“Sar... you are here.”
“Sure. And let’s say I take Pell out.” Mako nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s go see Judy. We’ll take one of the old boats off the beach. Nobody’s going to be leaving here until those fishing rigs get back.”
Mako let Billy rest while he recovered the film from the Clamdip. He stowed the canisters in large self-sealing sandwich bags, dropped them into a larger white garbage bag and headed back down the beach.
A hundred yards down the curved dunes, four dories were upside down. They lifted the first two up and found only paddles, but under the third was another antique Johnson outboard. Billy assured him that it was very reliable, old Mogo kept it in good shape and even had a two-and-a-half-gallon can of gasoline stashed there too.
The craft was light and they dragged it down to the water. Mako carried the engine down, filled up the small tank and stowed the can in the bow. They pushed off, paddled out a quarter of a mile, then Mako pulled the engine over. It started on the first yank and he headed for his own island a mile away.
Judy had been sleeping with a nervous intensity. Mako had lit a kerosene lamp, and the second the soft light touched her eyes she sat up abruptly, her eyes wide, alert, the cords in her neck stretching tautly.
“It’s me,” Mako said.
The relief she felt on hearing his voice was evident. She jumped up, the old sweatshirt barely covering her, and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, I’m glad you’re here right now. I don’t like to be away from you at all.” She threw her head back, looking up at him, then she frowned. “What’s happened, Mako?”
“Billy’s been hurt,” he told her. “He’s pretty well banged up, but nothing serious.”
“Who did it?”
“One of your crew. Gary Foster.”
“Why... he’s a nobody. He’s...”
“He’s an explosives expert. He tried to plant a bomb on the Clamdip after your party and he came damn near killing Billy and me.”
“Where is he now?” There was alarm in her voice now.
“He was going to treat us to a burial at sea. That idiot city boy gave himself one instead.”
“Does... anyone else know about this?” she asked anxiously.
“No. And who will find out? He died accidentally during the commission of a major crime, if it makes anybody’s conscience feel better; he invited a shark attack and one of those predators snatched him right over the side. I think he pulled this last stunt on his own. Somehow he had the idea Tony Pell was going to make him a full partner in the movie that’s being planned.”
“But Tony wouldn’t do that!”
“Gary didn’t know that. He wanted the film we shot and us out of the way.”
“All this trouble for a movie... that isn’t even written yet?”
“Judy, these key sequences can’t be faked. Those faces in the background when they see the teeth marks...”
“But you said it all depends on the eater... being destroyed. How will that happen?”
Mako’s hands were tight on her arms. He said, “I don’t know, Judy. Whatever the eater is, it started slow, then made itself known more frequently. It traverses this quadrant of the ocean more than any other and we know it’s still out there. Sooner or later it’s going to be spotted when we’re in a position to hit on it.”
“Mako... we have no big guns here. No depth charges... nothing capable of killing off that creature.”
“We’ll think of something, kiddo,” he said, then tightened his arms around her again. “Now look, I’m going to leave Billy here with you. Get him cleaned up and don’t gag at the mess his face is in.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to find Pell. I’ll take the dory back and you call your place and have somebody run your small boat over here so you’ll have transportation. Billy knows where my equipment is.”
“The film...”
“I’ve already stashed it where it’ll be safe.”
“Mako... be careful.” Her hands invited his mouth down to meet hers. It was a long kiss, sensuous, not one of goodbye but of anticipation.
Hooker said, “Take good care of Billy,” and when she nodded he went back into the night, which was about to lose itself to the faint glow of sunup.
Mako spent the early morning hours cleaning up the Clamdip. Foster had pulled open drawers, turned over furniture and had even opened the panel behind the instruments where he had planted the bomb earlier. The security box was too cleverly constructed to be found in a hurried search and Foster had missed that completely. Even the rocket launcher, stored up on the racks that held a half dozen deep-sea trolling poles, had escaped his attention. So did the mini camera that had been shoved aside in the frenzied search for the tape pack.
Tony Pallatzo studied his face in the mirror of the well-appointed bathroom in his quarters aboard the Lotusland. He was always pleasantly surprised at how well he had transformed into a reputable businessman in one of the most competitive, lucrative industries in the world. He saw this next film the way Bugsy Siegel saw the Flamingo Hotel opening up Las Vegas, a plum that would drop right into the hands of the Big Men in New York.
Now he was going to do the same thing, but his would be a successful venture, done surreptitiously but legally. The elder Durant was out of the picture now, his daughter only a minor irritant that he could remove the same way he had removed her father if necessary. Luckily she didn’t have a great desire to own and run a motion picture company.
He looked at his image and frowned. The only problem was Mako Hooker, and when he thought of him there was a tug at his memory that he couldn’t put in its place. The streets of Brooklyn were years away, years he didn’t like to remember, and for some reason, when he thought of Hooker he thought of those streets again and the Gallo bunch he had run with.
There was a knock on the door and a cameraman stuck his head in and said, “You seen Gary Foster, Mr. Pell?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Benny said he took the inflatable out last night.”
“I didn’t authorize that!”
“Well, it didn’t get lost. It’s tied up alongside, but Gary isn’t anyplace around.”
“You look in his room?”
“Sure. It’s empty.”
“Very well,” Pell told him, “I’ll check it out.”
He finished brushing his hair in place, annoyed because that stupid Gary Foster had gotten out of hand again. If he was chasing down one of the island girls he was going to get his behind kicked. Ever since he had recruited him to take Hooker’s boat out of action, Foster had been taking too many liberties.
On deck, he went down the ladder to the ramp and looked at the inflatable. Ordinarily, it would have been tethered and cleaned out before anyone left it. Nothing would be in disarray. This time the boat was a lousy mess, nothing in place at all, and what was worse, the floorboard was stained with a brown substance that was drawing flies to its edges. Nobody had to draw him a picture to tell him what it was. Somebody had bled all over the place. Damn that Foster, Pell thought.
There was something else there that shouldn’t have been there. It sat on the lip of the small instrument panel. Its placement wasn’t accidental. Somebody had put it there to be seen. This time Pell stepped into the boat, looked up to see if anyone was at the rail and when it was all clear, he picked up the small black box and knew immediately what it was. The ignite button was still down and he realized that the detonator had been triggered. Something had been blown to hell. Pretty soon Gary Foster was going to join whatever it was.