There was a stubby revolver in Brogan’s hand. Hutchins was holding another. One was pointing at King, one at Lawrence.
King stopped. Lawrence had hardly begun to move. They both looked angry. Fletcher remembered how ruthless they had been with the two Leopards and he was pretty sure that neither of them would have hesitated to kill Denning if it had not been for the revolvers in the hands of the C.I.A. men. He had betrayed them, and they would find that hard to forgive.
Denning himself was perfectly cool. He turned to Vincent and said: “Perhaps you would be good enough to disarm them, Colonel. They are very hot-headed.”
Vincent, with the cigar still stuck in his mouth, got up quickly and relieved Lawrence and King of their weapons. He unloaded the pistols, dropped the magazines in his pocket, and laid the guns on a coffee table. He moved on to Fletcher.
“You won’t find anything on me,” Fletcher said.
Vincent smiled. “Nevertheless …”
He did a quick frisking and found nothing. Then he returned to his armchair and continued smoking the cigar.
“What do you intend doing with us?” King asked, staring at Denning with hatred.
Denning looked at him reflectively. Then he said: “I think you will have to come with us.”
“Where?”
“To Jamestown. We shall be leaving shortly.” Fletcher got the impression that he was simply waiting for Leonora to return, though he could not be sure of that. “There I am afraid it will be necessary to put you under restraint.”
“You mean throw us in gaol?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“You will eventually come up for trial. It will all be done according to the law.”
King looked as though he would have liked to spit. “And what are we being charged with?”
“Oh, that is no difficulty. I am sure we can think of something. Treason perhaps. Plotting against the State. Even murder. The choice is wide enough.”
“You bet it is.”
Fletcher wondered whether he was included with King and Lawrence. It was not a happy thought, for if there was a trial there could be little doubt about the verdict or even the sentence. Denning, having taken over the Presidency, would not be slow to remove as many enemies as possible; and those who had been his closest allies in the revolutionary cause would now be his bitterest opponents.
He became aware that Denning was looking at him.
“Don’t you wish you had accepted that offer of two thousand dollars for leaving the island?”
Fletcher glanced at Hutchins. “Would I have got it?”
“Oh, sure,” Hutchins said. “It was an honest to God offer. But I’m afraid it’s not on any more.”
“I didn’t think it would be.”
“Now,” Denning said, “you’ll just have to go without any payment; at your own expense.”
Fletcher’s heart gave a leap. “You mean you’re letting me go?”
“Why not? You have committed no offence as far as I am aware. After all, photography is not a crime.”
“Or murder?”
Denning dismissed the suggestion with a flutter of the hand. “We know you have not murdered anyone. We know very well who did the killing on the occasion in question. Why, then, should we detain you?”
“Why, indeed.”
“I imagine you are not going to make a fuss about going?”
“It would be rather foolish to do that.”
“I’m glad you see it in that light. Frankly, I think it would be by far the best way out of the situation.”
“I suppose you might say it would be, since you failed to get rid of me the other way.”
“The other way? Oh, you’re referring to that bit of shooting while you were on board my boat.”
“And the underwater explosion while I was down by the wreck. I nearly got caught by that. It was really very nasty, I can tell you. But why should that bother you?”
“Now there,” Denning said, “you must believe me when I assure you I would not have had that happen if I could have prevented it. But things had gone too far. I simply couldn’t call off the operation.”
Fletcher did not believe him. But it made no difference. The main thing was that he was alive and they were going to let him go. He was sorry for King and Lawrence, but they had known what they were doing; they had known that there was always the possibility of being caught, and that if they were they would have to face the consequences. He, on the other hand, had never really been one of them; he had been dragooned into the business. Now he was out of it, and he would be glad to go.
He thought of Leonora and felt a pang, because for a while he certainly had believed that something was building up between them and he had hoped it might go on building; but all of that had come tumbling down and he would just have to forget about it. She was in league with Denning and she must have known very well what was going to happen to him even as she stood on the board-walk and watched the boat leaving harbour. Damn her.
But then he thought again, and there was something that did not quite fit. Denning had said that she had taken the Ford and gone to meet the boat. Yet why should she do that if she had not been expecting them to come back? So maybe she had not known after all. Maybe she had not been working with Denning and the C.I.A. Maybe she was entirely innocent of any betrayal.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt like buying that. He wanted to believe it, he really did want to believe it, because it threw such a different light on her conduct; and until he had proof that he was wrong he damned well was going to believe it. And of course it explained why Denning was waiting for her: he was waiting so that he could have her arrested the same as King and Lawrence had been arrested; so that she could be thrown in gaol and brought to trial also.
When he had reached that conclusion he began trying to think of a way to prevent its happening. But he had still not come up with any reasonable plan when he heard the crunch of wheels on the gravel outside and then the slam of the car door, and he guessed that Leonora had arrived. He saw Denning stiffen and knew that he was aware of it, too. And if it came to that, he doubted if there was anyone in the room who was not aware of it. He heard her feet on the gravel and then on the terrace, and he could tell that she was running. Then the front door opened and slammed behind her and she was in the hall. He had to stop her now or it would be too late.
He started moving towards the door with a vague intention of heading her off and telling her to turn round, run back to the car and get to hell out of there. It would have been hopeless anyway, because to get her to do that would have taken a lot of explanation and persuasion, and there was just not the time available. But in the event he failed to get even as far as the door, because Brogan jumped up and got between it and him and rammed the muzzle of the revolver into his stomach.
“Stop right there,” Brogan said.
Fletcher stopped right there. He had no doubt whatever that Brogan was prepared to use the revolver, and if he provoked him into doing so it was going to help no one, least of all John Fletcher.
A moment later the door burst open and Leonora rushed into the room. She came to an abrupt halt and stared; and it was obvious that her mind was racing, trying to catch up with the situation. It was probable that she recognised Vincent, still sitting in the armchair and placidly smoking his cigar, and it was possible that, even if she did not know them, she guessed who Hutchins and Brogan were; the revolvers were sufficient evidence that they were not there on a purely social visit. But there were details that needed filling in, and she looked at Denning for enlightenment.
“What’s going on?”
“A lot of things are going on,” Denning said. “You have perhaps heard that the President has been shot?”
“Yes. But only a short while ago. That’s why I decided to come back and not wait any longer for the boat.”