The Melting Man

Kermode came over, politely waited for me to finish the last of the brandy, and then tied my hands behind me at the wrists tightly with thin cord.

Thinking it might interest me, he said, 'It's a piece of Corolene Dacron braided spinning line.'

'It cuts like hell,' I said.

'It's meant to.'

I looked at O'Dowda who was helping himself to another brandy.

'If I hand the parcel over to you — you know what will happen to Julia?'

'As the night follows the day. General Gonwalla can be a very mean-minded man.'

'And you don't care a damn?'

'She's not my true daughter, and anyway she has now formally severed all relationship with me. I have no responsibility for her. That's not to say that she isn't a nice-looking girl and it will be a sad thing. I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't a soft spot for her. All this puts you in an awkward situation, but it is of no interest to me. Just hand the parcel to me, however, and I'll try and make Gonwalla see sense — though I can't guarantee anything.'

'If I do, then Interpol will rub me out.'

'Yes, I think they would do that. That's why I'm sure that I shall have to use some method to make you tell me where the parcel is. I couldn't expect you to do so willingly.'

Kermode looked towards O'Dowda. 'What do you think, sir. Let it get a bit lighter?'

O'Dowda nodded. 'I think so. Won't be as much fun then as a big sea-trout in the dark, but we mustn't expect too much. What rod do you think?'

'Salmon?'

'We'll try the A. H. E. Wood.' He turned to me. 'Of course you could save yourself all this by just telling me where the parcel is.'

'I destroyed it.'

He grinned. 'Not you, boyo. If you gave me an affidavit signed by St Peter I wouldn't believe that one.'

'What about St Patrick?'

'Less so. Think I don't know the Irish? No, you've got it somewhere safe and I'm having it. Come to think of it, I'd rather force it from you. You need some of the spunk taken out of you. I wouldn't say that your manner towards a man of my standing is deferential enough. And even if I did, there's a well-developed sadistic streak in me that says go ahead and have fun. God, it's hot in here.'

He stripped off his Harris tweed jacket. Over by the cupboard Kermode was fixing up the salmon rod with a reel. I had a fair idea of what they might be going to do, but I couldn't believe it. I tried to remember what I could about the breaking strain of lines, and then I recalled reading somewhere that a good rod and line had stopped a really strong swimmer dead after he'd done about thirty yards. I stopped thinking about it. O'Dowda was right. It was hot in the room. The lake would make an unpleasant contrast in temperature.

Then I thought about the parcel. What the hell was I to do? The whole thing had me properly confused. Give it to O'Dowda and lose Julia? Give it to Najib and save Julia — but put myself in the soup? Give it to Interpol and save myself and lose Julia, and then have Najib and O'Dowda gunning for me out of sheer political and economic spite? If there'd been time of course I could have written to some lonely hearts column and got advice. 'In the circumstances I think this is a problem where you must squarely face your own conscience…' Trouble was there was no sign of my conscience being around at this moment. It was that kind of conscience, never there when you really wanted it.

I sat and sweated. O'Dowda had a little snooze. Kermode — he was the type — kept busy, tinkering away at some metalwork job at a bench down the far end of the room. Now and again he went to the window and looked out to see how the light was coming along.

After a couple of hours he came over to me and strapped a leather dog-collar affair around my neck. There was a steel ring fitted into it just under my chin and attached to the ring was a three-yard length of line.

'It's a wire gimp,' he said. 'So you can't bite through. Some big pike have been known to — but you've got to have real teeth for a job like that.' Then he looked at O'Dowda and, believe it or not, there was a touch of gentleness on his craggy, monkey face. 'Pity to wake him. He needs his sleep, does the boss. Drives himself hard. Always on the go. Don't pay any attention to that sadistic talk. Heart of a lamb he's got really. If you just coughed up now, he'd call it a day. Probably hand you a bonus on your pay. What do you say?'

I said, 'He looks far too much overweight. The exercise will do him good — or give him a stroke. Want me to tell you which I'm cheering for?'

He went and woke O'Dowda, shaking him gently by the shoulder, and then holding his jacket for him.

And that was the beginning of the entertainment. They led me through a side door, Kermode carrying their equipment, into the boathouse.

We got into a rowing boat and Kermode took the oars and we pulled out on to the lake. It was a beautiful morning; no sun yet, but the hint of it, and the sky pearly grey with a rosy flush in the East. Not a cloud in the sky and a few late stars still flickering in protest against the coming day. Some duck got up from the weed beds near the boathouse.

'Pochards and a few garganey,' said O'Dowda. 'We tried to keep goldeneye here, but they wouldn't stay.' As he spoke he leaned forward making the end of the real line fast to the loose end of the wire gimp.

'Make sure the knot's good,' I said.

'Don't worry, boyo,' he said warmly, 'I've had my tackle broken but I've never lost a fish yet through a sloppy knot. All you have to do when you've had enough is just to shout. Don't leave it too long so that you're too weak to shout.'

I drove upwards with my right knee, trying to get him in the face before he could fix the knot, but he was too quick for me. One of his big hands grabbed my leg and held it. From behind me Kermode leaned forward and hauled me back, and O'Dowda straddled my legs and finished tying the knot.

From that position they didn't take any more chances with me. They took off my shoes and I was lifted and flung overboard.

I went under, and I thought I would go out with the sudden shock of the cold; and while I was still under I felt the strain come firmly on the collar round my neck. When I came up the boat was twenty yards away. O'Dowda was standing up, two-handing the salmon rod, and taking the strain nicely on me. Kermode was at the oars, not rowing, just holding the boat evenly.

I trod water and felt my shirt and shorts ballooning around me. The cold began to cut into me. O'Dowda increased the pressure through the line and my head name forward until my face was underwater. I was forced to kick out with my legs and swim towards the boat to get my face up into the air. I heard the reel take up the slack, and the pressure came on again as I stopped swimming. Again my face was dragged under. This time, I turned in the water, and kicked away strongly from the direction of the boat, knowing that the pull of the line would at least keep my head back and my face clear of the water. It did, and damned nearly choked me. I swam against it for as long as I could, and then the line pressure stopped me, rolled me over and I went down about two feet. If I'd been a salmon I would have come up in a great silver, curving leap, hoping to catch O'Dowda unawares and break line or rod tip. I came up like a sack of wet horse-hair, gasping and choking for breath, to hear O'Dowda shout, 'Come on, boyo, put some life into it. I've known a two-pound tench do better.'

I tried again. Not to please him, but in the hope of reaching the bank about fifty yards away. I swam towards the boat but at an oblique angle, hoping to gain a little ground towards shallow water. If I could once get my feet down and stand, I might have enough strength in my shoulder and neck muscles to hold them until I could turn round a couple of times, winding the line around my body and getting a grasp of it with my free fingers.