A Woman Involved (13 page)

‘You sonofabitch …’

Morgan picked up Anna’s bag and placed it at Big King’s feet. ‘Search it. For drugs.’

Big King scowled: then rummaged through the bag. He shoved it aside. ‘So what? I can’t look in the other place, can I?’ He started untying his feet.

‘Where?’ Anna demanded.

Big King suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘Ask your boyfriend,’ he muttered. He untied his feet, grunting. He sat there, massaging his big ankles.

Morgan said, ‘Get him a drink. What have you got, Mr King?’

‘Rum,’ Big King growled. ‘Straight,’ he added.

‘And the same for us,’ Morgan said. ‘And now will you please take the helm, Mr King?’

‘And will you please please please for Christ’s sake quit calling me Mr King?’

He lumbered over to the helm and snatched it. He looked at the compass, then looked at the receding shore lights. ‘Hey! – we’re going the wrong way for Saint Vincent’s!’

‘We’re going to Venezuela, Mr King.’

Big King stared at him. He whispered:

‘You’re gonna load this ship up with cocaine and run it back up the islands to Miami …  You’re going to kill me and use my ship for one drug run?’

‘If I was going to kill you, why did I untie you?’

Big King glared. ‘What happens when we get to Venezuela?’

‘Mrs Smithers and I get off. You do what you like.’

Big King said slowly:

‘Pirates,
Mister
Smithers …’ He pointed west with a fat, gnarled finger. ‘Those waters are
full
of pirates! They board you, they murder you, they steal your boat, use it for one drug run up to Miami, then sink the boat to destroy the goddam evidence! Then start again …’

‘Mr King, I
am
the pirate, remember.’

Anna came up the hatch, with three glasses of dark rum. She put one in front of Big King. Morgan turned, and sat down at the dining table behind him. Anna slumped down beside him. She looked aft at the sea. Morgan said: ‘Nothing’s following us.’

He dragged his hands down his face. They were still trembly.

Anna took a mouthful of rum, threw back her head, and swallowed. It burned down into her gut, and she shuddered.

She took his hand, and squeezed it hard.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

They saw only some distant fishing craft all night. Before dawn the
Kingfisher
dropped anchor two hundred yards off the black, jungled coast of Venezuela.

It was humid, oily hot. A mile away the lights of Garrucha twinkled. Anna climbed down into the dinghy. Big King followed. Morgan climbed in, untied the painter and shoved off. Big King took up the oars and started rowing.

The dinghy crunched onto the beach and Morgan and Anna climbed out.

‘Well,’ Morgan said, ‘many thanks, Mr King.’

‘Oh, a pleasure,’ Big King glowered, ‘an absolute pleasure. Any time.’

‘I’ll send you a cheque for a thousand dollars to cover expenses and to compensate for the loss of your charter party. Care of the Heron Bar. I’m afraid I need all the cash I’ve got right now.’

‘Oh, sure. Send me a Get Well card, too.’

‘Goodbye, Mr King,’ Anna said, ‘and thank you.’

‘Oh sure,’ Big King said. ‘And will you do something for me?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you. But if you ever do, will you please please please not call me Mr King?’

‘What do we call you, then?’

‘I’m hoping you’ll never have to call me any goddam thing.’

‘What name do I put on the cheque?’ Morgan said.

Big King looked at him. ‘You really gonna send me a cheque?’

‘Yes.’

Big King looked away. He dug the oars into the water.

‘Morris Longbottom,’ he muttered.

Local knowledge, that’s what he desperately needed.

Big King had told him there was a railway station in Garrucha. There must also be a bus station. The port was only for fishing boats. There was no airport. But the jungle was full of airstrips used by smugglers for flipping drugs out of the country, Big King had said.

They walked fast along the beach towards the town. By now the British and the Yanks would have their people throughout the Caribbean looking for them. And so would the Russians.

In the sunrise they climbed up a rocky path, onto the road leading into Garrucha.

The town was not yet awake. They walked through the shacks on the outskirts. Then they were entering town. The shops were still shut. A woman in black was mopping the pavement. Down sidestreets, they could glimpse the harbour, fishing boats, nets. Ahead was a plaza, silent in the early morning.

It was lined with old buildings. On the opposite side of the square, a man was wiping down tables outside a café. They walked in and sat down in a far corner. The barman called, ‘
Sí
?’

Anna ordered coffee and brandy.

The drinks came. Morgan swallowed his brandy, in one go. Anna did the same, and shuddered. She gave a bleak smile. Morgan, held up two fingers at the barman and called:

‘
Coñac, por favor.’

They sipped the coffee. It was good and strong. He sat there, feeling the balm of it. He was about to speak, and she put her hand on his. She said:

‘Thank you. From my heart. For what you’ve done.’

‘Because I love you,’ he said.

She closed her eyes and squeezed his hand. ‘But you also did it because you believe it morally
right
.’

He smiled. ‘All right …’ He hunched forward on the table. ‘We’re in South America. Now tell me where we go from here.’

She held his hand across the table.

‘New York,’ she said. ‘Manhattan.’

He was relieved. ‘Both safety-deposit boxes recorded on the page you tore out of the notebook are in New York?’

She shook her head. ‘Only one. But that’s the most likely.’

‘And where is the other box?’

‘Switzerland.’

He stroked his eyebrow.
Opposite sides of the world.

‘Why do you think New York is the most likely place?’

‘Because the night Max and I had the drunken row – he said he had the evidence in New York. In very safe custody, were his words. And he had no other bank in New York that I know of. And no New York bank is listed in his will. Only in the notebook.’

‘What did the note say?’

‘Just the box number, plus the letters H.K.S.B. Which stand for Hongkong and Shanghai Bank. That safety-deposit box is in our joint names. We opened it together last year. He’d bought me some expensive jewellery, he was on one of his spending sprees. We had to go up-state for a week. So he rented a deposit box for all this loot.’

‘In your
joint
names? So you can walk into the bank and open that box?’

‘Yes. I never did it. Max got the jewellery out for me a week later. But I remember he rented it for one year.’

Morgan sat back. Relief. ‘Well, this is easy. We just go to the bank and you open the box. Then get a lawyer. No lies, no forged signatures.’

He unzipped her bag, and pulled out the list he had made of all entries and exits from Max’s three passports. He studied it.

‘You had your drunken row on your birthday, the twentieth of June last year. Two days before that, on the eighteenth, God’s Banker was found hanging in London. The same day Max arrived in London. The same day he flew to New York. The next day he flew back to you in Grenada. The day after that was your birthday.’ He thought he was getting somewhere. ‘When Max had this outburst did he mention God’s Banker being hanged? As proof that he had the evidence?’

‘No. I’ve told you that already.’

He did not believe her. He consulted the list again.

‘The next day he went to Switzerland. Via New York.’ He tapped the list. ‘He may have gone to New York to get the
microfilm out of the deposit box – because you had access to it. And gone to Switzerland to put it in a new box.’

‘But we
have
to check out New York.’

‘Oh, yes.’ He hesitated; then turned her face towards him. ‘Anna? It’s time you told me what’s on this microfilm.’

Her exhausted eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen. She said:

‘Jack? …  Darling Jack. I do trust you. But I’m not going to tell you. Because what you don’t know you cannot be made to tell.’

He sat back wearily. All right, that would have to wait, he was too tired to argue with her now. He said:

‘We must dye your hair. And buy some clothes. The British know what we’re wearing.’

She nodded, eyes pressed closed. ‘And then?’

He said, ‘We can’t go to America from Caracas airport. Or any airport. They’ll be watching for us at obvious places like that.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘I haven’t got a passport. Except Max’s. I can change his photograph for mine. But they’ll be watching for the name of Hapsburg.’

The waiter came with two more steaming coffees. He spoke something in Spanish and Anna translated: ‘You want anything to eat?’

He couldn’t think of eating. ‘No, you have something.’

She shook her head. The waiter went away. She said: ‘We could buy forged passports in Caracas.’

‘But that’ll take time. And time’s our problem.’ He sighed. ‘We must assume that every available British, American and KGB agent in the Caribbean area is looking for us in the obvious places. Therefore, we’ve got to get out without going through immigration formalities anywhere.’

She massaged her forehead. ‘So, we must charter an aeroplane.’

‘But where? Go to a flying club? By now the Brits and Yanks will have places like that covered too. And how do you persuade the guy to charter you his aeroplane without going through normal immigration formalities?’

‘With money. We’re in South America, remember.’

He said: ‘Big King put me onto a guy in this town called José Luis.’

‘Who?’

‘José Luis, the local Mr Big if you want to buy a ton of cocaine. He’s also into “wet-backs”, smuggling people illegally into the States to work. When it comes to anything in this town, José Luis is your man.’

‘Lord – we can’t go in an aircraft that’s running drugs.’

‘Of course not. We’re in enough difficulty without having the Drug Enforcement Agency on our backs. No, we either charter an aircraft to ourselves through José Luis, or go with a bunch of wet-backs.’

She stroked her eyebrows worriedly. ‘How do we find this guy?’

‘Big King says we ask at a joint called Bar García.’

‘And if he won’t help us?’

‘Then we take a train to Caracas. And start again.’

She pressed her eyebrows. ‘Maybe we should do that first. Instead of flirting with drug runners?’

‘Time. In Caracas we’d have to start from scratch. Asking round the underworld. Attracting attention. Here, at least we know of José Luis.’

She sighed. ‘Oh God, what have I got you into?’

‘So far it’s been plain sailing. A laugh-a-minute. But if it isn’t in New York? Then, it’s Switzerland. We won’t be able to do it without false passports. And competent people helping us.’

‘Like who?’

He took a breath. ‘You’ve got to get a very respectable lawyer. And get your story down on affidavit.’ He held up a hand to silence her. ‘As much as you need to tell. So that if we’re caught, we’ve got somebody who can leap into action on our behalf.
Habeas corpus
, or whatever it’s called. Lawyers are bound to secrecy, Anna –’

‘Jack, I’m not telling this story to any lawyer until I absolutely have to. Because although the lawyer himself may treat it as confidential, what about his secretary who types it – how do we know what
her
security-rating is?’

‘Oh, Jesus, Anna …’

‘I’m sorry, Jack.’ She passed over that one. ‘And the forged passports? How do we get those?’

He had to control his anger. He said: ‘I’ll have to get somebody like Makepeace to help us.’

‘Makepeace?’

‘Used to be in the Navy with me. He was in the Special Boat Service. He quit and went into private practice, as it were. Security work. Bodyguarding.’ He added: ‘He was my partner for a while in my steamship company. But there wasn’t enough money in it for him.’

‘And now he does what, exactly?’

‘A bit of everything. He runs a hang-gliding and parachute school in the Midlands of England most of the time. And teaches karate – he was on the Navy’s karate team.’ He waved his hand. ‘He does private military-type work. These SAS and SBS guys, they never really quit the game, until they’re too old. They’re too accustomed to action to do a desk job. There’s a fraternity of them, guys who’re available for special assignments.’ He added: ‘The government hires them sometimes. “Unofficially and deniably”.’

‘And what will Makepeace do for us?’

God, he was tired, now.

‘We haven’t had time to think this all through. New York seems easy. But if we’ve got to go to a bank in Switzerland –’ he shook his head – ‘we’re into a whole new ball-game. Because that Swiss box will not be in your name, but Max’s. You may be able to forge Max’s signature, but you can’t impersonate him. So? How’re you going to get into that box? Who’s going to impersonate Max Hapsburg and forge his signature?’

She said firmly: ‘Not you. I’m not letting you take that risk.’

‘Then who? Hire a forger? An actor?’

She said: ‘I don’t know yet.’

Morgan sighed again.

‘Anna,’ he said, ‘if we’ve got to go to Switzerland, into a Swiss bank, then you really need a good lawyer. Hand the problem to him. He’ll protect your legal rights, against the British and Americans.’

‘And against the Russians too?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ve also thought about it, Jack. And if you knew as much about the integrity of lawyers as I do after living with Max for five years, you wouldn’t be so confident of them.’

Morgan sighed, and let it go for the time being.

‘Anyway, we’ll need Makepeace: To get us passports. To charter us an aircraft in Europe. We can’t just fly into Switzerland
by scheduled airline. They will be watching for us there too.’ He shook his head. Tired. ‘Consider what happens after you’ve found the right box. What do you intend to do with the microfilm? Destroy it, then and there? Or take it with you? But whatever you do, it’s when you leave the bank that the danger really starts.
They
won’t know you’ve destroyed it. So that’s when they’ll really need to pounce on you – before you’ve gone a hundred yards, before you can slip it to somebody else.’ He spread his hands. ‘We’ll need somebody like Makepeace to make a getaway. A car. Give us cover. And then fly us out. Once we leave the bank we’ve
got
to shake them off.’ He sighed. ‘That’s the sort of thing we need Makepeace for. And a few more of the boys, probably.’ He added: ‘These guys don’t come cheap. But they’re pretty damn good.’