Curtis said, “You’re sure about this.”
“I’m sorry.”
Curtis looked out the window toward the sea. “Well,” he said, “if she has to be kept alive, it might be better to get her to the mainland right away. We could strap her to a mattress, carry her along in the helicopter this afternoon.”
“Then I’d come along, too.”
Curtis frowned at him, showing some of his anger, and stayed silent for a long moment. Then he said, “You’re making an enemy, George. Not a good enemy to have.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Manville spread his hands. “It just isn’t something I can do.”
Another long thoughtful pause. He’s trying to figure out, Manville thought, how to kill me, too. Then Curtis nodded, briskly, in agreement or farewell, and got to his feet, and went off without another word for his talk with Zhang.
Manville sat on, looking out the window, seeing nothing. What a rotten position to be in. Well; what a rotten position they were all in.
He never did eat breakfast that morning.
18
A mistake had been made. Curtis understood that, now; he’d made a second mistake, while trying to adjust for the first. And both mistakes came down to the same error of judgment. He had gauged George Manville too poorly, dismissing him as just an engineer, which was certainly true, but without stopping to think what that meant.
Yes, Manville was just an engineer, and what that meant was, he had too much integrity and too little imagination. Dangle ten million in front of him — in gold, George, in gold! — and he hasn’t the wit to be seduced by it. First he has to take responsibility for the accident to the diver, a responsibility that was never for a second his, but which he assumed for himself simply because he was the project’s engineer. That unbidden, unasked-for scrupulousness leads him to learn the truth about the diver, which makes him a threat to Richard Curtis, to which Curtis responds by making mistake number two. Not taking time to judge his man, he tries to enlist Manville on his side, and tells him too much.
Before this, Curtis had once or twice wondered, if there were unexpected complications down the line, whether or not he’d be able to recruit Manville, and had guessed that a combination of cupidity and the engineering challenge would turn the trick, but now he knew he’d been wrong. Manville was too blunt-minded to be affected by cupidity, and his engineer’s honor would keep him from being caught up by the engineer’s challenge. If he could balk at finishing off one half-dead idiotic girl, how would he react to what was going to happen to all those people in the buildings?
No, Manville could never have been an ally, and now he’s become a danger, a bigger danger than the girl, who was merely a club to beat Jerry Diedrich with. And Manville was now an even bigger danger than Diedrich, because Curtis had told him far too much.
The both of them, Curtis thought, and considered the personnel available to him in Australia, and saw how it could be done. The both of them, when they landed at Brisbane.
Curtis spent the late morning in his cabin, on the telephone to Brisbane and Townsville, looking for the people he needed, assuring himself they would be in the right places at the right time. He couldn’t say very much over the phone — there was no security on these things, particularly the ones that bounced off satellites — but he could at least get them in position, so he could tell them in person, and very quietly, what was needed.
Content with the moves he’d made, pleased that at last the mistakes had come to an end, Curtis went aft to the dining room for the farewell lunch with his three money people. Manville was there, looking worried and uncertain, and Curtis went out of his way to be friendly, to reassure the man. Patting Manville on the arm, being his heartiest, he said, “Forgotten, George. Don’t worry about it. I don’t know what I was thinking before. Desperation, I suppose. I’ll find some other way to deal with my problems, and you’re still my man. All right?”
Manville was obviously surprised, then grateful. Of course, the man without imagination wanted to believe that everything could be all right, that simply, that easily. “Thank you, Mr. Curtis,” he said, answering Curtis’s smile with his own tentative grin. “I am sorry, the situation you’re in, and you can count on me to keep my mouth shut.”
“I know I can, George. I don’t have the slightest doubt.” And, with another pat on the dead man’s arm, Curtis turned to the other three, saying, “Good news. It turns out, I was told wrong. The diver isn’t dead, she’s still alive.”
Beaming at everyone as they expressed their own surprise and pleasure, Curtis said, “We only hope we can keep her that way. Don’t we, George?”
19
Captain Zhang stayed on the bridge to watch the helicopter take off, not wanting one last encounter with Richard Curtis. He was still frightened, still depressed, and still very confused.
Would he have killed the girl? Even when he checked his medical kit to be sure he had a fresh syringe, even when he carried the kit with him down from the bridge, he hadn’t known for absolute certain what he would do when he reached cabin 7. He knew what he felt and believed he should do, which was protect his family, save his job, not permit some stupidly intrusive unknown stranger to destroy his life. But could he have done it?
He didn’t know. All he was certain of was, when Mr. Curtis called to him, in the lounge, and told him not to go down to the patient yet, not until Curtis and the engineer had finished their conversation, Zhang had not immediately felt relief, or pleasure, or anything like that. He’d felt confusion, of course, but also he’d surprised himself with a strange welling up of frustration, as though he’d just been thwarted in the accomplishment of something that had been his goal all along.
But what accomplishment? Killing her? Not killing her, and nobly suffering the consequences? Now he would never know what his decision would have been, and in some terrible way that was even worse than having the decision still out in front of him.
When Mr. Curtis had come up to the bridge, after he and the engineer had finished, he was very angry, red-faced, banging his fist against tabletops, and Zhang knew it was Manville who had made him so angry. “We are going to take care of that girl, Zhang,” he announced, showing his teeth in a snarl. “We are going to keep her alive. Do you understand me?”
“No, sir.” Zhang watched his employer warily, not wanting all that rage to turn in his direction.
“We’re not going to do what we were going to do,” Curtis snapped, and grimaced with his fury. “Mr. Manville won’t let us, you see? Zhang, that girl stays alive until you dock at Brisbane, no matter what. From then on, we’ll see, won’t we?”
“If you say so, sir.”
“I say so,” Curtis repeated, mocking him, then showed him a hard false aggressive smile and said, “Well, at least it’s a happy ending for you, isn’t it? I know you didn’t like the idea.”
“I want to do what I can to help you, Mr. Curtis.”
Curtis could be seen to force himself under control, and when next he spoke he was calmer, more controlled, more himself. “I appreciate that, Zhang. These have been... difficult times for me. Well, it’ll all work out, and I know you’re a willing man, Zhang, and I won’t forget it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And I’m glad, for your sake,” Curtis said, with a shrug, “you don’t have to do it after all.”
“If there’s anything—”