The Mark of Cain

by William J. Coughlin

  “The boat is my responsibility, and you know it,” Cain cut in. “It belongs to the Zinner Company, and if it is all right with them to sink it if we have to, I’m sure you can have no objections.” Cain’s voice was hard.

  “I don’t like it.”

  Cain’s face was impassive, with no hint of any feeling. “You’re not paid to like it,” he said softly. “All this is just precaution. I doubt if we’ll have any trouble. If you want out, I can arrange that. I would prefer that you stay. We can use you. You handle a boat very nicely.”

  Johnson shrugged. “That’s my job.”

  “As I said, I don’t anticipate that we’ll run into any problems,” Cain continued. “To tell you the truth, Johnson, I doubt if this is anything but a wild-goose chase. If those narcotics people grabbed the Hamilton couple, they are part of a shark’s metabolism by now, and their sailboat is either gone from the Caribbean or resting somewhere on the bottom of it. Still, we have to make a stab at finding them. That’s what old man Zinner wants.”

  Johnson had his eyes fixed on the sea ahead. “Cain, I’ve heard a few things about you and your people.” He paused for a moment. “Word spreads pretty fast through the company.” He turned to face Cain. “If you and your people have any idea about murdering somebody, or anything like that, count Eddy and me out. And if there is any killing, I’ll be a witness against you. My loyalty to the company doesn’t go that far.”

  Cain nodded. “Fair enough.” He stared ahead at the dark water, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “Of course, Johnson, you must understand that if we are murderers, as you seem to think we are, the possibility exists that we don’t habitually leave witnesses around to testify. However, whatever ‘word’ you heard is wrong. We are just a part of the Zinner Company’s security force, and we have a job to do, a completely legitimate job.”

  Johnson was staring at him.

  “As I said, you can leave this operation, but you may end up looking a bit silly. We will be back in a month with nothing to report except for an island-hopping sea trip; no trouble, no sweat. You might end up looking like a man who had a low threshold of fear. It could hurt your standing with the company. But it is all up to you.” Cain respected Johnson’s boat-handling ability and wanted to keep him aboard.

  Johnson seemed to be thinking the whole matter over. “Okay,” he said slowly, “but all bets are off if you have been lying to me.”

  “Agreed.”

  Johnson and Cain stood together, facing the endless sea. They were silent; the only sound was that of the powerful driving motors.

  Finally Johnson spoke. “Cain, what was that thing that Soldier carried below? It looked like two parts of a steel sewer pipe.”

  “That’s a seventy-five-millimeter recoilless rifle.”

  “You mean a cannon?”

  “Well, something like that. It isn’t too accurate at any great distance. Nice to have around on occasion though.” Cain walked to the hatchway. “I think I’ll go down and see how Slick is coming along with rigging up that charge.”

  FOUR

  It was the third day of the search and their third island. They were following the same route taken by Stewart Hamilton the Third and his bride. By making the same stops, Cain hoped to find some clue as to the fate of the vanished sailboat. The island of San Lisbo was far behind them and the island of San Bonaparte lay ahead, a green emerald shining on the horizon, framed by the clear blue sky and the glistening green sea.

  Cain lay in the deck chair. Slick sat next to him. The boat rolled slightly as they rumbled through the swells. Soldier was sleeping below.

  “Hey, man, listen to this.” Slick read from the small soft-cover book he held in his hand. “ ‘San Bonaparte has been under five flags; the Spanish, French, English, Dutch, and finally the ensign of their own republic. A large island with fresh-water wells and a natural harbor, San Bonaparte was originally the home of the dreaded pirates, the seagoing scourges of the Spanish Main.’ ”

  “Slick, why don’t you read that to yourself?” Cain said from beneath his cap which covered the upper part of his face.

  “It’s educational, Cain, and you could do with some education. Aren’t you interested?”

  “No.”

  Slick ignored him and continued reading from the travel guide. “ ‘The pirates were driven out by the Spanish. San Bonaparte became a port of call before the Spanish treasure ships began their long trip to mother Spain. However, as Spain’s interest in the Caribbean lessened, her grip grew weak upon San Bonaparte, and eventually the pirates once again took possession of the island.’ ” Slick stopped. “Hey, Cain, this place always had pirates, isn’t that something?”

  Cain made no response.

  “ ‘San Bonaparte,’ ” Slick continued reading, “ ‘was a pirate haven until Sir Henry Morgan, the English governor and himself a former pirate, captured the island and made it an English possession. It remained under the British flag until the time of the American Revolution when the French Navy drove out the British garrison.’ ”

  “Slick, please read to yourself.” Cain shifted his weight in the deck chair.

  “Cain, for an ex-cop you don’t have much imagination. This is the place where the Hamiltons disappeared from. They sailed out of here and were never heard from again. I think it would be important to know about the island. It might come in handy.”

  “Read it to yourself. If I need to know anything about the island’s water supply, I’ll ask you. How’s that?”

  “Listen to this, Cain,” Slick said, his eyes eagerly following the printed page. “ ‘The island became a Dutch possession and recently an independent republic. It is recognized as one of the major fun spots in the chain of Caribbean islands. Its long sandy beaches offer sun and surf, its waters offer some of the finest sports fishing in the world, and its gambling casino possesses an elegance equaled only by the famed casino at Monte Carlo.’ ” He stopped reading. “Hey, I didn’t know they had gambling there. I know what I’ll be doing tonight.”

  “Not tonight,” Cain said.

  Slick looked over at Cain as he closed the book. “You have something else planned?”

  “When we land, I’m going to talk to the authorities, the port people and so forth. I’ll pick up what I can from them. I want you to mingle with the working people of San Bonaparte, get to know them, see what you can find out from them.”

  “About the Hamiltons?”

  “Yes. But I’m also interested in this whole smuggling business. If boats are disappearing and crews vanishing, you can bet there’s plenty of talk about it among the natives.”

  “And you think that because they’re black people, they’ll open up to me because I’m black too?”

  Cain picked up the corner of his cap and one slate-gray eye regarded Slick’s serious face. “Tell me, Slick, do you really think Soldier or I could fit in with the people of the island?”

  Slick eased his long lean body back into the deck chair and the tension seemed to flow out of his form. “Maybe you’re right at that, Cain,” he said softly. “But I would like to take a crack at that casino, if I can get the chance.”

  “I doubt if we can work it in,” Cain said, his voice tinged with the sting of authority. “We are working, don’t forget. We’ve got a job to do down here. Besides it wouldn’t look right.”

  “What do you mean, it wouldn’t look right?” Slick’s voice was sharp.

  Cain sat up, removing his cap and brushing back his straw-blond hair. “It’s simple. The story I’m putting out is that Soldier and I are a couple of rich businessmen down here for sightseeing and fishing. You are my manservant. Now it just wouldn’t look right if my manservant was up at the casino playing the first-class tables …”

  “Shit, Cain, I always get the dirty end of the stick. Just because I’m black doesn’t mean …” He stopped as he found himself staring into Cain’s eyes; eyes that seemed fierce and dangerous.

  “It isn’t always a one-wa
y street,” Cain said, his voice as flat and fierce as his expression. “In Madagascar you posed as a prince, and Soldier and I were your servants and bodyguards.”

  Slick looked away from Cain’s piercing eyes. “Well, maybe you’re right,” he admitted. He paused as a wide smile split his dark face. “Of course, Cain, you were lousy bodyguards. I almost got killed.”

  Cain made no reply, lying back and placing the cap over his eyes again.

  Slick studied the sea for a moment. “Cain, suppose we draw a blank at San Bonaparte? I mean, suppose we find no lead at all, what then?”

  “Well, we just keep working at it. We just keep moving down the Caribbean chain of islands until we come to South America. We work at it, that’s all.” Cain’s voice sounded almost mechanical, as if he were reciting something he had learned long ago. “In a deal like this there’s always a few people who know a lot, and a great many people who know a little bit. You have to find them, persuade them to tell you what they know. You keep plugging until you put all the pieces together, until you build the whole thing into a picture.” He snorted softly. “It’s just normal big-city police work, that’s all, only in an exotic setting. That’s the only difference.”

  “My, my,” Slick’s voice taunted, “you can take the boy out of the police force, but you can’t take the police force out of the boy.”

  Cain made no sign that he had heard the remark.

  Slick watched the bubbling white wake trailing behind the stern of their boat and then he turned his attention back to the tourist guidebook. The Caribbean rolled gently as the big cruiser sliced through the blue waters.

  *

  “Come on, Johnson,” Cain called. “Move it! We haven’t got all night.”

  He heard a muffled acknowledgment from below-decks.

  “What are you taking him for?” Soldier asked. Soldier sat in the darkened cabin, his shadow blending into the other dark shapes. He could see everything happening around the boat, but no one could see he was concealed on the boat. It was an excellent guard post.

  “Soldier, this isn’t exactly a night on the town. I’m taking Johnson along for two reasons. First he can talk to the other professional boatmen up at the casino. Seamen are no different from anybody else; they have their own brand of shop talk. They might open up to him when they wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  “What’s the second reason?”

  Cain’s voice was low, just loud enough for Soldier to hear. “I want to size him up a bit. Our lives may depend on him, and I want to see how he acts away from the boat. You can tell a lot about people if you can pry them away from their natural environment. That’s an old police trick.”

  Soldier grunted. “I doubt if you’ll learn anything at a gambling casino. Hell, people are too busy at the games to waste time talking.”

  Cain nodded. “We’ll see.” He adjusted the tie again and patted the thin black dinner jacket. It still fit. Although he had put on a few pounds, the coat was still cut full enough to conceal the small revolver he wore at his waist.

  “I’m ready,” Johnson said as he stepped up from the hatchway.

  Cain’s eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, and he could see the boatman quite clearly. Johnson also wore a dark dinner jacket and tie, the costume insisted upon by the casino. He looked different somehow. He looked larger, like a college football player. The well-cut jacket flattered his trim athletic build.

  “We should be back in a couple of hours, Soldier,” Cain said. “I don’t really expect any trouble.”

  Johnson looked at the dark form in the shadows. “Keep an eye out for Eddy. I gave him a couple of bucks, and he usually comes back with a snootful. He’s no problem—just point him to his bunk, and he’ll sleep it off.”

  Soldier nodded.

  The casino was only a half mile from the harbor area, so they walked. The clear Caribbean air was filled with the exotic scent of ginger, and the rising tropic moon cast a brightness over the clean, uncluttered streets of the town.

  They walked past a long section of buildings, each structure connected by a common wall to the next. The brick edifices ranged from three to seven stories tall. Lights shone from some of the upper levels, but the shops on the first floors were all closed and darkened.

  They walked along in silence except for the rattle of their shoes against the cobblestones of the street. “Looks like Amsterdam,” Cain said, nodding toward the buildings.

  “Yes. I suppose the Dutch know only one way of building. I guess it looks out of place down here on the Spanish Main, but nevertheless it is something of a tourist attraction, a little like Curaçao; a bit of Europe in the midst of the tropics.”

  As they continued walking, still only the echoing clatter of their footsteps was heard. “Something bothers me about this place,” Cain said. “I had expected it to be teeming with tourists at this time of year. It’s getting cold in North America; autumn is beginning. I would think people would be streaming in here by now.”

  “No, this isn’t the main season. That’s the same reason there are so few boats in the harbor.”

  “They look like a lot to me,” Cain said.

  “You have nothing to compare it with. I’ve been here before. In season this place is jammed; you have a hard time trying to get your boat in and out of the harbor, it is so filled up.”

  “Well, what’s the reason for the lack of crowds now?”

  Johnson looked over at Cain. His usually serious eyes suddenly seemed filled with amusement. A sardonic smile played across his thin lips. “Well, I can see I’m not the only one that the Zinner Company told something less than the whole truth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Johnson shook his head slowly. “This is the hurricane season down here. That’s why there are so few people around. This island lies at the edge of a hurricane belt.” He gestured toward the silent structures. “That’s why all these buildings are made of brick.” He looked over at Cain and laughed. “They neglected to tell you that, eh?”

  Cain made no reply.

  “Of course I suppose it depends on the year. Some are worse than others. Sometimes the hurricanes are really nothing more than tropical storms. But once in a while it can get quite bad.”

  “If it can be as bad as you say, how come you took on the job?” Cain asked.

  Johnson grinned. “It’s not as if those things blow up on you suddenly. The weather services track every storm that starts down here. The minute one turns into a hurricane, they announce it, predict its intensity and its course. If you pay attention to your radio, you have more than adequate warning.”

  Cain scowled. “What happens if you know you are going to be caught in the path of one of these storms?”

  Johnson shrugged. “A hurricane is nothing more than a big swirling wheel of wind. Although the winds inside the swirl may build to well over a hundred miles an hour, the storm itself moves pretty slow, ten miles an hour, sometimes fifteen. Of course sometimes a storm moves faster than that, but not usually.” He looked up at the clear star-sprinkled sky. “I’ve never had any trouble. I can usually outrun the thing and speed to a safe part of the ocean. But if I think I can’t make it, I find a good safe anchorage and sit out the blow. If you are smart, it really isn’t too dangerous. That is, of course, unless you are crazy enough to get caught out in one of them.”

  “What happens then?”

  “You die.”

  Both remained silent as the sound of their shoes scraped along the brick street, the sound echoing gently against the tall buildings.

  “Johnson,” Cain said at last, “I have been meaning to ask you: what’s wrong with that crewman of yours?”

  “Eddy?”

  “Yes.”

  Johnson hesitated before replying. “Eddy isn’t too bright.”

  “He’s retarded, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  They walked further before Cain spoke again. “This could turn out to be very ticklish business. Why in heaven�
�s name did you bring him along?”

  Johnson breathed deeply. “Eddy may not be able to read or write, but he’s good around boats. In fact I have never seen anyone better. If something goes wrong with the motors, Eddy will be able to fix them. Even if we should stove a hole in our hull, he can patch it up even if we are under way.” Johnson paused for a moment, studying the sky. “He may not be able to hold up his end of a conversation, but he is probably the most valuable man aboard our little boat.”

  Cain swore softly. “Johnson, a lot of things could happen on this operation. We could tangle with these narcotics people or God knows what. I need individuals who can think, I don’t need some dull-eyed slob who might blunder and get us all killed. Get rid of Eddy.”

  Johnson’s face hardened. “If he goes, I go.”

  Cain studied him for a moment. “You really feel that strongly about it?”

  “Yes.”

  They continued to walk along in silence.

  “All right,” Cain said. “He can stay on for the present. But if I think he is becoming a danger to this job, he will have to go.”

  Ahead of them they began to hear the distant sound of a marimba band, its soft tingling music floating in the scented island air.

  “The casino is on the top of a small hill,” Johnson said. “That’s where the music is coming from. We turn at the next street.”

  “That puzzles me, Johnson,” Cain said. “Why is there only one casino on the island? I would think the big hotel on the other side of San Bonaparte would have a casino in operation there.”

  “They would if they could. But the island government owns this one, and they don’t want any competition.”

  An angry shout sounded from somewhere ahead of them. The dark figure of a man raced around a corner and came pounding down the empty street toward them. Behind him another shape appeared. The second man was larger and faster, catching the first man in a few short yards, throwing him roughly to the street.

  Shouted words were exchanged.

  “Damn it, that’s Eddy,” Johnson said, starting forward.

  Cain gripped his arm roughly. “Hang on,” he said quietly. “Let’s see what this is all about. I don’t want to be mixed up in some barroom brawl.”