by Lou Cameron
“You’re still better off in any part of the States. I have to get out of here. So I want you to just sort of stay out of the action and wait for the U. S. Navy to bail you out.”
He stood up and began shoving boxes and barrels around as Sally asked, “Oh, how are we to escape?”
“I just told you. You don’t have to escape. I’m piling boxes by the ladderway for you to climb on. This hold takes up the rear third of the yacht. We’re just aft of the engine room and that hump down the middle of the deck is the propeller shaft.”
He built a seven- or eight-foot platform reaching halfway to the overhead decking as she prattled on about some handsome touring actor who’d abandoned her in Jersey City after telling her she had the makings of another Sarah Bernhardt. It wasn’t a very interesting story and he’d heard several versions of it before. The poor little frump was sort of pretty, but girls with Sally Blackwell’s brains were fated to be farmer’s wives or whores.
He told her to climb up on the boxes and hold onto the side rails of the ladder. He helped her up, shoving her the last few feet by getting a hand under her round rump as she warned him not to get fresh. She was running as true to type as if her peewee mind rolled on narrow-gauge tracks. It was too bad. He was rather pleased with the idea he had about getting out of here and had enough of an ego to have enjoyed an audience.
He busted up an empty barrel by stomping it to death with his boot heel. Then he bent one of the metal barrel hoops straight, climbed up the ladderway, and used it to form a trip just above the top step. Sally watched as he went back down and shoved a crate away from a valve set in the bottom plates near the propeller shaft. She asked what on Earth he was doing and, since he didn’t want to frighten her needlessly, he explained, “I’m going to scuttle the yacht. This valve should let in seawater.”
He twisted hard and as a spout of gushing brine shot across the deck he ran over to climb up beside her, saying, “You see?”
“That’s crazy! We’ll drown! Why would anybody build a boat with a hole in the bottom? Oh, I wish I was in Lockport!”
“Take it easy. All vessels are built with valves in the bottom of each hold. They’re to trim the ship in an emergency, to fight a fire below the water line, or to drain a flooded hold in dry dock.”
“Damn it, I don’t care why they put the silly faucet there! We’re trapped like rats down here and you’ve gone crazy and now I’m going to drown!”
“Calm down. You won’t even get your feet wet.”
He climbed from the box they were on and swung himself across the ladderway with a barrel stave in his free hand. He worked his way up to the overhead, his head and shoulders even with the sill of the hatch leading up on deck. He said, “I’d like to be able to put the light out, but we’ll manage. The vessel should start to settle by the stern in a few minutes.”
Sally looked down at the water boiling across the steel plates below and sobbed, “Oh, God! Why do all the boys I meet turn out to be so strange? It’s getting so deep down there!”
“I know. They’ll begin to wonder about the way she’s sitting in the harbor in a few more minutes. Keep your voice down.”
She whispered, loudly, “What if they don’t come? What if they all went ashore?”
“Nobody leaves an expensive yacht unguarded, especially in a port like this one. Besides, flooding this one hold won’t sink the boat completely. We’re just squatting her poop a bit.”
“Oh, fine. They’ll come back someday to find our drowned bodies floating near the ceiling!”
“Shush! I hear footsteps!”
The hatch popped open and a male voice cried out, “Jasus! We must have popped a seam!”
Then the first crewman coming down caught his ankle on the barrel strap, yelled, and went ass over tea kettle to land on his back in the knee-deep water below!
The second one leaned out to ask, “What happened? Are you all right?” And then he saw Captain Gringo clinging like a grinning ape to the framework at his side. The American had already swung his barrel stave, and it caught the second man across the shins. He tried to hold onto the ladder rails, dancing his injured shins in agony, but Captain Gringo wedged the barrel stave behind his butt, heaved, and sent the second man down into the foaming water.
As the two crewmen sputtered and yelled down there, he swung himself up on the ladder and popped out of the hatch in a fighter’s crouch as a third man came down the companionway to see what all the fuss was about. The seaman was unarmed and, taking one look at the barrel stave, turned to run. Captain Gringo caught up with him as he fought to open a sliding hatch at the far end. He grabbed the seaman by the back of the neck, raised the improvised club, and snapped, “Shut up and freeze or I’ll kill you!”
“Anything you say, mate! But this perishing tub is sinking!”
“No it’s not. How many of you are on board?”
“There’s Pat and Charlie, if you haven’t done ‘em. Then there’s the cook and third mate, for’d.”
“That’s it? Where’s Greystoke and the others?”
“Gone ashore, to the British consulate, if you’re talking about his bloody lordship. The other lads has gone ashore to get screwed and tattooed.”
“Skeleton crew, huh? Okay, I’m putting you aft in the hold. I opened the sea cock. You should be able to get at it to shut the water off. It’s only about four feet deep back there. Let’s go.”
He swung his captive around to see Sally closing the hatch. She looked over her shoulder and said, “Those men you threw in the water tried to come up the ladder, I kicked one back down and—”
“Good girl. Stand aside!”
He dropped the stave, grabbed the hatch handle, and opened the hatch. A soaking-wet and sputtering seaman fell forward on his hands and knees, so Captain Gringo stomped him flat as he threw the third man bodily into the hold. As the yelling ended in a mighty splash, Captain Gringo grabbed the man on deck by the hair and shoved him back down the ladder, too, before slamming the hatch shut and dodging it.
Sally followed as he retraced his steps, asking, “What do we do now?”
“There’s two more aboard. You should have stayed out of it, kid. But what’s done is done. You say you kicked one down the ladder?”
“I’m a dancer, too. You should see me do the can-can!”
“I can hardly wait. Okay, as long as you’re in this, you can help take out the mate. Here’s how we’re going to work it.”
A few minutes later, as the English crewman paced the bridge alone and wondered what the men he’d sent aft would find back there, the port hatch opened and a shy voice asked, “Mister, can you tell me the way to Grandmother’s house?”
The mate stared slack-jawed at Sally and gasped, “What the bloody hell?”
Then Captain Gringo charged through the starboard entrance, clubbed him across the nape of the neck with the edge of the barrel stave, and sent him to the deck sans further comment.
The girl asked, “What about the cook?” as Captain Gringo rolled the mate over on his back. Captain Gringo removed the revolver from the unconscious man’s belt and said, “Most sea cooks stay in the galley, drunk. Let’s hope he’s not young and curious.”
“What do we do now? I can swim, but—”
“Just keep it down to a roar and I’ll get you ashore in style. I want to see if there’s anything worth reading in Greystoke’s cabin.”
With the actress at his heels, Captain Gringo broke open a few doors until he came to the compartment he’d been questioned in. He rummaged in the desk and found his own nickel-plated S&W together with a manila folder marked, “Lieutenant Richard Walker, U. S. Army, a.k.a. Captain Gringo.”
They had a dossier on Gaston and the Balboa Brigade. Nothing on Sir Basil. He handed the spare gun and folders to Sally, saying, “Let’s go. There’s a captain’s gig hanging over the starboard rail near the deckhouse.”
“Oh goody! We’re not going to have to swim after all!”
He laughed and l
ed her to the boat. He helped her in and said, “I’ll lower you and drop down as I cast off.”
A sleepy voice called out, “Hoy! What’s going on?”
Captain Gringo asked, “Are you the cook?”
“Yes, sir. Who might you and this lady be?”
“We’re escaping prisoners and we’re both armed. Come over here and help me lower this boat.”
The fat cook considered his options, shrugged, and said, “Right, anything you say, sir.”
As the two of them lowered Sally to the dark slick-ness of Panama Harbor, Captain Gringo explained where the other crewmen were and suggested they could do with a spot of tea once the cook had them back in shape, to drink if. The cook observed, mildly, that Her Majesty’s Government frowned on piracy and would probably be rather annoyed with them all. Captain Gringo said, “Just remember I held a gun on you. Tell Greystoke I’m annoyed at him, too.”
He sent the cook around a bend of the deck, dropped down to join Sally in the boat, and fit the oars in the locks to pull away. As he started rowing, she asked, “Aren’t we going the wrong way? I can see the lights of Panama City just over there to your right.”
He said, “The men aboard the yacht will be giving the alarm any. second. We’re making for a cove down the coast.”
A few moments later they heard the mournful tooting of a steam whistle and he said, “See what I mean?”
“Why didn’t you put the whistle out of order while we had time, on the bridge?”
“Didn’t want to. I wanted to cause as much confusion as possible. Right now Greystoke and the shore party are running for the docks. They’ll take a few minutes getting out to the Corgie Dubh, then waste more time getting back ashore to spread the alarm. They’ll expect us to make straight for shore and they’ll have scads of fun combing the waterfront alleyways for us. By the time they figure out we’re not in some warehouse or cheap hotel, we’ll be dining at Sir Basil’s villa. I’m a little late for dinner and dropping in with an unexpected guest, but he likes novelty, so—”
“Oh, you really know this Sir Basement they kept asking me about?”
“Yeah. It’s no big secret. Greystoke knows as much about his operation as I do. He didn’t have to kidnap either of us. Try to remember the name, though. It’s Sir Basil Hakim. Not Sir Basement.”
“Are you sure I’ll be welcome at this party we’re going to?”
“No, but I can’t see leaving you in Greystoke’s hands. He didn’t have any real charge to hang on you until you started can-canning his men down ladders. Now he’s got you on assault and possibly piracy. We just stole a boat.”
“Oh dear, I’ve always tried to be a good girl, but all the men I meet seem to be so rough. If I had it to do all over again I’d have taken piano lessons like my mother told me. What will happen to us if they catch us, now?”
“Let’s hope they don’t. Sir Basil has the local police on his payroll. Greystoke can’t get at us openly once we’re safe ashore on Colombian soil.”
“What about those sailors on that American gunboat?”
“They could take the whole country, I suppose. But they won’t invade Colombia to pick up two naughty Yanks.”
He frowned but kept rowing as he muttered, “Make that one naughty Yank. I still don’t see how he could have turned you over to the U. S. Navy.”
“I told you, he said I was some sort of spy.”
“I know. But so what? The U. S. Navy couldn’t care less about a spy unless she was spying on them. You can’t be charged with treason to the British in any American court of law, even if you should be Canadian. No American judge gives a damn if people spy on Colombia. The whole story is weird as hell.”
“I thought so, too. But they arrested me just the same.”
“Greystoke has an ace up his sleeve. He’s not as dumb as he talks. Nobody could be. Maybe Hakim can figure it out. We’ll be there in a few more minutes.”
Sir Basil seemed delighted to have Sally as a house guest. Jenny seemed less enthusiastic, but she behaved politely enough as the four of them lounged in the baronial drawing room of the villa. Little Hakim was amused that Captain Gringo had come back not only with his gun and wallet, but also with a beautiful blonde and some confidential papers of British Intelligence.
As they sat before the fireplace with brandy and a tray of snacks, the dapper little mystery man leafed through the dossiers. Sally was still pattering on about her misadventures, and from time to time Sir Hakim nodded as if he was listening to her. He seemed to be one of those Napoleonic types who could play chess and plan a battle at the same time. Captain Gringo wondered if he thought about business deals while he was eating out Jenny.
Jenny wasn’t saying much at all. Once, when Sally mentioned a man who’d betrayed her trust in Philadelphia, the redhead rolled her eyes up at the ceiling beams and, though Sally didn’t see it, Jenny’s lips silently formed a very naughty word.
Hakim said, “All in all, Greystoke’s been rather objective about you, Dick. It says, here, there’s a chance the charge you were condemned for might have been false.”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter. I killed some people getting away from the Army hangman.”
“Yes, you and Gaston certainly made a mess of Mexico as you were just passing through. You don’t suppose we could recruit this Gaston, do you?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to be able to tell him what you’re up to.”
“That sounds reasonable. What do you think we should tell him I’m up to?”
“Damn it, Sir Basil, I’m tired of playing games. Just say the word and I’ll give you back your money and owe you for the suit and gun.”
“Don’t be absurd. Where would you and dear Sally go?”
“We might start by looking for a place where people didn’t act so coy. I’ve leveled with you since we met. I even told that goddamn Greystoke the truth, since I’ve nothing to hide everyone doesn’t know already.”
“In other words, you’d head for your friends in the Balboa Brigade. Do you think you’d make it, Dick?”
“Don’t know. Would you and yours try to stop us?” Then, before Hakim could answer, the American said, “Scratch that last question. You’d probably lie if the truth was in your favor. I don’t know what I’m going to do. You guys have me just as confused as you must have intended.”
Sir Basil put down his brandy snifter and rose, saying, “Come with me, Dick. I have something to show you.”
Captain Gringo got to his feet. As Sally started to rise, Hakim said, “You ladies will be more comfortable here. Dark crypt, spiders, and all that rot.”
He led the tall American out and down the hall to a side room. He flipped on the light and asked, “What do you think, Dick?” as Captain Gringo blinked at a gleaming mass of oiled metal squatting on a heavy wooden case in the otherwise bare room. It was a factory-new Maxim machine gun. The room was filled with the pungent smell of cosmoline and gun oil. Sir Basil said, “Seven hundred dollars FOB Panama City. I have more where that came from. Enough to supply a heavy weapons company. A thousand rounds per gun. Smokeless powder. What do you think?”
“Price is high. Ammo low. You can’t get serious with a thousand rounds per gun. A Maxim throws six hundred rounds a minute.”
“Yes, but you have a very short battle against troops armed with rifles and bayonets. Burst of ten or twenty here, thirty over there at the bunch behind the tree. Damned ammunition is heavy. It’s the weak link in modern warfare. If they ever discover a way to move wagon-loads of ammo fast, the day of the infantryman is over.”
“You say you have a dozen of these things?”
“Make it half a dozen, one to a squad. Loader, gunner, and lots of wee brownies to run back and forth with ammo belts. Do you think the Balboa Brigade would be interested?”
“If they had over four thousand bucks they’d be.”
“It’s a good price, dear boy. I know places where a machine gun goes for a thousand or
more.”
Captain Gringo stepped over to the gun, opened the breech, and stuck his thumb in, stretching his arm and bending over to peer down the barrel. The pink reflection of his thumbnail illuminated the bore as he muttered, “You only lied a little. This gun’s been fired, but it’s in good shape. Where’d you get it?”
“Don’t be so nosy. Guns that shoot don’t need a pedigree. How much do you think Gaston Verrier would pay? You understand, of course, that as my agent he would be entitled to a twenty per cent commission?”
“That would make him want his pals to pay the highest price, all right. But he told me they were el busto.”
“If you’d vouch for him, we may be able to arrange credit.”
Captain Gringo straightened up, worked the bolt, and muttered, “The firing pin hasn’t been removed. What’s the hooker, Hakim?”
“You just said your friends were low on working capital. I said I’d extend a modest amount of credit.”
“Bullshit! Nobody runs guns on the cuff and you know it! Revolution is a cash-and-carry business, Hakim. What are you trying to pull?”
“Perhaps I am a most unusual merchant. What have you to lose? Even if none of the guns I deliver work, you and your friends are hardly out of pocket. If they don’t win their revolution, they don’t pay me. It seems to me I’m taking all the risk, and all I get in the way of a thank-you is more suspicion.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to contact Gaston and tell him you’re ready to furnish him with machine guns and ammo, IOU? Hmm, you and the police both know where Gaston is, so that can’t be the weanie.”
“The local police, let us say, are not as satisfied with the current administration in Bogota as they might be with a Republic of Panama. I have some police officials I’ll introduce you to, later. At the moment they are not ready to reveal themselves. Before you make any more annoying remarks about my word as a gentleman, consider a few facts you know to be true. The police here in town are not after you or your friend, Gaston, even though they know where you are and that you’re both notorious professional revolutionaries.”