I wondered how fast boats like that went. It seemed to be the sort of thing a person ought to know, and I didn’t have the vaguest idea.
I spotted the car. It was in position, tucked behind a shed and not visible from ship. I drove another couple dozen yards and braked to a stop. I opened the door, and George dashed out from cover. I slid over to let him behind the wheel.
He drove us out onto the pier. While they swung a ramp into position, I got out on my side and took the grenade and the launcher with me. I crouched on the pier with the truck shielding me. By the time George moved the van, I had the launcher sighted in and the grenade in place.
That was the end of my job. I didn’t have anything else to do unless something was wrong. George was now telling them who I was and what I had aimed at them, and that it would blow them all to hell if he didn’t get paid and set loose. If they shot me the grenade would be launched automatically. If they got very cute and shot the launcher out from under me, the grenade would blow on the spot; I was still close enough to take them with me.
Either they never planned a cross or he made it sound good, because he was walking off the ship past me in less than twenty minutes. He had two metal boxes, one in each hand. They looked like the kind that hold fishing tackle or plumber’s tools, only larger. He didn’t say anything; he just winked as he went by.
I waited until I heard his horn, one long, two shorts, one long. I backed off with the grenade launcher still pointing at the ship. That looked good, but I was afraid I’d fall over my own feet, so I gave up and turned around and walked the rest of the way with the launcher under my arm. I figured somebody had a gun on me all the way, and that he just might be addled enough to give the trigger a squeeze. But I got to the shed and turned the corner, and the car was there with the motor running and the door open on the passenger side. I hopped in, and we were moving before I could yank the door shut.
I separated the grenade and the launcher. I put the grenade in the glove compartment, chucked the launcher into the back seat.
He shuddered. “You had to bring them?”
“What did you want me to do with them?”
“I know. They make me nervous.”
“We drove two thousand miles with a truck full of them, and now you’re nervous.”
“It’s different. I just spent half an hour with this one pointed at me.” He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and poked the dashboard lighter. He didn’t say anything until he had treated his lungs to a cloud of smoke. Then he started giggling.
He said, “They never planned a cross. I’d give twenty-to-one on it. That bit with the grenade, they were terrified. Literally terrified. That you might slip. Anything.”
“Just so they paid up. You couldn’t have counted it.”
“I had trouble enough lifting it. I gave it a quick check. All U.S., incidentally. I thought they might make up part of it in pounds, but it’s nothing but dollars.” He fell silent. He wasn’t driving anywhere in particular, but he was making a lot of turns and keeping an eye on the mirror.
All at once he giggled again. “You missed a show,” he said. “The boss man damn near had a stroke. ‘What if your friend slips? What if zere iss an ox-see-dent?’ To tell you the truth, the same thought occurred to me. That thing had me a little shaky.”
“No need. I never engaged the pin.”
He turned his head all the way around to look at me. “Truth?”
“Truth. I didn’t want an ox-see-dent either.”
“You could have told me.”
“I figured you’d be more convincing this way. Sell the salesman, then let the salesman sell the product.”
He thought about it. “I won’t argue, friend Paul. As long as my hair isn’t suddenly gray. Is it?”
“No.”
“Then all is forgiven.”
He got very jovial a few minutes later. I put myself into the mood and threw an arm over his shoulder. He started singing something. A college song, I think.
I moved my hand to the back of his neck. He stopped for a red light, and I used my thumb and forefinger on the big blood vessels on either side of his neck.
When the light changed, I was driving. He was on the passenger side, sound asleep.
Seventeen
I was standing a few feet behind him when he came to. I had removed the gag once I had the boat a good ways out on the water, but I heard him fighting the ropes before he actually said anything. This went on for a few minutes, and I stopped what I was doing and watched. I had him on his back, wedged between the deck chair and the rail so he wouldn’t roll around. His hands were tied behind his back with electrical wire. I had the same kind of wire wound around his legs in three places, and there was a heavy rope around his ankles.
He did all the squirming he could and proved that he wasn’t going to accomplish anything that way. Then he stopped, and then he spoke in a whisper.
“Paul? Paul? Where are you, Paul?”
I said, “Here.”
“I don’t know how the hell they did it. Was it the Greek? The last thing I remember was driving, then nothing. We’re on some kind of a boat. Not the Pindaris. Where are we?”
“The Atlantic. About four miles from land. International waters.”
“Jesus, how did we—” He stopped short. “Paul?” I walked around the deck chair on the port side. He didn’t say anything, and I watched his face as it all sank in. He got it a little at a time and his face kept on changing and he still didn’t say a word.
“I rented the boat less than a mile down the waterfront from where we delivered the load. Did I say rented? I mean chartered. I chartered the ship. It’s a cabin cruiser, sleeps four. A good-sized engine, but it’s off now. We’re drifting. Adrift in the Atlantic. I like the sound of that, don’t you? Adrift in the Atlantic.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You will,” I said. “There’s loads of time. It’s two o’clock, the Pindaris sailed an hour ago. I saw her leave. She’s out of sight now. Pretty soon the sun will be over the yardarm. We don’t have a yardarm, George. It’s a nautical term. I don’t know what it means.”
“Is this a gag?”
“Guess.”
“It might be your idea of a joke. We worked everything out, I made a mistake, a lot of mistakes, we worked everything out—”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not a joke,” he said.
“No.”
“You are going to kill me.”
“Yes.”
“For Christ’s sake, why?” His voice was hoarse. “I’ll never try to job you again, you must know that. Do you want the money? I can’t believe it, but if you want it you can take it. Screw the money, I don’t care about the money.” A pause. “No, damn it, that’s not it. I just don’t believe it. That’s not it, is it, Paul?”
“The money? No.”
“Then—”
“I killed nineteen men for a million dollars. That’s a little over fifty thousand dollars a man. If I killed you for another million I’d be cheapening their lives. It doesn’t seem right.”
He stared at me. “Oh, no. The one thing I never figured—”
“I got my million. Fair is fair. The other million is yours, George. I wouldn’t take it away from you.”
“You snapped. You went over the edge. I never figured. Paul, Paul—”
I dragged over one of the metal cases. I flipped the hinges, lifted the lid. It was packed with fifty-dollar bills in stacks of a hundred.
“See? A million dollars.” I closed the box. “I don’t want it. Watch closely now, this is something you’ve never seen before. Watch.”