“Where’s Rolf?” asked Burt.
She showed her lovely white teeth in a sneer.
Burt shrugged. “Okay, you’ll make me work for it.” He turned to the sergeant. “Can you get us out into the harbor? I’ll go on deck and have a talk with her.”
When they were out in the harbor, Burt had her standing facing the waist-high railing. She gave Burt a half-smile over her shoulder. “You won’t throw me overboard, fuzz. I know you that well.”
“I’ll make you wish I had.”
He stood for a moment thinking of how she’d tortured him, of Joss and the boys at the mercy of Ace and Hoke, and finally of her plan to take over Tracy’s life after she was dead. The last thought gave him the will needed. With one swift movement he bent and seized her ankles, lifted her, and pushed her forward with his shoulder. She screamed as her head struck the rushing water. Burt held to her silk-clad ankles as she twisted and tried to raise herself. The skirt fell over her head and he noted that she’d worn the black panties decorated with kissing red lips. He counted to ten, then pulled her back halfway across the railing. “Where’s Rolf?”
She coughed and sputtered. “Go to hell, you dirty—”
The water stopped her voice as he lowered her again. This time he counted to twenty. When he pulled her up, she collapsed on deck and threw up a gallon of sea water.
“He’s... coming in at Grenada...” she gasped finally. “He’s got the man with him... the man with the money. He planned to stop off for Tracy.”
“Why?”
“To use her to... make you tell where you hid the diamonds.”
Back in the cabin, she slumped on the low bench which ran across one wall. Burt told Sergeant George what he’d learned.
“That counts him out,” said the sergeant. “They’ll pick him up in Grenada. Now how do we get the others without getting Joss killed?”
Burt looked back along the low cabin. Tracy sat in a corner with her knees under her chin, her gaudy dress pulled down to her ankles. The faint trembling of her shoulders told him she was fighting a silent private battle. Bunny sat across from her in the damp wrinkled suit, her hair like a wet mop atop her skull. Her chic, expensive look was gone; she now looked as beaten as, Tracy. Looking from one to the other, Burt was surprised to see how near Bunny had come to making herself a perfect copy of Tracy. He walked back and knelt in front of Tracy. “There’s something you could do,” he said. “It’s risky, but it might save the lives of five other people.”
She raised her head and regarded him gravely. “I’ll do anything you say. You should know that.”
Her complete trust nearly caused him to abandon his plan, but he had no other. “All right. Change clothes with Bunny. You’re going to be a decoy.”
Bunny, with her shapeless polka dot dress a forecast of less colorful but no less shapeless prison garb, was left on Bequia in the custody of a corporal and his six-by-six concrete jail. Sergeant George had exchanged his uniform for the clothes of an island seaman: white canvas trousers cut off at the knees, a sleeveless undershirt, and no shoes.
Burt watched the island draw near in the late afternoon sun. He was relieved to see nobody on the tower; Ace’s vigilance must have waned during the long days of solitude. Burt directed Sergeant George to approach the island from the west; the sun would be at their backs, he explained, and a tongue of rocks screened the sea from the clubhouse. He wrapped his gun in oilskin and sat down to remove his sneakers. “I’ll be behind them in ten minutes. Tracy, just show your head and shoulders above the cabin. Don’t talk!”
“Yes, Burt.” She knelt in the wrinkled suit, smelling faintly of wet wool. She kissed him with lips that were hot and cracked but strangely sweet. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself.”
He crawled to the side, slipped over into the water and stroked silently along the rocks. He crawled out onto a hidden patch of sand and unwrapped the gun from its waterproof cocoon. Holding it in his right hand, he crawled through the low bush until he was twenty yards from the beach club. He could hear the low grinding of the boat’s diesel engine. He peered out and saw Joss sitting on the steps of the beach club, her face like that of a robot which has been turned off. Coco lay in the sand with his hat over his eyes. Godfrey sat beside him and pulled ravelings from his frayed shorts. Hoke stood behind the bar, his shotgun resting on the polished wood and pointing at Joss’s back. Ace walked down to the jetty, shading his eyes and peering toward the sound of the launch.
Burt watched the launch approach the break in the rocks; his stomach sank when he saw how vulnerable Tracy looked in Bunny’s suit, like a small girl dressed up to play adult. Burt held his breath, then Ace called over his shoulder. “Okay, Hoke! It’s Bunny.”
The big man left the club and walked toward the beach. Burt waited until both men stood on the jetty, then he ran out in front of the club.
“You’re covered, Ace! Don’t move!”
As though it triggered a reflex action, Ace doubled over and swung his gun around. Before he completed the half-turn, Burt fired. Ace threw his arms wide and did a backflip off the jetty. Burt swung the gun to Hoke, who dropped the shotgun and raised his arms. Burt walked forward and looked down at Ace. A redness oozed from his chest and tinted the crystalline water a delicate pink. The gentle surf rocked his lifeless head from side to side as though he were saying, in a slow, tired manner, no... no... no...
“Burt!” Joss seized his neck and shouted in his ear. “They said you were dead. When you jumped in front of me, I thought... good God! I’ve really wigged out now.”
Sergeant George nosed the launch up to the jetty; Burt helped him tie Hoke and lay him in the cabin. Joss invited everybody to the club for drinks, and Burt remembered the diamonds.
“I’ll join you later,” he said.
Tracy ran up and seized his hand. “You don’t leave me, remember?”
They walked along the path, past cabins four, three, and two. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“To a certain cave—”
He stopped, frozen. Rolf had stepped out from behind the banyan with the gun leveled in his fist.
“Don’t move, Burt. She gets the first shot. Tracy, take that gun from his pocket and bring it to me.”
She hesitated, and Burt licked his dry lips. A burst of Joss’s half-hysterical laughter came from the direction of the club.
“Do as he says,” Burt told her.
She delivered the gun to Rolf, who dropped it in his pocket. He caught her arm and pulled her in front of him. “All right, Burt. Take me to the diamonds.”
“You won’t hurt her?”
“You’re in a poor bargaining position, but...” he shrugged. “Show me the diamonds and she goes unharmed.”
Burt led the way across the crusted grass. He remembered the last time he had made this trip, with Ace and Hoke behind him. He had known they would kill him; he was not certain about Rolf. The man could kill on a momentary whim, true, but a similar whim could stop him from killing. Rolf was logical in his own way; perhaps the diamonds would be enough...
“They were watching for you in Grenada,” he said. “What happened?”
“I saw them before they saw me. They weren’t watching for a man carrying a baby.” Rolf chuckled. “It pays to be chivalrous. My companion wasn’t, and he got caught.”
Burt climbed down the low cliff and started along the pebble beach. He heard Rolf’s voice behind him:
“Something like old home week, isn’t it, Tracy? I presume he took you off the island. Has he been treating you well?”
“Better than you ever did.”