Fast Buck (25 page)

Rico could see Hater’s thin chest moving as he breathed.

‘He’s stil breathing.’

‘That’s something,’ Baird said, and grinned sourly. ‘He must have a skul like granite.’

‘He’s crazy,’ Rico said uneasily. ‘There’s something about his face…’

‘You should take a look at yourself,’ Baird said. ‘You look a little nuts, too. Maybe I do. That dog nearly had me.’

Rico shivered.

‘You’ve been a big help,’ Baird went on. ‘I must have been soft in the head to have picked on you for a caper like this. If you’d hit the dredge with your first shot they wouldn’t have known where to look for us. We’d been the hel out of this by now.’

Rico didn’t say anything. He was thinking he must have been soft in the head to have got mixed up with Baird in the first place.

‘Maybe we’d bet er take it in turns to sleep,’ Baird said, yawning. ‘Hel ! My wrist hurts. We may have to paddle all night. I’l take the first nap. Keep your eye on Hater. Wake me if he shows any sign of coming to the surface.’

He stretched and closed his eyes. Rico watched him, fascinated. To be able to contemplate sleep at such a time! He had always known Baird had nerves of steel, and looking at him, a naked giant of solid bone and muscle, already dozing, Rico felt suddenly more hopeful. If there was a way out of this jam, Baird would find it. If they did get out of the swamp there was a quarter of a million dollars waiting for him.

An hour dragged by. Every now and then the sound of voices and the barking of dogs seemed unpleasantly close. Once Rico caught sight of some guards moving slowly along the opposite bank.

They passed without even looking across the river.

Hater showed no signs of recovering consciousness, and Rico wondered uneasily if he were going to die. He rigged up some shading for Hater by draping a blanket over the suitcase. It was very hot in the boat, and Rico longed for an iced highball.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he made no at empt to wake Baird. He sat in the prow of the boat, his ears and eyes missing nothing, while the hours dragged by.

By four o’clock the sounds of men and dogs had died away. The silence was broken now only by the drone of mosquitoes and the lapping of water against the side of the boat.

A river snake slid from under the boat and went swimming swiftly downstream, startling Rico. He took another drink from the whisky bottle, then reached over and shook Baird.

‘What’s up?’ Baird asked, instantly awake. His hand automatical y reached for the Winchester.

‘Isn’t it time we did something?’ Rico asked uneasily. ‘It’s after four o’clock.’

Baird sat up slowly and stretched. He touched his wrist with a grimace and shook his head.

‘I guess you’l have to do some work. This wrist of mine doesn’t feel so good. I doubt if I can use the paddle.’ He looked towards the opposite bank. ‘Seen anything?’

‘Nothing for the past hour. I haven’t heard anything, either.’

Baird took a drink from the whisky bottle, then lit a cigarette.

‘We’d bet er stay here until it’s dark,’ he said. ‘We might run into them on their way back. Now we’ve got so far, it’d be crazy to take any more risks than we have to.’

Rico shrugged. He wanted to get moving, but he realised what Baird said made sense.

‘How’s Hater?’ Baird went on.

They both looked at the still body lying at the bottom of the boat. They were startled to see the dark eyes were open and watching them.

Baird shifted over to Hater and knelt at his side.

‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘You’re okay now.’

Hater made a soft, moaning noise, but he kept still. Rico leaned forward to stare down at him. Could this frail, odd little man, with his beetling eyebrows, his thin, emaciated face and body, his wild, staring eyes, be Paul Hater, the internationally renowned jewel operator? It didn’t seem possible, until Rico remembered Hater had been inside for fifteen years: probably been working in this ghastly heat and swamp for most of that time. He shuddered at the thought, wondering what he himself would look like if he had been through what Hater had had to face.

Baird undid the gag and lifted Hater’s head.

‘Have a drink, pal,’ he said, and offered the whisky bot le.

‘Who are you?’ Hater asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘What do you want with me?’

‘We’re get ing you out of here,’ Baird said. ‘You’ve got friends on the outside rooting for you.’

Hater licked his lips. His eyes went from Baird’s hard, expressionless face to Rico.

‘I haven’t any friends,’ he said.

‘Sure, you have,’ Baird returned. ‘You take it easy. You’ve got nothing to worry about now.’

Hater closed his eyes.

‘I know what you’re after,’ he mut ered. ‘But you’re not going to get it. No one’s going to get it.’

‘Don’t get excited,’ Baird said. ‘We’l talk about who’s going to get what when we’re out of here.’

Hater started to say something, but the effort was too much for him. His face went slack, and he seemed to drift off once more into unconsciousness.

After watching him for a while, Baird returned to his blanket. He sat down and began to pull on his camouflage jacket and trousers. When he had finished dressing he told Rico to go to sleep.

‘We’l get going as soon as it’s dark. Get some rest. You’l have to do most of the paddling.’

Rico was still watching Hater.

‘Did you hear what he said? Suppose he doesn’t tel Kile where he’s cached the stuff? The cops must have tried to make him spill it. If they couldn’t do it, how does Kile think he’l get him to talk?’

Baird shrugged.

‘That’s not my headache. If Kile can’t make him talk, maybe I’l take charge of him.’ He stared at Rico for a long second. ‘I could make him spil it. A half a mil ion’s worth taking a lit le trouble for. I don’t say it’d be easy, but in the end he’d come clean.’

‘Why don’t you do it now?’ Rico asked anxiously. ‘Why hand him over to Kile at al ?’

‘Suppose we did know where the stuff was hidden? What good would it do us? We couldn’t get rid of it. Talk sense. Kile’s got an in with this Rajah guy; we haven’t.’

Rico lay down in the boat. His feet were close to Hater’s head.

‘If we don’t pul this off I’m ruined,’ he said miserably. ‘I don’t know what I shal do.’

‘Aw, shut up!’ Baird snapped. ‘Go to sleep. I don’t want to listen to your bel y-aching.’

Rico closed his eyes, but he knew he wasn’t going to sleep. He watched Baird through his eyelashes.

Baird stared thoughtfully at Hater while he nursed his aching wrist. His mind made plans.

IV

Around nine o’clock the light began to go quickly. For five hours the three men had lain in the boat, sweltering in the tropical heat, tormented by mosquitoes that buzzed above their heads in a thick cloud.

Only twice during the long wait for darkness had Hater moved. He seemed to hover on the edge of consciousness, but the slightest movement or effort to open his eyes drove him back again into a coma that made Rico nervous.

If Hater should die before he could be persuaded to talk! Rico kept thinking. This nightmare he was enduring would be for nothing. If he didn’t get that money his future would be something he dared not contemplate.

Rico had scarcely noticed the heat or the mosquitoes so engrossed was he in worrying about Hater.

Every now and then he would reach forward and touch Hater’s pulse to reassure himself that Hater was still alive. This bundle of skin and bones represented Rico’s future. There was nothing Rico wouldn’t have done for him if there had been anything to do. He kept urging Baird to get moving. Hater should see a doctor, he told Baird repeatedly. It was madness to let him lie in this awful heat without proper attention.

Baird wouldn’t listen. He lay in the stern of the boat, nursing his wrist. Rico was so busy fussing over Hater that he hadn’t noticed how red and angry looking Baird’s left arm had become. Long red streaks came from under the bandage and reached up as far as Baird’s elbow. Every so often Baird hung his arm over the side of the boat, keeping his burning forearm in the water.

He was worried about his arm. He knew it was infected, and he knew, too, he was growing feverish.

His head felt hot, and he experienced hot and cold chills up and down his spine. To be ill at a time like this! he thought savagely. To have to rely on a useless sonofabitch like Rico! If he told Rico how he was feeling, Rico would promptly lose his head. Would the darkness never come? He needed a doctor far more urgently than Hater did.

Rico said sullenly, ‘It’s dark enough now, isn’t it? It’s nearly nine.’

The sun had gone down behind the trees, but they could still see the far bank quite clearly. Sick of doing nothing and tormented by the pain in his arm, Baird decided to take the risk.

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘let’s go. Think you can handle this tub?’

Rico looked startled.

‘Isn’t your arm al right now?’

‘It’s stiff,’ Baird said. ‘Maybe I’l take over in a while. We’re going with the stream. It won’t be hard work.’

Rico picked up the paddle. He shoved the boat away from the bank and began to paddle into midstream. The boat zigzagged through the water under his uneven strokes.

‘Keep by the bank,’ Baird said, ‘and don’t try so hard.’

After a few minutes Rico got the hang of the paddle, and managed to keep the boat fairly straight.

‘Should be dark in about ten minutes,’ Baird said, staring up at the cloudless sky. ‘There’l be a big moon in an hour, I’d say.’

It was almost dark when they heard the sound of an aircraft. Rico had allowed the boat to drift away from the bank, and they were away from the shelter of the overhanging trees.

Baird had been dozing. He was lying down in the boat now, his arm hanging over the side. The cool water made the throbbing and burning bearable. He opened his eyes and half sat up. Rico was staring up at the sky. Then realising the plane was heading towards them, he tried desperately to paddle the boat to the shelter of the trees. He got in such a panic he nearly capsized the boat, churning up the water and scooping water on to his legs and into the boat.

‘Steady, you crazy punk!’ Baird snarled, ‘or you’l have us over!’

Rico controlled himself and began to paddle more carefully. The boat swung towards the bank and the sheltering darkness of the trees. They were within three or four yards of cover when the aircraft went roaring overhead.

It was flying low, and the roar of its engine and the rush of wind from its slipstream made both men duck. It was gone as quickly as it had come.

‘Hel !’ Baird exclaimed. ‘Think they were looking for us?’

Rico wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand.

‘They couldn’t have seen us,’ he said uneasily. ‘It’s nearly dark, and at that speed…’

‘Bet er get going,’ Baird said. ‘Keep nearer to the bank, and put your back into it.’

Rico drove the boat forward. He was rapidly tiring. It was years since he had taken any exercise, and paddling a boat as heavy as this made his arms ache.

‘I can’t keep this up much longer,’ he panted. ‘Can’t you take a turn?’

‘You’re damn wel going to,’ Baird said. ‘Take a look at this,’ and he thrust his swol en arm at Rico.

In the failing light Rico could see the angry red streaks, and the flesh turning blue around the bandage.

The sight horrified him.

‘That’s poisoned,’ he said. ‘Hadn’t you better do something about it?’

‘What the hell do you think I can do, you dope?’ Baird said, exasperated. ‘Keep going, and make it fast!’

Rico continued to paddle. He kept glancing at Baird uneasily. Baird looked bad. Sweat beaded his face and his eyes seemed to have sunk into their sockets. He kept passing his hand across his forehead, and every now and then he swayed as if he were going to topple out of the boat.

‘Bet er lie down,’ Rico said feverishly. ‘You look bad.’

‘Aw, shut up!’ Baird said, but his voice lacked its usual snap. After a moment or so, he did lie down.

Rico was paddling more slowly now. There was a burning ache in his shoulders, and he could feel blisters forming on the palms of his hands. He kept digging the paddle into the water, but their progress was slow.

‘How much farther do you reckon we’ve got to go?’ he asked, after a long silence.

Baird grunted.

‘Another three or four hours at this rate. Can’t you go faster? We want to be miles from the river before dawn.’

Rico made the effort and slightly increased his stroke. He groaned softly to himself. Baird had said they would earn every nickel of that half million. He hadn’t believed him at the time, but he believed him now.

An hour crawled by. Rico was so tired he scarcely did more than make the motions of paddling. The boat moved sluggishly along with the stream. It had become almost dark since the plane had passed, but now Rico was aware of more light, and he could see the outlines of the trees against the night sky. The moon was coming up, he thought thankfully. This drifting in the darkness was beginning to get on his nerves.

He increased his rate of paddling slightly. His hands were so sore it was an effort to hold the paddle tightly. Would this nightmare journey never end? he asked himself. It was too dark to see how Hater was. For all Rico knew Hater might have died. He could hear Baird muttering to himself as he dozed.

How was he going to manage Hater as well as Baird? Rico thought wildly. There was a five-hour car drive to the shooting-lodge yet to be tackled.

Suddenly he imagined he heard a sound, and he stopped paddling to listen, letting the boat drift. Far away he thought he could hear a faint throbbing of an engine. Was the aircraft coming back?

He looked towards the bank, and turned the nose of the boat so that he could get under cover if the plane was returning.

‘Baird! Wake up!’ he cal ed anxiously.

‘What’s the mat er now?’ Baird asked harshly, sit ing up.

‘Listen!’

The pulse in Baird’s head drummed violently, and his arm was a blaze of fire. Cursing softly, he leaned out of the boat, bringing his head close to the water. He picked up the sound that Rico had heard.