“Can you take me to Saba?”
“Now, senor?”
“Now.” I slipped a ten-guilder note out of my bulging wallet and handed it to the driver. “And make it fast.”
“Five minutes,” he said, pocketing the money.
In five minutes, almost to the second, we had twisted our way through a maze of narrow streets to the fishing docks outside Willemstad, clearing the way with a horn that the driver leaned on constantly. We jerked to a stop on a waterfront street in front of a frame building with one large smoke-stained window and a sign with weathered paint spelling “Vanvoort’s Hideaway.”
As I stepped out of the car, I felt a tug at my sleeve and realized that I had almost forgotten about Pilar.
“Nick, the blonde woman… is it your Rona?”
“It must be.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Find her if I can.”
“But we have a mission.”
If it weren’t for Rona, there wouldn’t be any mission. She’s the one who gave us our key clue, and now she can lead us to Gorodin. Besides, she wasn’t trained for dangerous work as we were. If she’s in Gorodin’s hands now, she could be paying a terrible price. I have to try to find her. I owe her that much.”
“You don’t owe her anything,” Pilar said. “You didn’t force her to take the assignment. And the time… you know what day this is?”
“Yes, I know. Tomorrow is the deadline.”
“Forget about her, Nick. Come with me, and I will take you to Torio. We will find him on the waterfront not far from here.”
I stopped walking in front of the door of Vanvoort’s Hideaway and looked down into Pilars face. When I spoke, my voice was cold. “The decision is mine, and I have made it. Are you coming in with me?”
She met my gaze for a moment, then looked away. She reached out and touched my hand. “I’m sorry, Nick. You must act according to your conscience. I will help you in any way you ask.”
I gave her hand a squeeze and pushed on in through the door.
Seventeen
Vanvoort’s Hideaway was no tourist bar. The lights were dim, the air was stale. The walls were covered with posters advertising beer and politicians. The linoleum on the floor had worn through to the bare wood in the strip along the front of the unvarnished bar.
The clientele were fishermen and sailors of many nations. And all male. The hum of conversation and clink of glasses ceased abruptly as the customers caught sight of Pilar who looked spectacular in a short lemon-yellow dress.
The man behind the bar was a brush-cut Dutchman with biceps like cantaloupes bulging from under the short sleeves of his shirt.
“I’m looking for the fisherman called Saba,” I said.
The Dutchman’s tiny eyes ran over me like insects. “Who says he’s here?”
“His friend the taxi driver. The one in the chopped off Hudson.”
He shook his massive head from side to side. “Don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
Planting both hands on the.bar, I stuck my face into his. “Mister, I don’t have time to play games, and I don’t have time to explain. But I want you to know this: if you don’t point Saba out to me in five seconds or tell me where I can find him, I am going to come over this bar and break your bones till I get an answer.”
The Dutchman knew I meant it. His ruddy complexion paled. “Over there,” he rasped. “Alone in the booth by the wall.”
When I turned from the bar, the babble in the place suddenly began again, and everybody got busy not looking at Pilar.
The man alone in the booth was a black Virgin Islander.
“Saba?” I asked.
“That’s right, mon. Sit down. And de lady, too.” His speech had the musical part British, part calypso lilt you hear in parts of the West Indies. “You must put de fear of God in Hans, make him back down like dat.”
“I want to ask about the woman you brought in two days ago. The one you found in the sea.”
“Ah, de yellow-hair lady. Very pretty. She don’t wake up to say even a word. Very, very tired. The sea drain your strength. I don’t think she hurt bad, though. Nothing broken.”
“And a man took her away? One who said he was her husband?”
“Oh-ho, maybe he’s not her husban’, eh? I not surprised. He don’ look like de kind of mon de yellow-hair lady take for husban’. Too rough, too ugly. Are you the husban’, mon?”
“No, but I’m her friend, and the man who took her away definitely was not. Do you know where he took her?”
“Yes, I know. I tell him de way to Queen’s Hospital. He say never min’, he take lady to where he have friends. He say they take care of her. So I watch where he go. He take de lady in de power boat with two other men. They go to Little Dog, a little island twelve miles offshore. Nothin’ but big rocks on Little Dog. Big rocks and ol’ fisherman’s shack. No fishermen use dat place no more. Men with guns dere now, scare everybody.”
“Can you show me how to get to Little Dog?” I asked.
“Sure. Walk down to de docks, you can see de place. Come on, I show you.”
The black man stood up and moved out of the booth. Pilar followed us out onto the street and down a couple of steep blocks to the waterfront Saba pointed out across the sparkling water to what appeared to be a jagged outcropping of brown rocks.
“Little Dog,” he said. “Maybe 500 meters long, 200 wide. Only safe place to land a boat is aroun’ de other side. Can’t see from here.”
“I need a fast boat,” I said. “Do you know someone who will rent one to me?”
“Sure. I have a friend with de fastest boat in de harbor, except de smugglers and de police. He charge you plenty, but you get your money’s worth.”
“Good.” I turned to Pilar. “Now I’m going to ask you to do something that will be very difficult for you.”
“What is it, Nick.”
“Wait for me. Just wait If I’m not back by dark, notify David Hawk in Washington and tell him everything you know.”
“Can’t I come with you? I can steer a boat. I can help in many ways.”
“No,” I said firmly. “This is my job, and I want you to stay here.”
“Yes, Nick,” she said with a submissiveness that was unlike her.
I gave her arm a squeeze and followed Saba down to the docks where we would find his friend with the speedboat. It turned out to be an old ski boat that had been lovingly kept in sound condition by its proud owner. The man was not over-anxious to let a stranger take off in his pride and joy, but enough guilders changed hands to ease his reluctance. he motor was a giant Evinrude that roared instantly to life and soon I was skimming over the light chop of the straits toward Little Dog. Before I got too close, I wheeled in a wide circle around the rocky island. In an inlet on the far side a cabin cruiser was tied to an unpainted pier. Beyond the pier stood a wooden shack. Pale gray smoke drifted from the chimney pipe.
I throttled the Evinrude down, then scanned the shack and surrounding rocks for any sign of life. There was none. So I gunned the motor and looped back around the island.
I prowled along the rocky shore on the far side, looking for a possible landing place. Jagged pinnacles thrust themselves upward fifteen or twenty feet, as if some vast disturbance in the center of the earth had flung them up from the ocean floor. Finally I came upon a narrow wedge of water between a pair of jutting boulders and managed to squeeze the boat through. I made her secure and climbed up through the rocks and headed toward the shack on the opposite side of Little Dog.
The going was slow at best, and I moved cautiously in case Gorodin had posted a lookout. After twenty minutes I reached a vantage point where I could lie on my stomach and watch the shack. It looked larger here than from the ocean side, and it seemed to be divided into two rooms. The only window I could see had boards nailed over with only slitted openings. Still no sign of human life, just the spiraling smoke smudging the air. Now that I was downwind of the smoke, I noticed an unpleasant stench. Perhaps in the back of my mind I knew what it was, but I rejected the thought and crept toward the shack, keeping out of sight of the slitted window in case someone watched behind it.