The Spanish Hawk (1969), page 9
Fletcher shook his head. “No.”
Denning seemed disappointed. “No?”
“You appear to be so very well informed,” Fletcher said, “I should have thought you would have known that when the police picked up Dharam Singh they picked me up too. They guessed that I must have taken the photographs and they weren’t at all pleased with me for not having mentioned them when I reported finding the boat. I think it was touch and go whether or not they slung me in the jug, but finally I was let off with a caution. Then a Captain Green accompanied me back to Port Morgan and picked up the prints and negatives. He seemed to be in half a mind to take the camera as well, but he let me keep it. I suppose he thought I was hardly likely to go out to the wreck again and take another set of photographs.”
“And you didn’t keep any copies?”
“How could I? He was breathing down my neck all the time like a damned bloodhound.”
“I thought you might perhaps already have hidden some away.”
“Why the devil should I do that?”
Denning sighed. “Why, indeed! I suppose it never occurred to you that there might be such a demand for them?”
“You can bet your life it didn’t. And I still don’t understand why there’s such a song and dance about them.”
He thought Denning might give him an explanation, but he was to be disappointed in that. Denning was silent; he seemed to be thinking.
Fletcher looked at King. “You seem to have had all your bother for nothing. No pictures.”
“You should be glad we took the bother,” King said.
“Oh, I am. Believe me, I’m very grateful.”
Denning gave him a speculative look. “Do you really mean that?”
“Of course I mean it. Do you think I enjoy being beaten up?”
“In that case perhaps you would be prepared to show your gratitude in a practical way.”
Warning bells started ringing in Fletcher’s head; he had a nasty feeling that he was about to be asked to do something which might get him into more trouble. And he wanted no more; he just wanted to get away from it all; far, far away.
He answered warily: “What kind of way would that be?”
“You said just now you supposed Captain Green must have thought it was hardly likely you’d be fool enough to go back to the wreck and take some more pictures.”
“Now wait,” Fletcher said. “Don’t tell me you’re going to ask me to do just that.”
They were all staring at him now; he could almost feel them putting the pressure on him with their eyes.
“Why not?” Denning said.
“Why not! I’ll tell you why not. Because it’s crazy, that’s why not; just downright crazy.”
“Why crazy?”
“Well, for one thing because there wouldn’t be a chance of doing it. There’ll be police hanging around. They’ll be dredging up the bodies. Maybe salvaging the boat.”
“I don’t think so,” Denning said. “I don’t think the police will take any action of that kind whatever.”
“You may not think so, but that’s hardly good enough, is it? And even if they aren’t there, it wouldn’t be the same, you know.”
“In what way?”
“The corpses. I don’t know a lot about such things, but I’d say they’ll be deteriorating all the time. The pictures might not be so good.”
“That’s a risk we’d have to take.”
Which was all very fine for him, Fletcher thought. Who did he imagine was the joker who would be taking the risk?
“It can’t be done anyway.”
“No?” Denning said. “Why not?”
“I haven’t got my camera and diving gear.”
“But you know where they are.”
“And you think I can simply walk in and pick them up and tell Joby Thomas I want him to take me out to the same place? He’d never do it; never in a million years.”
“I was not suggesting that you should go with Mr. Thomas. This time we will provide the boat.”
“You?”
“Certainly. That’s no problem.”
“But there’s still the other problem.”
“You mean getting the camera?”
“Yes.”
“But it could be done. And you don’t need to bother about the diving gear; we can provide that too.”
“Are you suggesting I go back tonight and pick up the camera?”
“No; it is too late and there would be the risk of the car being stopped. I have a feeling, Mr. Fletcher, that after what has happened you may be on the police wanted list. Don’t you think it’s possible?”
“That’s all I needed,” Fletcher said. “So how do you expect me to get the camera? Do I just go back to Port Morgan tomorrow in broad daylight?”
Denning shook his head. “No; that would be very unwise indeed.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“That you wait until tomorrow night.”
“And then go and pick it up?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” Fletcher said, “but it’s not on; it’s simply not on.”
Denning frowned. “You mean you don’t think you can get the camera?”
“Well, it could be a bit dodgy; but I wasn’t thinking about that part of the operation. It’s the other part that really gives me the willies.”
“You mean the underwater work?”
“Yes.”
Surely you are not telling me you’re afraid?” Denning sounded incredulous.
“That’s exactly what I am telling you, and I don’t mind admitting it. But even if I wasn’t, I’m not sure I’d want to do it.”
“So much for gratitude,” Leonora said.
There was enough scorn in her voice to sting a little, and Fletcher turned on her sharply.
“Don’t push it too hard. I don’t think anyone was acting solely in my interests. Anyway, I’ve had strict orders not to meddle any further in this business.”
“Orders from the police?”
“Yes.”
“You think you owe them anything? Looks to me like they’re not using any kid-glove methods with you.”
“You mean the beating up? That wasn’t the police; it was another lot.”
“We know who it was; but all orders come from the same source, ultimately. They’re all working for the same man. You know that. Are you going to take this sort of thing lying down? Don’t you want to hit back at them? Don’t you have any spirit, for Pete’s sake, or are you just one big spineless slob?”
He was stung again by her words and the tone in which they were spoken, though he knew that that was her purpose. She wanted to goad him into doing what they asked. But he saw no reason why he should, and a lot of very good reasons why he should not.
“If you’re so keen on the damned photos,” he said, “why don’t you get somebody else to take them? Why doesn’t one of you go down there and have a shot at it?”
“We don’t have anyone with the necessary experience, that’s why. If we had, do you think we’d bother with you?”
Fletcher laughed. “So now we’re getting to the truth. You really need me, don’t you?”
“You need us, too,” Denning said softly.
Fletcher glanced at him quickly. “How do you figure that out?”
“You’re in our hands. We could hand you over to the police.”
“The police haven’t got anything on me.”
“No? You think they won’t connect the death of two men in a burnt-out hut in a junk-yard with you? There’ll be witnesses to swear that you left Port Morgan with the two men in a car. They’ll take fingerprints from the car and match them up with yours. Would you like to make a bet you didn’t touch anything? Think about it, Mr. Fletcher; think about it.”
Fletcher thought about it and saw the kind of situation he was in. If the police got hold of him again they would surely lock him away this time, and maybe he would never get out again alive, however hard he tried to explain things and however much he might protest his innocence. Protestations would not be enough, not nearly enough.
“With us,” Denning said, “you are safe. Being with us is possibly the only way you are safe. You have so many enemies, so few friends. Think about it.”
It was a situation that left him little choice. He was in it now, in it up to the neck, and he could see no way out.
“I came to write a book,” he said, “and look what’s happened.”
“You’ll still live to write the book,” Denning said. “But you’re with us now.”
It was what King had said. Fletcher was beginning to think it might be true.
“So I’m to stay here tonight?”
“There is a room prepared for you?” Denning said.
* * *
It was a large pleasant room with a balcony. From the balcony there was a magnificent view, as he discovered when he got up in the morning. From the terrace in front of the house the ground fell away fairly steeply at first, then more gently. He could see the road up which they had come the previous night; it was like a narrow stream meandering between outcrops of rock, trees, undergrowth; creeping ever downwards until it finally disappeared from sight. To the left and right the hills were green with the abundant vegetation, mist still rising like steam from hollows into which the sun’s heat had not yet penetrated. It was the kind of country in which a man could vanish and evade pursuit, perhaps for years, perhaps for ever. Guerrilla country.
He went to the bathroom and found that a razor had been provided. He shaved and took a shower and went down to breakfast. Leonora was there, but not the others. She was wearing a multi-coloured shirt and a brief denim skirt. It was the first glimpse he had had of her legs and he could find nothing wrong with them. Taken all in all, he decided that she was the kind of girl it would be pleasant to have breakfast with; and perhaps not just once, either.
She cocked her head on one side and gave him a critical inspection. “John!” she said. “You look well enough. How do you feel?”
“A lot better than might have been expected,” Fletcher told her. “Apart from a few bruises and some stiffness here and there, I feel fine.”
“That’s good. We wouldn’t have wanted a cripple on our hands.”
“You’re looking at it simply from your own point of view, of course?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, come now, John; you’re not expecting tea and sympathy and all that jazz, are you? This is a tough, cynical old world, and you have to face up to it.”
“What you’re telling me is that you and the others rescued me solely for your own advantage and that you don’t give a damn whether I’m alive or dead, except in so far as it affects your plans, whatever they may be. Is that it?”
She smiled. “I believe you’re feeling hurt. You really are looking for sympathy.”
“I’m not hurt,” Fletcher said; “except physically. But I resent being used. By anybody.”
“We all use other people; it’s a fact of life. You’re using us.”
He supposed it was true in a way, though it was hardly the same thing; he had not forced himself on them. But he decided not to get into an argument about it; and at that moment King and Lawrence appeared, followed a little later by Conrad Denning.
Breakfast was served on the terrace by an elderly black manservant, and there was that magnificent view which Fletcher had seen from his balcony.
“You have a fine place here,” he said.
Denning agreed. “I am lucky. Perhaps I should feel guilty about having so much.”
“And do you?”
“A little. Sometimes I ask myself why one man should have so much more than another.”
“It’s always been like that. Always will be.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I’m not expecting to see any big change in my lifetime. Even in communist countries there’s inequality.”
“Well, we shall see,” Denning said; “we shall see.”
He left soon after breakfast on his way to Jamestown, explaining that he had legal business to attend to; which served to remind Fletcher that this cousin of President Rodgers was still a practising lawyer. He drove away in an open Aston Martin, another example of his somewhat opulent style of living; and Fletcher could not help wondering how such a man came to be involved with people like King and Lawrence, or even Leonora. And if it came to that, what was Leonora doing there anyway?
King and Lawrence soon disappeared, perhaps by previous agreement, and he was left with the girl for company. He suspected that she had been deputed to keep him under surveillance; which was just fine as far as he was concerned; he could think of no one he would rather have had to keep him under surveillance. She took him on a tour of the property; there was an extensive garden on several levels with a stream running through it; there were waterfalls and shade trees and rocky pools and rampant vines and creepers; and there was not another building in sight. They sat by one of the pools and watched the water cascading into it from a lip of rock above.
“What are you doing here?” Fletcher asked. He had already discovered that her surname was Dubois, which suggested French ancestry.
“I’m a journalist,” she said.
“A journalist!” If she had said a hairdresser it would hardly have seemed less likely.
“Well, don’t look so surprised. Is there anything strange in that?”
“Not in itself perhaps. It’s the situation that makes it surprising. Are you telling me that you’re practising journalism right here and now?”
She smiled enigmatically. “You might say that.”
“I don’t understand. What goes on here? What is everyone up to?”
“You would like to know?”
“Of course I’d like to know. When I’m involved in something as deeply as I’m involved in this, I naturally feel an interest in what it’s all about. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” she admitted, “I suppose I would.”
“Well, are you going to tell me?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Not yet.”
“It’s political, isn’t it? Mr. Denning is not supposed to touch politics, but I’ll bet he is. He’s got his fingers in something, and if President Rodgers found out about it he’d be in real trouble, wouldn’t he?”
“You’re just speculating,” she said.
“I know I’m speculating, but it’s pretty accurate speculation, isn’t it? What I still can’t figure out is where you fit in.”
She smiled again. “Well, you work on it, John. Just go on working on it, and maybe you’ll finally come up with an answer.”
With those legs and that figure and those lovely dark eyes and that enigmatic smile playing around her lips, she was really something. You could travel a long way and never come across anyone half as attractive as Leonora Dubois, and he toyed with the idea of telling her so, but decided not to. Let it wait awhile.
“Oh,” he said, “I’ll work on it. There’s nothing I can think of I’d rather work on.”
* * *
Denning returned late in the afternoon. King and Lawrence also turned up. Fletcher wondered where they had been, but he did not ask; he doubted whether they would have told him if he had. Denning called a conference to discuss plans for the picking up of the camera.
“Can you get into the house without rousing the family?” he asked.
“I’ve still got a key,” Fletcher said. He had had one for quite a while, so that he could come and go as he pleased. “But there’s no need to creep in like a thief. I’m not going to steal anything.”
“All the same,” Denning said, “I think it would be better if Mr. Thomas didn’t see you.”
Fletcher had a feeling that Denning had picked up some information in Jamestown which he was not revealing; but again he asked no questions.
“I suggest you get there at about one o’clock in the morning,” Denning said. “Will they be asleep by then?”
“Unless they’ve changed their habits.”
Denning took a piece of notepaper from a small writing-desk and drew a sketch-map of the Port Morgan peninsula.
“Whereabouts is the house?”
Fletcher marked the approximate position and Denning nodded.
“Good. Then you can approach it from the beach on the seaward side? Is that so?”
“Yes; but the road is on the other side.”
“You will not be going by road,” Denning said. “You will be going by sea.”
NINE
NIGHT OPERATION
They picked up the boat at a little place on the north coast where an inlet from the sea formed a natural harbour. It was a trifle over half an hour’s journey in the Ford and it had been dark before they started. Leonora again did the driving and she was again dressed in shirt and slacks, but this time she had left the hat behind. King and Lawrence also came along. Fletcher was not sure whether they were armed, but he suspected they might be. He just hoped there would be no call for violence; there had been enough of that the previous evening.
The boat was in amongst a lot of other boats and they had to get to it along a crazy sort of board-walk after parking the car. There were a few lights hanging on posts, but the illumination was not very brilliant and there was little sign of activity around the boats. Fletcher had a guilty feeling and was keeping an eye open for any policemen who might be prowling about, but he could see none, and the girl and the other men seemed completely unworried.
It was not a large boat, but it looked fast. Perhaps Denning enjoyed a bit of water-skiing when he felt like relaxing, or maybe he just liked a speedy boat the way he liked a fast car. It was secured by a rope at the bows to a post on the board-walk, and there was a cabin not much bigger than a fair-sized dog-kennel and a glass windscreen to catch the spray. They went on board and Lawrence got the engine started while King cast off, and a few minutes later they were clear of the harbour and heading towards the eastern curve of the shore.
It was a fine clear night with all the stars shining as brightly as newly-minted coins, and Fletcher might have enjoyed the trip if he had not been worrying about possible snags ahead. Suppose the police were watching Joby’s bungalow, waiting for him to return. It was not unlikely; in fact, when he came to think about it, it seemed the most probable thing in the world and he wondered why it had not occurred to any of them when they were planning the operation.
