by Jack Higgins
We coasted out on the other side of the tunnel and I shoved on the brakes to slow her up a little. "Get ready to jump!" I told him.
"Are you going to leave her running, old stick?"
"I don't see why not. That way they won't have the slightest idea where we got off. With any luck she'll keep right on going until she ends up back in that prison yard."
I jumped then, quite suddenly and without telling him, no great feat as the train was doing no more than ten miles an hour. I hit the gravel at the side of the track, still running and Langley followed, perhaps twenty or thirty yards further on. I scrambled up the banking quickly and was on top, ready and waiting as he arrived.
The train disappeared around a curve and Langley joined me. "There she goes, out of our lives forever. I feel quite sad. What now?"
"We make tracks," I said. "For Gela and as fast as we can. I told Barzini to give me an hour, remember, and then leave and he's just liable to take me at my word."
I was still holding the Stechkin, I let him see that and I waited, making him move out first which he did, although that same tiny amused smile was in evidence as if he knew what I was thinking and found the whole damn thing too funny for words.
But that didn't matter. Not as far as I was concerned. I had his back in front of me all the way down the hillside to the sea and that was all I was interested in.
I checked my watch as we went down through the olive grove on the outskirts of Gela. The Bedouin camp was quiet. A dog barked once at our passing, then subsided.
The general store was in darkness also, except for a single light on the veranda, but as we passed a voice hissed from the shadows, "Signor Grant! Over here!"
Izmir stood against the wall, concealed from view by a buttress. "What is it?" I said.
"Your friends are in bad trouble, signor. The customs launch and Lieutenant Ibrahim returned this evening after you had left and tied up at the pier."
"Did he visit the Palmyra?"
"Oh, yes, signor."
Which was a really bad break if you like and I wondered what Angelo had told him.
"Three of his men were up here very late, signor, drinking and playing cards. Someone came for them from the customs launch. It seems they had received a message over the radio asking them to check all strange boats. Something to do with an escape from Ras Kanai."
"Has anyone else come through here within the past half an hour or so?" I said.
"Your friends, signor. Lieutenant Ibrahim had them arrested at once and your boat brought in to the pier."
"That's bloody marvelous," Langley said. "I mean to say that really does make it the end of a perfect day."
"My thanks," I said to Izmir and moved off into the darkness toward the pier, and this time I didn't worry too much about my back because it struck me with some force that in the circumstances, Langley and I needed each other rather badly.
The customs launch was moored at the end of the pier and the Palmyra was tied up to her. The deck lights were turned on giving plenty of illumination. Barzini, Nino, Simone, and Angelo stood together by the wheelhouse, all with their hands clasped behind their backs. Wyatt sat on the deck, his back to the rail.
Lieutenant Ibrahim confronted them, full of self importance. Six or seven sailors stood in a half circle, rifles at the ready.
We paused in the shelter of a beached fishing boat. "My God," Langley said, "they'll make him a Hero of the Revolution or something for this night's work. Flag rank at the very least. The thing is, what are we going to do about it?"
"Whatever it is, it had better be quick," I said. "I should think he's been on the radio to Tripoli by now. He doesn't strike me as the sort to hide his light under a bushel."
There was no one stationed at the RPD machine gun mounted on the swivel in the stern. I pointed it out to Langley. "Do you think you could swim round the end of the pier and take charge of that thing if I created a diversion?"
"I should imagine so."
"All right, off you go. I'll give you five minutes."
He dodged along the beach, keeping to the shadows and entered the water close to the pier itself. I watched very closely, could just see his head as he went round the end of the pier. It was then that I made my move.
I unclipped the Stechkin's wooden holster from my belt and clipped it into place, forming a shoulder stock. Then I took careful aim and shot out the launch's masthead light.
It was almost funny. Everybody went down including the sailors, except for Ibrahim, who drew a pistol. I fired again, shattering a window in his wheelhouse and three of his men fired wildly in my general direction. By that time I was flat on my face behind the boat and when I looked up again it was in time to see Langley haul himself over the rail behind them and take charge of the machine gun, swinging it on its swivel and firing a short burst out into the bay.
The effect was spectacular. Ibrahim and his men all turned and froze, trapped by this new menace. As I ran across the sand to the pier, Langley spoke to them in Arabic. The sailors turned uncertainly to look at Ibrahim and Langley loosed off another burst that shattered every window in the wheelhouse. This time everyone, including Ibrahim, did as they had obviously been told and threw their weapons over the side into the sea.
"Now we'll have them all on the pier," I said to Langley as I stepped over the rail.
He again gave them the necessary order and the sailors complied without hesitation. Ibrahim was slightly more reluctant and said to me, eyes smoldering, "You cannot hope to get away with this. The Libyan navy ..."
"What navy, for Christ's sake?" Barzini put a boot to his rear that sent him staggering over the rail.
"Right, let's get out of here," I said.
Nino and Barzini lifted Wyatt across the rail to the Palmyra and took him below and Simone went with them. I told Angelo to cast off, went into the wheel-house and started the engines. Barzini and Nino came back on deck holding assault rifles and stood at the rail covering the sailors.
"All right," I called to Langley. "Let's go."
He lifted the RPD off its tripod and threw it into the sea, then boarded Palmyra grinning hugely. "Anything else I can do for you, old stick?"
"Come to think of it, there is." I took one of the Sturma stick grenades from my belt and passed it out of the window to him. "You did a neat job on those tracks back at the prison. Let's see what you can accomplish this time."
"My pleasure."
As I increased power and turned Palmyra away he yanked the pin and stood at the rail holding the grenade for what seemed an inordinate length of time, only throwing it at the last possible moment. It sailed through one of the broken windows of the wheelhouse and exploded, with unfortunate consequences for Lieutenant Ibrahim and two of his men who were in the act of boarding.
The launch started to burn furiously and there was a further explosion when the fuel tank went up, but by that time I was taking Palmyra through the passage between the Sisters and out to sea fast.
13
Rebel Without A Cause
I switched on every light we had and told Nino and Barzini to rig the fishing nets from mast to stern again.
"Page eighty-three of my copy of Mao Tse Tung on Guerrilla Warfare," I told Barzini when he joined me in the wheelhouse. "When a fish wishes to hide, it finds a shoal of fish. He suggests the revolutionary does the same."
"Do we qualify?"
"Well, let's put it this way. There are a hell of a lot of tunny boats scattered around between here and an outer limit that varies between ten to fifteen miles. This way we look just like all the others, so if anyone is searching for us, good luck to them."
God knows why I felt so cheerful, but in any event, we were soon passing through the tunny fleet. It required some careful navigating and I had to keep a constant eye out for nets, but within an hour or so we were leaving their lights behind. I pushed the engines up to full power and pressed on into the darkness.
For most of the time I was alone, but finally Simo
ne appeared with coffee and sandwiches. She put the tray on the chart table and I locked on to automatic steering.
"What happened back there on the train after we left?" she asked.
I told her. When I'd finished she said, "I'm glad you didn't shoot Masmoudi. He was rather nice. Not at all as that revolting little Zingari man described him."
"I see." I pulled her into my arms. "You fancied him, did you?"
"Very definitely," she said. "Only duty called."
"How's Wyatt?"
"Not so good. Barzini and Nino had to drag him every step of the way from the railway line to the beach. He should be in hospital, Oliver. He's a sick man."
"What's he doing now?"
"Sleeping. He was completely exhausted."
"Did he say anything?"
She shook her head. "Not a word. For most of the time he was conscious he just didn't seem to be able to take in what was happening. He's in the aft cabin."
"Okay," I said. "This is what I want you to do. Go back and stay with him. You use the other bunk. I don't want him left alone with Langley on any account. I'll join you later."
"But I don't understand," she said. "Why should Justin cause trouble now? It doesn't make sense."
"Sense or not, he's up to something. I've never been more certain of anything in my whole life, so you watch him."
She went out and I unlocked the automatic pilot and took the wheel again and sat back thinking about it all. What could Langley be up to? It was a puzzle certainly. Possibly Stephen Wyatt could provide some answers.
The door banged open and Barzini entered. "I'll take over. You get some sleep."
"I've told Simone to stay with Wyatt. I think I'll bunk in with her."
"You expecting trouble?"
"From Langley?" I shrugged. "God knows, but I don't trust that character an inch. Better to be safe than sorry. You watch yourself, too, understand?"
He took a .38 Smith and Wesson from his pocket and laid it to hand on the chart table. "I got a friend. No need to worry about me, so off you go."
When I went down into the saloon Langley was stretched out on one of the bench seats smoking a cigarette. He glanced up and smiled. "Looking for me, old stick?"
For a moment I was tempted to have it out with him, but have what out, that was the trouble. I could see his bland smile now. The simulated bewilderment.
"Not particularly," I said and I opened the door to the aft cabin and went inside.
I bolted it behind me. Simone was in one bunk, a blanket draped round her shoulders, and Wyatt was in the other. She wasn't sleeping, but Wyatt was dead to the world, the bruised face tired and full of strain.
I took off my ammunition belt and placed it with the two Sturma grenades on top of the locker. Then I took off my boots and climbed into the bunk beside Simone pulling the blanket over both of us.
She snuggled into me, my arm about her. "This is nice."
What she didn't see was the Stechkin ready in my left hand under the blanket. Not that it mattered, for after a while she began to breathe slowly and steadily and I knew she was asleep.
One moment I was asleep and then awake, everything crystal clear and sharp. Simone was still dead to the world, her back toward me, but when I turned, Wyatt was lying on his side watching me. His left arm hung down to the floor and he was holding one of the stick grenades. He was still very pale and the bruising on his face looked ghastly, but a lot of the strain had gone. He seemed himself again, if I can put it that way, although that was obviously only an impression.
I said, "A nasty little toy if it's handled the wrong way."
He glanced down at the Sturma and frowned as if surprised to find it there. Then he put it down on top of the locker. "Who are you?"
There was a knock at the door and Barzini called, "Open up in there. It's coffee time. You having an orgy or something?"
As I got up to open the door, Simone awakened and stretched her arms. Barzini entered with a coffee pot in one hand and several cups in the other. "We're fresh out of cream," he said. "You'll have to drink it black and like it."
It was certainly strong enough and had the effect of a shot in the arm. "Where's Langley?" I said.
"Took over the wheel twenty minutes ago. Winds four to five with rain squalls. Bit of a sea running, but nothing to write home about."
Wyatt was sitting up, drinking his coffee, eyes watchful. I said, "How do you feel now?"
He came straight to the point. "Who in the hell are you? What is all this?"
"My name's Grant," I said. "This is Aldo Barzini and Simone Delmas. Your father sent us to get you out."
A look of complete astonishment appeared on his face. "My father?"
"Dimitri Stavrou."
"Oh, him." He leaned back against the bulkhead and laughed weakly. "So that's it? So it is just a dream after all." He looked me straight in the face and said calmly, "All right, Mr. Grant, how did he tell you to dispose of me? A bullet in the back of the skull? A knife in the ribs?"
I stared at him in astonishment and then some sort of light began to dawn. Simone said, "What's he talking about, Oliver?"
I'd pushed the Stechkin into my belt earlier. When I took it out Wyatt flinched, expecting the worst. Instead, I turned it butt first and put it into his hand.
"There's the safety catch," I said. "All right? Now I'll make a bargain with you. I'll tell you my side then you tell me yours. I've an idea we're both in for a surprise."
He fingered the Stechkin, a frown on his face, then said slowly, "Fair enough."
I said, "You were in Viet Nam?"
"That's right--paratroops, only don't start waving any flags."
"So was I for a while, among other things. I had a reputation for being able to get people out of places. People like you. Later, in civilian life, I made quite a living out of it."
"I get it. My stepfather hired you?"
"Not exactly. He tried to, but I'd decided to retire from the game. I wasn't interested."
"So how did he persuade you to change your mind?"
I told him in a few crisp, uncomplicated sentences. When I finished his face was bleak. "Typical of the bastard," he said. "The kind of nastiness he's been famous for all his life."
I said, "Al Capone must have loved him."
"I know one person who didn't. My mother. He treated her like a dog, Mr. Grant, for years. Used her only to further his own ends. She lived in total terror of him until the day she died. Trembled at the sound of his voice."
"But he told me he loved her," Simone said. "That was why he wanted you out of Ras Kanai. He looked upon it as some sort of sacred duty."
Wyatt laughed again. "He really does get better and better. When I got back from Nam I returned to Yale for a while, but it wasn't my scene anymore. You know how it is? I bummed around the Mediterranean for a while and then got mixed up with some Libyan students who didn't like the Quadhafi regime. The rest, as they say, is history."
"And your stepfather, he tried to get you released?" Barzini asked.
"Oh, sure." Wyatt was getting angry now. "But not because he wanted to do me any favor. That man wouldn't have sent flowers to my funeral. He hated my guts because I'd told him where he stood in my book on several occasions, some of them public. He only became interested in my welfare after my mother's death."
"I don't follow," I said.
"It's really quite simple. Like one of those big insurance policies, I'm worth more dead than alive, at least as far as my stepfather is concerned. You see, when he ran into trouble in the States and was deported, my mother was still left with her rights because she was American-born. So, he put everything in her name, and I mean everything. From a financial point of view a very lucrative thing to do under the circumstances. No risk to it, after all. As I've said, she was terrified of him. When he snapped his fingers she'd crawl."
"Heh, I'm beginning to see a little light here," Barzini cut in. "She decided to get her own back."
"That's it. She h
ad cancer. She knew she was going so she had a will drawn up privately leaving the whole thing to me. Unfortunately, under the trust laws, I don't inherit till my twenty-fifth birthday and that isn't until next year."
"And if you die before then?" Simone said.
"Everything legally reverts to Dimitri--no problems." He chuckled. "God, but I'd have liked to have been there when the lawyers told him what she'd done. They say he was like a madman for three days."
"How long ago was this?" I said.
"About nine months."
I said to Simone, "And you knew nothing about this?"
"Not a word, I swear it," she said. "I was only with him for six months, remember."
Wyatt carried on. "He tried to get me to go and see him, made all sorts of promises, but I wasn't having any. Then somebody took a shot at me one night. I was still at Yale then. I figured there was a contract out on me and started running."
"Which was why you came to the Mediterranean? To hide?"
"I know, don't tell me. I certainly chose one hell of a public way of doing it. Face on the front page of every newspaper in the world. Show trial in Tripoli." He shook his head. "It's kind of funny when you look at it. When he finally found me I was as far off as ever."
There was a heavy silence as we all sat there thinking about it. Finally, I said, "If you made it to that twenty-fifth birthday of yours, what would you do?"
"Well, I'll tell you," he said. "That money was screwed out of people. Prostitution, drugs, protection --you name it and he had a finger in it, no matter how rotten. It seems to me that it would be kind of appropriate if it went back to people in some way. I know several relief organizations who could do one hell of a lot with five million dollars."
Simone's breath hissed between her teeth sharply. Barzini said with a kind of awe in his voice, "How much did you say?"