by Ken Follett
Harry felt sure he was about to die.
Desperately, without thinking, he stooped, grabbed the little man’s ankle and heaved.
A shot rang out, but Harry felt nothing.
The man staggered, almost fell, dropped his gun and seized hold of his buddy for support.
The younger man lost his balance and let go of the rope. For an instant they swayed, clutching at one another. Harry still had hold of the little man’s ankle, and he jerked it again.
Both men fell off the platform and plunged into the heaving sea.
Harry let out a whoop of triumph.
They sank below the waves, came up again and began to struggle. Harry could tell that neither of them could swim.
“That’s for Clive Membury, you bastards!” Harry shouted.
He did not wait to see what became of them. He had to know what had happened on the passenger deck. He dashed back across the bow compartment, scrambled up the ladder, emerged into the flight cabin, then tiptoed down the staircase.
On the bottom step he stopped and listened.
Margaret could hear her own heartbeat.
It sounded in her ears like a kettledrum, rhythmic and insistent, and so loud that she fancied other people must be able to hear it too.
She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. And she was ashamed of her fear.
She had been frightened by the emergency splashdown, the sudden appearance of guns, the bewildering way people such as Frankie Gordino, Mr. Luther and the engineer kept changing their roles, and the casual brutality of these stupid thugs in their awful suits; and most of all she was frightened because quiet Mr. Membury was lying on the floor dead.
She was too frightened to move, and that made her ashamed.
For years she had been talking about how she wanted to fight Fascism, and now the opportunity had arrived. Right here in front of her, a Fascist was kidnapping Carl Hartmann to take him back to Germany. But she could do nothing about it because she was paralyzed by fear.
Perhaps there was nothing she could do, anyway; perhaps she would only get herself killed. But she ought to try, and she had always said she was willing to risk her life for the cause and for the memory of Ian.
Her father had been right to pour scorn on her pretensions of bravery, she realized. Her heroism was all in her imagination. Her dream of being a motorcycle courier on the battlefield was mere fantasy: at the first sound of gunfire she would hide under a hedge. When there was real danger, she was completely useless. She sat frozen still as her heart pounded in her ears.
She had not spoken a word while the Clipper splashed down, the gunmen came aboard, and Nancy and Mr. Lovesey arrived in the seaplane. She had remained silent when the one called Kid saw the launch drifting away, and the one called Vincini sent Kid and Joe to help tie it up again.
But when she saw Kid and Joe drowning, she screamed.
She had been staring fixedly out the window, looking at but not seeing the waves, when the two men drifted into view. Kid was trying to keep afloat, but Joe was on Kid’s back, pushing his friend under as he tried to save himself. It was a horrible sight.
When she screamed, Mr. Luther rushed to the window and looked out. “They’re in the water!” he yelled hysterically.
Vincini said: “Who—Kid and Joe?”
“Yes!”
The skipper of the launch threw a rope, but the drowning men did not see it: Joe was thrashing around in a blind panic and Kid was being held underwater by Joe.
“Do something!” Luther said. He was on the verge of panic himself.
“What?” said Vincini. “There ain’t nothing we can do. Crazy bastards don’t have the smarts to save themselves!”
The two men drifted nearer to the sea-wing. If they had kept calm, they could have climbed onto it and been saved. But they did not see it.
Kid’s head went under and did not come up again.
Joe lost contact with Kid and breathed a lungful of water. Margaret heard one hoarse scream, muffled by the Clipper’s soundproofing. Joe’s head went under, came up, and went under again for the last time.
Margaret shuddered. They were both dead.
“How did this happen?” Luther said. “How come they fell in?”
“Maybe they were pushed,” said Vincini.
“Who by?”
“There must be someone else on this fuckin’ airplane.”
Margaret thought: Harry!
Was it possible? Could Harry still be on board? Had he hidden somewhere while the police were searching for him, and come out after the emergency splashdown? Was it Harry who had pushed the two gangsters into the sea?
Then she thought of her brother. Percy had disappeared after the launch tied up to the Clipper, and Margaret had assumed he had gone to the men’s room and then decided to stay out of the way. But that was not characteristic of him. He was more likely to seek out trouble. She knew he had found an unofficial way up to the flight deck. What was he up to now?
Luther said: “This whole thing is falling apart! What are we going to do?”
“We’re leaving on the seaplane, just like we planned: you, me, the Kraut and the money,” said Vincini. “If anyone gets in the way, put a bullet in his belly. Calm down and let’s go.”
Margaret had a dreadful premonition that they would meet Percy on the stairs, and he would be the one to get a bullet in his belly.
Then, just as the three men were leaving the dining room, she heard Percy’s voice coming from the back of the plane.
At the top of his voice he shouted: “Stop right there!”
To Margaret’s astonishment he was holding a gun—and pointing it right at Vincini.
It was a short-barreled revolver, and Margaret guessed immediately that it must be the Colt that had been confiscated from the F.B.I. agent earlier. Now Percy held it in front of him, straight-armed as if he were aiming at a target.
Vincini turned around slowly.
Margaret was proud of Percy even while she was afraid for his life.
The dining room was crowded. Behind Vincini, right next to where Margaret was sitting, Luther was holding his gun to Hartmann’s head. On the other side of the compartment stood Nancy, Mervyn Lovesey, Diana Lovesey, and the engineer and the captain. And most of the seats were occupied.
Vincini looked at Percy for a long moment, then said: “Get out of here, kid.”
“Drop your gun,” Percy said in his cracked adolescent voice.
Vincini moved with surprising speed. He ducked to one side and raised his gun. There was a shot. The bang deafened Margaret: she heard a distant scream and realized it was her own voice. She could not tell who had shot whom. Percy seemed all right. Then Vincini staggered and fell, blood spurting from his chest. He dropped his briefcase and it burst open. Blood splashed the bundles of money.
Percy dropped the gun and stared, horrified, at the man he had shot. He looked about to burst into tears.
Everyone looked at Luther, the last of the gang, and the only person who still held a gun.
Carl Hartmann made a sudden move, breaking free of Luther’s grasp while the man was distracted, and flung himself on the floor. Margaret was terrified Hartmann would be killed; then she thought Luther would shoot Percy; but what actually happened took her completely by surprise.
Luther grabbed her.
He pulled her out of her seat and held her in front of himself, his gun at her head, just as he had held Hartmann before.
Everyone froze.
She was too terrified to move, to speak, even to scream. The barrel of the gun dug painfully into her temple. Luther was shaking: he was as frightened as she. In the silence he said: “Hartmann, go to the bow door. Go on board the launch. Do as you’re told or the girl gets it.”
Suddenly she felt a dreadful calm descend over her. She could see, with hideous clarity, that Luther had been brilliantly cunning. If he had merely pointed his gun at Hartmann, Hartmann might have said: “Shoot me—I’d rather
die than go back to Germany.” But now it was her life at stake. Hartmann might have been prepared to give his own life, but he would not sacrifice a young girl.
Slowly, Hartmann got up from the floor.
Everything was up to her, Margaret realized with icy, fearful logic. She could save Hartmann by sacrificing herself. It’s not fair, she thought. I wasn’t expecting this. I’m not ready for it. I can’t do it!
She caught her father’s eye. He looked horrified.
In that awful moment she recalled how he had taunted her, saying she was too soft to fight, she would not last a day in the A.T.S.
Was he right?
All she had to do was move. Luther might kill her, but the other men would jump on him before he could do anything else, and Hartmann would be saved.
Time passed as slowly as in a nightmare.
I can do it, she thought with the same frozen composure.
She took a deep breath and thought: Goodbye, everyone.
Suddenly she heard Harry’s voice behind her. “Mr. Luther, I think your submarine has arrived.”
Everyone looked through the windows.
Margaret felt the pressure of the gun barrel at her temple ease a fraction, and she saw that Luther was momentarily distracted.
She ducked her head and wriggled out of his grasp.
There was a shot, but she felt nothing.
Everyone moved at once.
The engineer, Eddie, flew past her and fell on Luther like a tree.
Margaret saw Harry grab Luther’s gun hand and tear the weapon from his grasp.
Luther crashed to the floor with Eddie and Harry on top of him.
Margaret realized she was still alive.
She suddenly felt as weak as a baby, and she sank helplessly into a seat.
Percy dashed to her. She hugged him. Time stood still. She heard herself say: “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he said shakily.
“You’re so brave!”
“So are you!”
Yes, I was, she thought; I was brave.
All the passengers began to shout at once; then Captain Baker yelled: “Quiet, everybody, please!”
Margaret looked around.
Luther was still on the floor, facedown, pinned and harmless with Eddie and Harry on top of him. The danger from within the aircraft was over. She looked outside. The submarine floated on the water like a great gray shark, its wet steel flanks gleaming in the sunshine.
The captain said: “There’s a naval cutter nearby and we’re going to radio to it right away and tell them about the U-boat.” The crew had come through from number 1 compartment, and now the captain addressed the radio operator. “Get on the horn, Ben.”
“Yes, sir. You realize the submarine commander may hear our radio message and run for it.”
“All the better,” the captain growled. “Our passengers have seen enough danger.”
The radio operator went up the stairs to the flight deck.
Everyone kept looking out at the U-boat. Its hatch stayed shut. Its commander must have been waiting to see what would happen.
Captain Baker went on. “There’s one gangster we haven’t caught, and I’d like to bring him in: the skipper of the launch. Eddie, go to the bow door and lure him aboard—tell him Vincini wants him.”
Eddie got off Luther and went away.
The captain spoke to the navigator. “Jack, collect all these damn guns and take the ammunition out.” The captain realized he had cursed, and added: “Pardon my language, ladies.”
They had heard so much foul language from the gangsters that Margaret laughed at him apologizing for saying “damn”; and the other passengers nearby laughed too. He was taken aback at first and then saw the joke, and he smiled.
The laughter made everyone realize that they were out of danger, and some of the passengers began to relax. Margaret still felt peculiar, and she was shivering as if it were freezing cold.
The captain nudged Luther with the toe of his shoe and spoke to another crewman. “Johnny, stick this guy in number one compartment and keep a close watch on him.”
Harry got off Luther and one of the crew took the man away.
Harry and Margaret looked at one another.
She had imagined he had abandoned her; she had thought she would never see him again; she had been sure she was about to die. Suddenly it seemed unbearably wonderful that they were both alive and together. He sat down next to her, and she threw herself into his arms. They hugged one another tight.
After a while he murmured in her ear: “Look outside.”
The submarine was slowly slipping beneath the waves.
Margaret smiled up at Harry and then kissed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When it was all over, Carol-Ann would not touch Eddie.
She sat in the dining room, sipping hot milky coffee prepared by Davy, the steward. She was pale and shaky, but she kept saying she was all right. However, she flinched every time Eddie put his hand on her.
He sat close, looking at her, but she would not meet his eyes. They spoke in low voices about what had happened. She told him obsessively, again and again, how the men had burst into the house and dragged her out into their car. “I was standing there bottling plums!” she kept saying, as if that was the most outrageous aspect of the whole episode.
“It’s all over now,” he would say each time, and she would nod her head vigorously, but he could tell she did not believe it.
At last she looked at him and said: “When will you have to fly next?”
Then he understood. She was frightened about how she would feel the next time he left her alone. He felt relieved: he could reassure her about that, easily. “I won’t be flying anymore,” he told her. “I’m resigning right away. They’d have to fire me otherwise: they can’t employ an engineer who deliberately brought a plane down the way I did.”
Captain Baker overheard part of the conversation, and interrupted him. “Eddie, there’s something I have to say to you. I understand what you did. You were put in an impossible position and you handled it the best you could. More than that, I don’t know another man that would have handled it so well. You were brave and you were smart, and I’m proud to fly with you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Eddie said, and there was a lump in his throat. “I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Percy Oxenford, sitting alone, looking shocked. “Sir, I think we all should thank young Percy: he saved the day!”
Percy heard him and looked up.
“Good point,” said the captain. He patted Eddie on the shoulder and went over to shake the boy’s hand. “You’re a brave man, Percy.”
Percy cheered up instantly. “Thank you!” he said.
The captain sat down to chat with him, and Carol-Ann said to Eddie : “If you’re not flying, what will we do?”
“I’ll start that business we’ve been talking about.”
He could see the hope in her face, but she did not really believe it yet. “Can we?”
“I’ve got enough money saved to buy the airfield, and I’ll borrow what I need to get started.”
She was visibly brightening by the second. “Could we run it together?” she said. “Maybe I could keep the books and answer the phone while you do repairs and refueling?”
He smiled and nodded. “Sure, at least until the baby comes.”
“Just like a mom-and-pop store.”
He reached out and took her hand, and this time she did not flinch, but squeezed his hand in return. “Mom and Pop,” he said, and at last she smiled.
Nancy was hugging Mervyn when Diana tapped him on the shoulder.
Nancy had been lost in joy and relief, overwhelmed by the pleasure of being alive and with the man she loved. Now she wondered if Diana would cast a cloud over this moment. Diana had left Mervyn indecisively, and she had shown signs of regretting it, off and on, ever since. He had just proved that he still cared for her by
bargaining with the gangsters to save her. Was she about to beg him to take her back?
Mervyn turned and gave his wife a guarded look. “Well, Diana?”
Her face was wet with tears, but she had a determined expression. “Will you shake hands?” she said.
Nancy was not sure what this meant, and Mervyn’s wary manner told her that he, too, was uncertain. However, he offered his hand, saying: “Of course.”
Diana held his hand in both of hers. New tears came, and Nancy felt sure she was about to say Let’s try again, but instead she said: “Good luck, Mervyn. I wish you happiness.”
Mervyn looked solemn. “Thank you, Di. I wish you the same.”
Then Nancy understood: they were forgiving one another for the hurt that had been done. They were still going to split up, but they would part friends.
On impulse, Nancy said to Diana: “Will you shake hands with me?”
The other woman hesitated only for a fraction of a second. “Yes,” she said. They shook hands. “I wish you well,” Diana said.
“And I you.”
Diana turned around without saying any more and went aft along the aisle to her compartment.
Mervyn said: “But what about us? What are we going to do?”
Nancy realized she had not yet had time to tell him of her plan. “I’m going to be Nat Ridgeway’s European manager.”
Mervyn was surprised. “When did he offer you the job?”
“He hasn’t—but he will,” she said, and she laughed happily.
She heard the sound of an engine. It was not one of the Clipper’s mighty engines, but a smaller one. She looked out of the window, wondering if the navy had arrived.
To her surprise, she saw that the gangsters’ motor launch had been untied from the Clipper and from the little seaplane and was pulling away rapidly.
But who was driving it?
Margaret opened the throttle wide and steered the launch away from the Clipper.
The wind blew her hair off her face, and she gave a whoop of sheer exhilaration. “Free!” she yelled. “I’m free!”
