“Now you have a Heidelberg dueling scar, just like my grandfather’s. Lovely.”
The red-haired woman watched, a look of cruel anticipation gathering on her face.
“See how sharp it is?” Falkoner continued. “But that sharpness isn’t for you. It’s for her.”
He strolled over to Constance and stood over her, playing with the knife, speaking to her directly. “If he doesn’t answer my questions promptly and fully, I’m going to cut you. Rather painfully.”
“He won’t say a word,” Constance replied, her voice low and steady.
“He will when we start chumming the water with bits of your body.”
She stared at him. Esterhazy was surprised at just how little fear he saw in her eyes. This was one scary human being.
Falkoner merely chuckled and turned back to Pendergast. “Your little quest, which we’ve only recently become aware of, has been most instructive. For example, we had thought Helen was dead these long years.”
Esterhazy felt his blood run cold.
“Right, Judson?”
“It’s not true,” Esterhazy said weakly.
Falkoner waved his hand as if it was a trifling matter. “At any rate, here’s your first question: what do you know about our organization, and where did you learn it?”
But Pendergast did not answer. Instead, he turned to Esterhazy, a strangely sympathetic look in his eyes. “You’re next, you realize.”
Falkoner strode over to Constance and grabbed her hands, which were cuffed behind the stanchion. He took his knife and sliced slowly and deliberately into her thumb. She stifled a cry, turning her head sharply to one side.
“Next time, speak to me and answer my question.”
“Don’t speak!” Constance said, hoarsely, not looking back. “Don’t say anything. They’re going to kill us anyway.”
“Not true,” said Falkoner. “If he talks, we’ll drop you off alive on shore. He can’t save his own life, but he can save yours.”
He turned back to Pendergast. “Answer the question.”
The special agent began to talk. He told — briefly — of discovering that his wife’s gun had been loaded with blanks, and realizing that meant she had been murdered in Africa twelve years before. He spoke slowly, clearly, and utterly without inflection.
“And so you went to Africa,” said Falkoner, “and discovered our little conspiracy to get rid of her.”
“Your conspiracy?” Pendergast seemed to consider this.
“Why are you talking?” asked Constance suddenly. “You think he’s going to let me go? Of course not. Cease speaking, Aloysius — we’re both dead anyway.”
His face alight with arousal, Falkoner reached down, grasped her hand, and took the knife, slowly cutting into her thumb again, much more deeply this time. She grimaced and writhed in pain, but did not cry out.
From the corner of his eye, Esterhazy noted that Schultz and Zimmermann had holstered their weapons and were enjoying the show.
“Don’t,” Esterhazy said to Falkoner. “You keep doing that, he’ll stop talking.”
“Damn you, I know what I’m doing. I’ve been at this for years.”
“You don’t know him.”
But Falkoner had stopped. He held up the bloody knife, waved it in front of Pendergast’s face, wiped the blood off on the agent’s lips. “The next time, her thumb comes off.” He smiled crookedly. “Do you love her? I suppose you must. Young, beautiful, spirited: who wouldn’t?” He straightened up, took a slow turn around the deck. “I’m waiting, Pendergast. Go on.”
But Pendergast did not go on. Instead, he was looking at Esterhazy intently.
Falkoner paused in his circuit, cocked his head to one side. “All right. I always keep my promises. Schultz, hold her hand steady.”
Schultz grasped Constance’s hand as Falkoner brandished the knife. Esterhazy could see he was, indeed, going to cut off her thumb. And if he did there would be no going back — not for Pendergast, and not for him.
CHAPTER 76
JUST A MOMENT,” ESTERHAZY SAID.
Falkoner paused. “What?”
Esterhazy quickly stepped over to Falkoner and leaned in to his ear. “There’s something I neglected to tell you,” he murmured. “Something you must know. It’s very important.”
“Damn it, I’m in the middle of this.”
“Step over to the rail. They mustn’t hear. I’m telling you, it’s of the utmostimportance.”
“This is a hell of a time to be interrupting my work!” Falkoner muttered, the smile of sadistic pleasure giving way to a scowl of frustration.
Esterhazy led Falkoner over to the port rail and walked him slightly aft. He glanced up: the view from both the bridge and the foredeck was blocked.
“What’s the problem?” Falkoner demanded.
Esterhazy leaned over to whisper in his ear, placing a hand on his shoulder. As they drew together, heads bowed, Esterhazy brought his pistol up and fired a bullet into the German’s cranium. A cloud of blood, gore, and bits of bone jetted out the far side, the blowback spraying Esterhazy directly in the face.
Falkoner jerked forward, eyes wide and astonished, and he fell into Esterhazy’s arms. Esterhazy grasped him by the shoulders and, with a brusque movement, heaved the body up onto the rail and tipped it over.
At the report of the gun, Zimmermann came tearing around the corner. Esterhazy shot him between the eyes.
“Schultz!” he cried out. “Help us!”
A moment later Schultz appeared, gun in hand, and Esterhazy shot him as well.
Then Esterhazy backed away, sputtering and spitting, wiping his face clean with a handkerchief and returning to the small group, pistol drawn. Gerta stood there, staring at him, paralyzed.
“Walk over here,” he told her. “Slow and easy. Or you’re dead, too.”
She obeyed. As she reached the edge of the cabin he grabbed her and, with the same tape used to tie Pendergast, bound her ankles, wrists, and mouth. He left her on the walkway where she wasn’t visible from the bridge, then strode back to the aft deck, where Hammar was slowly regaining consciousness, groaning and muttering. Esterhazy bound him securely. He made a quick tour of the upper decks, found the wounded Eberstark, and bound him as well. Then he walked forward again to where Pendergast and Constance were restrained.
He looked at the pair. Both had witnessed what he’d done. Constance was silent, but he could see blood dripping from her injured finger. He knelt, examined it. The second, deeper cut went to the bone but not through it. He fumbled in his pocket, brought out a clean handkerchief, and bound the finger. Then he stood up and faced Pendergast. The silvery eyes glittered back. Esterhazy thought he could detect — barely — lingering surprise.
“You once asked me how I could kill my own sister,” Esterhazy said. “I told you the truth then. And I’ll tell you the truth again now. I didn’t kill her. Helen’s alive.”
CHAPTER 77
ESTERHAZY PAUSED. A NEW LOOK HAD COME into Pendergast’s eyes; a look he didn’t fully understand. And yet the man said nothing.
“You think your fight’s just with me,” Esterhazy went on rapidly. “But you’re wrong. It’s not just me. It’s not just this boat and this crew. The fact is you have no idea, no idea, of what you’re dealing with.”
No response from Pendergast.
“Listen. Falkoner was going to kill me, too. As soon as you were dead, he was going to do the same to me. I realized that just tonight, on this boat.”
“So you killed him to save yourself,” Constance said. “Is that supposed to solicit our trust?”
Esterhazy did his best to ignore this. “Damn it, Aloysius, listen to me: Helen is alive, and you need me to bring her to you. We don’t have the time to stand around talking about it now. Later, I’ll explain everything to you — not now. Are you going to cooperate with me or not?”