Jack Higgins (4 page)

“He found the barge in just over a hundred feet, half-buried in thick mud. When he came up, he advised me to wait till the full crew were available.”

“And you didn't agree?”

“I thought I could tunnel through the mud and get a hawser under her. I wouldn't listen to him.”

“What went wrong?”

“The tunnel caved in on me.”

I shivered involuntarily, sick to my stomach at the memory of it. “I couldn't move an inch. Just lay there with water rising in my suit, no light, nothing. Only the darkness and the water getting higher and higher till it was inside the helmet, touching my chin.”

She grabbed my arm and shook me back to the present. “And Morgan went down for you?”

“That's it. He came down and dug me out. Came down in an aqualung. My suit was so badly torn that he had to have me taken straight up. You see the length of time I'd been down at that depth I needed to decompress for around an hour and a half. Go up in stages.”

“Then what happened?”

“We had a portable decompression chamber on board. A Swiss thing, just big enough for one man. He had the deck-hands put me inside.”

“And Morgan?” she whispered.

My mouth went dry at the thought of it. “There wasn't any room for him, was there?” For some reason, I'd raised my voice. “He could have gone back over the side and taken his time about coming up, but there wasn't another diver around to help and he collapsed anyway. By the time they got the boat in and tied up it was too late.”

“And he's been like that ever since?”

I nodded.

“And you don't like diving any more.”

“Not really. Oh, I've tried—like today, for instance. I go down through the sunlight and that isn't so bad and then it gets deeper and the colours fade and the darkness moves in, just like it did down there in the mud last year.”

There was sweat on my face. She put a finger to my lips and smiled. “You've punished yourself enough for one night. All right? Now we'll take three nice deep breaths and go and have a drink.”

“I'll never make it to the bar.” Which was the plain truth for I felt as shaky as a kitten.

“Is that a fact? Where would you suggest?”

“My room. A step across the terrace, french windows standing invitingly open to the night breezes. Soda, ice-water and good Irish whiskey always to be had.”

“Amongst other things.”

“Now that entirely depends on the customer.”

She slipped a hand through my arm and laughed, that distinctive, harsh chuckle of hers. “You know, I've decided I like you after all, Savage.”

“Something I slipped into your drink at the bar.”

“No,” she said. “I like the way you don't surrender.”

“The motto of entirely the wrong Irish political party,” I said without understanding what in hell she was talking about.

We went up the steps and moved towards the open french windows. They stood wide to the night air as I had said, and the curtains were drawn. Inside, it was as black as the hob of hell and very, very still.

“I'll get the light.” I started across the room, forgetting about the power failure. I tripped and went over with a clatter, sending a chair flying.

“Are you all right?” she called.

I put out a hand and touched a face.

“Don't scream,” I said. “I think we're in for a nasty surprise.”

When I struck a match, there was blood all over the expensive Persian carpet and Raoul Guyon was lying in the middle of it.

The guard on the jetty who had fired into the water as we returned in the M.T.B. had been closer than he knew. Guyon had been shot in the back three times, that much was evident from the ragged holes in the black Neoprene wet-suit. Things didn't look any better when I got it off him.

The two which had penetrated the upper part of the left shoulder were nasty, but hardly mortal, even if they did leave him partially crippled for life, which was the way it looked.

Number three was a different proposition. It had entered at a point six inches below the left shoulder blade and when I turned him over, there was no exit hole. Which meant it was still in there!

Sara Hamilton crouched beside me holding the oil lamp I had lit. It didn't waver, not even at the first sight of all that blood when I unzipped his wet-suit.

“How bad is it?” she whispered.

“Bad enough. He's stopped one in the left lung from the looks of it.”

One thing I always needed plenty of in my line of work was medical supplies. I told her where to look and she took the lamp and moved to the storage cupboard next to the bathroom.

I crouched there in the dark listening to her rummaging about. I could hardly hear Guyon's breathing which worried me. Lung wounds were funny things. You could never tell where you were with them. One minute alive, the next, dead. I'd seen it all before.

She returned with a large tin box painted grey with the insignia of the British Admiralty on the lid. It was the kind of kit carried on most smaller naval craft that couldn't rate their own doctor. I had several of them in stock bought through war surplus channels.

There was sweat on his face now and he moaned a couple of times. I poured sulphanilamide powder on his wounds after swabbing as much of the blood away as I could, then I bandaged them quickly using field dressings.

Sara held him upright for me, the lamp on the floor. We managed to get my old bathrobe on him. Just as we finished, he opened his eyes and stared at her, then turned to me. There was recognition through the pain. He tried to reach out to me, muttered a few words and fainted.

“What did he say?” she whispered. “I couldn't catch it.”

“He spoke in Hebrew. He said he was sorry.”

There was a sudden fragile silence between us. I reached out and touched her. “We could have used you
in the Commandos. You've done this sort of thing before.”

“In a way. What happens now? He needs to go to hospital surely?”

“I wouldn't give much for his chances if he does. I'd say Major Ibrahim would get to work on him long before any surgeon could and with less fortunate results. No, this is one for Yanni Kytros. Time he came into the firing line, too.”

I moved to the door, opened it and peered outside. The corridor was still in darkness, a little light seeping through from the foyer at the end. She stood at my shoulder, so close that to put an arm about her waist seemed the most natural thing in the world.

“All right?” she said.

God knows why, but I felt alive in a way I had not done for years, full of myself, my own ability to take on the whole damned world and knock it flat on its back. My hand moved up from the waist and cupped her left breast. She glanced up, eyes widening, and I kissed her on the mouth.

“We do have fun, don't we?”

“Go on, get out of it.” She almost managed a smile, which would have been remarkable under the circumstances, shoved me into the corridor and closed the door.

I moved cautiously towards the end and peered round the corner and down into the deserted foyer. Two oil lamps stood on the reception desk, but I could see no sign of the night clerk. Behind me, a door opened and Yanni Kytros appeared, an oil lamp in his hand. He wore a dressing gown and looked ready for an early night, at least by his standards.

“Jack?” He frowned. “What's all this?” And then
he moved closer. “My God, there's blood on your coat.'

I grabbed him by the lapels and jerked him forward. “And there will be a little on you, if you don't come up with something fast. Guyon's flat on his back in my room with three rather large holes in him. In his condition I wouldn't give him long with Ibrahim before the good major was extracting everything he needed to know about you. He'd hang you up by your big toes. Would you like that?”

His eyes widened, but not for a moment did he panic. “Not one little bit, I have other plans. How bad is Guyon?”

“I've patched him up as best I can, but he's stopped one in the lung. He needs surgery fast.”

“There's a doctor in Alexandria, an Austrian named Schiller who runs a clinic for heroin addicts near the main harbour. Kanayis Street. He'll see to him. Tell him I sent you.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to get him there? They'll have troops out on every road.”

We didn't get a chance to take it further because several vehicles arrived outside in a hurry. A moment later, Major Ibrahim strode in followed by four military policemen. He went to the desk and rang for the clerk who appeared from the office yawning.

“Where is Kytros?” Ibrahim demanded.

“I am not sure, Major.”

The clerk looked scared and I didn't blame him. “And the man Savage? Have you seen him?”

“I think he will be in his room, Major.”

As Ibrahim turned I whispered in Yanni's ear, “If you want to live, stall him. Three minutes at least or we've all had it.”

I gave him a shove down the steps and started back fast along the corridor. “Oh, Major, I wanted a word with you!” I heard him call and then I had the door open and was into the bedroom.

Somehow she'd got Guyon on to the bed and was sitting beside him. I stripped off my bloodstained jacket, tossed it down on the floor beside the wet-suit and rolled the whole lot up inside the Persian carpet.

“You'd better get out of here fast,” I told her. “Ibrahim's on his way.”

I ran to the storage cupboard, kicked open the lid of my old cabin trunk and stuffed the whole lot inside. When I turned she was still there, standing beside the bed.

“For God's sake, be your age,” I said. “How long do you think a girl like you would last in an Egyptian gaol? They'd be queuing up.”

“According to you, I should enjoy that, shouldn't I?”

I picked Guyon up in my arms. “We certainly pick one hell of a time for this kind of conversation, don't we? You'd better pray that electricity doesn't come on yet.”

I went out through the french windows and plunged into the darkness of the garden. She was hard on my heels. We just about made it into the safety of the bushes when the door of my room was flung open so violently that it rebounded from the wall. There was the clatter of boots, confused voices, then a chair went over.

Ibrahim walked on to the terrace followed by Yanni Kytros and a military policeman holding a lantern. The major couldn't stop moving, anger and frustration churning inside him.

“But Savage was told to stay here,” he said loudly.

Yanni spread his hands and managed to look bewildered. “Perhaps he is in the bar? He is there most nights.”

Ibrahim paused, stared at him, presumably because the suggestion made sense. He told the military policeman to stay there on the terrace and went back into the room followed by Kytros.

“Right, let's get out of here,” I whispered, and moved cautiously away.

We fetched up against the far wall within a couple of minutes and I paused for a breather, aware of Guyon's weight. There was a wicker gate not too far away which gave access to the lane at the side of the garden where I usually parked the Land-Rover, mainly because it was the quickest route down to the harbour. If I could once get him safe on board the
Gentle Jane
there might be some sort of chance. To reach Alexandria by road would be impossible now, but by sea…

I told her briefly what I hoped to do and she put a hand on Guyon's forehead. “I don't think he can stand much more of this kind of thing. Anyway, I should have thought they would have put a guard on your boat.”

“Perhaps, but I was supposed to be confined to the hotel remember. In any case, I'll only find out by taking a look. You can get that gate open for me then clear off out of it. No need for you to be involved any further.”

She ignored me. Simply stood up and went and opened the wicker gate, holding it wide. I moved out, paused for a moment, then staggered towards the Land-Rover. She was there before me and had the flap open at the rear.

“Have you got a death wish or something?” I demanded.

“Oh, shut up, Savage, you're wasting time.”

There was a stirring inside and Morgan sat up. “What in the hell is going on out there?”

“It's me, Morg,” I told him. “We're in bad trouble. I'm shoving Guyon in beside you. Cover him with a blanket and pray.”

That sobered him and fast. I said to Sara, “All right, if you want to go down with the ship, so be it. Get behind the wheel and release the hand brake when I give you the word. It's downhill all the way so we'll keep it quiet.”

She nodded briefly and went round to the other side. I gave her a moment to get set, then put my shoulder down and pushed. The Land-Rover started to roll, slowly at first, then faster. I ran alongside and scrambled into the passenger seat. As we gathered speed, plunging down into the darkness, every light in the hotel came on as if by magic. Too late for us.

She smiled in that habitually ironic way of hers and said, without looking at me, “You know, there are definitely times when I almost believe in God.”

 

The M.T.B. used the inner harbour which was what the locals called the new harbour although it dated from the turn of the century. A lot of expensive yachts and motor cruisers were tied up there, mainly owned by weekend sailors from Alexandria.

I had the
Gentle Jane
at the end of the Admiralty pier in the old harbour where the mooring was free and used mainly by local fishermen. At this time of night it was as quiet as the grave. We managed to run about halfway along the pier before finally rolling to a halt.

“This will do,” I said, and she pulled on the brake. “I'll carry him from here.”

I went round to the back and Morgan peered out at me, sweat shining on his face in spite of the cold.

“How is he?” I asked.

“Hasn't stirred.” He scrambled out to join me. “What happens now?”

“We get him to the boat and make time for Alex,” I told him. “You go on ahead and make ready to cast off and we'll use the silencers.”

They had been an expensive innovation when I'd first had them fitted, but necessary at the time, considering the kind of work I'd been doing for Yanni Kytros. With any kind of luck, they'd get us in and out of the harbour without being heard which was all that mattered.

Morgan stumbled away into the darkness and I pulled Guyon out as gently as I could and followed. He was dead-weight, out cold, but that was all to the good in the circumstances.

Sara kept pace with me, a shadow in the darkness. I could smell the sea now, strong and salty in a light breeze that pushed the waves into harbour in long, straight lines, rocking the fishing boats below, filling the night with the uneasy groaning of the rigging.

I went down a flight of stone steps cautiously, telling her to be careful. Morgan was waiting at the bottom to help us over the side and there was plenty of light from the lamp on the end of the pier.

Morgan had the main saloon lights on, curtains drawn, when I went down the companionway. I laid Guyon down carefully on one of the bunks and sat on the edge beside him. His face was like marble and very cold, but he was still breathing.

“He doesn't look too good,” Sara said in a low voice.

I nodded. “All I can do is get him to Alex as quickly as possible and hope. An hour's run, that's all. He still has a chance.”

I stood up and she moved close. “And afterwards? What will you say when Hakim and Ibrahim come looking for you?”

“I'll think of something. Once he's off my hands, they can't prove a thing. Now get out of here. Back to Aleko as fast as you can. Nobody need ever know you had a thing to do with this business.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Be sensible. For once in your life be sensible.”

She stood there staring up at me, then turned and moved out. I followed her up the companionway as the engine came to life with the faintest of rumblings.

She paused at the rail and turned, her face a pale blur in the darkness. “It won't work, Savage, you've had it. You know that, don't you?”

“What did you expect me to do, leave him to rot?”

She said slowly and after a long pause, “No, you wouldn't do that.”

I surprised myself by laughing. “Funny, but some days life is just all hell. Now get moving.”

She went over the rail. As she reached the first step I called softly, “It's been nice knowing you, Sara Hamilton. You're pure gold. Don't let anyone ever tell you different.”