The Eye of the Tiger

by Wilbur Smith

  “You’ll have to go now, Inspector.” She turned on the two policemen like a mother hen, and drove them from the ward. Then she came back to rearrange my pillows.

  She was a pretty little thing with huge dark eyes, and her tiny waist was belted in firmly to accentuate her big nicely shaped bosom on which she wore her badges and medals. Lustrous chestnut curls peeped from under the saucy little uniform cap.

  “What is your name, then? I whispered hoarsely. “May.”

  “Sister May, how come I haven’t seen you around before?” I asked, as she leaned across me to tuck in my sheet.

  “Guess you just weren’t looking, Mister Harry.”

  “Well, I’m looking now.” The front of her crisp white uniform blouse was only a few inches from my nose. She stood up quickly.

  They say here you’re a devil man,” she said. “I know now they didn’t tell me lies.” But she was smiling. Now you go to sleep. You’ve got to get strong again.”

  “Yeah, we’ll talk again then,” I said, and she laughed out loud.

  The next three days I had a lot of time to think for I was allowed no visitors until the official inquest had been conducted. Daly had a constable on guard outside my room, and I was left in no doubt that I stood accused of murder most vile.

  My room was cool and airy with a good view down across the lawns to the tall dark-leafed banyan trees, and beyond them the massive stone walls of the fort with the cannon upon the battlements. The food was good, plenty of fish and fruit, and Sister May and I were becoming good, if not intimate, friends. She even smuggled in a bottle of Chivas Regal which we kept in the bedpan. From her I heard how the whole island was agog with the cargo that Wave Dancer had brought into Grand Harbour. She told me they buried Materson and Guthrie on the second day in the old cemetery. A corpse doesn’t keep so well in those latitudes.

  In those three days I decided that the bundle I had dropped off Big Gull Island would stay there. I guessed that from now on there would be a lot of eyes watching me, and I was at a complete disadvantage. I didn’t know who the watchers were and I didn’t know why. I would keep down off the skyline until I worked out where the next bullet was likely to come from. I didn’t like the game. They could deal me out and I would stick to the action I could call and handle.

  I thought a lot about Jimmy North also, and every time I felt myself grieving unnecessarily I tried to tell myself that he was a stranger, that he had meant nothing to me, but it didn’t work. This is a weakness of mine which I must always guard against. I become too readily emotionally bound up with other people. I try to walk alone, avoiding involvement, and after years of practice I have achieved some success. It is seldom these days that anyone can penetrate my armour the way Jimmy North did.

  By the third day I was feeling much stronger. I could lift myself into a sitting position without assistance and with only a moderate degree of pain.

  They held the official inquest in my hospital room. It was a closed session, attended only by the heads of the legislative, judicial and executive branches of St. Mary’s government.

  The President himself, dressed as always in black with a crisp white shirt and a halo of snowy wool around his bald pate, chaired the meeting. judge Harkness, tall and thin and sunburned to dark brown, assisted him - while Inspector Daly represented the executive.

  The President’s first concern was for my comfort and wellbeing.

  I was one of his boys.

  “You be sure you don’t tire yourself now, Mister Harry. Anything you want you just ask, hear? We have only come here to hear your version, but I want to tell you now not to worry. There is nothing going to happen to you.”

  Inspector Daly looked pained, seeing his prisoner declared innocent before his trial began.

  So I told my story again, with the President making helpful or admiring comments whenever I paused for breath, and when I finished he shook his head with wonder.

  “All I can say, Mister Harry, is there are not many men would have had the strength and courage to do what you did against those gangsters, is that right, gentlemen?”

  judge Harkness agreed heartily, but Inspector Daly said nothing.

  “And they were gangsters too,” he went on. “We sent their fingerprints to London and we heard today that those men came here under false names, and that both of them have got police records at Scotland Yard. Gangsters, both of them.” The President looked at judge Harkness. “Any questions, Judge?”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. President.”

  “Good.” The President nodded happily. “What about you, Inspector?” And Daly produced a typewritten list. The President made no effort to hide his irritation.

  “Mister Fletcher is still a very sick man, Inspector. I hope your questions are really important.”

  Inspector Daly hesitated and the President went on brusquely, “Good, well then we are all agreed. The verdict is death by misadventure. Mister Fletcher acted in selfdefence, and is hereby discharged from any guilt. No criminal charges will be brought against him.” He turned to the shorthand recorder in the corner. “Have you got that? Type it out and send a copy to my office for signature.” He stood up and came to my bedside. “Now you get better soon, Mister Harry. I expect you for dinner at Government House soon as you are well enough. My secretary will send you a formal invitation. I want to hear the whole story again.”

  Next time I appear before a judicial body, as I surely shall, I hope for the same consideration. Having been officially declared innocent I was allowed visitors.

  Chubby and Mrs. Chubby came together dressed in their standard number one rig. Mrs. Chubby had baked one of her splendid banana cakes, knowing my weakness for them.

  Chubby was torn by relief at seeing me still alive and outrage at what I had done to Wave Dancer. He scowled at me fiercely as he started giving me a large slice of his mind.

  “Ain’t never going to get that deck clean again. It soaked right in, man. That damned old carbine of yours really chewed up the cabin bulkhead. Me and Angelo been working three days at it now, and it still needs a few more days.”

  “Sorry, Chubby, next time I shoot somebody I’m going to make them stand by the rail first.” I knew that when Chubby had finished repairing the woodwork the damage would not be detectable.

  “When you coming out anyway? Plenty of big fish working out there on the stream, Harry.”

  “I be out pretty soon, Chubby. One week tops.”

  Chubby sniffed. “Did hear that Fred Coker wired all your parties for rest of the season - told them you were hurt bad and switched their bookings to Mister Coleman.”

  I lost my temper then. “You tell Fred Coker to get his black arse up here soonest,” I shouted.

  Dick Coleman had a deal with the Hilton Hotel. They had financed the purchase of two big game fishing boats, which Coleman crewed with a pair of imported skippers. Neither of his boats caught much fish, they didn’t have the feel of it. He had a lot of difficulty getting charters, and I guessed Fred Coker had been handsomely compensated to switch my bookings to him. Coker arrived the following morning.

  “Mister Harry, Doctor Macnab told me you wouldn’t be able to fish again this season. I couldn’t let my parties down, they fly six thousand miles to find you in a hospital bed. I couldn’t do that - I got my reputation to think of.”

  “Mr. Coker, your reputation smells like one of those stiffs you got tucked away in the back room,” I told him, and he smiled at me blandly from behind his goldrimmed spectacles, but he was right of course, it would be a long time still before I could take Dancer out after the big billfish.

  “Now don’t you fuss yourself, Mister Harry. Soon as you better I will arrange a few lucrative charters for you.”

  He was talking about the night run again, his commission on a single run could go as high as seven hundred and fifty dollars. I could handle that even in my present beatenup condition, it involved merely conning Dancer in and out again - just as long as we didn’t run into tro
uble.

  “Forget it, Mr. Coker. I told you from now on I fish, that’s all” and he nodded and smiled and went on as though I had not spoken.

  “Had persistent inquiries from one of your old clients! “Body?

  Box?” I demanded. Body was the illegal carrying to or from the African mainland of human beings, fleeing politicians with the goon squad after them - or on the other hand aspiring politicians trying for radical change in the regime. Boxes usually contained lethal hardware and it was a one-way traffic. In the old days they called it gunk running.

  Coker shook his head and said, “Five, six,” - from the old nursery rhyme: “Five, six. Pick up sticks.” In this context sticks were tusks of ivory. A massive, highly organized poaching operation was systematically wiping out the African elephant from the game reserves and tribal lands of East Africa. The Orient was an insatiable and high-priced market for the ivory. A fast boat and a good skipper were needed to get the valuable cargo out of an estuary mouth, through the dangerous inshore waters, out to where one of the big ocean-going dhows waited on the stream of the Mozambique.

  “Mr. Coker,” I told him wearily. “I’m sure your mother never even knew your father’s name.” “It was Edward, Mister Harry,“he smiled carefully. “I told the client that the going rate was up. What with inflation and the price of diesel fuel.”

  “How much?”

  “Seven thousand dollars a trip,” which was not as much as it sounds after Coker had clouted fifteen per cent, then Inspector Peter Daly had to be slipped the same again to dim his eyesight and cloud his hearing. On top of that Chubby and Angelo always earned a danger money bonus of five hundred each for a night run.

  “Forget it, Mr. Coker,” I said unconvincingly. “You just fix a couple of fishing parties.” But he knew I couldn’t fight it.

  “Just as soon as you fit enough to fish, we’ll fix that.

  Meantime, when do you want to do the first night run? Shall I tell them ten days from today? That will be high spring tide and a good moon.”

  “All right,” I agreed with resignation. “Ten days” time.” With a positive decision made, it seemed that my recovery from the wounds was hastened. I had been in peak physical condition which contributed, and the gaping holes in my arm and back began to shrink miraculously.

  I reached a milestone in my convalescence on the sixth day.

  Sister May was giving me a bed bath, with a basin of suds and a face cloth, when there was a monumental demonstration of my physical wellbeing. Even I, who was no stranger to the phenomenon, was impressed, while Sister May was so overcome that her voice became a husky little whisper.

  “Lord!” she said. “You’ve sure got your strength back.”

  “Sister May, do you think we should waste that?” I asked, and -she shook her head vehemently.

  from then onwards I began to take a more cheerful view of my circumstances, and not surprisingly the Fcanvas-wrapped secret off Big Gull Island began to nag me. I felt my good resolutions weakening.

  “I’ll just take a look,” I told myself. “When I am sure the dust has really settled.”

  They were allowing me up for a few hours at a time now, and I felt restless and anxious to get on with it. Not even Sister May’s devoted efforts could blunt the edge of my awakening energy. Macnab was impressed.

  “You heal well Harry old chap. Closing up nicely another week.” “A week, hell!” I told him determinedly. Seven days from now I was making the night run. Coker had set it up without trouble - and I was just about stony broke. I needed that run pretty badly.

  My crew came up to visit me every evening, and to report progress on the repairs to Dancer. One evening Angelo arrived earlier than usual, he was dressed in his courting gear - rodeo boots and all - but he was strangely subdued and not alone.

  The lass with him was the young nursery grade teacher from the goverriment school down near the fort. I knew her well enough to exchange smiles on the street. Missus Eddy had summed up her character for me once.

  “She’s a good girl, that Judith. Not all flighty and flirty like some others. Going to make some lucky fellow a good wife.”

  She was also good-looking with a tall willowy figure, neatly and conservatively dressed, and she greeted me shyly.

  “How do, Mister Harry.”

  “Hello, Judith. Good of you to come,” and I looked at Angelo, unable to hide my grin. He couldn’t meet my eye, colouring up as he hunted for words.

  “Me and Judith planning to marry up,” he blurted at last. “Wanted you to know that, boss.”

  “Think you can keep him under control, Judith?” I laughed delightedly.

  “You just watch me,” she said with a flash of dark eyes that made the question superfluous.

  “That’s great - I’ll make a speech at your wedding,” I assured them. “You going to let Angelo go on crewing for me?”

  “Wouldn’t ever try to stop him,” she assured me. “It’s good work he’s got with you.”

  They stayed for another hour and when they left I felt a small prickle of envy. It must be a good feeling to have someone - apart from yourself. I thought some day if I ever found the right person I might try it. Then I dismissed the thought, raising my guard again. There were a hell of a lot of women - and no guarantee you will pick right.

  Macnab discharged me with two days to spare. My clothes hung on my bony frame, I had lost nearly two stone in weight and my tan had faded to a dirty yellow brown, there were big blue smears under my eyes and I still felt weak as a baby. The arm was in a sling and the wounds were still open, but I could change the dressing myself.

  Angelo brought the pick-up to the hospital and waited while I said goodbye to Sister May on the steps.

  Nice getting to know you, Mister Hairy.”

  “Come out to the shack some time soon. I’ll grill you a mess of crayfish, and we’ll drink a little wine.”

  “My contract ends next week. I’ll be going home to England then.”

  “You be happy, hear,” I told her.

  Angelo drove me down to Admiralty, and with Chubby we spent an hour going over Dancer’s repairs.

  Her decks were snowy white, and they had replaced all the woodwork in the saloon bulkhead, a beautiful piece of joinery with which even I could find no fault.

  We took her down the channel as far as Mutton Point and it was good to feel her riding lightly under my feet and hear the sweet burble of her engines. We came home in the dusk to tie up at moorings and sit out on the bridge in the dark, drinking beer out of the can and talking.

  I told them that we had a run set for the following night, and they asked where to and what the cargo was. That was all - it was set, there was no argument.

  “Time to go,” Angelo said at last. “Going to pick Judith up from night school,” and we rowed ashore in the dinghy. There was a police Land-Rover parked beside my old pick-up at the back of the pineapple sheds and Wally, the young constable, climbed out as we approached. He greeted his uncle, and then turned to me.

  “Sorry to worry you, Mister Harry, but Inspector Daly wants to see you up at the fort. He says it’s urgent.”

  “God,” I growled. “It can wait until tomorrow.” “He says it can’t, Mister Harry.” Wally was apologetic, and for his sake I went along.

  “Okay, I’ll follow you in the pick-up - but we got to drop Chubby and Angelo off first.”

  I thought it was probably that Daly wanted to haggle about his pay off. Usually Fred Coker fixed that, but I guessed that Daly was raising the price of his honour.

  Driving onehanded and holding the steering wheel with a knee while I shifted gear with my good hand, I followed the red tail lights of Wally’s Land-Rover rattling over the drawbridge and parked beside it in the courtyard of the fort.

  The massive stone walls had been built by slave labour in the mid-eighteenth century and from the wide ramparts the long thirty-six-pounder cannon ranged the channel and the entrance to Grand Harbour.

  One wing
was used as the island police headquarters, jail and armoury - the rest of it was government offices and the Presidential and State apartments.

  We climbed the front steps to the charge office and Wally led me through a side door, and along a corridor, down steps, another corridor, more stone steps.

  I had never been down here before and I was intrigued. The stone walls here must have been twenty feet thick, the old powder store probably. I half expected the Frankenstein monster to be lurking behind the thick oak door, iron studded and weathered, at the end of the last passage. We went through.

  It wasn’t Frankenstein, but next best. Inspector Daly waited for us with another of his constables. I noticed immediately they both wore sidearms. The room was empty except for a wooden table and four PWD type chairs. The walls were unpainted stonework and the floor was paved.

  At the back of the room an arched doorway led to a row of cells.

  The lights were bare hundred-watt bulbs hanging on black electrical cable that ran exposed across the beamed roof. They cast hard black shadows in the angles of the irregularly shaped room.

  On the table lay my FN carbine. I stared at it uncomprehendingly.

  Behind me Wally closed the oak door. “Mr. Fletcher, is this your firearm?” “You know damn well it is,” I said angrily. “Just what the hell are you playing at, Daly?”

  “Harold Delville Fletcher, I am placing you under arrest for the unlawful possession of Category A firearms. To wit, one unlicensed automatic rifle type Fabrique Nationale Serial No. 4163215.”

  “You’re off your head,” I said, and laughed. He didn’t like that laugh. The weak little lips below his moustache puckered up like those of a sulky child and he nodded at his constables. They had been briefed, and they went out through the oak door.

  I heard the bolts shoot home, and Daly and I were alone. He was standing well away from me across the room - and the flap of his holster was unbuttoned.

  “Does his excellency know about this, Daly?” I asked, still smiling.

  “His excellency left St. Mary’s at four o’clock this after, noon to attend the conference of Commonwealth heads in London. He won’t be back for two weeks.”