Running Blind / The Freedom Trap (48 page)

That set the wheels going round again, but to no effect. At last he said, ‘There’s been no temperature change, so I couldn’t have been taken very much north or south.’

‘This hooker has a very efficient air-conditioning plant,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t know the difference. Do you like Chinese food?’

The switch confused him. ‘What the hell! I can take it or leave it.’

‘Have you had any lately?’

He was bemused. ‘Why, yes—only yesterday I…’

I cut in. ‘The ship has a Chinese cook. Do you know whose ship it is?’ He shook his head in silence, and I said, ‘It belongs to a man called Wheeler, a British MP. I take it you haven’t seen him.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Slade. ‘I’d have recognized him. I met him a couple of times in…in the old days. What the devil is all this about?’

‘Do you still think you are going to Moscow?’

‘I see no reason to doubt it,’ he said stiffly.

‘Wheeler was born an Albanian,’ I said. ‘And his Chinese cook does more than rustle up sweet and sour pork. They’re not your brand of communist, Slade. Right now you’re in Malta and the next scheduled stop is Durazzo in Albania; from there I guess you’ll be shipped by cargo plane straight to Peking. You’d better acquire a real taste for Chinese cooking—always assuming they give you any food at all.’

He stared at me. ‘You’re crazy.’

‘What’s so crazy about the Chinese wanting to get hold of you? What you have locked up inside that skull of yours would interest them very much—the secrets of two top intelligence services. And they’d get it out of you, Slade—even if they had to do it by acupuncture. The Chinese
invented
the term “ brainwashing”.’

‘But
Wheeler?’

‘What’s so odd about Wheeler? You got away with it for over a quarter of a century—why shouldn’t someone else be as smart as you? Or smarter? Wheeler hasn’t been caught—yet.’

He fell silent and I let him think it out. Yet I hadn’t much time to waste so I prodded him again. ‘It seems to me that your choice is simple. You come with me willingly or I kill you right now. I think I’d be doing you a favour if I killed you because I’d hate to see you after you’d been in the hands of the Chinese for a month. I think you’d better come with me and retire to a nice, safe, top-security wing in one of Her Majesty’s nicks. At least you won’t be having your brains pulled out through your ears.’

He shook his head stubbornly. ‘I don’t know if I believe you.’

‘For God’s sake! If Wheeler wanted you to go to Moscow then why didn’t he transfer you to one of those ubiquitous Russian trawlers? In the Atlantic they’re as thick as fleas on a mangy dog. Why bring you to the Mediterranean?’

Slade looked at me cunningly. ‘I’ve only your word for that, too.’

I sighed, and lifted the gun. ‘You don’t have much of a choice, do you?’ I was getting mad at him. ‘If ever I saw a man looking a gift horse in the mouth it’s you. I haven’t followed you from Ireland to…’

He cut in. ‘Ireland?’

‘That’s where we were held together.’

‘Lynch is Irish,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Seaman Lynch? He works for Wheeler—he’s an IRA thug with a dislike of the English.’

‘He looks after me here,’ said Slade. ‘He’s my guard.’ He looked up and I saw that the strain of uncertainty was beginning to tell. ‘Where are we now—exactly?’

‘Anchored in Marsamxett Harbour.’

He made up his mind. ‘All right, but if I get on deck and I don’t recognize it then you might be in big trouble. You’ll be wanting silence and I might take my chances on the gun in the darkness. Remember that.’

‘How long is it since you’ve been in Malta?’

‘Five years.’

I smiled humourlessly, ‘Then I hope to God you have a good memory.’

Slade threw back the bedclothes and then paused, looking at me questioningly. There had been a creak which was not one of the usual shipboard noises. I listened and it came again.

Slade whipped the covers back over his chest. ‘Someone’s coming,’ he whispered.

I held up the gun before his eyes. ‘Remember this!’ I backed off and opened the door of the lavatory and even as I did so I heard a key snap metallically at the cabin door. I closed the lavatory door gently and used my pen-light in a quick flash to see what I’d got into. As usual in lavatories there was no back door, just the usual paraphernalia of toilet, wash basin, medicine cabinet and shower. The shower was screened off by a semi-transparent plastic curtain.

I switched off the light, held my breath, and listened. Lynch’s voice was unmistakable. ‘I heard voices—who the devil were you talking to?’

This was the crunch. If Slade was going to give me away he’d do it now, so I listened with care to what was arguably the most important conversation I was ever likely to hear.

‘I must have been talking in my sleep,’ said Slade, and my heartbeat slowed down to a mere gallop. ‘I’ve been having bad dreams and I’ve got the makings of a headache.’

‘Ach, it’s no wonder, and you being cooped up in here all this while,’ said Lynch. ‘But rest easy, you’ll soon be home.’

‘Why have we been stopped all this time?’

‘Something’s gone wrong with the propellers,’ said Lynch. ‘But I didn’t get the exact hang of it.’

‘Where are we?’

‘Now you know better than to ask that, Mr Slade. That’s top secret.’

‘Well, when will we be moving again and when do I get my feet on dry land?’

‘As to the first,’ said Lynch, ‘maybe it’ll be tomorrow. As to the last, I couldn’t rightly tell you. I’m not one of the bosses, you know; they don’t tell me everything.’ He paused. ‘But you’re looking so white and peaky, Mr Slade. Could I get you the aspirin?’

The hairs on the nape of my neck stood up and did a fandango as Slade answered. ‘No, don’t worry; I’ll be all right.’ It was borne heavily upon me that although I could hear Slade’s voice I couldn’t see what he was doing with his hands. He might be saying one thing and pointing out to Lynch that he had an unwanted visitor.

Lynch said solicitously, ‘Ach, it’s no trouble at all. We promise to get you home in good condition; that’s part of the deal. I’ll get the aspirin for you.’

I ducked into the shower stall and drew the plastic curtain just as Lynch opened the lavatory door. He switched on the light and I saw his outline quite clearly through the curtain as he stepped forward to open the medicine cabinet. I had the gun trained on him all the time and I thought that I could dispose of him and Slade, too, if it came to the push. Getting out would be another matter.

I heard the rattle of pills in a bottle and then the rush of water as a tap was turned on. It was a relief to know that Lynch actually was getting aspirin and that Slade had not sold me out. Lynch filled the glass and turned to leave—he was so close that I could have touched him by only half-extending my arm and only the curtain was between us. Fortunately he was back-lit and I wasn’t or he would have seen me had he glanced my way.

He went out, switching off the light and closing the door. ‘Here, you are,’ he said. ‘This should clear up your headache.’

‘Thanks,’ said Slade, and I heard the clink of the glass.

‘Man, but you’re sweating,’ said Lynch. ‘Are you sure it’s not the fever you’ve got?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ said Slade. ‘You can leave the light on. I think I’ll read for a while.’

‘Surely,’ said Lynch. ‘Have a quiet night, mind.’ I heard the cabin door open and close, and then the snap of the lock as the key was turned.

I was doing a fair amount of sweating myself as I waited for the trembling of my hands to stop. My stomach felt all churned up as the adrenalin sped on its appointed rounds gingering up my muscle tone and twanging my nerves like harp strings. At last I stepped out of the shower and gently opened the lavatory door.

Whether his sweating was due to a fright or fever Slade had used his wits when he had asked Lynch to leave on the main cabin light. It meant that I could see at a glance if the place was safe. Slade certainly didn’t want to be shot by accident.

He lay in bed with a book held between slack fingers and his face was the yellow colour of old newsprint. ‘Why didn’t he see you?’ he whispered.

I flapped a hand at him to keep him quiet and went to the door, still keeping the gun pointing in his general direction. I heard nothing so presently I turned and strode over to Slade. ‘Where does Lynch live? Do you know?’

He shook his head and tugged at my sleeve. ‘How the hell did he miss you?’

He found it difficult to believe that in a narrow space the size of two telephone booths one man could miss seeing another. I found it hard to believe myself. ‘I was taking a shower,’ I said. ‘How was Lynch dressed?’

‘Dressing-gown.’

That meant he hadn’t come far and he probably had been allocated one of the cabins next door to be conveniently close to his charge. ‘Have you any clothes?’ Slade nodded. ‘All right; get dressed—quietly.’

I watched Slade carefully while he dressed, principally to make sure he didn’t slip a blunt instrument into his pocket. When he had finished I said, ‘Now get back into bed.’ He was about to expostulate but I shut him up fast with a jab of the gun. ‘I want to give Lynch time to get back to sleep.’

Slade got back into bed and I retreated into the lavatory, leaving the door ajar. Slade had pulled the sheet up high and was lying on his side apparently reading his book. Everything would appear normal if Lynch took it into his head to come back. I gave him half an hour by my watch and during that time heard nothing out of the ordinary.

I stepped into the cabin and signalled Slade to rise. While he was disentangling himself from the bedclothes—it’s really surprising how difficult it is to get out of bed when fully dressed because the sheet wraps itself round one’s shoes—I jimmied the lock on the door. I had to turn my back on Slade at this point but it couldn’t be helped.

I turned and found him walking towards me slowly. When he approached he put his mouth to my ear and whispered, ‘When I get on deck I’d better see Valletta.’

I nodded my head impatiently, switched off the light, and opened the door on to the darkness of the passage. The staircase was immediately to the left and I prodded Slade up it with the gun in his back, holding his right arm. I stopped him before we got to the top and cautiously surveyed the deck lounge. All was quiet so I urged him on his way and we went out on to the after deck.

I shone the light to give Slade some idea of the obstacle race he must run to get the twenty feet to the stern rail, and off we went again. Half-way across the afterdeck he stopped and looked around. ‘You are right,’ he whispered. ‘It
is
Valletta.’

‘Quit chattering.’ I was edgy as I always am on the last lap. Once ashore I could turn Slade in to the Maltese Constabulary and the job was done, apart from wrapping up Wheeler and his mob, but we still had to get ashore.

We got as far as the stern rail and no further. I groped for the grapnel alongside the ensign-staff and couldn’t find it. Then shockingly a blaze of light split the darkness as the beam of a powerful lamp shone vertically down on us from the boat deck above, and a voice said, ‘That’s far enough.’

I dug my elbow into Slade’s ribs. ‘Jump!’ I yelled, but neither of us was quick enough. There was a rapid tattoo of feet on the deck as a small army of men rushed us and we were both grabbed and held. There wasn’t a damned thing I could do—two of the three men who tackled me were trying to tear my arms off so they could use them as clubs to beat me over the head, and the other was using my stomach as a bass drum and his fists weren’t padded as drumsticks are.

As I sagged and gasped for breath I was vaguely aware of Slade being dragged forward, hauled by two seamen with his feet trailing along the deck. Someone shouted and I was also hustled forward and thrust headlong through the doorway of the deck lounge. A burly black-bearded man whom I recognized as the skipper issued orders in a language whose flavour I couldn’t catch. I was unceremoniously dropped to the deck and my assailants began to draw the curtains to the windows.

Before the last of them was drawn I saw a searchlight from the bridge forward begin to search the water around
Artina
and I hoped Alison had got clear. Someone handed my pistol to the skipper; he looked at it with interest, made sure it was cocked, and pointed it at me. ‘Who are you?’ His English was accented, but with what I didn’t know.

I pushed myself up with wobbly arms. ‘Does it matter?’ I asked wearily.

The skipper swung his eyes to Slade who sagged against a chair, and then beyond him to the staircase which led below. ‘Ah, Lynch!’ he said, rumbling like a volcano about to explode. ‘What kind of a guard are you?’

I turned my head. Lynch was looking at Slade with shocked amazement. ‘How did he get here? I was with him not half an hour ago, and I made sure the door was locked.’

‘The door was locked,’ mimicked the skipper.
‘Te keni kujdes;
how could the door be locked?’ He pointed to me. ‘And this man—he brought Slade out of the cabin.’

Lynch looked at me. ‘By God, it’s Rearden. But he
couldn’t
have been in the cabin,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I’d have seen him.’

‘I was in the shower, standing right next to you, you silly bastard.’ I turned to the skipper. ‘He nearly got himself killed. Not much of a guard, is he?’

Lynch made for me with blood in his eye, but the skipper got to me first, warding off Lynch with an arm like an iron bar. He dragged my head up by my hair and stuck the gun in my face. ‘So you are Rearden,’ he said, caressing my cheek with the barrel. ‘We’re very interested in you, Rearden.’

A cool voice said, ‘He’s not Rearden, of course.’

The skipper swung away and I saw the Chinese, Chang Pi-wu, who looked at me expressionlessly. Next to him stood a tall man with ash-blond hair, who, at that moment, was fitting a cigarette into a long holder. He dipped his hand into the pocket of his elegant dressing-gown, produced a lighter and flicked it into flame.

‘Stannard is the name, I believe,’ said Wheeler. ‘Owen Stannard.’ He lit his cigarette. ‘So thoughtful of you to join us, Mr Stannard. It saves me the trouble of looking for you.’