The Deadliest Dare (9 page)

***

"Actually, Frank, I wish I had a bit more time," said Curt Branders, glancing at the clock on the wall behind the unconscious Gramatkee. The Beretta in his hand pointed unwaveringly at Frank. "You seem like a relatively intelligent guy. Maybe we could have had an interesting conversation."

Frank stared at the hit man. "What exactly are you planning to do, Branders?"

"Is that really how you want to spend your final minutes?" the killer asked impatiently. "Basically the setup is this. The police will believe that your pal Biff Hooper sneaked aboard the Golden Fleece to pull off a burglary. Poor Biff—goaded into that reckless sort of stunt by the thrill-seeking rich kids who belong to the Circle."

Frank nodded. "So you did set up that Crimson Circle stuff just as a cover." "Of course," Curt Branders said. "Not that my brother didn't enjoy making fools of those spoiled idiots with checkbooks for brains."

"And you're going to kill Gramatkee?"

"That's exactly what I was hired to do by some of his business rivals. In fact, I was just about to take care of that chore when you came stumbling aboard."

The hit man shook his head. "If you're going to play spy and secret agent, Frank, you'll really have to learn to move a good deal more quietly." Curt paused, laughing. "But none of that will make any difference after tonight, will it? I ought to apologize for criticizing you during your last minutes on this planet."

"You figure to kill Gramatkee and then rig it to look as though Biff did it while attempting to pull off this dare?"

"That's it, yes. Gramatkee has a gun in his desk there — I've already made sure of that." The assassin moved closer to the unconscious man's desk.

Curt pointed down at Biff. "The jock here is surprised by our business tycoon friend. The old boy has his gun in hand. Biff, noted for brawn rather than brains, panics and grabs for the weapon. It goes off and Gramatkee is fatally shot. But as he is breathing his last, he manages to shoot Biff. And then he shoots — "

"Me," supplied Frank. "Sure, that's the only way it's going to work now. You have to silence me, too."

"I'm afraid so, Frank." Curt eased behind the unconscious man's desk, keeping his eyes and the barrel of the pistol aimed at Frank.

"What do the police think I was doing here," asked Frank, "according to your master plan?"

"You were helping your pal carry out his dare."

"That won't wash." Frank shook his head. "They know I'm not a member of the Circle."

Curt gave an indifferent shrug. "Then perhaps you trailed Biff aboard in hope of persuading him to give up his life of crime and pranks."

He slid open the desk drawer with his free hand. "It's an old, familiar story for the police. There was a struggle, a gun went off, and people got killed. There are any number of variations, but they've seen them all. Whichever one I end up arranging, Frank, you're going to be dead and done for."

"Eventually the authorities are going to pin this on you."

"Eventually I'll be safely out of the country and lying low at my villa in — " Branders grinned at Frank. "Let's just say in an out-of-the-way spot." Slipping a pencil through the trigger guard, Curt lifted a .32 caliber revolver out of the drawer of Gramatkee's desk.

While the gun was still in midair Frank said, "Only one major flaw, Branders."

Curt hesitated. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Frank knelt down beside Biff on the cabin floor. "You're never going to be able to convince anyone that Biff did any shooting. You hit him too hard on the head," said Frank. "He's dead!"

"He's what?" Involuntarily the assassin looked away from Frank and over at Biff.

Frank had been waiting for that. He scooped up the fallen wastebasket, hurling it right at the hand that held the 9-millimeter Beretta.

Curt's hand was knocked up and to the side. His finger squeezed the trigger, and the gun went off. The roar of the shot mixed with the smashing of the desk lamp.

The room went dark.

Two more shots rang out.

***

After the slug tore through the desk lamp and plunged the cabin into blackness, Frank made a grab for the .32 revolver that had dropped from Curt's hand to the desk.

His fingers closed on darkness. He'd missed the gun! Groping desperately, he managed to scoop it up on the second try. Frank dropped to the floor, rolling into the safety of a dark corner.

Curt blindly aimed his Beretta toward the sound of Frank's shuffling and fired twice. He missed, but the cabin was illuminated by the flash of the shots.

Frank crawled behind a chair. It was a fat armchair on wheels, and he rolled it quickly in front of himself to serve as a shield. Then he started backstepping, pulling the chair with him toward the partially open door of the cabin.

Curt sent a bullet into the chair.

The bullet dug into the padding but got lost there. Even so, the impact lifted all four legs of the chair off the floor, setting it to wobbling wildly.

Frank thrust the gun around the chair and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

He kicked the chair forward into the room. Again, Curt Branders fired blind. While he was murdering the armchair, Frank managed a shaky somersault that threw him out the doorway. Hitting the outside deck, Frank pushed to his feet and started running.

His feet thumped on the damp teak planks of the deck. The next door he came to, he grabbed hold of the handle and pushed.

Then he dived inside.

Frank found himself in a large room, illuminated by a single night-light. This was a library, with shelves of books covering three walls and a half-dozen armchairs circling a low oak coffee table.

Sprinting, Frank threw himself behind one of the heavy chairs and dropped to one knee to examine the gun he'd just gotten hold of. But when he flipped the chamber open, he only sighed. Great, he said to himself, the thing's not loaded.

He took a quick survey of the cabin to see if he could find anything to use as a weapon against Curt.

The floor lamp next to the chair he was using for a shelter might do. Frank yanked the lamp's plug out of the wall and grabbed the five-foot-long metal shaft.

He stood by the door, hefting the metal tube for what felt like forever. Where was Branders?

Then, out on the deck Frank heard angry shouting, followed by gunshots. He cautiously edged the door open.

"Try to shoot me, will you?" one voice shouted angrily. "Idiot!"

It was Biff Hooper and Curt, wrestling around on the misty deck in the darkness. Biff must have recovered consciousness and gone for Curt just as Frank had headed out of Gramatkee's cabin.

He couldn't make out the two of them very clearly, but he could hear the grunts and punches. Apparently Biff was keeping Curt from using his gun again.

Finally, one of the figures staggered to its feet. It went lurching toward the rail, then seemed to be trying to climb over it.

The dark figure hesitated there for a moment, then dove overboard.