The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘Not yet. She still needs sheathing and painting.’

  ‘What the hell?’ he said angrily. ‘What do you care if you get worm in your planking now? Is the new keel on?’

  I wondered how he knew about that. ‘What if it is?’

  ‘Then get the stick put back and get the boat into the water, and do it now. Get the hell out of here as fast as you can.’ He thrust something into my hand. ‘I had your clearance made out. I told you I was a pal of the Port Captain.’

  I took the paper and said, ‘Why warn us? I thought Torloni was your boy.’

  He laughed gently. ‘Torloni is nobody’s boy but his own. He was doing me a favour but he didn’t know what was in the wind. I told him I just wanted you watched. I was sorry to hear about the old watchman—that was Torloni’s thugs, it wasn’t my idea.’

  I said, ‘I thought hammering old men wasn’t your style.’

  ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Torloni knows the score now. It was that damn’ fool Walker who gave it away.’

  ‘Walker! How?’

  ‘One of Torloni’s men picked his pocket and pinched his cigarette case. It wasn’t a bad case, either; it was made of gold and had a nice tasteful inscription on the inside—‘Caro Benito da parte di Adolf—Brennero—1940.’ As soon as Torloni saw that he knew what was up, all right. People have been scouring Italy for that treasure ever since the war, and now Torloni thinks he has it right in his greasy fist.’

  I damned Walker at length for an incompetent, crazy idiot.

  Metcalfe said, ‘I tried to hold Torloni, but he won’t be held any longer. With what’s at stake he’d as soon cut my throat as yours—that’s why I’m giving you the tip-off.’

  ‘When is he going to make his attack?’

  ‘At three in the morning. He’s going to move in with all his crowd.’

  ‘Any guns?’

  Metcalfe’s voice was thoughtful. ‘No, he won’t use guns. He wants to do this quietly and he has to get the gold out. That’ll take some time and he doesn’t want the police breathing down his neck while he’s doing it. So there’ll be no guns.’

  That was the only good thing I’d heard since Metcalfe had surprised me. I said, ‘Where are his men now?’

  ‘As far as I know they’re getting some sleep—they don’t like being up all night.’

  ‘So they’re in their usual hotels—all sixteen of them.’

  Metcalfe whistled. ‘You seem to know as much about it as I do.’

  ‘I’ve known about it all the time,’ I said shortly. ‘We’ve had them tabbed ever since they moved into Rapallo—before that, too. We had your men spotted in every port in the Mediterranean.’

  He said slowly, ‘I wondered about that ever since Dino was beaten up in Monte Carlo. Was that you?’

  ‘Coertze,’ I said briefly. I gripped the brick which I was still holding. I was going to clobber Metcalfe after all—he played a double game too often and he might be playing one now. I thought we had better keep him where we could watch him.

  He laughed. ‘Yes, of course; that’s just his mark.’

  I lifted the brick slowly. ‘How did you cotton on to us?’ I asked. ‘It must have been in Tangier, but what gave the game away?’ There was no answer.

  I said, ‘What was it, Metcalfe?’ and raised the brick.

  There was silence.

  ‘Metcalfe?’ I said uncertainly, and switched on my torch. He had gone and I heard a faint splashing from the sea and the squeak of a rowlock. I ought to have known better than to think I could outwit Metcalfe; he was too wise a bird for me.

  III

  As I went back to the shed I looked at my watch; it was ten o’clock—five hours to go before Torloni’s assault. Could we replace the mast and all the standing rigging in time? I very much doubted it. If we turned on the floodlights outside the shed, then Torloni’s watchers would know that something unusual was under way and he would move in immediately. If we worked in the dark it would be hell’s own job—I had never heard of a fifty-five foot mast being stepped in total darkness and I doubted if it could be done.

  It looked very much as though we would have to stay and fight.

  I went in and woke Coertze. He was drowsy but he woke up fast enough when I told him what was happening. I omitted to mention Walker’s part in the mess—I still needed Walker and I knew that if I told Coertze about it I would have a corpse and a murderer on my hands, and this was not time for internal dissension.

  Coertze said suspiciously, ‘What the hell is Metcalfe’s game?’

  ‘I don’t know and I care less. The point is that he’s given us the tip-off and if we don’t use it we’re fools. He must have fallen out with Torloni.’

  ‘Reg,’ said Coertze and swung himself out of his berth. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘What about the mast?’ I told him my estimate of the chance of replacing the mast in darkness.

  He rubbed his chin and the bristles crackled in the silence. ‘I reckon we should take a chance and turn the lights on,’ he said at last. ‘That is, after we’ve made our preparations for Torloni. We know he’s going to attack and whether he does it sooner or later doesn’t matter as long as we’re ready for him.’

  This was the man of action—the military commander—speaking. His reasoning was good so I left him to it. He roused Piero and they went into a huddle while Walker and I began to clear the shed and to load up Sanford. Francesca heard the noise and got up to see what was going on and was drawn into Coertze’s council of war.

  Presently Piero slipped out of the shed and Coertze called me over. ‘You might as well know what’s going to happen,’ he said.

  He had a map of Rapallo spread out, one of the giveaways issued by the Tourist Office, and as he spoke he pointed to the salient features on the map. It was a good plan that he described and like all good plans it was simple.

  I think that if Coertze had not been taken prisoner at Tobruk he would have been commissioned as an officer sooner or later. He had a natural grasp of strategy and his plan was the classic military design of concentration to smash the enemy in detail before they could concentrate.

  He said, ‘This is the holiday season and the hotels are full. Torloni couldn’t get all his men into the same hotel, so they’re spread around the town—four men here, six here, three here and the rest with Torloni himself.’ As he spoke his stubby forefinger pointed to places on the map.

  ‘We can call up twenty-five men and I’m keeping ten men here at the yard. There are four of Torloni’s men outside the yard right now, watching us, and we’re going to jump them in a few minutes—ten men should clean them up easily. That means that when we turn on the lights there’ll be no one to warn Torloni about it.’

  ‘That seems a good idea,’ I said.

  ‘That leaves us fifteen men we can use outside the yard as a mobile force. We have two men outside each hotel excepting this one, here, where we have nine. There are four of Torloni’s men staying here and when they come out they’ll get clobbered. That ought to be easy, too.’

  ‘You’ll have already cut his force by half,’ I said.

  ‘That’s right. Now, there’ll be Torloni and eight men moving in on the yard. He’ll expect to have sixteen, but he won’t get them. This may make him nervous, but I think not. He’ll think that there’ll only be four men and a girl here and he’ll reckon he can take us easily. But we’ll have fourteen men in the yard—counting us—and I’ll bring in another fifteen behind him as soon as he starts anything.’

  He looked up. ‘How’s that, ay?’

  ‘It’s great,’ I said. ‘But you’ll have to tell the Italians to move in fast. We want to nail those bastards quick before they can start shooting. Metcalfe said they wouldn’t shoot, but they might if they see they’re on the losing end.’

  ‘They’ll be quick,’ he promised. ‘Piero’s on the blower now, giving instructions. The orders are to clean up the four watchers here at eleven o’clock.’ He
looked at his watch. ‘That’s in five minutes. Let’s go and see the fun.’

  Francesca said, ‘I don’t see how anything can go wrong.’

  Neither could I—but it did!

  We were leaving the shed when I noticed Walker tagging on behind. He had been keeping in the background, trying to remain inconspicuous. I let the others go and caught his arm. ‘You stay here,’ I said. ‘If you move out of this shed I swear I’ll kill you.’

  His face went white. ‘Why?’

  ‘So you had your wallet stolen,’ I said. ‘You damn’ fool, why did you have to carry that cigarette case?’

  He tried to bluff his way out of it. ‘Wh…what cigarette case?’

  ‘Don’t lie to me. You know what cigarette case. Now stay here and don’t move out. I don’t want you underfoot—I don’t want to have to keep an eye on you all the time in case you make any more damn’ silly mistakes.’ I took him by the shirt. ‘If you don’t stay in here I’ll tell Coertze just why Torloni is attacking tonight—and Coertze will dismember you limb from limb.’

  His lower lip started to tremble. ‘Oh, don’t tell Coertze,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t tell him.’

  I let him go. ‘O.K. But don’t move out of this shed.’

  I followed the others up to Palmerini’s office. Coertze said, ‘It’s all set.’

  I said to Piero, ‘You’d better get Palmerini down here; we’ll need his help in rigging the mast.’

  ‘I have telephoned him,’ said Piero. ‘He will be coming at eleven-fifteen—after we have finished our work here.’ He nodded towards the main gate.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Do you think we shall see anything of what is happening?’

  ‘A little. One of Torloni’s men is not troubling to hide himself; he is under the street lamp opposite the main gate.’

  We went up to the gate, moving quietly so as not to alarm the watchers. The gate was of wood, old, unpainted and warped by the sun; there were plenty of cracks through which we could see. I knelt down and through one of the cracks saw a man on the other side of the road, illuminated by the street lamp. He was standing there, idly smoking a cigarette, with one hand in his trouser-pocket. I could hear the faint click as he jingled money or keys.

  Coertze whispered, ‘Any time now.’

  Nothing happened for a while. There was no sound to be heard except for the sudden harsh cry of an occasional seabird. Piero said in a low voice, ‘Two have been taken.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  There was laughter in his voice. ‘The birds—they tell me.’

  I suddenly realized what had been nagging at my mind. Seagulls sleep at night and they don’t cry.

  There was a faint sound of singing which grew louder, and presently three men came down the street bellowing vociferously. They had evidently been drinking because they wavered and staggered and one of them had to be helped by the others. The man under the lamp trod on the butt of his cigarette and moved back to the wall to let them pass. One of them waved a bottle in the air and shouted, ‘Have a drink, brother; have a drink on my firstborn.’

  Torloni’s man shook his head but they pressed round him clamouring in drunken voices for him to drink. Suddenly the bottle came down sharply and I heard the thud even from across the street.

  ‘God,’ I said. ‘I hope they haven’t killed him.’

  Piero said, ‘It will be all right; they know the thickness of a man’s skull.’

  The drunken men were suddenly miraculously sober and came across the street at a run carrying the limp figure of Torloni’s man. Simultaneously others appeared from the left and the right, also bearing unconscious bodies. A car came up the street and swerved through the gateway.

  ‘That’s four,’ said Coertze with satisfaction. ‘Take them into the shed.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Put them in that half-finished shed.’ I didn’t want them to get a glimpse of anything that might do us damage later. ‘Tie them up and gag them; let two men watch them.’

  Piero issued orders in rapid Italian and the men were carried away. We were surrounded by a group of Italians babbling of how easy it was until Piero shouted for silence. ‘Are you veterans or are you green recruits?’ he bawled. ‘By God, if the Count could see you now he’d have you all shot.’

  There was an abashed silence at this, and Piero said, ‘Keep a watch outside. Giuseppi, go to the office and stay with the telephone; if it rings, call me. You others, watch and keep quiet.’

  A car hooted outside the gate and I started nervously. Piero took a quick look outside. ‘It is all right; it is Palmerini. Let him in.’

  Palmerini’s little Fiat came through the gateway and disgorged Palmerini and his three sons in a welter of arms and legs. He came up to me and said, ‘I am told you are in a hurry to get your boat ready for sea. That will be extra for the overtime, you understand.’

  I grinned. Palmerini was running true to form. ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘With the lights—four hours, if you help, too.’

  That would be three-fifteen—just too late. We would probably have to fight, after all. I said, ‘We may be interrupted, Signor Palmerini.’

  ‘That is all right, but any damage must be paid for,’ he answered.

  Evidently he knew the score, so I said, ‘You will be amply recompensed. Shall we begin?’

  He turned and began to berate his sons. ‘What are you waiting for, you lazy oafs; didn’t you hear the signor? The good God should be ashamed for giving me sons so strong in the arm but weak in the head.’ He chased them down to the shed and I began to feel happier about everything.

  As the lights sprang up at the seaward end of the shed Francesca looked at the gate and said thoughtfully, ‘If I was Torloni and I wanted to come in here quickly I would drive right through the gate in a car.’

  ‘You mean ram it?’

  ‘Yes, the gate is very weak.’

  Coertze said jovially. ‘Reg, we can soon stop that. We’ve captured one of his cars; I’ll park it across the gateway behind the gate. If he tries that trick he’ll run into something heavier than he bargains for.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to help Palmerini.’ I ran down to the shed and heard the car revving up behind me.

  Palmerini met me at the door of the shed. He was outraged. ‘Signor, you cannot put this boat into the water. There is no paint, no copper, nothing on the bottom. She will be destroyed in our Mediterranean water—the worms will eat her up entirely.’

  I said, ‘We have no time; she must go into the water as she is.’

  His professional ethics were rubbed raw. ‘I do not know whether I should permit it,’ he grumbled. ‘No boat has ever left my yard in such a condition. If anyone hears of it they will say, “Palmerini is an old fool; Palmerini is losing his mind—he is getting senile in his old age.”’

  In my impatience to get on with the job I suspected he wasn’t far off the truth. I said, ‘No one will know, Signor Palmerini. I will tell no one.’

  We walked across to Sanford. Palmerini was still grumbling under his breath about the iniquity of leaving a ship’s bottom unprotected against the small beasts of the sea. He looked at the keel and rapped it with his knuckles. ‘And this, signor. Whoever heard of a brass keel?’

  ‘I told you I was experimenting,’ I said.

  He cocked his head on one side and his walnut face looked at me impishly. ‘Ah, signor, never has there been such a yacht as this in the Mediterranean. Not even the famous Argo was like this boat, and not even the Golden Fleece was so valuable.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll see if my lazy sons are getting things ready.’

  He went off into the lighted area in front of the shed, cackling like a maniac. I suppose no one could do anything in his yard without his knowing exactly what was going on. He was a great leg-puller, this Palmerini.

  I called him back, and said, ‘Signor Palmerini, if all goes well I will come back and buy your boatyard if you are willing to sell. I will give you a
good price.’

  He chuckled. ‘Do you think I would sell my yard to a man who would send a boat out without paint on her bottom? I was teasing you, my boy, because you always look so serious.’

  I smiled. ‘Very well, but there is a lead keel I have no use for. I’m sure you can use it.’ At the current price of lead the old keel was worth nearly fifteen hundred pounds.

  He nodded judiciously. ‘I can use it,’ he said. ‘It will just about pay for tonight’s overtime.’ He cackled again and went off to crack the whip over his sons.

  Walker was still sullen and pale and when I began to drive him he became even more sulky, but I ignored that and drove him all the more in my efforts to get Sanford ready for sea. Presently we were joined by Coertze and Francesca and the work went more quickly.

  Francesca said, ‘I’ve left Piero in charge up there. He knows what to do; besides, he knows nothing about boats.’

  ‘Neither do you,’ I said.

  ‘No, but I can learn.’

  I said, ‘I think you should leave now. It might get a bit dangerous round here before long.’

  ‘No,’ she said, stubbornly, ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘You’re going.’

  She faced me. ‘And just how will you make me go?’

  She had me there and she knew it. I hesitated, and she said, ‘Not only am I staying, but I’m coming with you in Sanford.’

  ‘We’ll see about that later,’ I said. ‘At the moment I’ve no time to argue.’

  We pulled Sanford out of the shed and one of Palmerini’s sons ran the little crane alongside. He picked up the mast and hoisted it high above the boat, gently lowering it between the mast partners. I was below, making sure that the heel of the mast was correctly bedded on the butt plate. Old Palmerini came below and said, ‘I’ll see to the wedges. If you are in the hurry you say you are, you had better see that your engine is fit to run.’

  So I went aft and had a look at the engine. When Sanford had been taken from the water I had checked the engine twice a week, turning her over a few revolutions to circulate the oil. Now, she started immediately, running sweetly, and I knew with satisfaction that once we were in the water we could get away at a rate of knots.