Seawitch (20 page)

"How splendid. I love being made a fuss over, being the center of attraction. However, mastermind, there's just one small flaw in your reasoning. I'm not going. I'm staying with my father."

"That's exactly the point I'm going to discuss with him now."

"You mean you're going out to kill someone else?"

Mitchell held out his hands, fingers splayed. They could have been carved from marble.

"Later," Roomer said. "He appears to have some other things on his mind at the moment."

Mitchell left. Marina turned furiously on Roomer. "You're just as bad as he is."

"I'm a sick man. You mustn't upset me."

"You and his berserker moods. He's just a killer."

Roomer's face went very still. "You know, I

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don't look forward to the prospect of having a mentally retarded person as a sister-in-law."

She was shocked and the shock showed. Her voice was a whisper. "I don't really know you, do I?"

"No. We're the men who walk down the dark side of the streets. Somebody has to look after the people on the dark side. We do it. Do you know how much your father offered us to take you home?" Roomer smiled. 'Tm afraid I'm not much good in that department at the moment, but Mike will take care of it."

"How much did he offer you?"

"Whatever we wanted in the world. A million dollars to take you home? A hundred million if we'd asked for it? Sure."

"How much did you ask for?'* Her face wasn't registering much in the way of expression.

Roomer sighed, "Poor Mike. To think that he regards you as the pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow. Poor me, too. Fm going to have to live with you too, even at second hand. Let's be corny. Your father loves you. We love you. To pile cliche on cliche, there are some things that can't be bought. Pearls beyond price. Don't make yourself an artificial pearl, Marina. And don't ever insult us again that way. But we have to live on something, so we'll send him a bill."

"For what?"

"Ammunition expended."

She crossed to his cotside, knelt and kissed

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him.  Roomer seemed too weak to resist. Dr.

Greenshaw was severe. "Marina, he's not only having a blood transfusion, there's also the factor of blood pressure."

Roomer said: "My blood pressure is registering no complaints."

She kissed him again. "Is that apology enough?" Roomer smiled and said nothing. " 'Berserker* you said. Can anyone stop him when he's like that? Can I?"

"No. Someday, yes."

"The one person is you. Yes?**

"Yes."

"You didn't."

"No."

"Why?"

"They carried guns."

"You carry guns."

"Yes. But we're not evil people who carry evil guns to do evil things."

"That's all?"

"No." He looked across at Melinda. "You see?"

"Please."

"If Kowenski and Rindler hadn't been such damned lousy shots, she'd be dead."

"So you let Michael loose?"

"Yes."

"You're going to marry her?"

"Yes."

"Have you asked her?"

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"No.**

"You don't have to. Sisters talk."

"Mike?"

"I don't know, John. Fm a running coward, running scared."

"Well?"

"He kills."

"I've killed."

"He'll kill aeain?"

"I don't know."

"John."

He reached out, took a lock of her gleaming black hair, picked out a single thread. "That"

"You mean?"

"Yes."

"I have to see." She kicked off her high-heeled shoes.

"So much to learn. Sit."

She sat on his bed. Dr. Greeitshaw rolled his eyes heavenward. She was wearing blue jeans and a white blouse. Roomer reached up and undid the top button of her blouse. She looked at him and said nothing. Roomer said: "You do the rest. Navy or black jumper."

She was back in thirty seconds, wearing a navy polo- She looked inquiringly at Roomer, who nodded. She left the sick bay.

In Lord Worth's living room, he and Mitchell were seated in adjacent armchairs. The wall-speakers were on. When Marina came in, Mitchell waved her to urgent silence.

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Over the speakers Durand's unmistakable voice sounded testy. "All I know is that the deck lights went out some minutes ago and then came back on." Marina glanced at Mitchell, who nodded. "All the light you need to land."

"Have you neutralized the radar scanner yet?"

Marina had never heard the voice before, but the tightening of Lord Worth's lip showed that Cronkite's voice was no stranger to him.

"We don't need to now."

"It was your idea. Do it. We'll leave in ten minutes, then about fifteen minutes' flying time."

" 'We'll leave'? That mean you're coming too?"

**No. I've more important things to do." There was a click: Cronkite had ceased to transmit.

Lord Worth said uneasily: "I wonder what that devious devil means by that?"

"We'll just have to find out the hard way." Mitchell looked at Marina. "Where are your shoes?"

She smiled sweetly. "I'm a quick study. Shoes make too much noise out on the platform."

"You're not going out on any platform."

"I am. There are gaps in my education. I want to see how killers operate."

Mitchell said in irritation: "Fm not going to kill anyone. Go get your bag packed. You'll be leaving soon."

"Fm not leaving.**

"Why?"

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"Because I want to stay with Daddy—and with you. Don't you think that's natural?"

"You're leaving if I have to tie you up."

"You can't tie my tongue up. Wouldn't the law just love to know where the guns stolen from the Mississippi arsenal are?"

Lord Worth looked slightly stunned. "You'd do that to me? Your own father?"

"You'd tie me up and force me aboard that helicopter? Your own daughter?"

"Talk about logic." Mitchell shook his head. "Lord Worth seems to have fathered a nutcase. If you think—"

The wallspeakers crackled again. "Well, don't just hang around. Stop that radar."

"How?" It was Aaron and he sounded grieved. "Do you expect me to climb that damned drilling rig—"

"Don't be stupid. Go to the radar room. There's a red lever switch just above the console. Pull it down."

"That I can do." Aaron sounded relieved. They heard the sound of a door closing. Mitchell kicked off his shoes, turned off the lights in the living room and eased the door open a crack. Aaron, his back already to them, was heading for the radar room. He reached it, opened the door and passed inside. Mitchell moved after him, pulling out his silenced gun and holding it in his left hand. A soft voice behind him said: "I thought you were right-handed."

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Mitchell didn't even bother to curse. He said in a resigned whisper: "I am."

Aaron was just pulling the red lever when Mitchell made his soundless entrance. He said: "Don't turn round."

Aaron didn't turn round.

"Clasp your hands behind your neck, then turn and come over here."

Aaron turned. "Mitchell!"

"Don't try anything clever. IVe already had to kill three of your friends. A fourth isn't going to give me a sleepless night. Stop right there and turn round again."

Aaron did as he was told. Mitchell withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket. The braided leather sap attached to his wrist by a thong was no more than five inches long, but when it struck Aaron with considerable force and accuracy above and behind the right ear it was apparent that five inches was quite long enough. Mitchell caught him as he fell and eased him te the deck.

"Did you have to do that—" Marina choked and stopped speaking involuntarily as Mitchell's hand clamped itself none too gently over her mouth. She flinched as he shook the sap before her eyes.

"Keep your voice down." The whisper was intentionally savage. He knelt over Aaron, removed and pocketed his gun.

"Did you have to do that?" she said in a low

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voice. "You could have tied Mm up and gagged him."

"When I require advice from amateurs 111 cqrne right to you. I haven't time for games. Hell just have a half-hour peaceful rest, and then all he'll need is an aspirin."

"And now?"

"Durand."

"Why?"

"Fool."

"I'm getting tired of people calling me fool. John just called me that. He also said I was mentally retarded and an artificial pearl."

"No shrewder judge of character than old John," Mitchell said approvingly. "If Aaron doesn't return, Durand will come looking for him. Then hell get on the radiophone and stop the helicopter flight"

"Well, that's what you want, isn't it?"

"No."

He switched off the light and walked away, Marina following. Mitchell stopped outside the entrance to Lord Worth's sitting room.

"Get inside. You're both an irritation and a liability. I can't function properly with you around. Heroines I can do without.'*

"I promise you I won't say a word. I promise—"

He caught her by the arm and thrust her forcibly inside. Lord Worth looked up in mild

Seawitch

surprise. Mitchell said: "I will hold you personally responsible, Lord Worth, if you let this pesky daughter of yours outside that door again. Also, I'm dimming the deck lights. Anybody moving around the platform will be shot. That's my .promise and you'd better believe it. This is no place for children who want to play games." The door closed behind him.

"Well!" Marina sat down and gripped her hands together. "What kind of husband do you think fie would make?"

"A perfectly splendid one, I should imagine. Look, my dear, one of MitchelTs outstanding assets is a hair-trigger reaction. You blunt it. And you know damn well how he feels about you— your presence just constitutes an additional worry at a time when he can least afford either. A wife doesn't accompany her husband down a coal mine or on a wartime bombing mission. And Mitchell is much more of a loner than such people are."

She attempted something between a glower and a scowl, but her beautiful face really wasn't made for it, so she settled for a rueful smile, rose and replenished his glass of malt whisky.

Mitchell removed the gun and two large keys from the pockets of an unconscious Durand, made his way to the main entrance to the oriental quarters, opened the door and switched on the corridor lights.

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''Commander Larsen," he called out. "Palermo."

Doors opened and the two men were with him in a few seconds. Larsen said: "Mitchell! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Just a harmless seismologist taking a stroll.**

"But didn't you hear the broadcast warning— anyone on the platform will be shot on sight?"

"That's past. One piece of bad news, two of good. Bad news first Roomer and Miss Melinda didn't hear the warning—those quarters are sound-insulated. So they took a walk. Both were hurt badly. Melinda has a shattered left shoulder. Roomer was shot through the neck and chest The doctor thinks the bullet is lodged against his spine. We've got to get them to the hospital and quick. Who's Lord Worth's personal pilot?"

"Chambers," Larsen said.

"Get one of your men to have him refuel his machine. Now the good news. Durand is in the radio room; his number two, guy named Aaron, is in the radar room. Both are unconscious." He looked at Palermo. "When they come to—it'll be some time yet—can you have them looked after with loving care and attention?"

"Our pleasure."

Larsen said: "Durand had three other men.**

"They're dead."

"You?"

"Yes."

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"We didn't hear any shooting."

Mitchell gave them a brief sight of his silenced .38. Larsen looked thoughtful. "Lord Worth has talked about you: I used to think he was exaggerating."

"The other bit of good news. Cronkite is sending some reinforcements by helicopter—not many, I believe, eight or nine—and they should be taking off about now. A fifteen-minute flight, I gather, so I think Cronkite's boat is somewhere just below the horizon, below our radar sweep."

Palermo brightened. "We blast this chopper out of the sky?"

"My first thought, I must admit. But let's try to play it smart and put him off his guard.-Let's let them land, then take them. We'll make their leader report to Cronkite that everything's okay."

"What if he won't? Or tries to warn him?"

"We'll write out his script. If he changes one word Fll shoot him. Silencer. Cronkite won't hear it.**

"He might hear the guy scream."

"When a .38 slug enters the base of your skull and travels upward at forty-five degrees, you don't scream very much."

"You mean you'd kill him?" While not exactly incredulous, Larsen was obviously taken aback.

"Yes. Then we'd line up number two. We shouldn't have too much trouble with him."

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Larsen said with some feeling: "When Lord Worth talked about you he didn't tell me the half of it"

"Another thing. I want that helicopter. Well fake a story that the engine failed above the pad and it crash-landed, and will take several hours to repair. It's always handy to have another helicopter around but, more important, I want to deprive Cronkite of the use of his." He looked at Palermo. "I take it that the reception committee can be safely left in your hands?"

"It sure can. Any suggestions?"

"Well, I doubt that I need to lecture an expert like you."

"You know me?"

"I used to be a cop. In any case, the rig is loaded with portable searchlights. They'll head for the administration buildings. I'd stay in hiding, switch off the deck lights and then turn on the searchlights when they're, say, thirty yards away. They'll be blinded and won't be able to see you."

"You can't count on what nutcases like that'll do."

'Til bet you can." Mitchell smiled briefly at him, cop to crook. He said to Larsen: "I have a feeling that Lord Worth would like to confer with his rig boss."