Wyatt - 05 - Port Vila Blues (26 page)

Wyatt recalled a heist hed pulled
off the northern Australian coast a decade earlier. Salvage divers had found a
Dutch DC3 in forty metres of water near Broome. The DC3 had been there since
1942 and a member of the salvage team had made the mistake of telling a pub
crowd that it had been carrying a handful of fleeing Dutch colonial officers
from Java and a box full of diamonds. Wyatt and a professional diver had got to
the wreckage first. At a little over thirty metres, burdened with an air tank,
torch, hatchet and knife, Wyatt began to feel the first, subversive
lightheadedness as nitrogen built up in his blood, brought on by water
pressure. Hed heard the term rapture of the deep, and now it made sense to
him. He felt loose, forgetful, in a state to be playful and take chances,
dangerous attitudes at that sort of depth. Fortunately the professional diver
with him had not taken chances but brought him back to the surface in five
stages, waiting three minutes at each stage for him to decompress. At the
surface theyd seen a salvage ship with a police escort, so that had been the
end of that.

He steered in a wide half-circle
around the yachts now, aware that people could be awake aboard them, curious
about the commotion on the island. The crossing took ten minutes. When he was a
few metres short of De Lisles water frontage he stopped paddling, allowing the
outrigger canoe to glide in against the little dock just aft of the yacht
moored there. The area was dimly illuminated by the lights in the house above.

According to a nameplate bolted on
the stern, above the rudder, the yacht was the
Stiletto,
home port
Panama.

Wyatt needed a weapon. Perhaps there
was one on board the yacht. He reached for the short chrome ladder on the
starboard flank of the yacht and climbed aboard. He could just as easily have
climbed the steps to the dock and stepped onto the yacht, but the risk of
standing exposed under the light was greater that way.

There was no one on deck. He
crouched at the steps that led below and listened. Nothing.

The cabin was empty. There was a
light switch but he drew open the curtains rather than turn it on.

It was clear at once that De Lisle
was intending to flee. The first thing Wyatt found was the original name-plate,
Pegasus,
home port Coffs Harbour.

The second thing he found was a Very
pistol and a box of signal flares. He loaded one flare and stuck a further two
into his waistband and went looking for a knife.

The galley offered some cheap alloy
cutlery but nothing sharper than a bread knife. Wyatt felt there had to be a
decent knife somewhere. How did De Lisle cut rope or sailcloth? How would he
clean fish?

Wyatt went through the boat quickly
and systematically, tapping the bulkhead, checking inside sail lockers,
cupboards, the space under the benches. The knife showed up in a door rack,
along with a small axe and a handsaw. It had a thick rubber grip and a broad
flat tempered steel blade with a short, curved, slicing edge and a sharp
stabbing tip. But Wyatt felt that there had to be a handgun, too. He kept
looking.

And thats how he found the safe. He
tugged on the black glass door of a small wall oven, the whole unit slid out,
and he found himself looking into the open space behind it. De Lisle had left
the safe unlocked. That could mean he was still packing to go and didnt want
to bother with unlocking the oven every time he came down to the yacht with a
handful of whatever he was running with.

Wyatt rocked back on his heels.
Rings, bracelets, necklaces, tiaras; diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls;
platinum, gold. That was on the lower shelf. On the top shelf were a number of
files and Wyatt saw that De Lisle had kept a record of every robbery bis team
had pulled, together with dirt on the men who had worked for him.

There was a garbage compactor under
the sink in the galley. Wyatt fed the files into it, piece by piece, then left the
yacht. He didnt lock the safe, just pushed the oven home so that it wouldnt
excite attention. The jewels could wait: he didnt want to go up against De
Lisle with his pockets weighing him down. And later, when he left on the run,
he didnt want to waste time trying to force the safe open to get at what he
now considered to be his property.

The final problem solved itself. De
Lisle hadnt locked the gate. Wyatt propped it open with a rock, then ran up
the steps to the house. There were no dogs. If there were guards, none came at
him from the seaward side of the house.

The steps stopped at a coral-chip
path that made a lazy loop left then right through the final stretch of
terraced garden. It ended at a long, low verandah. The path wound through a
ground cover of fleshy-leafed plants and Wyatt cut across that way, avoiding
the noisy coral.

There were two doors and several
windows along the verandah. Wyatt didnt go in but circled the house a couple
of times quickly, once to locate other doors and windows, the second time to
come back to a well-lighted room where hed heard a voice that was pitched on
the wrong side of reason.

* * * *

Forty-one

The
window was open. He looked in. Liz Redding had reached De Lisle before he had
but it hadnt done her any good at all. She sat slumped in a chair, blood
clogging her nose, while the magistrate quivered on the carpet a metre in front
of her. There was more blood on her shirt, a spill of it that had none of the
sheen of blood recently spilled. Her head lolled and once or twice she tipped
it back and shuddered.

Again, how did you get in?

Walked in.

De Lisle reddened, a fat, easily
aggravated man who welcomed anger as a natural condition. He sucked on an
asthma spray and said: I havent got time for this. He darted forward,
punching her inexpertly in the stomach and darting back out of reach.

Wyatt felt his hands clench. He
wanted to slice through the flywire and wade among the fussy antiques between
the window and where De Lisle was ranting, shove the flare pistol down the mans
throat. The feeling came naturally, surprising him with its intensity.

He fought down the impulse and
watched De Lisle slap at the cops upper arms. It puzzled Wyatt. De Lisle had
the vicious tendencies of a torturer but none of the technique.

Tell me.

Liz Redding controlled the slackness
in her neck for long enough to say, The gate was open, and spit blood at a
point near De Lisles shoes.

Open? Grace, that bloody cow.

De Lisle paced up and down. He
looked at his watch. Why did you have to come here? Look what its got you.

Mr De Lisle, if you cooperate, if
you fly back with me now, Ill see to it that the court takes it into account.

De Lisle put his face close to hers.
Theres no underestimating the stupidity of people like you, is there? Missy,
youre in no position to bargain.

She went on doggedly: Do you
want
to spend the rest of your life running and hiding?

De Lisle was growing tired of
playing with her. He looked at his watch, glanced at the window, seemed to
listen for something. Suddenly he tipped back his head and bellowed: Come on,
Springett. Whats going on out there?

Too late, Wyatt understood. He began
to back away from the window. He stopped when the man whom De Lisle had been
calling said softly: Thatll do.

Wyatt began to turn. The voice grew
harsher. No you dont. Drop whatever it is youve got there, then straighten
up and walk slowly around the corner. I dont want to discuss it, I dont want
to see your face, just go on ahead of me into the house. If you dont, Ill
shoot you, and theres a suppressor on the barrel, so Im not worrying about
noise.

Wyatt dropped the flare pistol.
Springett snorted. What good was that going to do you? Go on, get moving.

Wyatt took three crushing steps
along the coral-grit path before he heard the start of footsteps behind him.
That put Springett three metres back, out of range for a spin and kick, in
range for getting a bullet in the spine.

He did as hed been told and walked
around the corner and onto a verandah, ducking under latticework choked with
bougainvillea.

In along a broad, dark hallway,
toward an open door spilling light at the end. Springett was moving stealthily;
Wyatt listened but could not place him in the geography of floorboards, carpet
runner and hallstand behind him.

Into the room where De Lisle was
waiting. De Lisle looked at him with satisfaction, then past him to Springett. I
told you I heard something.

Also your gates open. The alarm
systems off.

My servant, bloody cow. She thinks
the local cops are coming for me, only Ive paid them off for twenty-four
hours.

Youre a fuckup, De Lisle.

Wyatt felt the gun for the first
time, prodding him across the room. De Lisle danced out of his way. He stopped
next to Liz Redding. He gazed curiously at her. It would look suspicious if he
ignored her. She was breathing through her mouth; he saw a plug of blood in
each nostril. The nose itself didnt look broken. Can I turn around?

Yeah, lets look at you.

Wyatt had discounted De Lisle as the
immediate threat. His eyes went straight to Springett. The gun was a Glock,
mostly ceramic, maybe smuggled past the metal detectors. Springett himself
stared back, full of forbearance and contemplation, taking Wyatts measure. He
made no movement, and Wyatt began to ready himself for a pointless contest of
wills, but it was over before it had begun. Springett wore the ease of a man in
charge. He said, All paths lead to Rome.

Wyatt stayed neutral, limber,
putting his weight on the balls of his feet. De Lisle said abruptly, jerking
his head at Springett, Come on, mate. Help me get rid of them.

Springett snarled, Fuckups like
you, you invoke mateship whenever it suits, but youd shop your own mother to
stay out of gaol.

The differences and tension between
the two men became palpable to Wyatt. Some things united them they were about
to go on the run, there was desperation underneath the swagger, theyd swipe at
threatsbut they didnt trust each other and Springett clearly thought that De
Lisle had been cheating him.

De Lisle flushed. He said
stubbornly, We have to get rid of these two.

Like, leave a couple of bodies
behind, kind of thing? Give the local cops an extra incentive to track us down?

Well,
you
sort something
out.

Springett gestured. Simple. We take
them with us. Burial at sea.

We cant leave till the morning,
not till after the banks open.

Wyatt heard Liz Redding cough and
spit again. She said, You wont get far. Why dont you just give yourselves
over to my custody, fly back with me and well forget the assault. You dont
want murder charges on top of everything else.

She was going through the motions.
Still, it would suit Wyatt if Springett and De Lisle did go back with her,
leaving him behind to loot the yacht.

But it wasnt going to happen. Wyatt
had only one thing in his favourhe knew about the concealed safe on the yacht
and what was in it. Springett and Liz Redding clearly didnt. Springett was
expecting to collect when the banks opened in the morning. For reasons of his
own, De Lisle had chosen not to tell Springett that he hadnt got around to
depositing the jewel collection in one of his safety-deposit boxes.

Springett, Liz Redding was saying,
dont stuff up more than you have already.

Springett said nothing. He stepped
forward and smacked the edge of his hand on the bridge of her damaged nose. He
knew what he was doing. He also sensed something in Wyatt, for he swung the gun
around warningly: Dont even think about it.

He turned to De Lisle. How much is
in the house?

I told you, nothing. Walter Erakor
cleaned me out.

You trust him?

We mistrust each other. The thing
is, he wants the deeds to this house as well. He cant get them until the banks
open in the morning, so meanwhile hes keeping the cops off my back.

Springett mused on it. Well take
these two down to the boat now. Out of sight, out of mind.

De Lisle spread his arms fatly. At
last, movement at the station.

With barely concealed fury,
Springett moved behind Wyatt and Liz Redding. Lets go.

They began the descent through the
steeply terraced garden, stepping carefully in the light of the moon, De Lisle
leading, then Wyatt, supporting Liz Redding, Springett in the rear. Wyatt had
reached the halfway point when a voice screamed
De Lisle!
and a fiery
light leapt at him from the shadowy house above.

* * * *

Forty-two

Crystal
had been halfway to the crews quarters at the Palmtree Lodge after the latest
delivery for Huntsman when on impulse he told the driver to turn around and go
back. Reriki, he said.

Thirty minutes later he was admiring
how the other half lived. All hed ever been able to see from his room at the
Lodge were a smudgy coconut-oil soap factory at the rear and an ugly strip of
corally beach at the front, but the Reriki cabins were something else. He
turned switches: the ceiling fan came on, the aircon, the TV. The bed was
queen-size. He went out onto the balcony. Cane chairs, not moulded plastic, and
a stunning view of blue water, manicured lawns, the neat, shingled trunks of
carefully tended palm trees. The air smelt sweet, clean, scented by tropical
flowers and afternoon rains.