“Macaulay? It was unavoidable. We were afraid of it.”
“Of course,” I said coldly. “It was an accident.”
“No. Not an accident. Call it calculated risk.” He paused for a moment, the cigarette glowed redly, and then he went on. “And speaking of that, perhaps I’d best brief you now as to your part in this expedition. You’re also a calculated risk, for the reason that—quite frankly—I’m not a navigator and neither is Barfield. I can handle small sailing craft well enough to take this sloop across the Gulf, but I couldn’t find the place we’re looking for. Therefore we need you, and while we both have guns and are quite expert in their use we won’t kill you except as a last resort. Score yourself one point.
“But before you start plotting a mutiny, try to imagine a bullet-shattered knee, complicated by gangrene, with a medicine chest which probably consists of aspirin tablets and Mercurochrome. Not an enchanting picture, is it? And while you’re about it, you might consider how unpleasant life could be made for Mrs. Macaulay if you don’t co-operate with us.
“One of us will be watching you every minute. Do as you’re told and there’ll be no trouble. Try to get out of hand, and both you and Mrs. Macaulay will be badly hurt; we’re not amateurs at this sort of thing. Is it all clear, Manning?”
“Yes,” I said. “Except you keep telling me this is no game, so there must be some point to it. Would you mind telling me where you think you’re going, and what you’re after?”
“Not at all. We’re looking for an airplane.”
I stared at the end of his cigarette. “You mean the one Macaulay crashed in? You’re going to try to find it after you’ve killed the one person on earth who knew where it is?”
“There’s one more who knows,” he said calmly. “Why do you think we brought her?”
“Look,” I said. “Don’t be stupid. He was alone in it when it crashed. How could she possibly know?”
“He told her.”
“You’ll never find it in a million years.”
“I think we shall. He knew where it was, obviously, and was certain he could go back to it, or he wouldn’t have tried to hire a diver and a boat. Therefore it has to be near some definite location, such as a reef or promontory. And if he knew, he could tell her. All she has to do is tell us. In fact, she has already given me the general location. It’s to the westward of Scorpion Reef. You know where that is, I presume?”
“It’s on the chart,” I said curtly. I swung the tiller a little to line up the channel buoys again. “Listen, Barclay. You’re stupid as hell. Even if you found the plane, that money’s not recoverable. I didn’t tell her, because the main thing they wanted was to get away from you and your damned thugs, but that currency’s pulp by now. It’s been submerged in sea water for weeks—”
“Money?” he asked. There was faint surprise in his voice.
“Don’t be cute, for Christ’s sake. You’re not looking for that plane just to recover the ham sandwich he probably had with him.”
“She told you there was money on the plane? Is that it?”
“Of course that’s it. What else? They were trying to get to some place in Central America so they could quit running from you and your gorillas—”
“I wondered what sort of story she gave you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re rather naive, Manning. We’re not looking for some trifling sum of money Macaulay might have had with him. We’re after something he stole from us. He was a thief.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“What you believe or don’t believe is of no importance whatever. But what makes you so sure, when you’d never met him and knew nothing about him at all?”
“I know her. She wouldn’t lie about it.”
He chuckled. “I rather thought that was it. And, by the way, that puts me in a somewhat awkward spot.”
“Why?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? One of us, it would appear, is lying. I think I can prove it was the lady; but should I, as a matter of policy? It’s a delicate point. We’re depending to some extent on your regard for the toothsome Mrs. Macaulay to ensure your co-operation in this venture, and it would seem we’d be doing ourselves a disservice in proving to you she’s been having you on. You might become indifferent as to what happened to her—”
“You got out of that all right,” I said.
“—but, on the other hand,” he went on as if he hadn’t even heard me, “if you were thoroughly disenchanted with the enchantress, you might be more inclined to help us in recovering what her husband stole from us. Interesting psychological point, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said contemptuously. “Very interesting. We’ll be down to the bar in a few minutes. Could I interest you in taking the tiller when we’re outside so I can get sail on her?”
“Certainly, old boy.”
The Ballerina began lifting slowly on the long ground swell running in through the mouth of the jetties. I searched the darkness ahead and could see the sea buoy winking on and off. There was a moderate breeze, a little north of east. I wondered why Barclay had tried to get off a cock-and-bull story like that. He was in control; why bother to lie?
“I found their bag, the one she sent aboard.”
I looked around. It was the voice of George Barfield, issuing from the companionway.
“Any chart in it?” Barclay asked.
“No.” Barfield came out and sat down beside Barclay. In the faint starlight I could see he was carrying something in one hand. “The satchel was in it, all right. About eighty thousand, at a rough count. But no chart.”
“What?” It exploded from me before I could stop it.
“What’s the matter with Don Quixote?” Barfield asked. “Somebody goose him?”
“I’m afraid you’ve spoiled Manning’s illusions,” Barclay murmured. “Mrs. Macaulay told him that money was in the plane.”
“Oh,” Barfield said. “Well, I wanted to see everything before I died, and now I have. A man over thirty who still believes women.”
I could only keep my hand on the tiller and stare straight ahead. I felt sick. “Shut up, you son of a bitch,” I said. “Put that bag down and throw a flashlight on it. There’s one on the starboard bunk.”
“I’ve got it here.” Barfield put the bag down at my feet.
The light flipped on and he pressed the catch on top of the bag. I looked at bundle after bundle of twenties, fifties, and hundreds.
I sold my jewelry and borrowed what I could on the car. It’s the last chance we’ll ever have. I don’t know why they’re trying to kill him; it was something that happened at a party—
“All right,” I said. “Turn it off.”
“Didn’t you forget my rank?” Barfield asked.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘Turn it off, you son of a bitch.’ ”
“Shut up,” I said.
“How long would it take you to learn enough navigation, Joey?”
“Too long,” Barclay answered. “Leave him alone.”
“I was pretty good at math,” Barfield said; “Want me to try it? I could get sick of this guy.”
“Stop it,” Barclay ordered curtly. “Even if we could find the place alone, we still need a diver.”
“Anybody can dive with an aqualung.”
“George, old boy—” Barclay said softly.
“All right. All right.”
“What’s in the plane?” I asked.
“Diamonds,” Barclay answered. “You might say a considerable amount of diamonds.”
“Whose?”
“Ours, obviously.”
“And she knows about it?”
“Yes.”
I wondered if I had a latent tendency toward masochism. I wanted to hear it all. “And they weren’t trying to get to Central America?”