Seawitch (16 page)

"We never saw 'em before in our lives."

Lord Worth was properly shocked. "But you

told me—"

"You told us big black lies. What's a little white lie? We'll go aboard as—say—your technological advisers. Geologists, seismologists— it's all the same to us, we know nothing about geology or seismology. All we need are business suits, horn-rimmed glasses—for the studious look—and briefcases." He paused. "And we'll also need a doctor, with full medical kit and a large supply of bandages."

"A doctor?"

"For extracting bullets, sewing up gunshot wounds. Or are you naive enough to believe that

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no shot will be fired in anger aboard the witch?"

"I abhor violence."

"Sure. That's why you sent twenty heavily armed thugs out to the Seawitch during the night? Fine, so you abhor violence. Others welcome it. Can you find us a doctor?"

"Dozens of them. The average doctor hereabouts rates his scanning of X-rays a very poor second to the scanning of his bank balances. I know the man. Greenshaw. After seven years in Vietnam, he should fill your bill."

Roomer said: "And ask him to bring along two spare white hospital coats." "Why?" Mitchell said. "Want to look scientific, don't you?** Lord Worth picked up the phone, made the arrangements, replaced the instrument and said: "You must excuse me. I have some private calls to make from the radio room." Lord Worth's sole reason for returning to his house was to contact his inside man, Corral, and have him, without incriminating himself, inform Benson, who had hosted the Lake Tahoe meeting, that the government intended to blast out of the water any  foreign  naval  ships that  approached  the Seawitch.  An  exaggeration  but,  Lord  Worth thought, a pardonable one. Despite the secretary's promise, Lord Worth placed more faith in his direct approach.

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Mitchell said: "Which one of us do you want to go with you?"

"What do you mean? 'Private,' I said." His face darkened in anger. "Am I to be ordered around in my own house, supervised as if I'm an irresponsible child?"

"You behaved responsibly last night? Look, Lord Worth, if you don't want either of us around, then it's obvious you want to say something that you don't want us to hear." Mitchell gave him a speculative look. "I don't like that. You're either up to something we wouldn't like, something shady maybe, or it's a vote of no confidence in us."

"It's a personal and highly important business call. I don't see why you should be privy to my business affairs."

Roomer said: "I agree. But it so happens that we don't think it is a business call, that business would be the last thing in your mind right now." Both Mitchell and Roomer stood up. "Give our regards, to the girls—if you ever find them."

"Blackmail! Damned blackmail!" Lord Worth rapidly weighed the importance of his call to Corral compared to the importance of having Mitchell and Roomer around. It took all of two seconds to make up his mind, and Corral was clear out of sight at the wire. He was sure that the two men were bluffing, but there was no way he could call their bluff, for that was the one sure way of provoking a genuine walkout

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Lord Worth put on his stony face. "I suppose I have no option other than to accede to your threats. I suggest you go and pack your bags and I'll pick you up in the Rolls."

Mitchell said: "Packing will take some time. I think it would be more polite if we wait here until you're ready."

Lord Worth mentally gnashed his teeth. "You think I'd head for a telephone the moment your backs are turned?"

Mitchell smiled, "Funny the same thought should occur to the three of us at the same instant, isn't it?"

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Chapter 7

C/OMMANDER Larsen and Scoffield observed the approach of the North Hudson helicopter with surprise but without undue concern. Lord Worth customarily gave advance warning of his arrival but could occasionally be forgetful on this point. In any event it was his helicopter and just about his expected time of arrival. They sauntered across the platform and arrived at the northeast helipad just as the helicopter touched down.

Surprisingly, no one emerged immediately from the machine. Larsen and Scoffield looked at each other in some perplexity, a perplexity that

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was considerably deepened when the disembarkation door slid back and Durand appeared in the doorway with a machine pistol cradled in his hands. Just behind him stood a similarly equipped henchman. From their shadowed position it was impossible for them to be observed by any of the rig duty crew.

Durand said: "Larsen and Scoffield? If you are carrying weapons, please don't be so foolish as to try to use them." The boarding steps swung down. "Come and join us."

The two men had no option. Once aboard, without taking his eyes off them, Durand said: "Kowenski, Rindler—see if they're armed."

Both Larsen and Scoffield carried automatics but seemed quite indifferent to being deprived of them: their attention was directed exclusively to the presence of Lord Worth's daughters.

Marina smiled, albeit a trifle wanly. "We could have met under happier circumstances, Commander."

Larsen nodded. "Your kidnapers. This can carry a death sentence." He looked at Campbell. "Why did you fly those criminals out here?"

"Because I get very cowardly when I have a pistol barrel stuck in the back of my neck all the way from takeoff to touchdown." Campbell spoke with a certain justifiable bitterness.

Larsen looked at Melinda. "Have you been mistreated in any way?"

"No."

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"And they won't be," Durand said. "Unless, of course, you refuse to do as we tell you."

"What does that mean?"

"You close down the Christmas tree." This meant closing off all the oil supplies from the ocean floor.

"I'll be damned if I do." Larsen's dark piratical face was suffused with fury. Here, Durand realized, was a man who, even without arms, could be highly dangerous. He glanced briefly at Rindler, who struck Larsen on the back of the neck with his machine pistol, a blow calculated to daze but not knock out. When Larsen's head had cleared he found that he had handcuffs and shackles around wrists and ankles. His attention then focused on a pair of gleaming stainless-steel medical cutters of the type favored by the surgical fraternity for snipping through ribs. The handles were in Durand's firm grip: the unpleasant operating end was closed lightly round the little finger of Melinda's right hand.

Durand said: "Lord Worth isn't going to like you too much for this, Larsen."

Larsen, apparently, was of the same opinion. "All right, take those damned pliers away and get these bracelets off. I'll close down your damned Christmas tree."

"And Fll come with you just to see that you really do turn it off. Not that I would recognize one if I saw it, but I do know that there are such things as flow gauges. Til be carrying a walkie-

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talkie with me. Rindler here has another. FU keep in constant contact with him. If anything should happen to me—" Durand looked consideringly at the medical cutters, then handed them to Heffer, the fifth man in his team. He told Campbell to put his arms behind his seat back and handcuffed his wrists.

"Don't miss much, do you?" Larsen's voice was sour.

"You know how it is. So many villains around these days. Come on."

The two men walked across the platform in the direction of the drilling rig. After only a few paces Durand stopped and looked around him admiringly.

"Well, well, now. Dual-purpose antiaircraft guns. Piles of depth charges. You'd almost think you're prepared to withstand a siege. Dear me, dear me. Federal offense you know. Lord Worth, even with the millions he can pay for lawyers, can get at least ten years in the pen for this."

"What're you talking about?"

"Hardly standard equipment aboard an oil rig. Ill bet it wasn't here twenty-four hours ago. Fll bet it was inside the Mississippi naval arsenal that was broken into last night. The Government takes a dim view of people who steal military equipment. And, of course, you got to have specialists aboard who're skilled at handling stuff like that, and that's hardly part of the basic training of oil-rig crews. I wonder if those crews

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are also carrying special equipment—like, for instance, what was stolen from a Florida arsenal last night. I mean, two unrelated arsenal break-ins in the same night is too much coincidence. Twenty years in prison, with no chance of parole for you too, for aiding and abetting. And people call us criminals."

Larsen had a few choice observations to make in return, none of which would have received the approval of even the most tolerant board of censors.

The Christmas tree was duly neutralized. The pressure gauges registered zero. Durand turned his attention to the Roomer, carrying out its short and wearisome patrol between the rig and the huge floating oil tank. "What's our friend up to?"

"Even a landlubber like you ought to be able to guess. He's patrolling the pipeline."

"What the hell for? You could replace a cut line in a day. What would that get anybody? It's crazy."

"You have to use crazy methods to deal with crazy people. From all accounts, Lord Worth's enemies should be locked up for their own good. For everybody's good."

"Worth's band of cutthroats aboard this rig— who's their leader?"

"Giuseppe Palermo.**

"That mobster! So the noble Lord, along with

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his grand larceny, is an associate of convicted felons."

"You know him, then?"

"Yeah." Durand saw no point in elaborating upon the fact that he and Palermo had spent two prison terms together. "I want to talk to him."

The talk was brief and one-sided. Durand said: "We've got Lord Worth's daughters prisoner. We're going to bring them toward the living quarters here, but we don't want you taking our two aces away from us. You'll stay inside in your quarters. If you don't you're gonna hear a lot of screaming and see pieces of fingers or ears dropped through your windows. I hope you believe me."

Palermo believed him. Palermo had a reputation for ruthlessness that matched Durand's, but it couldn't begin to match Durand's unholy joy in sadism. Durand was perfectly capable of not only doing what he threatened but of deriving immense satisfaction in so doing.

Palermo returned to his Oriental quarters. Durand called up Rindler on the walkie-talkie and told them all to come across, including Campbell, the pilot. Campbell was tough and resourceful and it was just possible that, by standing up, he could slip his manacled arms over the back of his seat, step through them and take off. Whether he would have enough fuel for the return flight would be a problem for him, even

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though he would almost certainly head not for Florida but for the nearest spot on the mainland, which would be due south of New Orleans.

As the prisoners and guards disembarked from the helicopter Durand said: "Accommodations?"

"Plenty. There are spare rooms in the oriental quarters. There's Lord Worth's private suite."

"Lockups?"

"What do you mean? This isn't a prison."

"Storerooms? Ones that can be locked from the outside?"

"Yes."

Durand looked at Larsen consideringly. "You're being very co-operative, Larsen. Your reputation says otherwise."

"Two minutes' walk around and you could confirm all I'm saying for yourself."

"You'd like to kill me, wouldn't you, Larsen?"

"When the time is ripe, yes. But it's not yet ripe."

"Even so." Durand produced a pistol. "Stay about ten feet away. You might be tempted to grab me and try to make the men let the girls go. A tempting thought, no?"

Larsen looked at him yearningly and said nothing.

The girls, the pilots and their four escorts arrived. Durand said: "Well, now, we gotta find some suitable overnight accommodation for you." He led the way to the first of several storehouses and opened the door to reveal a room packed

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roof-high with canned goods. He shoved Campbell inside, locked the door and pocketed the key. The next storehouse contained coils of rope, a powerful smell of crude oil and an active, scuttling population of those indestructible creatures, cockroaches. Durand said to the two girls: "Inside."

The girls took one shuddering look, then turned away. Marina said: "We will not go inside that disgusting place."

Kowenski said in a gently chiding voice which accorded ill with the Colt he held in his hand: "Do you know what this is?" Rindler had a similar weapon trained on Melinda.

Both girls glanced briefly at each other and then, in what was obviously a prepared and rehearsed movement, walked toward the men with the guns, seized the barrels with their right hands and hooked their right thumbs behind their trigger forefingers, pulling the guns hard against themselves.

"Jesus Christ!" Durand was badly shaken; he had run up against many situations in his life, but this one lay far beyond his most remote conception. "You trying to commit suicide?**

Melinda said: "Precisely." Her eyes never left Rindler's. "You're lower than those horrible cockroaches in there. You are vermin who are trying to destroy our father. With us dead, you won't have a single card left to play.**

"You're crazy! Simple plain crazy!**

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"Maybe," Marina said. "But for crazy people our logic is pretty good. With nothing to tie his hands you can imagine how our father will react—-especially since he and everyone else will believe that you murdered us. He won't have to go to the law, of course—you simply have no idea what power a few billion dollars can bring to bear. He'll destroy you and all your people to the last man." She looked at Kowenski with contempt. "Why don't you press the trigger? No? Then let go your gun." Kowenski released his gun and Rindler did the same, and the girls dropped them to the deck.