myself up on to my feet and stepped into the open. He was over by the port rail, his back partially turned to me, Simone held close to him, an arm around her neck, the Uzi ready in his other hand.
I extended my right arm and took very careful aim. "All right, Angelo, let her go."
He glanced over his shoulder and I cried savagely, "Now, not tomorrow!"
"Okay, man! Hold on to your cool!" He pushed her away from him. He started to turn and I saw his finger tighten on the trigger. "Let's talk this over. I'm willing to play along. You can trust me."
"Tell that to Langley," I said and fired.
He went down on one knee, dropping the Uzi. God, but I was tired. I grabbed at one of the wheelhouse windows to stop myself from falling down. He tried to reach for the Uzi, the Palmyra rolled very heavily and he lost his balance and skidded across the wet, sloping deck. He managed to grab the rail with one hand as he went under and hung there a moment glaring up at me, blood on his mouth. And then he could hang on to life no longer, released his grip and the gray sea closed over his head.
I let myself slide down to the deck and Simone dropped on her knees beside me, her eyes wild. "You did me fine," I said. "Beautiful! Go to the head of the class!"
There was a certain amount of blood soaking through my camouflaged trousers just above the knee. She started to examine it and I shook my head, "Never mind me. See to Wyatt."
He was lying on his face by the main hatch, Barzini crouched beside him shaking his head slowly, a dazed look in his eyes. He got to his feet, picked up a canvas bucket and line that hung by the wheelhouse and heaved it over the side. He emptied the bucket of ice cold water over his head and repeated the process.
Simone turned from her examination of Wyatt, her face grave. "It doesn't look too good."
Barzini said, "Here, let me see." He knelt beside her and opened Wyatt's pajama jacket. He turned, shaking his head. "He's been shot in the left lung. Probably grazed the heart on the way through. It's bad."
"How bad?"
"He could be dying, if that's what you mean." He told Simone to go and release Nino and came and knelt by me. "Let's have a look at you."
There was a nasty gash at the back of his head, blood on his forehead. I said, "Are you all right, Aldo?"
"What do you think? How did Langley look when you gave it to him?"
"Surprised."
"There's one man I'll find it difficult to remember in my prayers."
He ripped open the leg of my trousers and I raised my knee and had a look at the damage. There was the usual ragged blue hole where it had entered on the outside of the thigh just above the knee, a larger one on the inside where it had exited.
"A flea bite," Barzini said. "Three or four stitches and you'll be fine. I'll see to it personally."
"Just remember I'm not one of your damned corpses."
As he helped me to my feet, Nino came out of the companionway. "That stinking dirty pig," he said angrily. "He never even gave me a chance."
"Never mind that now," Barzini told him. "Let's get Oliver below."
They helped me down the companionway and put me on one of the bench seats in the saloon then they went back for Wyatt and took him into the aft cabin. Simone poured brandy into a mug and lit a cigarette for me.
"Now there's a nice intimate gesture," I told her.
She held the mug to my mouth, but I was suddenly shaking so much that half of it trickled over my chin and down my neck.
"Are you all right?" she asked, full of concern.
"Reaction. You don't feel a bullet when it hits you, not for quite a while because the shock numbs the whole nervous system. The pain comes later."
At that precise moment my leg began to hurt like hell and Barzini came in from the aft cabin holding the medicine chest. "No blood at all," he said. "All internal, I've bandaged him up and given him a morphine shot. There's nothing more I can do."
"Is he conscious?"
He nodded and said to Simone, "I think maybe he could do with a hot drink."
She went out and he propped my leg up on the table. He stuck a couple of ampoules of morphine into me for a start and then got to work with a needle and thread.
"My old granny would be proud of you," I said. "How's your hem stitch?"
"Oliver, I've sewed up more corpses than you've had hot dinners." He slapped a field dressing on each side of the thigh, and bandaged me with surprising dexterity. "There you are. Good as new."
The engines rumbled into life and we started to move again. "I told Nino to get under way." He hesitated. "What orders, Oliver? How are we going to handle it?"
"God knows," I said. "I'll have to think. Just now all I want to do is sleep."
"I think maybe that's a good idea."
He gave me his hand, but when I stood up I found that I didn't need it, mainly, I think, because the morphine had started to work. Simone came out of the cabin with a tray and I asked her how Wyatt was.
"Not so good," she said. "I think he could do with some sleep."
"Me, too."
I closed the door behind me and climbed on to the spare bunk, tiredness flooding over me. After a while, I turned and found Wyatt watching me, his head on one side, the eyes like dark holes in the gaunt face.
"What a bloody mess," he said.
I nodded weakly. "I'm sorry."
"What happens now?"
"I don't know."
"I'm dying, Grant, you know that, don't you?"
"Perhaps--perhaps not."
He turned and looked up at the ceiling of the cabin. "And Dimitri continues to live." He laughed harshly, choking a little. "Now I don't really see how I can allow that to happen, do you?"
But I hadn't the strength to answer, for suddenly darkness swept over me like the seventh wave and I slept.
14
Face to Face
It was shortly after noon when
I awakened and only then because my leg started to hurt as the effect of the morphine started to wear off. I sat up and found Wyatt's head turned toward me, eyes open. His forehead was pale, almost translucent and damp with sweat.
I said, "Can't you sleep?"
"Rather a waste of time under the circumstances, wouldn't you say?" He smiled faintly. "Do you have any idea what you're going to do yet?"
"Not really."
"Let me know when you do. I'll be happy to go along with anything you decide." He smiled again. "If I'm around long enough, that is."
It was an uncomfortable thought and I got to my feet, opened the door and went into the saloon. There didn't seem to be anybody about, but the medicine chest was on the table. I rummaged about inside until I found the box of morphine ampoules and at that moment Simone came down the companionway.
She was wearing a yellow sou'wester oilskin coat and there was rain on her face which I now saw was quite badly bruised on the right cheek where Langley's elbow had connected.
"So you're up?" she said and then saw the box of ampoules in my hand. "Here, let me do that. How is it?"
"Not so good." I sat down and propped my leg on the table so that she could give me the injection. "What's it like up top?"
"Plenty of rain, winds three to four. Clearing toward evening. I just checked on the radio for Aldo."
"I'll see for myself, I think."
I got to my feet and she protested at once. "You should be taking it easy."
"Some sea air will do me good. I need to clear my head--to think. You have a word with Wyatt. There may be something he needs."
The morphine worked quickly and the pain in the leg was already dying away as I went up the companionway and the rain, stinging my face like lead pellets when I went out on deck, was cold and fresh and made me feel alive again.
Palmyra rolled her slim length into the wind, plunging over a wave as water broke across her prow, racing the weather. On the port side, briefly on the horizon, I seemed to see land, but could not be sure.
In the wheelhouse Barzini leaned over the chart table. Behind him the wheel clicked to one side eerily to compensate as the Palmyra veered to starboard, the automatic pilot in control.
