Billingsgate Shoal (34 page)

A giant spider jumped on my face. It clung across the
front of my skull with menacing ferocity. It squeezed its inky legs
down tight.

A hand.

Then two quick belly chops and a kidney punch and I
was down and doing a slow roll. But before I could yell the least
little thing the spider came back, jumped upon me again, and found my
mouth. It snuggled down and made a nest there, tight. I couldn't
speak. I couldn't even breathe.

There were two of them. I saw a light flicker between
cupped hands. Flashlight again. Strong arms had pinned mine behind
me. They helped me to my feet. I wasn't eager. Who was it? Probably
the watchman by the cage. I had made a small sound and been ferreted
out. I didn't think it was Mutt and Jeff. I smelled no booze, and
also they were, as far as my crude and damaged reckoning could place
them, still at the far terminus of the big brick barn.

A whisper said: "Walk forward slowly until I
tell you to stop. Keep your hands up above your head where I can see
them at all times. If you drop them or try to turn I'll kill you
before you know what's happened. Nod your head to show you
understand?

I did. I felt the cold pressure of a gun muzzle in my
spine.

"Now walk forward slowly where I point the
light."

He pointed it at the doorway to the stairs, and I
started walking. The pressure left my back but I didn't try anything.
The episode in the barn had taught me how foolish that course of
action was. The man—and it wasn't the same one who'd gotten the
drop on me earlier—certainly held the pistol aimed square at me.

"Open it and start down."

I swung the door back and entered. On the fourth or
fifth step down the door snapped shut behind us. Then it grew light.
I could see the winding staircase I was descending. Lights were on.
Apparently it was a strict policy to show no lights on the
warehouse's ground floor.

We kept walking around and around, down and down. Who
was down there? What monstrous hairy arthropod clutched at the middle
of the great web, waiting for me? Was it Sydney Greenstreet, complete
with cigar and fez? Emperor Ming? The Rockettes?

I had a feeling it was none of the above.

"Keep going," the voice said.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WE WALKED UNDER the reflector lights of the lower
level. Here the huge concrete pillars were much heavier and more
numerous, about twelve feet apart and arranged-in grids to hold up
the entire center portion of the warehouse above. There was only one
row of lights on; the pillars and old spools and drums that cluttered
the place disappeared gradually into the darkness on each side of us.
The place was big. Not as big as the vast amphitheater above, but big
nevertheless. Ahead of us was a metal-clad door hung with
counterweights on pulleys. I sure didn't like the look of it.

"Stop," he whispered.

We waited. I expected to feel a tap on the back of my
neck, then a blinding white flash. Then nothing, because I would be
dead.

But nothing happened.

"Who's there?" he asked. His voice had an
anxious tone, which surprised me.

"Who is that behind us?"

No answer. I then heard the click of his flashlight.
It was probably as good a chance as I'd get, and I was just about to
begin my spin and high kick when he told me to move on. There went my
last chance. We stopped in front of the metal fire door. .

"Knock on it. Hard."

I did.

"Who is it?" said a barely audible voice.

"Hartzos. I found a spy, John."

"Police?"

"Don't know. He knocked Micky cold out on the
dock, then worked his way in."

"Where were you, Hartzos?"

"He must've come in when I was with Micky. I got
to get back up quick. Want help with him?"

"No. Step back." I thought the voice was
faintly familiar. ..A The heavy door slid open. It was almost dark
beyond; A flashlight shone on our faces.

"Well?" asked Hartzos.

Still the man with the light was silent.

"John, do you want me to stay?"

"Uh uh," was the grunted reply. I heard the
sound of fading footsteps behind me as Hartzos the watchman returned
to his post. They certainly had the place sealed off effectively. Two
tall fences with barbed wire, a series of deserted buildings, a lower
level of an old wharf with solid rock walls, and a swarm of silent
`guards that prowled around in the pitch black.

The man grabbed me by my upper arm hard and I felt a
gun in my ribs, He spun me fast around and up against the doorjamb as
he flicked off the flashlight. I heard the big door slide shut and
John and I were alone. I didn't like the feeling one bit. When I next
heard his voice it was right in my ear: "Well, well, Doctor
Adams, you certainly dawnt seem to have such bleedin' keen luck
mucking about in old buildings, eh?"

"You!"

"Shhhhhh! Now you listen good these next few
seconds or we're both dead, hear?"

"I hear. But tell me who you are—"

"Shhhhh!" He jammed me in the rib cage hard
with the gun. The voice commenced again, in a whisper almost delicate
for all the menace it conveyed.

"Who I am's not important. Savin' your neck
should be, and your chances aren't good. If they find out we've met
before we're both dead. You've never laid eyes on me."

"Right. Never laid—"

"C'mon!"

He marched me through a narrow hall into the room
beyond. I will never forget that room. As I entered it I was almost
buoyant with hope that I'd run into my friend from the barn again.
But one glance around the dismal chamber with the damp rock walls was
enough to take the tar out of anybody. The room was perhaps twenty by
thirty feet. The ceiling was low. It was full of junk: old cable
spools, machinery, and crates and pallets. A doorway in the far wall
led to another room or passageway that was dark. What dominated the
room was a chute that projected at an angle from above. At the
chute's end was a long narrow table of sheet metal with wooden sides
to it. It was a dressing table for fish. Along the sides of this
table were troughs, no doubt for the fishheads and offal that were
discarded. These emptied into another chute directly above a large
grating in the floor as big as a door. The steel grate that covered
the black hole in the floor had an ominous look. It could have been
the doorway to an oubliette. A sound came up through the grating. The
sound of sloshing water. This room, originally used to store cable,
had been converted into a processing room by the fishery. Now
abandoned even in that role, it made a perfect place to hide in.

The big man sat with his back to me. He was listening
to a VHF radio, his head bowed in concentration. A slender, lithe
figure emerged from the far dark doorway and stopped and stared at
us. John prodded with the gun and I sat down on a stack of pallets.

"Jim, look," said the figure.

Schilling turned around and scowled at us. The slim
figure disappeared into the dark doorway and reappeared immediately
with something long and dark. It approached us silently, and then
became fully visible a few feet from us. The delicate hands pointed a
Colt Commando assault rifle at me.

"Ah the charming Doctor Adams. You surprised to
find me here?" asked Laura Kincaid.

"Not really," I answered. "I realized
that you were the only person who could have told Schilling about my
suspicions. I told nobody else. And I think it was your big friend
here who opened the front door while we were talking/out in the
garden. I know you don't really have a maid."

"Yes, it was a clever game you played with me. I
realized too late who it probably was on the phone, and that made us
even more anxious to get rid of you."

"Ah, but we didn't," said Schilling as he
shuffled up behind Laura Kincaid. "You were lucky. I hit you too
lightly up in Gloucester. I knew it before you hit the water. You had
turned a bit at just the right instant and the sap slid off the side
of your head—"

"So you waited around to make sure."

"But it wasn't good enough. You're a wily one,
Adams, but stupid. Even our warning of the dog wasn't enough I see."

I turned to Laura.

"I guess it's not too difficult to imagine what
happened to your husband."

She looked away impatiently for a second, then faced
me, frowning. .

"I knew you were trouble as soon as you called
me. I told Jim to put himself out underneath the car so he could get
a good look at you as you left. You were stupid to hunt out Murdock."

"And he was obviously stupid to help you,"
I said. I looked at my watch. "There are several things you
should know. One: the police and Coast Guard all know I'm here. They
also know you're not hanging around the
Rose
.
Even they can spot a decoy as obvious as that—"

Schilling and Laura exchanged a quick glance. It was
fleeting, but enough to tell me they were a little bit afraid.

"Second, this whole place is going to come alive
shortly after four o'clock. That's in less than half an hour."

Schilling lost control. With a deep, guttural roar he
leapt forward and pasted me one on the side of the jaw and sent me
sprawling on the smooth concrete floor. It was damp and very cold.
Apparently I'd messed up his plans enough so that he was mighty
irritated.

"It won't work, Adams, your making up a cock and
bull story to throw us off balance. You're the one who's in trouble
now. A few things you should know. First, the security here's air
tight. It's a wonder you managed to get in at all but as we can see,
you didn't get far. Second, there are four or five ways out of here,
including that long tunnel behind us. If need be we'll leave that way
and we've got some stuff back there that'll make anyone chasing us
wish he'd never been born. We were just getting ready to make our
last run; we got skunked earlier tonight but now we're ready and
nobody's getting in our way. You're leaving here too, Adams, but by a
different exit."

He spun around and went over to the big grate, which
he snatched up from a deep squat, just like an Olympic weightlifter.
He staggered three steps with the huge metal screen and dropped it.
It clanged down in a flurry of sparks. Schilling walked over to the
pit and peered down.

"Put you right in here with all the old fish
guts."

I felt a deep sickening dread under my ribs. My lower
half seemed made of water and my mouth had a fuzzy, electric feeling.
I felt on the verge of some kind of seizure. I was very scared. I had
to talk, to keep them talking. I needed all the time I could buy. I
glanced over at John, who held his Walther muzzle down. In a sense he
represented my only hope, and I didn't even have the faintest idea
who the hell he was.

"I wouldn't have. . . wouldn't have become at
all interested if it weren't for the boy's death," I said.

"That was an accident," said the woman.
"Jim saw the Navy insignia and panicked. The boy was on the far
side of the boat and he took a swipe at him with a fish billy. He
just. . . never came back up."

"Ah. So that settles it. That easy is it?"

She struck me across the face with the muzzle of the
rifle. The flash arrester did a nice job of opening up the left side
of my cheek.

"You shut up. Shut up!"

"So you know my name. How did you find out?"
asked the big man. He was built like a fullback, and had obviously
worked out heavily to increase the beef up around his chest and
shoulders, But there was something missing, something weak about the
eyes and mouth that turned my stomach.

"I took your picture in Wellfleet. I'm not the
only one who knows you didn't die in Alaska. Assuming you get away
tonight, you've still had it, pal. They've got your number."

"Who? Names!" screamed Laura. "Name
some names, quick! "

I did. I named Ruggles, Brindelli, Hannon, O'Hearn,
and two others. I mentioned the army chap who couldn't wait to get
his hands on the people who stole the army's rifles.

It was then I realized I had blundered into something
that could make me inadvertently reveal something about John. Out of
the corner of my eye I could see him visibly shudder. I saw his heavy
shoulders sag a bit, and knew he was almost as distraught as I was.

Jim Schilling sat on an old crate and rubbed his big
jaw.

"He knows the whole thing, Laura. I want him
out. Now."

"Won't do you any good. All of them know too."

"Then where the hell are they?" he
screamed, and glared at me.

He had me there. I sure as hell wished I knew.

"Just tell me," I asked, "who are the
guns for?"

"They're going to Ireland," said Laura.

"Then you are supplying the IRA—"

She smiled a smug grin and shook her well-groomed
head back and forth.