‘She’s still on automatic. Now, listen. Those drugs are still aboard. The car came before I could unlock the door and throw them out.’
She looked at him in the glow of the instruments. ‘Oh my God …’
He said quietly, ‘So we daren’t put this plane down on any airstrip, Anna. And we daren’t fly it to America either. So we’re going to put her down very gently on the sea. And sink her. Get rid of her. There’s a life raft aboard, life belts. Now, they taught me at flying school how to ditch at sea. Did they teach you?’
She was white-faced.
‘Yes, of course, but we never practised –’
‘Of course not, nobody does. But can you do it now? If you can’t, I can. But you’re the better flyer.’
‘Oh my God …’ she breathed.
The coast of Bimini was six miles away to the left, a small sprinkle of lights.
Anna brought the plane down, down, towards the flat dark sea, her knuckles white, her face white, her heart pounding. Only her instruments told her how high she was. Down, further down, she came, then they saw it, black and terrible, rushing up to meet them. She levelled out, her heart pounding. The sea hurtled past below. She looked frantically at the altimeter – she was sixty feet above it. Down further; now fifty. Now forty. Thirty. Now twenty, now fifteen. The black water was hurtling by just beneath them. Lower she came. Now the sea was ten feet below, flashing past. Now six. Now four. Every fibre of her was tensed and screaming. Three, and she eased back the yoke and the nose lifted slightly, and she slammed off the engines.
The tail hit first, and there was a lurch that wrenched them forward, then the wheels hit. There was another gut-wrenching jerk and spray flew like stones and there was a blinding crashing jolt that hurled them forwards and there was nothing in the world but the sea flying over them like grapeshot. And the plane ploughed to a blinding stop.
‘Out!’ Morgan rasped.
Anna flung off her seat belt and flung open her door. She scrambled out onto the wing.
The plane floated, half submerged. Morgan frantically unlashed the life raft. He wrenched open the emergency exit, and shoved the life raft through into the sea, and he ripped the cord. There was a bang and the rubber raft mushroomed with a hissing noise.
He scrambled out of his seat, across hers, out onto the wing. The water was rushing in, up to the seats now. Anna heaved the raft up to the wing. He grabbed the painter from her. ‘Get in!’
She got into the raft. Morgan crouched into it, and shoved off with all his might. He snatched up an oar. He punted hard away from the sinking plane.
He paddled twenty yards, then stopped, panting.
The aircraft was settling now. The wings were submerged. Just the tail and the cockpit and propellers were showing. He looked feverishly all around, at the horizon.
There were no boats in sight. Bimini was just a flat blur.
The plane was sinking fast now. Anna had her head in her hand, holding her stomach. Morgan said: ‘Bloody well done.’ He picked up the other oar.
19
Scattered along the airfield of Bimini are the twisted fuselages of smugglers’ aeroplanes that have not landed too well. The planes bring in the cocaine and heroin and marijuana from South America; in the harbour lie the boats that take it on to Florida, only fifty miles away. And out there, beyond the blue horizon, are the United States Coastguard, the fast cutters with cannon, the helicopters and the spotter aircraft. Sometimes there are shoot-outs, sometimes the smugglers set fire to their boats in mid-Gulf Stream to destroy the evidence before the Coastguard cutter catches up, sometimes pilots ditch their planes and take to their rafts to get away from pursuing aircraft, sometimes the Coastguard make big hauls: but there are just too many boats and aircraft to catch them all.
The sun was well up when Morgan and Anna walked into the town. The air was oily warm. Morgan’s chest felt raspy from over-smoking and he felt sweaty, wrung-out, exhausted. And very conspicuous. They walked through the little town in the early morning, carrying the bag, trying to look like two tourists out for an early stroll, desperately looking for an open café to hide in until more people were about. To check into a hotel at this hour would have made them more conspicuous. They walked past the Elizabeth Hotel. Ahead was the harbour. The whole town was quiet, not yet open for breakfast. Then they saw Fred’s Eating House, the door open, a black man mopping the entrance.
They sat at a window, which overlooked the waterfront road, and drank beer while Fred mopped the floor and Mrs Fred cooked breakfast. The beer went into his empty gut like food. God, he was tired. And still shaken. Anna put her hand on his. ‘Before we do anything more we’ve got to sleep.’
‘We’ve got to get off this island today.’
‘Not before you’ve slept.’
‘You did the flying – you’re the one who needs sleep.’
Just then there was the sound of an aeroplane approaching. It was a seaplane. It came roaring low over the harbour, big and white. Then it hit the water and spray flew. It went churning down the harbour. It came to a stop and turned. It came churning towards the shore. On the waterfront was a wired enclosure with a concrete ramp into the sea. Two wheels unfolded under the plane’s wings, and disappeared into the water. The seaplane ploughed towards the ramp, then came roaring up it like a huge duck. Chocks were put against its wheels. It cut its engines. The door opened, and passengers started climbing out.
‘We’ll say we came in on that plane. I’ll go and get us a hotel room. Stay here.’
He walked out of the eating house. He headed back down the waterfront, to the Elizabeth Hotel.
It was a small hotel. He checked in, and went upstairs to the room. Its window overlooked the street. The door locks were sound. He looked down the corridor; there was no fire escape. That was a pity. He went downstairs to the foyer. There Was a framed nautical chart on the wall showing the Bimini islands and the coast of Florida. He ran his eye down the American coast, looking for ports. Then he left the hotel.
The first passengers were coming along the waterfront. He felt better, with other people about. He walked back to Fred’s. Anna smiled at him as he entered. He was not yet used to her having black hair. He picked up his beer and drank it down, down, down.
‘Two more beers here, please.’
‘See those long boats?’ Anna said.
There were five or six, tied to moorings. They were sleek, with high prows. On the sterns of each were at least two, sometimes three, big outboard motors. Anna said: ‘Those are the ones smugglers use all over the Caribbean. Called “cigarette boats”. They can do seventy miles an hour. Outrun any Coastguard boat.’
Fred brought the beers. He said, ‘You folks up early.’
Anna said, ‘We’ve been for a walk.’ She added: ‘To watch the sunrise.’
Morgan said, ‘Beautiful.’ He was beginning to feel better, with the beer.
Fred picked up his mop again. ‘Didn’t see that plane, did you?’
Morgan’s beer stopped in front of his mouth.
‘What plane?’
‘Plane ditched into the sea round about dawn. The boys out lookin’ for it now.’
Anna was white-faced.
‘Was it a passenger plane?’
‘Hell, no. What d’you think it was carryin’?’
Morgan said: ‘What boys are out looking for it?’
The black man said, ‘Black Cat’s boys.’
‘Who’s Black Cat?’
Fred glanced at them. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Okay. You don’ know who Black Cat is, Fred ain’t the guy to shoot his mouth off.’
Anna stared at him. ‘Were there any survivors?’
‘Must be, lady, ’cos they found the life raft buried on the beach.’
Morgan took a deep breath.
‘But was it Black Cat’s plane, or his cargo, or what?’
‘Don’ ask me, Mister, the boys gonna be askin’ plenty questions enough.’
Mrs Fred came out of the kit
chen, carrying plates. She put them down in front of them. Morgan felt sick in his guts. He said softly to Anna:
‘As soon as we’ve finished this, I’m taking you to the hotel. Lock yourself in. I’m going straight out to rent us a boat. I don’t like the sound of this Black Cat.’
It was too early for many people to be about, but he could not wait. He walked along the harbour. There were several signs offering boats for hire. He saw a black boy fishing on a jetty.
‘Who rents boats around here, son?’
The boy pointed at the next jetty. ‘Charlie do.’
Morgan walked back to the road, to the next jetty. An old white man was sitting on a small yacht, drinking tea. ‘Good morning, are you Charlie?’
‘Yep, sure am.’
‘I want to rent a boat. For a few days’ fishing. Without crew. What have you got?’
‘But I knows where the fish hangs out,’ old Charlie said. ‘You needs me along.’
Morgan’s nerves were stretched tight. ‘We want to be alone, we don’t care if we don’t catch fish. Lie in the sun, drink a little wine. Do a bit of scuba diving. A little nude swimming.’
‘Aw, shucks,’ old Charlie said, ‘I’m used to that. I don’t like rentin’ my boats bare.’
‘Then it’s no deal.’
Old Charlie said grumpily: ‘Okay …’ He looked at him. ‘You ain’t figurin’ on divin’ on that aeroplane crashed this mornin’, are yer?’
Morgan’s heart missed a beat again. ‘What aeroplane?’
‘Ditched into the sea this morning, that’s all I knows.’
‘Were there any survivors?’
‘Danged if I know. But the boys is out lookin’ for the wreck and they won’t take kindly to strangers tryin’ to muscle in.’
‘What boys?’
Old Charlie smirked., ‘Shucks, what boys? What d’yer think was on that plane? Worth a lot of money. An’ the boys will be lookin’ for it, an’ they won’t take kindly to you helpin’ them. Like, cut your throat.’
‘Wherabouts did this plane crash? So I can stay away.’
Old Charlie waved his hand. ‘Over east somewheres an’ I don’t want to know more. I just knows where the fish hangs out.’
‘What boats have you got?’ He felt feverish.
‘You lookin’ at it. Or that one.’ He pointed.
It was a speedboat with a small cabin and one outboard engine. Morgan didn’t trust it to cross the Gulf Stream. The little yacht Charlie was on looked all right, but would be slow.
‘Anything faster? Like one of those?’ He pointed at the long cigarette boats.
‘Those belong to Black Cat an’ the boys, an’ they ain’t in the habit of charterin’ to nobody.’
‘Who’s Black Cat?’
Old Charlie smirked again. ‘Black Cat’s Mr Big aroun’ these islands.’
‘Is he black?’
‘As the ace of spades.’
‘Why’s he called Cat?’
‘I can take a guess,’ old Charlie said. ‘Most rental boats are already hired for today, anyways, you gotta book.’
Morgan clambered onto the little boat and examined it quickly. It was a twenty-four-foot sloop, called Rosemary. Her rigging looked all right. It had a cabin, a small galley, two bunks, a toilet, the standard layout. It looked a good little boat, but six knots would be top speed. He looked feverishly across the harbour for other people moving about. He saw a boat enter the harbour, mean and sleek. It swung towards the jetty. Three men were in it, all black. It roared towards them, then swung into an arrogant turn, broadside on to the jetty. A tall black man leapt out and came striding up the jetty.
‘That’s him,’ old Charlie said.
He was lean and powerful, and Morgan’s blood ran cold. He looked like a cat, face round, his eyes slanted and piercing, his ears unusually pointed. He strode, with a face like thunder. The two men followed, hefting aqualung tanks.
‘Come back for air refills,’ old Charlie said. ‘They madder ‘n hell.’
Black Cat strode furiously past, off the jetty, and across the waterfront road, heading for Fred’s Eating House. He disappeared inside. Morgan turned back to old Charlie. ‘Okay, I’ll take it. For three days. Is she ready to go?’
‘Hundred bucks per twenty-four hours,’ old Charlie said happily. ‘Plus a hundred bucks deposit on the rods and gear. Take a couple of hours to crank her up.’
‘Two hours?’
‘Got to change the oil, an’ tank her up. An’ I guess you’d like ice, and bait.’
‘Forget the ice and bait. I want her ready in half an hour.’
‘Get the ice an’ bait same place as the diesel. Booze an’ some cans of food aboard, yer pays at the end for what you takes.’
‘One hour – maximum. This is my holiday, man!’
‘No can do,’ Charlie said happily ‘Two hours.’
He wanted to hurry straight back to the hotel, but he dared not walk past Fred’s. Black Cat had not yet come out. Morgan turned left, away from Fred’s. He walked feverishly along the waterfront, trying to look casual. He took the first road to the right. He walked fast, past old houses and shops. At the end of the block he turned right again. Now he was in a road behind Fred’s. He walked for three blocks. Then turned right again, back to the hotel.
He did not look left or right in the foyer. He mounted the stairs, two at a time.
He scratched lightly on the door, then put in the key.
She sat on the bed, her back in the corner, the pistol in her hand, her head hanging. She was deep asleep.
He closed the door and locked it. He looked at his watch. Only twenty minutes had passed since he left Charlie.
He went into the bathroom and turned on the cold shower. He stripped off and stepped under it. He let the water beat down on his head then turned his face into it. He soaped himself, and washed his hair. He dried himself, and he was sweating again. He washed his clothes, and pulled them on wet. He put more black rinse in his hair. He looked at his watch. All that had only taken twenty minutes.
Then there was a loud knock on the door.
He froze. Anna woke up with a start. He held up a warning finger at her. The knock came again, louder. ‘This is the manager! Open up!’
‘What is it?’
‘Open up, man, I wanna talk to ya!’
He knew it wasn’t the manager. He cursed himself for answering. He pulled the dead pilot’s gun out of his pocket. His hands were shaking. ‘Go away, I’m resting!’
‘You the folks at Fred’s Eatin’ House this mornin’ early?’
His hammering heart missed a beat. ‘No! – go away or I’ll call the police!’
‘Police? …’ Contemptuously. ‘Listen, man, you the folks were out watchin’ the sunrise?’
‘No! – we only arrived this morning, so go away!’
Striding footsteps. Then a knocking on the room next door. Morgan whispered feverishly: ‘Get ready. Leave some things behind, like a pair of panties.’
There was more knocking, further down the corridor. Anna hurried into the bathroom and started collecting her things.
The knocking was further away now. Then he heard a voice: ‘Hey, what you doin’?’
There was the sound of argument. Morgan waited, tensely. Then the sound of striding footsteps. They clattered down the stairs.
Morgan turned feverishly to the window.
A young black man came striding out of the hotel. Morgan could not see his face, but it was not Black Cat. The man disappeared around the corner, in the direction of Fred’s Eating House.
‘Come on!’
Anna emerged from the hotel, turned right, away from the waterfront. Morgan followed, ten paces behind, carrying the bag. The gun was tucked into his waistband, under his shirt. The other gun was in the bag. It felt as if all eyes were watching them. Anna walked up the street, desperately trying to look casual. At the end of the block, she turned left.
It felt better, out of sight of the main road. They
walked three blocks down the back street, twenty yards apart. There were plenty of people about, mostly black. Anna came to the road that led down to Fred’s. The windows down there seemed to shriek at her. She crossed the road. Out of sight of Fred’s.
At the end of the next block she turned left. Down there was the harbour. Morgan looked desperately for Charlie’s yacht. It was not there yet. But Black Cat’s boat was still there. They walked down towards the waterfront. On the corner was a dress shop. Morgan hissed to her and she glanced back. He nodded at the shop. She turned into it.
Morgan followed her inside. Anna pretended to examine dresses. A black sales girl came to Morgan.
‘I’m just looking. Something for my wife’s birthday.’
‘We have those sundresses …’
The girl left him alone after a minute. He could see the jetty through the shop window. He looked at his watch. Still forty-five minutes to wait …
He pretended to look at dresses. Dress after dress.
‘What’s your wife’s size, sir?’
He turned to the sales girl harassedly. ‘Your size.’
‘That’s ten, sir.’
‘May I try these on?’ Anna called across the shop.
Just then he saw Black Cat’s men hurrying onto the jetty again, carrying four aqualung tanks. Morgan stiffened, his heart knocking with relief. He waited for Black Cat to appear. He did not. The two men got to the end of the jetty, hefted the tanks into the boat. Morgan waited for Black Cat. The two men untied the boat, and his heart sank. The boat surged away. It went roaring across the harbour towards the open sea.
Ten minutes later he saw Charlie’s little yacht chugging across the harbour.
‘I think I’ll have to bring my wife here,’ he said loudly so Anna would hear.
Anna emerged from the changing cubicle in a yellow frock.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said.
It seemed a long walk. In the blinding glare of the sun. The whole world watching. A hundred yards away were the windows of Fred’s Eating House.
They crossed the street, side by side. They walked onto the jetty. Morgan could feel eyes everywhere. Old Charlie was waiting, wreathed in enamel smiles. The engine was running. ‘Hi,’ Charlie beamed.
A Woman Involved Page 13