Assignment Black Gold (20 page)

“What sort of things?”

“What?”

“What sort of things did you tell him?”

“Oh.” Betty thought about it. “It’s a secret. ’Tween him and
me and Matty—I mean, Madragata.”

“Madragata?”

“Handsome devil.”

“The Apgak?"

“Sure. He’s half Portuguese,” she said defensively.

“No, he isn’t. I met his mother,” Durell said. “He’s black.”

The woman glared at him. “He ain’t—isn’t! He told me so
himself.”

“He’s pure Lubindan,” Durell insisted.

She looked at him as if he had told her the world was coming
to an end. Her mouth twitched and her eyes grew narrow and icy with rage. She
put a jeweled hand with its scarlet-tipped fingernails flat on her
belly and shuddered.

“Oh, no. No wonder—”

“Were you and Madragata—?”

“A couple of times,“ she whispered. “Oh, the son of a bitch.
And me a pure Texas girl. He came to the bungalow a few nights, while Hobe
would be here or out to sea on the rig. We—he wasn’t a bad sort, you know. Real
good English. He kept telling me how everything would be different when he won
his revolution. How he’d be a big shot, and the whole country would be rich
with oil after he got into power, He liked to talk to me." Her manner
became defensive. “Why not? That Colonel Lepaka would have shot him down like a
dog, if he could.
Madragatzi
used to slip in from the
jungle once in a while like that, with a dozen of his men, and visit me.”

“Would he ever sneak in and talk to Hobe, too?"

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did he?”

“Once or twice, I guess. That’s how he first saw me.
He liked me. He said he’d make me rich later, when he got control of Lubinda. I
believed the son of a bitch.” She tossed her ragged hair defiantly. “Why
not? He was nice to me. The only nice person in this whole
stinkin
’
place. Nobody else really likes me here. They think I’m a tramp! I’ve heard
them snickering how terrible it is for poor Hobe, what a fool he was to marry
me after—my artistic career on the stage.“ She suddenly covered her face with
her hands. Her bracelets jingled. “Bunch of snobby bastards. Even the
roustabouts. Everybody trying to grab a feel, whenever they could. Treated me
like public property. But not Madragata.”

“He used you,” Durell said flatly.

 
"What?”

“Did you ever tell him things you heard Hobe talk about?
About the Lady, or the progress of the drilling?”

“Well, sure, but—”

Betty pulled her hands down her cheeks, drawing her mouth
cruelly out of shape as she clutched at her own flesh. Her eyes were
suddenly haggard, tragic. “Oh, God. No. Is he really black?”

“A Lubindan,” Durell said.

Kitty said quietly, “Sam, don’t be so cruel.”

He ignored her. “Did you tell Hobe about your affair with
Madragata?"

She didn’t seem to hear him. He repeated the question. She
looked at the bottle of bourbon and shuddered, hugged herself, and stared
vacantly into space.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I told Hobe.”

“When?”

“Last night. Just when the fighting started, outside
of town. I told him then.”

“Why?”

“Because he hit me. He said I was foolin’ around with Matty
the Fork. But I never did. Matty wouldn’t touch me. So I told him he was right
about my foolin’ around, but he had the wrong man. God, I wanted to hurt him. I
hated him then. He’s broken all his promises to me. He kept saying we’d be rich
someday, someday soon, right here in Lubinda.”

“But he shut the rig down,” Durell objected.

“No matter.” She shook her disheveled head. “He said we’d be
rich. And I waited and waited. But nothing ever happens like that, does it? I
got bored, don’t you understand? So I told him about Madragata.”

“And?” Durell prompted her.

“Well, he acted like he was pole-axed, you know? But it was
funny, the way he acted. It wasn't like he was sore about me and Madragata. He
was mostly sore at Madragata because he said he had been double-crossed.
Betrayed, that was his word. But he didn’t seem to include rue in it. I don’t
know, it was just a thing I felt, the way he reacted.”

“Did he bring you here?”

“Yes, the fighting was just starting up.”

“He locked you in?"

“Sure, he shoved me in that closet, first thing I
knew, and turned the key. Said I was safe here. Said somebody would come and
let me out, sooner or later.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. I need some more to drink.”

“In a minute.” Durell gripped her arm before she could raise
the bottle. “Didn’t Hobe say what he was going to do?”

“Yes, he said he was going to make sure of the Lady.”

“You’re certain he said that?”

“Yes, I’m certain. But he couldn’t get out there, could he,
in this storm?”

Durell turned and looked at Kitty Cotton. The girl started
to say something, checked herself, then spoke. “Sam, the Sikorsky was ditched
oil the Lady’s heliport, remember. And we left my boat there when Lepaka took
us
ofi
in his Bell chopper. And the big
tender—well, they’re still repairing that. We can’t fly out, that’s
sure.”

“Another boat,” Durell suggested.

Betty muttered, “You think Hobe’s out on the rig? In all
this weather? I—think I feel sorry for him.”

“Do you know about a boat we could use?”

The woman said uncertainly, “We’d drown,
tryin
’
to get out there.”

“You’re not going,” Durell said.

“Yes, I am. I want to find Hobe. I think I—I owe him
something.”

“Do you know about a boat?”

She glared at him. “Only if you promise to take me along,
too."

“All right. We’ll take you. But no more bourbon.”

She grinned. “Check. There's a motor lifeboat, under the
dock. It came from the rig last week, for an overhaul,
 
but it ought to be working now. That’s what
Matty the Fork went for, I think. I heard him phoning from here, while he
wouldn’t let me out of the closet. He asked somebody in the crew about it.”
Betty Tallman made an effort to straighten up. Despite her appearance. she
didn’t seem to be as drunk as she had pretended to be. Durell considered her,
and then she suddenly said, "Come on. I’ll show you.”

Chapter 18.

The water surged and roared under the concrete pier at the
far end of the fenced—in company area. Durell had gone back to the jeep and
picked up the two rifles hidden under the back seat, then led the two women
down a flight of stone steps out of the force of the wind. Long streamers
of moss hung from the underside of the dock. There was a long shelf of narrow
decking that led toward the open end. The footing was wet and slippery. At the
far end of the pier was gray daylight, marred by spray lifted by the wind. A
white motor lifeboat, decked fore and aft, with a small cabin amidships, lifted
and fell uncertainly in the surging water. As Durell reached the bottom of the
steps, he heard the cranky sputtering of a balky diesel engine in the lifeboat.
Someone moved at the small control bridge.

Durell cupped his hands against the roar and crash of the
sea against the concrete pilings.

“Matt! Matty!”

The figure lurched, turning, limped two steps astern,
turned back to the controls, punching the starter button with a savage thumb.
Durell ran along the slippery concrete toward the mooring. Matt the Fork
hunched over the tiny lifeboat bridge, turned a furious face toward him, tried
the motor again. it started with a roar as Durell leaped aboard. Matt spun
about, grabbing for a wrench, lifted it to swing at him. The surge of the boat
threw him off balance on his injured leg. Durell caught one end of the spanner
and twisted it downward. Matt’s eyes were wild, not recognizing him. “Get off!
Get away!”

"Matt. listen! It’s me. It’s Sam!”

The squat foreman glared at him. “
Lemme
alone!”

“We want to go with you.” Durell had to shout against the
roar of the diesel and the slap and crash of the seas coming in under the deck
of the main pier overhead.

“You’re crazy!” Matt yelled. "I'm going out to the
Lady!"

“So am I.”

“And those women?"

“The girls, too.”

Matt’s grip on the heavy wrench, checked by Durell,
tightened again. He tried to lift it against the pressure Durell kept on it,
then suddenly slumped and shrugged.

The diesel motor was purring quietly now.

“Why Kitty and Betty?”

“They have a right to go. Brady’s body is still out there.
And Hobe went out earlier."

“I know that.”

“What’s so important out on the Lady?”

“You’ll find out.” Matt grunted. He watched Kitty jump
agilely aboard, accustomed to all boats from her childhood. She turned
immediately to help Betty Tallman.

The blond woman stumbled and fell against Matt, pushed at
him with hands fiat on his chest, and swung away. Matt muttered under his
breath and lurched back to the controls. There was a clunking sound as he
shoved the engine into gear.

Durell threw off the mooring lines and took in the foam
fenders. Matt did not look at him as he sent the lifeboat out from under the
concrete dock. The moment they were out in the open, the wind took the bow and
shoved it to port, and Matt wrenched savagely at the small wheel. The boat
lifted, fell, took water amidships. It surged forward uncertainly. Then the
powerful engine and oversized prop bit into the seething current and they drove
forward.

From behind them came a long-drawn-out shout. Someone was
running beyond the bulk of the rig tender and the WDT loco on the tracks close
to the pier‘s edge.

He thought he saw the man wave a -rifle at them. The
gesture was an unmistakable command for them to turn back. Then the figure
was blotted out by the blowing rain.

The compass swung erratically for a few moments until Matt
steadied the lifeboat on a course for the rig’s position, twenty miles out on
the stormy sea. The lifeboat was fast, but even at its best, Durell estimated
it would take them until noon to reach the Lady—if the storm, the wind, and the
seas did not swamp them. The lifeboat could not sink—its built-in buoyancy
tanks would keep them afloat through almost anything—but he was uncertain
about the diesel engine or the fuel they might need.

He watched Matt the Fork as he hunched over the wheel. The
wind was at their backs, giving them a forward impetus, but there was always
the danger of breaching when the seas astern lifted them and sent them forward
with what seemed like the speed of an express train.

But Matt showed no signs of incompetence.

Kitty came out of the small cabin with international orange
slickers for them. Matt started to shrug his off, his powerful back and
shoulder muscles hunched in the effort to handle the wheel and keep them on
course. Kitty shouted something to him that was snatched away by the wind, and
he let her drape the slicker over his shoulder. He wore a khaki shirt and
trousers, with sneakers on his feet. His injured leg seemed to be holding up
well. But Durell was not sure how long that would be true.

The land faded swiftly behind them.

Betty Tallman did not come out of the little cabin. Kitty
went below and soon returned with steaming mugs of hot tea. Matt shook his
head, refusing it. The man seemed obsessed by only one idea—to get out to the
drilling platform as fast as possible. To all of Durell’s questions, he simply
shook his head, grinned harshly, and dashed the spray from his eyes and
returned to the wheel.

The boat smashed its way forward, moving steadily out to
sea. Overhead, the cloud cover seemed to grow thicker and heavier. Everything
was gray and pale white in the feeble sunlight. Now and then the rain
lightened, but all they could see were the endless lines of sea swells, the
caps flattened or torn away by the whistling wind.

The time did not go slowly. Matt refused to talk, pointing
to the seas and the scudding clouds, He touched his ear to indicate that the
storm noise was too much. He would not give up the wheel when Durell
volunteered to take over.

Matt Forchette was built like a small bull, Durell thought,
remembering a boyhood long ago in the Louisiana bayous. Matty’s strength even
then had been a matter of awe. The leg wound did not hamper him. As long as he
had an excuse for not talking through the storm noise, it was useless to
question him.

During a brief lull, Durell went below.

The small cabin was fitted with leather-cushioned
benches on each side, with big lockers fore and aft. Kitty sat on the starboard
side, holding a fresh mug of tea in both hands. Betty Tallman sprawled on the
opposite bench, feet braced against the pitch and crash of the lifeboat’s
forward movement. The woman’s head lolled and her eyes were closed. Kitty
looked up at Durell and shook her head.

“She’s passed out.”

“I don‘t think so,” Durell said.

“Why did she insist on coming with us?”

“Why did you?” Durell asked pointedly.

Kitty did not answer. "

The forward lockers were stuffed with life jackets and flares
and neat coils of line, rockets, battery lanterns, first-aid kits. When
he turned, he saw that Kitty had finished her tea and held the Magnum rifle
on her lap. She was wiping it dry.

The aft lockers contained packets of food, signal flags,
small aerosol bombs of dye as distress signals to be tossed on the water if
they became helpless.

Durell turned back to Betty Tallman. He had to balance
himself with his feet spread on the deck in response to the jolting lift and
fall of the lifeboat as it smashed through the seas. The blond woman’s body
rolled loosely and heavily on the padded bench.

“Betty?”

He slapped her face lightly.

Kitty said, “What are you doing?”