Wyatt - 05 - Port Vila Blues (27 page)

But De Lisle didnt arrive to pick
up the case that day, or the next. Finally he rang De Lisles house. He come
in boat, tomorrow, a woman said.

So he watched the house. He saw the
yacht tie up midway through the afternoon. Shortly after that, a water taxi
collected De Lisle and headed across the harbour toward the island. Crystal
left his cabin and made for a secluded alcove across from the reservations desk
and the bar.

The management had placed a couple
of armchairs there, flanking a coffee table stacked with back issues of
Readers
Digest.
There was also a small bookcase crammed with books left behind by
resort guests. Crystal flipped through a New Age paperback while he waited. It
told him how to own his own life and acquire guilt-free wealth and power as he
did it. Well, the wealth would come soon enough. He wasnt stupid enough to run
with De Lisles jewels but he did intend to push the man from five grand a
delivery to fifty, a fair enough amount considering what he was expected to
carry, the risks involved, and being hassled by nameless cops in Melbourne.

De Lisle arrived dressed in tropical
whites again, beaming at the staff, shouting
bon jour
and letting them
cluster around and pat and hug him. All an act, Crystal decided. For the next
thirty minutes, De Lisle held court at the bar, then eased away and walked on
short, heavy legs to the door of the security office, his face damp with
humidity and effort. He paid the man, collected the suitcase and disappeared.

Crystal waited a couple of minutes
then sauntered down to the ferry. It was five oclock, tourists flocking back
to the island to have an early sundowner at the bar. On his way across to the
mainland, Crystal watched De Lisles water taxi steer a course among the
ocean-going yachts.

At the other end, Crystal headed
left, down to the cafs and restaurants of the little port. He had a coffee,
took a stroll, filling in time until evening, when he would tackle De Lisle. A
pleasant edginess animated him, a sense of having reached the final stage.

All that evaporated at six-thirty
when he reached De Lisles house and saw another taxi there, saw one of the
Melbourne cops pay off the driver and press the intercom.

Keep going, keep going, Crystal
urged, shaking his driver by the arm.

He got out two streets farther
along, paid the driver and walked back, trying to grow into the shadows under
the palms on the other side of the road. A cop. That changed things. Thered be
no walking in and asking for fifty grand with that cop there.

Crystal watched De Lisles house
helplessly, his hands slipping in and out of his pockets, looking for somewhere
to rest. He looked both ways along the street. Kumul Highway, what a laugh. In
that spirit, Crystal noticed the open-air market and the low-slung cement block
building next to it. In the late sun of the day it glowed the colour of strong
tea. Otherwise it was riddled with salt damp; mangy dogs scratched in the
packed dirt around it. Still, it said bar over the front door and Crystal had
worked up a thirst coming this far.

He went in. Not too bad. A few
tables, booths, wooden floors. Clean-looking. Overhead fans kept the place
cool. A few locals drinking. Hell, they even sold Fourex.

Crystal fronted up to the bar. He
said, slowly, carefully, I dont want a beer, I dont want Bacardi and Coke,
screwdriver, none of your tourist crap. Give me a
kava.

The local brew was served in small,
deep-bowled shells. Crystal had never tried one in all the time hed been
flying in and out of Vanuatu. But it was never too late, and he tipped the
kava
down his throat. He gagged, coughed, lit up a smoke. Thick, vile, like
muddy water mixed with castor oil. He wanted to throw up.

The barman was watching him with
interest. Bugger you, Crystal thought. Ill have another.

Then he had a third. The barman was
wearing half a smile now. Crystal wondered why. He couldnt feel anything;
there was only a bit of an aftertaste.

Following his fourth
kava,
Crystal
went to the mens. Jesus, now he could feel it. His knees gave way for a moment.
He came back from the mens and collapsed in a booth near the silent juke box
in the rear of the place. Waves of euphoria and nausea swept through him. The
euphoria was good, but he didnt trust it. The way he was feeling, he might
just knock on De Lisles door and apologise for thinking bad thoughts.

Time to get off the
kava,
though,
that was for sure. Crystal switched to beerFourex. God knows what an
un-Australian beer might do to him.

He left the bar. The moon was high
and bright and he stood for a while under the palm trees, looking down the road
at De Lisles house. Bastards. Wrecking his life. Hed like to tie De Lisle to
a chair and dance around him slicing off a piece here and there like that guy
in
Reservoir Dogs.
He began to walk. At the gate he stopped, reached out
a hand experimentally to the cold steel.

* * * *

Forty-three

De
Lisle!

A scream of hate and revolt from the
head of the steps.

Then the flare snaking from out of
the darkness, an eyeblink comet of oily smoke and flashpoint combustion.

Wyatt ducked, pulling Liz Redding
down with him. Springett, surprised, stood where he was.

The flare arrowed over Springett,
over Wyatt and Liz Redding, struck De Lisle in the flesh at his waist, and
began to burn.

De Lisle went down soundlessly and
Wyatt did two things: he threw his jacket over the flare, shutting off the
giveaway spluttering light, and he went after Springett, flare-burn in his
eyes.

Springett had his back to Wyatt,
snapping off shots with the silenced Glock, spraying them over an arc, hunting
for the man on the terrace above him. Wyatt heard the slap of impact, a grunt
of surprise and pain, and heard Springetts triumph: Got you, you bastard.

Ramming with both fists, Wyatt
caught Springett behind each knee. Springett buckled, his arms windmilling as
he toppled over backwards, flailing uselessly at the black air. Wyatt,
crouching behind him, heaved upwards as Springett thumped onto his shoulders,
flipping the man onto his head.

Wyatt stayed close to the ground,
ready to uncoil and attack Springett, but Springett stirred, sighed, and lapsed
into unconsciousness.

Liz found the gun. Wyatt saw the
hard concentration in her. In a series of crouched jerks she swung the gun on
De Lisle, Springett, the danger above, always covering Wyatt between moves.

Theres not, Wyatt observed, all
that much wrong with you.

He saw her relax the gun arm a
little, smile crookedly at him. I guess were even. If we dont count your
tying me up.

Wyatt gestured, uncomprehending and
irritated. He could never see the sense in weighing up this kind of profit and
loss. Liz, we cant stay here.

She let the gun fall to her side. What
a mess. What a fucking mess.

Wyatt looked out across the water to
Reriki. The search party was winding down. Nothing was happening on the island
itself and one by one the probing searchlights were blacking out on the patrol
boats, letting the coral, cliffs and mangroves become shadows in the moonlight
again. He could smell his jacket burning, but the flare was close to extinction
now. There were no neighbours gathering on either side of De Lisles fence.

Liz Redding was crouched over
Springett, the fingers of one hand on his pulse. Wyatt made to step past her. Im
out of here.

She swung the gun on him. Youre
under arrest, Wyatt. Springett too, when he wakes up.

Wyatt stopped. You dont have
jurisdiction here, not over me, not over him. You shouldnt be here in the
first place. Does your boss know youre here?

A twist of hate: Springetts my
boss. Wyatt, Ill put in a good word for you. You saved my life. You
cooperated. You were not involved in the magnetic drill robberies.

Then she swayed, put out her hands,
found nothing to cling to and sank gratefully onto the terraced step. Wyatt
unpicked her fingers one by one until he had the Glock pistol. She laughed a
little wildly. Its Springetts. I found it at his house and smuggled it here
in my luggage.

Wyatt stepped away from her. He
watched as she straightened her back, both arms holding her trunk upright, and
cranked her face around to look at him. She was stubborn, fixed, angry.

I need to get something out of
this, she said. Do you know what I was told? We couldnt touch De Lisle over
here, no real evidence, respected magistrate, friends in high places, blah blah
blah. I was told to take some leave, Id exceeded my responsibilities. They
said theyd put out an international alert for Springett but dont expect any
joy in Vanuatu because last year an Australian priest here had his hands in the
parish till and was fiddling with the choir boys but before they could arrest
him he was tipped off by a bishop in Sydney and got away.

So you thought youd just fly in
and bring them back yourself.

She looked away. Springett tried to
have me killed. My own boss.

Wyatt preferred the Glock silently.
She recoiled. Is that how you work your life? I want to see him wriggling in
court.

Wyatt crouched there with her for a
while. The yacht, he said.

What about it?

Theres a dead man in my room over
there on the island, two dead men here. I cant fly out. Theyre not likely to
let you fly out. The yachts our only chance.

She was working herself into a
spitting anger. I cant sail. Can you sail? Its all a big mess.

I know the basics, but Ill need
your help.

She shot out a foot, striking
Springett, who groaned, stirred, tried to kneel. What about him?

Bring him with us. Youll have
formal jurisdiction over him once were in Australian waters.

His lawyers are going to just love
that. What about De Lisle and the other man?

Wyatt walked down the steps with the
Glock, wiping it with his handkerchief. He wrapped De Lisles fingers around
the butt, the trigger, then shook it onto the grass near the outstretched hand.

He went back to Liz. Let the locals
work it out.

Piece of cake, she said.

They got Springett onto the yacht
and roped him to a bunk. Then Wyatt remembered the false nameplate on the
stern. Ill be back.

Alarm showed on Liz Reddings face. Where
are you going?

Wyatt said it again: Ill be back.

He found De Lisles study in a
corner of the house. The window overlooked the harbour. There was an open safe
behind a painting on the wall. Empty. He went through De Lisles desk. The
papers for the yacht were in the bottom drawer, listing the new name and registration.
De Lisle had put it all together so that he could run and hide. Theres no
reason, Wyatt thought, why it shouldnt work for me as well.

He returned to the yacht. He found
Liz Redding in the little galley, swabbing the clotted blood from her nose, dabbing
antiseptic cream onto her cuts, examining the bruises on her stomach. He
touched her. As soon as she felt the contact, she sighed raggedly, as if hed
drained something bad from her.

She turned. I dont think Im up to
hauling on ropes.

Wyatt pushed her down onto a bench
seat. Rest.

He cast off, fired up the auxiliary
diesel, and eased the yacht away from the little dock. Then he steered for the
open sea. He named the dangers, as he always did. If the waves didnt swallow
them up or patrol boats intercept them in the light of the morning, there was
finally the big land mass to the west, where he was a thief and a killer and
Liz Redding a cop. They had that to work out between them. There were days to
do it in. And days to separate himself and the Asahi jewels from her, if it
came to that. In a snatch of light from the sea moon he caught her staring at
him. No calculation, trust or gratitude, just acceptance that they needed one
another just then, and that was pretty much how Wyatt saw it.