Wyatt's Hurricane / Bahama Crisis

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘Brown? Who’s he?’

  ‘The guy who chartered this boat back in Fort Lauderdale.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Just as soon as we entered this canal. He said he’d have a final spin and he’d meet us at the other end at the north shore.’

  ‘Christ, he’s given us the slip.’ I looked at the Customs man. ‘You must have been following him too closely and he took fright—or an insurance policy. If you weren’t going to stop Capistrano there’d be no harm done and he’d rejoin her on the north shore. But you did and his insurance has paid off.’

  ‘He won’t get far. He’ll run into the boat at the other end.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Billy. ‘This guy plays real cute.’ He gave an exasperated snort. ‘Brown, for God’s sake!’

  The skipper said, ‘Will someone tell me what the hell’s going on?’

  I turned and stepped on to the Customs launch. ‘Come on. Let’s go after him.’ Billy followed me.

  We dropped down into the inflatable, and just before I started the engine I heard Deane bellow, ‘Mangan, come back!’ I ignored him and drowned his voice in a staccato roar as I twisted the throttle. We shot under the bridge and I looked back to see Deane on the deck of Capistrano. He was waving frantically.

  Billy chuckled. ‘I guess he’s wondering what will happen to Robinson if we get to him first.’ He suddenly had an automatic pistol in his hand.

  ‘Put that damn thing away,’ I said. ‘If Deane knows you have it you’re for the chop. And we don’t want murder.’

  ‘Not murder,’ said Billy. ‘Execution.’ But he put the gun back into its holster.

  The Lucayan Waterway stretched ahead of us and there was nothing to be seen on its surface. On either side there were occasional inlets leading to the proposed residential estates on which no houses had yet been built—the water maze. It all went by in a blur as I cranked up to top speed.

  ‘Something ahead—coming this way,’ said Billy.

  It was a small dot in the middle of the Waterway which rapidly grew in size under the influence of our combined speeds. ‘The dory!’ I said.

  ‘And something coming up behind it,’ said Billy. ‘The other Customs launch?’

  ‘I hope not,’ I said.

  There was no time to explain why because I was busy trying to ram the approaching boat. I pulled on the tiller but the dory went the other way in an evading manoeuvre, and as it flashed past I saw the man at the wheel pointing at me. Something hit the side with a thwack and there was the hiss of escaping air.

  ‘Goddamn!’ said Billy.

  I twisted the boat in the water and cut speed. ‘This boat is compartmented. One hole won’t make much difference.’ I looked around. There was no sign of the dory.

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Billy. ‘But if I’m shot at I’m going to shoot back and to hell with Deane.’ The gun was in his hand again.

  I could not argue with that. ‘It was Robinson; I saw him. Where did he go?’

  Billy pointed to an inlet on the port side. ‘He shot down that rabbit hole.’

  The boat that had chased Robinson from the north shore was almost upon us. I stood up and waved with both hands, and as it approached it slowed. A Customs officer leaned from the wheelhouse, and I yelled, ‘Get back to the north shore, you damn fool. Keep the cork in the bloody bottle. If he gets past he can lose you.’

  ‘Who are you to give orders?’

  ‘If you want to argue do it with Commissioner Deane. Now, get the hell back and guard that bloody entrance.’

  The officer withdrew and the launch began to turn in the water. There was a metallic click as Billy put a round into the breech of his pistol. ‘How to make friends and influence people.’ He snapped off the safety catch. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I wished I had a map. ‘Winkling him out of there won’t be easy, but if we don’t he can ditch the dory and make an escape overland. He could lose himself in the pine barrens to the east, and it would take a damned army to find him.’

  Billy pointed down the Waterway. ‘A boat’s coming. Your friend the Commissioner, no doubt.’

  I slipped the clutch on the idling engine and we began to move slowly. ‘We’re going in—but easy.’

  I took the boat into the inlet, the engine putt-putting quietly, and we immediately came to a cross canal. ‘Which way?’ said Billy.

  I tossed a mental coin. ‘To starboard,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t really matter.’ We turned to the right and went on for about a hundred yards and came to another junction. Straight on or turn to the left? This was impossible—worse than Hampton Court Maze—and there were forty-five miles of it.

  From behind came the noise of a rapidly accelerating engine, and Billy shouted, ‘We went the wrong way! Go back!’

  I spun the throttle and slammed over the tiller, and I was in time to see Robinson’s dory shooting across the canal and into the main artery of the Waterway. As it went Billy popped off a shot and then was thrown back as the boat picked up speed and the bow rose into the air.

  We slalomed round the corner and nearly ran into a Customs boat in the Waterway, scooting under its stern and missing by the thickness of a playing card. I twisted the throttle to slow, and kicked over the tiller so as to avoid hitting the opposite bank, then I looked around. The damned dory had disappeared again so I hailed the launch. ‘Where did he go?’

  Deane was on deck. ‘Mangan, get out of here, and take your friend. This is no place for heroics from civilians.’

  I repeated, ‘Where did he go?’

  The launch moved so as to be between me and an inlet. ‘He moved in here—but it’s no business of yours. Perigord is organizing reinforcements. Is he Robinson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘If you want to know, why don’t you ask me?’ said Billy. ‘I’m Billy Cunningham and I want that bastard, Robinson.’

  ‘Mr Cunningham, I see you’re holding a gun. You’d better not have it on your person when we meet again. You’d better drop it over the side.’

  ‘In a pig’s eye,’ said Billy. He pointed to the hole in the rubber and fabric side of the boat. ‘Robinson came out shooting.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Deane. ‘We have excellent jails. Mangan, go away. I want to see you going back down the Waterway.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said quietly, and turned the boat away.

  ‘Your goddamn cops!’ said Billy disgustedly. ‘You’d think he’d want our help, even thank us for it.’

  ‘Be quiet!’ I said. ‘I’m thinking.’

  Again I wished I had a map. I had used the Waterway many times when I had Lucayan Girl, but I had always stuck to the main channel and had not bothered to explore the maze. Now I wished I had. I had a map of Freeport-Lucaya in my office and I tried to visualize the layout of the Waterway.

  We went on a mile down the Waterway and came to another inlet on the same side as the one blocked by the Customs launch. I said, ‘We’re going in here.’

  ‘Is there a through connection?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what’s the use?’

  I said, ‘Billy, every section of this water-riddled bit of real estate has but one connection with the main channel, like the one we’re in now. Deane knows that and he’s sitting there like a terrier outside a rabbit hole waiting for Robinson to come out. Robinson may not know that and if he doesn’t he’ll be looking for another way out. So what happens when he can’t find one?’

  ‘He’ll leave the boat and take to land.’

  ‘Yes. And he’s on the town side this time. It wouldn’t be too hard for him to steal a car, and he stands a sporting chance of getting away. I think Deane is counting on Robinson wasting enough time looking for an exit to allow Perigord to bring up his reinforcements, and I think he’s taking a hell of a chance.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So we’re going in to chase him into Deane’s arms.’


  ‘How in hell are we going to do that if there’s no interconnection?’

  ‘Portage,’ I said. ‘Now I’m glad we came in this boat and not the other.’

  I had timed the minutes we had taken to get from one inlet to the other, and had kept a constant speed. Now we were going back, parallelling the Waterway on a minor canal. I reckoned that when we got half-way that would be the place to go overland. Presently I said, ‘This should be it. We put ashore straight ahead.’

  I cut the engine and we drifted until the boat nosed the bank. ‘Keep your voice down,’ I said. ‘Robinson could very well be just on the other side of here.’

  We went ashore and hauled out the inflatable. ‘We’ll take a look across there before carrying the boat over. And keep your head down.’ We walked over limestone rubble and then over an unused paved road, built for the traffic that had never come. On the other side of the road I dropped into a crouch and then on to my belly as I neared the edge of the next canal.

  I peered over the bank and everything was peaceful. A light breeze ruffled the surface of the water and there was no sign of Robinson’s dory. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and looked to the left. In the middle distance I was a half-constructed house, and a man was working on the roof. I returned my attention to the canal. ‘Okay. Let’s bring up the boat.’

  Billy looked back. ‘A long haul,’ he said. ‘Nearly two hundred yards.’

  ‘We’ll unship the engine,’ I said. ‘And the inflatable has carrying straps.’

  It was hot and heavy work but we finally made the portage and were sitting in the boat with the engine resecured on the transom. I was about to start up when Billy said, ‘Listen!’

  Someone in the half-built house was using a hammer, but under the rhythmic knocking I heard the faraway growl of an outboard engine. It grew louder, and I said, ‘He’s coming this way. Let’s move it.’

  I started the engine, hoping that Robinson would not hear it over the noise of his own, and we moved off. I kept the pace slow and, when we had gone about 200 yards and come to a junction, I killed the engine. Again we heard the sound of another outboard motor, this time distinctly louder. Billy was moving his head from side to side to locate the direction. ‘To the left,’ he said, and took out his gun.

  I restarted the engine and pushed over the tiller, and we moved to the left and towards the house in the distance.There was a bend ahead and I moved to the inside curve, still travelling slowly because I wanted to keep quiet. Over the sound of our own engine I heard the noise of another.

  ‘There he is,’ said Billy, and I saw the dory coming towards us on the other side of the canal on the outside of the bend. I twisted the throttle and the boat bucked at the sudden application of power. Then we were on to him and Billy was shooting, but so was Robinson. Even as Billy fired, a bullet impacted inboard close to my hand and again there was the hiss of escaping air. Robinson was too damn good with his shooting; he had fired but two shots and had hit us both times, and although I had told Billy the inflatable was compartmented Robinson had punctured two air chambers out of the five.

  Then he was past us and I slammed over the tiller, already feeling the difference in the behaviour of the boat; she was slow to come about and not as easily controlled. But Billy shouted, ‘He’s stopped. I hit his engine.’

  I twisted and looked back. The dory was drifting into the bank and, as it touched, Robinson leapt ashore and began to run. He paused and snapped one shot at us before disappearing behind one of the heaps of grey limestone rubble, the spoil left from the dredging of the canal.

  ‘Let’s get after him,’ urged Billy.

  I needed no urging. Already I was heading for the bank and standing, ready to jump. Our feet hit the ground simultaneously, and Billy said, ‘We’ll tackle him from two sides.’ He gestured with his pistol. ‘You go that way and keep your head down.’ He ran in the other direction.

  I ran to the nearest heap of limestone and dropped flat before peering around it cautiously. There was no sign of Robinson. From behind I heard the sound of engines so I looked back to see the Customs launch coming up the canal, fairly boiling along at top speed. Deane must have heard the shots and decided to come in.

  I ignored it and turned again to look for Robinson. We were quite close to the house and there were now two men on the roof, and one of them was pointing at something. I followed the direction of his arm, got to my feet, and began to run. Skidding around another heap of rubble I came across Robinson about ten yards away. He had his back to me, and beyond him I saw Billy come into sight.

  I was late in the tackle. Before I could get to him Robinson fired and Billy dropped in his tracks. But then I was on to him and I had no mercy. His pistol went flying and it took Deane and two of his men to prise my hands from Robinson’s neck.

  Deane hauled me to my feet and pushed me away, standing between me and Robinson. ‘That’s enough!’ he said curtly.

  I heard a car door slam and saw Perigord walking over from a police car near the house. I regained my breath, and said, ‘Then get the bastard out of my sight before I kill him.’ I turned and walked towards Billy.

  He was sitting up, his hand to his head, and when he took it away it was red with blood. ‘He creased me!’ he said blankly. ‘Jesus, but it hurts!’ There was an unfocused look to his eyes, a sign of concussion. I stooped, picked up his gun, and walked to the water’s edge and tossed it into the canal. Then I went back and helped him to his feet.

  ‘You’re lucky you’re not dead,’ I said. ‘Be glad it hurts; it means you’ll live.’

  Already he was looking better. He glanced across at Deane and saw Robinson still prostrate on the ground. ‘Well, we’ve got him.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said shortly. Deane would not now need any excuse for holding Robinson. Any man who popped off a gun was automatically his prey—including Billy. Still, Deane had not seen Billy shoot, so, as we walked towards him, I said, ‘I ditched your gun in the canal.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Robinson sat up and Deane was addressing him in fast, fluent Spanish. Among the spate of words I heard the name Perez, repeated several times. Robinson shook his head and replied in Spanish, and then switched into English, with the same plummy accent I had come to know in Texas. ‘I’m a soldier of the revolution,’ he said pompously. ‘And now a prisoner of war. I will answer no questions.’ He got to his feet.

  ‘Prisoner of war?’ said Billy unbelievingly. ‘The guy’s nuts!’

  ‘He’s a bloody murderer,’ I said.

  ‘But that’s for a court to decide, Mr Mangan,’ said Perigord.

  Deane took out handcuffs and then paused, looking at Billy expressionlessly. ‘Search this man,’ he said.

  Billy grinned widely as Perigord’s hands expertly patted his body. ‘What gun?’ he said. ‘I took your advice. It was good.’

  It was then that Robinson made his break. He thumped the nearest Customs officer in the gut, sending him to the ground writhing and retching, and took off, running towards the house. He took us all by surprise. Deane dropped the handcuffs and broke into a run, with me at his heels.

  The builders at the house had stopped work and were now all on the roof, a good vantage point to view the morn-ing’s unexpected entertainment. The sole exception was the driver of a truck which had just arrived. He had got out, leaving the door open and the engine idling, and was calling to the men on the roof. Robinson clouted him in passing and he staggered back to collide with Deane and they both went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

  By that time Robinson was in the cab and the engine of the truck roared. I leaped over the sprawled bodies of Deane and the driver and jumped for the cab, but it was too late and the truck was moving. I missed and fell to the ground. By the time I had picked myself up the truck was speeding up the road.

  I saw Perigord getting into his car so I ran and piled in next to him just as he drove off with a squeal of rubber and a lot of wheel spin. He drove with one ha
nd while unhooking the microphone of his radio from its bracket. He began to give brief but precise instructions, and I gathered that he was remarshalling his forces.

  The truck was still in sight and we were gaining on it. It turned left on to East Sunrise Highway, and I said, ‘He’ll be going on to Midshipman Road, by the Garden of the Groves.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Perigord, and spoke into the microphone again.

  The Garden of the Groves is one of the more sedate of our tourist attractions, the name being a punning one because the 100-acre gardens are dedicated to the memory of Wallace Groves, the founder of Freeport. There were always tourists wandering about that area and the chances were that Robinson could kill someone, travelling at the speed he was.

  We sped down East Sunrise and turned on to Midshipman, and by then we were within fifty yards of the truck. A car shot out of a side road and hit the truck a glancing blow and Perigord braked hard as it crashed into a palm tree. I fumbled for the door handle as I saw Robinson jump from the cab and run towards the Garden.

  Perigord was out before me, and he did something surprising—he threw his swagger stick at Robinson. It flew straight as an arrow and hit Robinson at the nape of the neck and he fell in a tumbled heap in the road.

  Perigord was about to go to him but jumped back as a big double-decker London bus came around the corner. The driver swerved to avoid the crashed truck and his brakes squealed, but it was too late. The bus brushed past Perigord but one wheel went over Robinson’s head.

  EPILOGUE

  After the immediate discussion that followed that incident I did not see Perigord to talk with seriously for nearly a month. He was a very busy man, and so was Commissioner Deane over in Nassau. But he did telephone to tell me that the ampoules found on Carrasco-Perez proved to contain a culture of L. pneumophila, enough to poison the water in every hotel in the Bahamas.

  On the occasion of the annual BASRA Swimming Marathon I invited him and his family back to the house for drinks. Both our daughters had been competitors and Karen, like Sue before her, had won a second prize in her class. Full of pride and ice-cream she cavorted in the pool with Ginnie Perigord, and there did not seem to be much difference between a tanned white hide and a natural brown hide.