Nikko wet his lips. His eyes were worried.
“You’ve got a choice now,” Shayne continued. “You can throw the luggage overboard and head back to wherever you’re supposed to meet him, and pretend you were just out for a sail. Or you can cut back up the coast and dive for the gold in the morning. But you’re fooling with a dangerous man. A powerful man. Why not be satisfied with the million and a half you took him for last summer?”
Nikko sipped his coffee, examining Shayne. He didn’t react, so perhaps the drug was beginning to reach him.
Shayne went on, “You’ve been out of touch. Did anybody tell you that LeFevre’s dead?”
“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that. How did he die?”
“Murdered,” Shayne said. “I think your best bet might be to throw in with us and see if we can nail your boss for conspiracy. As far as I can see, that’s your only real out. I don’t think you can talk your way out of this. He probably suspects you already. I think he wanted to throw a little temptation in your way, to see how long it would take you to give in to it.”
Nikko sat down and said politely, “An interesting idea. You may very well be right.”
“I think so. Let’s kick it around and decide what to do next. I need a drink. Do you want anything, or are you going to stick with coffee?”
“I’ll stick with coffee.”
Shayne poured himself a cognac. “You were lucky last summer, weren’t you?”
“Because of the storm-I agree, very lucky. Otherwise, luck had no part in it. I was at Alexandria with the Paladin. I slipped down and picked up the gold and returned to Alexandria. It was arranged by LeFevre so no mention of the Paladin appeared in the Suez records. So why should this stupid Englishman think I had anything to do with the affair at all?”
“I see you don’t know him very well.”
“Quite true,” Nikko conceded. “He sends guests to the Paladin. He seldom comes himself. He’s too busy making money! Once, in eighteen months. And then only from Friday to Monday. To have a boat like this and never use it-insane.”
“Where have you been since summer?”
“In the Mediterranean. The Greek Islands, the Adriatic.”
The boy with the tommy gun leaped to his feet. He unslung his gun and gave it to Shayne. Then, in absolute silence, he began a violent mountain dance, leaping, whirling, slapping his ankles. Nikko ignored him.
Shayne opened the mail bag containing the loot from the plane and began sorting out passports.
“Nikko,” he said. “Nikko!”
The Greek looked up from his cup, which he was holding delicately in both hands.
“If we’re going to be on the same side,” Shayne said, “I don’t want to put my head out the door and have somebody take a shot at me. How about asking the boys in for a drink or a cup of coffee?”
“My sailors are not allowed to drink at sea,” Nikko said. “That is an absolute rule. Coffee-yes. Excellent. I will brew more.”
“I just looked. There’s enough for now.”
Nikko yelled at the sailor and made him stop dancing. The boy, told what to do, nodded and went out.
Shayne continued, “It’s always seemed to me that the hardest thing about a job like yours must be the women. How do you cope with them? They have nothing to do all day but lie around in bikinis, drinking and smoking pot and thinking about sex-”
He passed Naomi Savage’s passport picture in front of the Greek. “How’s this one in bed?”
Nikko shook his head dreamily. “I don’t think I know her.”
Shayne tried Christa, and again Nikko shook his head. Next was Mary Ocain.
“I didn’t think it would be possible, you know,” Nikko said. “I have always had beautiful women. A little stupid often, but who objects to stupidity in a young beautiful girl? With this one I had to grind my teeth. Then she went out of her head with joy! It was extraordinary. It changed my views about the ugly ones.”
“Was it LeFevre’s idea?”
“Oh, yes. I carry out the plans other men make for me. I have had a limited education.”
“Where’s the gold now?”
“Ah-” Nikko began giggling. “Who would guess?”
Three sailors trooped in. Nikko greeted them in rapid Greek and hugged Shayne demonstratively to show how matters had changed. Shayne supplied each man with coffee.
“There’s still the kid in the window,” Shayne said. “Do you want me to call him in?”
“No, let the black man sweat.”
“Nikko,” Shayne persisted, “you were about to tell me what you did with the gold.”
“Gold. People worry and worry and kill each other for it. Why? What pleasures does Geoffrey Adam get from all his money? He will invite a famous actress to come on a cruise among the islands, and then he sends a telegram. ‘I am delayed. Business.’ And the actress must content herself with Nikko Pappadotos. I have forgotten why I was angry with you, my dear friend. LeFevre is dead. We will all die. He was never satisfied. He wanted more victories. An intelligent, educated man. Dead, as you say.”
He rushed to the record player. “Music.”
He dropped several records before succeeding in fumbling one onto the turntable. It was American jazz, dating back to the big-band days of the 1930s. The sailors watched in wonder. He flung around the room wildly. Then he halted, a thoughtful look on his face, and subsided onto the white rug.
Shayne, the empty submachine gun over his shoulder, opened the door to the bedroom and stepped in. The guard whirled.
“I don’t suppose he speaks English,” Shayne said to Ward.
“Not a word.”
“Then we may have to jump him.”
Ward had been lying on one of the twin beds with his hands behind his head. He came to his feet casually. Shayne moved out of the doorway so the boy could look into the next room, where the loaded coffee was beginning to take effect. He was as young as the boy who had been guarding Shayne, but he was sullen-looking, his face pocked and pitted.
Shayne kept his voice pleasant. “I suppose those are friends of yours in the helicopter.”
“I think so,” Ward answered. “I told them we might have trouble. They don’t seem to know what to look for, do they?”
The sailor stared at the scene in the salon. Nikko lay on his back, helping Tommy Dorsey conduct the orchestra. One of the sailors chased another out on deck. The third had begun to exercise with whiskey bottles.
Ward took a step forward, but the boy went into a tense crouch and snapped out a command.
“You may have to kill him,” Ward said.
“I hope not. I’m already over my limit.”
Turning back into the salon, Shayne picked two bottles off the shelf behind the bar and began swinging them like Indian clubs. The other sailor, who was doing the same thing, hesitated and lost his rhythm. His bottles met and shattered. He gave a shout of delight.
He and Shayne embraced warmly. Shayne turned it into a clumsy dance, steering him into the bedroom. The Greek guarding Ward retreated. He yelled to Nikko for help as Shayne whirled his partner around and pushed the two Greeks together.
The boy with the gun floundered, trying to throw his friend off. Shayne freed his right hand and chopped it at the exposed side of the boy’s face. He went backward, his mouth beginning to open. Shayne closed it with a powerful left and the boy went down.
The drug working inside the other Greek now changed direction. He bellowed with rage and slashed at Shayne’s face with the broken bottle. As Shayne dodged backward, he lost control of the Schmeisser. It clattered to the floor. The sailor struck twice more, out of time to the music.