"You do not frighten me," the mate said harshly. His mouth opened wider and Durell saw he was going to yell. He hit the man once, chopped again, and the mate's shout changed to a strangled scream that died in his battered throat. He pitched forward, twitching, and lay still.
Durell stood quietly listening. There was no alarm. The shouts of the longshoremen and the rumble of machinery in the ship's hold had effectively drowned out the single cry of the MGB agent.
Quickly he dragged the limp body to the tiny water closet, crammed the man inside in a sitting position, and slammed the narrow louvered door shut. Then he stepped into the corridor again, a swift and silent shadow opening and closing the cabin doors on this side of the dining saloon. Each stateroom was empty. He went back across the saloon, checked the four forward cabins. Empty. No sign of Albert Marni.
It could have been a false lead, but he did not think so. Not with the MGB man waiting for him.
A narrow ladder led to the officers' quarters, aft of the bridge. Durell climbed it swiftly, aware of time running out too fast. The mate would not be the only Soviet agent aboard this Polish freighter. There would be at least one other, probably two, and certainly the captain would be considered a sound security risk by the other side. He had two minutes left, three at the most.
He found Albert Marni in the captain's cabin.
The captain's name was Grozni, according to the small metal plate on the door. Albert Marni sat on a bunk with a chess set of finely carved Indian ivory on a board on his lap, and Captain Grozni, to judge by the braid on his blue uniform, sat opposite him with his left hand poised to make a move. The captain's right hand held a long-barreled pistol. It was pointed at Durell. The captain spoke English with an Oxford accent.
"Come in, sir. Shut the door. We have been expecting you."
Durell saw the panic and dismay in old Albert Marni's eyes. His own gun was lowered, and the split second it would require to raise it to firing position would be enough for Grozni to shoot him dead. He stepped over the threshold and closed the cabin door behind him.
Albert Marni looked older than he had appeared in the picture Durell had seen of him in Stella's apartment yesterday. Older and more tired and infinitely frightened. He had a halo of white hair, a sad and gentle face, dark eyes lost in aged wrinkles. He spoke in a tired, whispering voice.
"I do not know who you are, sir, but they have been waiting for you for half an hour. You do not have a chance. They deliberately allowed you to come aboard."
"Hold your tongue, Marni," the captain said.
Grozni had a round, bearded face, a big head that was totally bald. He looked big and brutal, a man in his forties, with violence stamped on him by way of a crooked scar that ran down one cheek to be hidden by his beard. Yet there was curiosity in his eyes, and caution, and his deep voice was mild enough.
"Captain Grozni." Marni said, "this man can help us. You've told me how you feel..."
"Shut your mouth!" Grozni whispered.
In the moment that the captain's eyes swung back to the pitiful old man, Durell jumped across the room. He was direct in his violence, offering no quarter, expecting none. He slapped the gun out of Grozni's hand and heard it clatter against the steel bulkhead, and then he locked both hands together and brought down all the weight of chest and shoulders in a blow to the back of the captain's neck. The bearded man was built like a bull. He surged out of his chair and Durell's knee lifted and caught him under his jaw and lifted him, arms flailing, across the narrow cabin. Even then, Grozni did not go out entirely. He hit the bulkhead and slid down to a sitting position on the deck, eyes glazed, shaking his head and muttering to himself in Polish.
Durell picked up the captain's gun and turned to Albert Marni.
"Come along, Mr. Marni. We're getting out of here."
"But... I cannot go," the old man whispered.
"Get up. We'll make it fast."
"My legs, sir. I don't know who you are, but the captain has the keys, and I cannot move."
Durell pushed aside the chessboard, and the ivory pieces clattered to the floor. Heavy chains on the old man's thin ankles shackled him to the steel bunk. He swung around, stood over the dazed captain. Blood stained the captain's beard. "You have the keys?"
"You will regret this," Grozni muttered. "Mr. Marni stays aboard my ship. Ask him. He will not leave with you."
"The keys, Captain," Durell said dangerously.
"Ask him if he will go ashore with you!" Grozni shouted. "Ask him, you fool!"
Durell looked at the old man, saw the sickness and lack of hope. "Well?"
"The captain has not been bad to me. I stay here. I go home."
"Why?"
"I wish to," the old man muttered. "I want to go home."
"Then why did they chain you like an animal?"
"I do not know."
"Did they tell you anything about your daughter?"
Terror flared in the old, rheumy eyes. Marni's breath made a thin, papery sound in the silent cabin. "It has nothing to do with Stella."
"If they told you they are holding her as a prisoner, they are lying. I know where she is. I have Stella, and she is safe. Do you understand me? You don't have to stay aboard because you are afraid for her. They can't hurt her now. They don't even know where she is."
The old man's hands came up, his white hair in a wild halo around his seamed face, and he appeared to grow suddenly younger with unexpected hope. His hand clutched at Durell's arm. "This is the truth? You do not lie to me?"
"Stella is safe. They don't have her."
Slowly, the old man nodded. "I see. It is always lies. They do not know how to live except by lies, by threats, by pain and terror and misery." Marni's voice grated, grew stronger. "They know no truth but their own religion, and their only god is power. The power to hurt, to torture, to frighten, to kill. Yes. Get the keys. The captain has them. I believe you and I will go with you."
The captain spoke from his sitting position on the floor. His voice was strangely calm. "You will never get ashore alive. Either of you."
Durell said: "Then you will die with us, Captain. And if you are counting on your second mate, you can forget about him. He is not concerned with this any more." He moved away from the old man. "Take the keys from your pocket and slide them across the deck."
Grozni's eyes opened wide for a moment, accepting what Durell had told him, and then he gave the keys to Durell. Durell handed them to the old man, not taking his stare from the Polish captain. "Free yourself, Mr. Marni."
"It is not that easy to strike off one's chains," Grozni whispered.
A half minute ticked by before Albert Marni's shackles clanked on the deck. The old man stood up, tottering, and leaned against Durell for support. "Please. I am ill. I have been ill for some time, but they refused to give me medical attention. Captain Grozni was kind, but he could do nothing."
"Come along," Durell said. "You too, Captain. You understand what will happen if you try to raise an alarm."
Grozni wavered to his feet, rubbing his throat where Durell had struck him. His bald, shaven head looked shiny in the harsh cabin light. Durell followed him into the passage with Marni shuffling painfully behind them. The officers' quarters were quiet. Albert Marni turned down the ladder to the passenger deck on shaky legs. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and now a new terror gleamed in his watery eyes.
"Please. Whoever you are, do you tell me the truth? Is my Stella safe? They do not have her?"
"She's safe," Durell assured him.
"They beat me. They made me write a note to her, to tell her to obey orders. They will kill her if she does not obey. They would have beaten me to death, I think, but Captain Grozni stopped them." Great beads of perspiration glistened on Marni's wrinkled face. He halted suddenly, his hand at his chest. "I can go no farther. There is a weakness in me."
"Try," Durell urged him. "Just down to the dock."
They stepped out on the deck overlooking the shed roofs and
the pier where the longshoremen worked the cargo. Everything looked normal down there. The officer on the bridge was shouting something through his megaphone, and then he looked down, straight at the captain and Durell and Albert Marni. He shouted in Polish to the captain.
"Answer him," Durell snapped. "Tell him you are going ashore for a few moments."
The captain smiled. "And if I tell Jankewitz something else?"
"You'll pay," Durell said grimly. "Answer him."
The captain cupped his hands and shouted briefly up to the officer on the bridge. The man up there stared down at them, his face a pale patch of white against the lowering sky above him. Then he turned abruptly and vanished from the wing.
The captain laughed.
"March," Durell said. "Down to the pier."
If the captain had raised an alarm, Durell was only one man against the entire crew. The way ahead led down the passage to the stairs that opened on the cargo hatch in the side of the ship where he had entered. Durell hurried the captain along, but he could not hurry Albert Marni. The old man dragged along, gasping and panting. Durell had left the captain's gun and the mate's pistol in the cabin, but he kept his hand on his own gun inside his black leather jacket.
They were on the cargo deck when they met their first interference. Two burly seamen stood guard at the open gangway that led to the pier and safety. Grozni stopped abruptly. His eyes were narrow, his mouth tight under his disheveled beard. His scar glistened whitely.
'Tell them to stand aside," Durell ordered.
"They will not obey," Grozni whispered. "You do not understand. I am not the true master of this ship. Stepov, the second mate, is the political commissar. The Boroslav is a special kind of ship; she is not truly Polish. Stepov is the master here. He gives the orders."
The two seamen came forward slowly, their bulk filling the passage. Durell said swiftly: "Won't they obey any order you give?"
"No. Those two take orders only from Stepov."
"Then you're a prisoner aboard, yourself?"
"In a way. We are all prisoners of one thing or another. They suspect how I feel about their murdering regime. One's tongue slips occasionally, forced by anger. But they know I am safe. They know I must obey orders." Grozni shrugged. "They would like to replace me, but who could they get in my place? They need every shipmaster they have. And I wear my chains, like Albert Marni, even if they are not as visible as his."
Durell said carefully: "Wouldn't you like to be free, too?"
The captain said thinly: "What I would like to be and what I can afford to do about it are not the same. I have a family in Gdynia. My wife and three beautiful daughters. I love them all. They watch me. They do not trust me, but they watch, and if I make a wrong move, my family dies. So ask me nothing, please. If I could help..."
The first of the two seamen said something in Polish, gave a brief command. The captain answered angrily. The second seaman took out a short length of pipe and replied in harsh, contemptuous tones.
"I can do nothing," Grozni said to Durell. "They order you to turn the old man loose."
The two seamen were advancing down the passage, sure of themselves. One reached for Albert Marni and flung him aside against the bulkhead. Durell caught the man's arm and twisted, felt bones wrench and muscles tear. The man screamed and Durell shoved his arm high up behind his back and slammed him forward, head first into the steel wall. The man collapsed. Then a massive arm clamped around Durell's throat as the second man leaped on him. His head was snapped back with terrific force. The light faded before his eyes. He let himself go, relaxing suddenly, reversing the thrust of his weight, twisting at the same moment. The man's convulsed face blurred before his eyes. Durell slammed a fist at the open mouth, jabbed a thumb into the corded neck. The grip on his throat slipped and he twisted his head sharply, dropping out of it entirely. His legs were unsteady for a moment and he tripped over the first seaman, crumpled against the bulkhead. The other shouted for help and Durell hit him in the throat, heard the whistle of a blow slamming past his head, and drove a foot into the seaman's belly. The other made a sound like a stricken horse and dropped his steel pipe and reeled away.
Grozni stood still, looking at Durell. Albert Marni looked like a tiny scarecrow in his shapeless blue suit, his thin neck like a pipestem sticking from his oversized white shirt collar. Grozni wet his lips.
"You are an expert. Not an ordinary policeman, eh?"
"Think what you like." Durell's neck ached. "But thank you for not interfering."
"I have seen men trained to kill with their bare hands. Like those two. And you, as well. You are their opposite here, eh?"
Durell considered him. "If your family in Gdynia were free, Captain Grozni, free and safe, would you come over to our side?"
"Instantly. But that is impossible."
"Not entirely so," Durell said quickly. "Perhaps we can help." He watched a small light gleam into life in the captain's eyes. "You will hear from me. Have courage, Captain. And thank you again." He turned to the old man. "Come along, Mr. Marni."
The old man nodded, swallowed, tried to move a step forward, and suddenly collapsed. Durell heard the sound of running feet slapping the passageway behind them. He had not forgotten the officer named Stepov. With a nod to the captain, he picked up Albert Marni's frail body and walked to the open cargo hatch and strode down the gangway to the pier. Albert Marni felt limp and dead in his arms.
Chapter Eleven
It was raining again. A heavy overcast made the city drab and gloomy at two o'clock on that November afternoon. Lights in the windows of Manhattan's tall buildings made a bright pattern against the premature dusk. Durell stood in the hospital corridor with Tom Markey, the sub chief in Blossom's FBI district office. A nurse went by, while Markey chewed his pipe and appreciated the slide and rustle of her nylon uniform. When the nurse had turned the corner of the corridor, he said bluntly:
"Don't think we haven't been on the ball, Sam. We've been well aware of the Boroslav and the passengers she might haul out of the harbor. As a matter of fact, we've searched the ship twice. Hell, we've known about this ring operating in New York for over six weeks. You don't have twenty-three Hungarian nationals, seventeen Poles, and four Rumanians disappear just like that. Knowing something exists, however, and proving it in court are two different things. We know there's a pipeline between the New American Society and ships like the Boroslav. The people on the Boroslav could have been tipped off we were coming to search the ship, of course. They could have played the old shell game with Albert Marni — it's easy enough when you don't have enough men to dragnet a ship like that. More damned holes to hide a man in than you'd suspect Anyway," Markey sighed, "we didn't find him. How you happened to get him so easily is another story. But don't think because an amateur like Frank Greenwald seemingly got a line on the ring when we didn't that we haven't been working on it. We've known everything Frank stumbled on for weeks. But it's proof we need, man. Something to stand up in court." Markey looked shrewdly at Durell. "How come you did find him like this, Sam?"
"Marni? I think they wanted me to find him. They knew I was coming. Somebody tipped them off. It has to be somebody in the New American Society."
Markey chewed his pipestem. "Damion?"
"I don't believe so. Otherwise, why did he mention the Boroslav at all? He could have kept his mouth shut about it." Durell shook his head and stared broodingly down the quiet hospital corridor. "No, either somebody has Damion's phone bugged, or his office is tapped with a mike somewhere."
Markey smiled wryly. "We've got bugs all through the place. I told you, we've been working this case. We've got your conversation with Damion down on tape, all of it. But our office didn't think anything would come of your trip to the Boroslav, so we didn't interfere. That doesn't rule out the chance that somebody else put a bug in Damion's office and trapped you on the ship when you went there." Markey frowned. "Something we might have overlooked. We'll have another look-see."
> "What good would that do?" Durell objected. "We're not ready for a move as overt as that yet. You said yourself you've been digging in this for six weeks, with nothing to take to court yet. But I agree with you that the New American Society has a funny smell to it. On the surface, it seems okay. I think Damion is honest enough, dedicated to his job. But it's the other members, especially the officers, who interest me. I've got Tony Isotti digging into it."
"We've done all that," Markey said quietly. "Blossom has all the data."
Durell said heavily: "Blossom, yes."
"He's been a good man, Sam," Markey said quietly. "One of the best. This new business — the way he's acting — how long do you think he'd have lasted at the head of our New York office if it had been going on for some time? He's never been like this before. Harry Blossom is just sick, Sam, Sick over that girl, Stella Marni. He's worked so damned hard all these years, like an iron man, never cracking, nothing touching him..." Markey sighed. "You wouldn't know him, the way he used to be. I feel sorry for him. Something's got to give pretty soon for Harry, or the top blows off for good. One thing, in all good conscience, and trying to be fair to Harry, I've got to get his files. I've phoned Washington about it. We've had trouble with this case from the start, because Harry kept everything to himself. He hasn't even let me see the reports on the New American Society officers." Markey made an angry sound. "Well, why did they want you on the ship? Why did they let you snatch Marni away?"
"I think their primary objective was to put me out of action. It was a trap. Somebody doesn't like the little bit I've managed to get done, that's all. I wouldn't have made it if the captain wasn't secretly sympathetic."
Assignment — Stella Marni Page 11