SOMEDAY SOON (57 page)

Perhaps it was just as well. Everything had
turned out to be so complicated. She was glad she had bought a
ticket though to Denver, Colorado. She would be there in the early
hours of the morning. At Denver she would arrange a flight to New
York and telephone Lyle with the details. What she would say or do
when she got there, she still hadn’t decided.

When the train pulled into the station at
Santa Fe at seven o’clock. Faith stepped down from the train and
looked up and down the platform for a sign of Dan. There was none.
There was still no sign of him fifteen minutes later when the guard
blew the whistle signaling the train’s departure.

*

The return flight to Washington took off on
schedule at 8 p.m. For the VIP’s on board it had been a long
exhausting day which was still far from over. But most of the
officers were able to sooth their fatigue for an hour or so over
cocktails in a private lounge at the airport where they relaxed and
looked forward to sleeping during the long flight east.

Colonel Lyle Hunter wasn’t one of the
officers who enjoyed a social drink in the lounge. He had spent
much of the time before take-off, waiting for the train from Gallup
at the nearby railway station in order to be absolutely sure that
his day had been successful. After not seeing Faith for so long he
had hardly been able to resist running to her and holding her when
he saw her pacing up and down the platform. He had even surprised
himself when he felt a twinge of conscience about playing such a
cat and mouse game with her, but he dismissed it quickly, knowing
that if he did approach her, whatever he said about his
coincidental presence in New Mexico would only have strained things
between them even further.

Lyle leaned back in his seat and closed his
eyes. Tomorrow was another day. A red-cap at the station had told
him Faith’s train went on to Denver. As the plane flew eastward
into the fading light he was sure she would phone in the early
hours of the morning saying when she expected to be in New
York.

*

A hot steamy mist hung over the river
when Joe started the
Walrus’s
engine at dawn. When Koko signaled from the bow that the
anchor had broken free, Joe slipped the ketch into gear and opened
up the throttle. For a moment the heavy vessel seemed to remain
stationery as her propeller churned up muddy water astern. But then
she slowly began to nose forward on the rising tide. Ahead of her
lay seven miles of twists and turns as the river meandered its way
down to the sea from Black Rock Landing.

Koko remained at the bow, one hand
clutching the forestay as he peered through the mist looking for
hazards lurking in the shallow water. Joe kept a steady hand on the
helm and tried to read the channels in the river to find where the
deepest water was. Weasel stood beside Joe, excited that they were
no longer hunting the
Groote Eylandt
Lady
but were at last closing in for the
kill.

For the first time in weeks, Joe and
Weasel looked like soldiers instead of half-naked sea-tramps. Joe
had insisted they wear their Army issue khaki shorts and shirts so
that the Horan brothers would recognize their authority when they
seized the
Groote Eylandt
Lady
.

‘What about the guns?’ Joe said without
taking his eyes off the river.

‘The rifles are loaded and ready.’

‘And my Walther?’

‘Laying ready beside the rifles. Want me to
bring them up, Joe?’

‘No, not yet. I just wanted to make sure all
the gear’s handy if and when we do need it.’

‘You reckon we’ll still get to Black Rock
Landing before them?’ Weasel rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘What if
we were to meet them coming down the river?’

‘If they did leave early. There would be no
sense in them bucking the incoming tide, Weasel. Any smart skipper
would wait until high water to get depth under the keel, then head
out when the tide turns and let it carry him down to the sea with
it.’

Weasel stopped rubbing his jaw when he took
in Joe’s logic. ‘How long do you reckon before we get to Black Rock
Landing?’

‘About an hour.’

‘Then we’ve got time for a mug of tea?’

‘Good idea, Weasel.’

Soon the morning sun had burnt off the
last of the mist hanging over the river. Now Joe could see clearly
ahead, and when Weasel handed up the first of the mugs of tea, he
signaled to Koko to come and join them in the cockpit. They were
all sipping the brew when the
Walrus
rounded yet another bend in the river and they saw another
vessel no more than fifty yards away, heading straight at
them.

Joe recognized the vessel immediately.
It was the
Groote Eylandt Lady.
Either the Horans weren’t as seawise as he thought or for
some reason they had chosen to buck the tide.

‘Get the guns, Weasel.’ Joe shouted.
‘Now.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Weasel dropped his tea mug and
scrambled below.

‘Are you sure it’s the Horan brothers, Joe?’
Koko asked. He seemed surprisingly calm.

Joe stared straight ahead. ‘I don’t see them
yet. But it is their boat.’

The distance between the two vessels
was closing rapidly. In seconds it became plain they were on a
collision course. Joe eased back on the throttle but took no
evasive action. The river was narrow here and both vessels were in
the deepest water near the centre. Joe knew by veering out of the
channel the
Walrus
would run
aground and it was plain the
Groote Eylandt
Lady
knew that too, because she wasn’t giving way
either. Worse still it seemed like she had increased her
speed.

Weasel bounded up the companion way with two
.303 rifles and Joe’s Walther. He laid one of the rifles at Joe’s
feet and the Walther on the cockpit seat beside him.

Weasels eyes bulged when he saw how
close the
Groote Eylandt Lady
was and how fast she was going. ‘Bloody hell,’ he screamed,
‘what’ll we do, Joe?’

‘Just hang on,’ Joe shouted. ‘Just hang
on.’

Now the
Groote
Eylandt Lady
was less than only twenty-five yards
away. For a moment Joe wondered if the channel of deep water was
wide enough to allow both vessels to pass. If they could, that
would leave the Horans heading down the river to the open sea and
the Walrus without enough room to turn around and pursue them. At
once Joe knew exactly what he had to do. He gunned the
Walrus’s
engine and pointed her huge
bow directly at the
Groote Eylandt
Lady
when she was just fifteen yards away and he could
see the hairy faces of the Horan brothers clearly. They were
staring in wide-eyed terror.

Weasel saw their faces too. ‘Jesus,’ he
shouted. ‘It’s them, all right. I’d know the bastards
anywhere,’

‘Hang on,’ Joe shouted. ‘Hang on.’

At the last second Joe cut the
Walrus’s
engine and as everyone
braced themselves for the impact, no-one noticed Koko reach down
and pick up Joe’s Walther. All they saw was the side of
Groote Eylandt Lady
as she made a
desperate last-second bid to get out of the
Walrus’s
way. But it was too late. Now, instead
of the two vessels striking each other a head-on glancing blow,
the
Walrus
drove hard into the
side of the
Groote Eylandt Lady
and there was a deafening shriek of splitting timbers as the
bow of the
Walrus
smashed her
clean in two. Instantly both her masts snapped off sending a
tangled mass of rigging and chunks of splintered timber raining
down onto the deck of the
Walrus,
inextricably binding the two vessels together. More debris
crashed into the river anchoring the vessels to the
bottom.

The force of the collision threw
everyone off their feet. Koko was the first man to get up. With the
Walther in hand he dashed through the debris strewn about the deck
to where the stern half of the
Groote
Eylandt Lady
lay holed and sinking against the bow of
the
Walrus.
Already the
Horans, badly cut and bleeding, were struggling to get to their
feet in knee deep water in the cockpit. Thinking a crewman from
the
Walrus
was trying to help
him off his stricken craft, Nick Horan held out his hand to Koko.
Then a look of astonishment spread over his face when he realized a
Japanese was pointing a gun at him from point blank range. But his
bewilderment was shortlived. A split second later he splashed down
stone dead in the water when a 9mm slug entered his head between
the eyes and tore a path through his brain.

‘Drop the gun, Koko.’ Joe stood with a rifle
against his shoulder squinting down the barrel with Koko firmly in
his sights. ‘Drop the gun. Don’t be so bloody stupid. Those
bastards just aren’t worth it.’

Koko paid no attention to Joe. He slowly
trained the Walther on Henry Horan who was cowering in fear in the
now half-submerged cockpit. Koko nodded at Nick Horan’s floating
corpse. ‘That one was for me, Horan.’ Koko’s finger began to
squeeze the trigger. ‘This one is for my mother, the Japanese woman
in the cottage on Myilly Point.’

Joe’s .303 barked. The shot passed close to
Koko’s head. ‘Don’t make me do it, Koko,’ Joe pleaded, ‘please,
don’t make me do it.’

Koko turned his head toward Joe but didn’t
lower the gun. Henry Horan saw his chance. In an instant he dove
down into the muddy water. Joe and Weasel scrambled out of the
cockpit and hurried toward the bow, rifles at the ready, peering
into the water at the side of the boat. Halfway along the deck they
stopped and raised their rifles when Horan surfaced about fifteen
yards out from the boat only to snatch a quick breath before diving
again.

‘The bastard’s heading for the bank,’ Weasel
shouted. ‘He could get away if we don’t let him have it when he
comes up next time.’

‘Don’t shoot unless I give the word,’ Joe
snapped.

Joe and Weasel stayed where they were, their
rifles pressed to their shoulders. Koko remained at the bow. All
eyes were glued to the river. There wasn’t a ripple on the surface
of the water. Koko slowly lowered the Walther, knowing when Horan
surfaced again he would be well out of range of the little handgun.
Horan was less than thirty yards from the riverbank when he
surfaced and began wildly flailing at the water.

‘
He can’t dive again,’ Weasel shouted.
’He’s on the bottom now. He’ll have to crawl the rest of the
way.’

‘
Stop where you are, Horan,’ Joe
screamed across the water. ‘Stop, or I’ll shoot.’

Horan kept going. With the soft mud on the
river bottom unable to support his weight he was scrambling and
stumbling on his hands and knees and kicking up a frothy wake
behind him.

‘We’ve got to shoot, Joe,’ Weasel yelled
impatiently, ‘or he’s gone.’

‘We can’t shoot him in the back,’ Joe
shouted. ‘We’ll wait till he reaches the shore.’

Horan was almost at the riverbank when inert
forms at the water’s edge suddenly sprang to life and slithered
down into the river. Joe and Weasel and Koko heard just one
terrible scream from Horan as the water around him was whipped up
into a seething foam as a dozen or more crocodiles went in for the
kill then thrashed about fighting over the spoils.

Weasel watched the ugly feeding frenzy with
horror but also with a morbid fascination. Sickened, Joe turned
away just in time to see Koko stick the barrel of the Walther in
his mouth. He pulled the trigger before Joe could even cry out.

*

Usually, after the evening meal in the
contractors’ canteen, Dan spent an hour in the site office with his
costing clerk checking the actual daily production of his
construction crews against the costing figures he had prepared when
bidding the job. It was a routine task which required little
concentration, but after talking with Lyle Hunter earlier in the
day, Dan found thoughts of Faith prevented him making any real
contribution to the work at all. He was about to tell the clerk
that they had better call it a day when the telephone rang just
after seven o’clock..

‘Mesa Construction.’

‘So you decided not to go into Santa Fe?’

Dan smiled when he heard his mother’s voice,
‘Why should I?’

‘Didn’t you get the message?’

‘What message?’

Dan listened for a long time without saying a
word. Then he said. ‘Well, she’s marrying him, so it doesn’t really
matter anyway. As a matter of fact he was here today. He’s big shot
at the Pentagon now, those guys come down here a lot. He told me
Faith was pregnant.’

‘Pregnant.’ Shona Rivers sounded more than a
little surprised.

‘He said six months, it must have shown.’

‘Oh, no. She couldn’t be, Dan. She was a slim
as a willow.’

Dan put his hand over the phone and turned to
his clerk. ‘Did you take a message for me today from Mrs
Rivers.’

The clerk nodded. ‘I gave it to that friend
of yours. The colonel from Washington.’

*

Faith sat gazing out the window of the
Pullman car. Half an hour out of Santa Fe and already the light was
fading. On the horizon to the west, beyond a wide lonely mesa, the
sun had gone down behind high mountains leaving a deep orange glow
in the night sky. It was then she saw the red pick-up truck racing
down the bumpy dirt road running parallel to the railway line. Soon
the truck had caught the attention of several other passengers. For
a time it seemed like the train would win the race as the truck
bounced wildly around on the rough rutted track leaving a billowing
cloud of dust behind it. But the determined driver wouldn’t give in
and eventually the truck pulled ahead of the train and disappeared
from view
.