But they could wait.
He was still dazed: his world reduced in size to this writhing lovely woman swathed in blood-stained chiffon beside him. ‘One minute, sir. I think she’s all right. But I must be sure.’
Her eyes were opening and she seemed ashen pale even against the glare of flames and torches. ‘Have a slug of this.’ The American had produced a hip flask and raised it to her lips.
Grant’s fingers were holding her wrist and he felt her pulse settle into a slow steady beat as the whisky began to reach her vital centres.
‘Howsabout this guy?’ The American pointed to Ling Tao in the distance. The man was lying almost on his side but as the Admiral flashed his torch he heaved himself on to his left elbow. His head was covered with dried blood and one half of his face paralysed. But his mouth suddenly twisted with hate behind a gun and all three men were beaten to the draw as he pulled the trigger.
Only Grant flung himself across Miss Turquoise.
The bullet ripped his sleeve and as he fell on top of her he felt her flesh quiver for the last time as it slammed into her chest.
Nesterenko Gleb and Frank Smith were on the sand beside him.
‘Dr. Grant.’ The Admiral was using his quarter-deck voice. ‘Come over here. There’s a job still to be done.’
Grant hesitated. Her face was serene, her lips slightly apart and her eyes moist.
And then he glanced at his chest. The ring was safe.
Slowly he broke the cord and touched the shimmer of dead turquoise.
Aniseeh was still warm when he slipped it over her finger.
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Miss Turquoise Page 21