Hatteras Blue (25 page)

"Well." Time, she thought. Play for that. Flirt with him a little. You're definitely a good-looking guy."

"For an old man, you mean."

"For an
older
man. You're ... handsome, sure."

She heard him set the can down. She tried to continue sanding, but stopped, trembling, as he brushed the damp hair away from her neck.

She remembered Ruderman's words.
He liked to cause them pain.
Was this how it began? With caresses and love words? When does he change—when I acquiesce? When I resist? What happens—does he hit me, use a rope, a knife? She started to shake. Her hands closed around the paint chipper and she stood up. His hands stayed on her. He was much taller and she had to lift her head to see his eyes.

And then she froze. Her terror and strength alike seemed to drain out of her. For a moment, looking in sudden peace up into their pale stare, she wanted to give him all he wanted. Only let him tell her what it was, and she would—

She snapped her gaze away, and tried to push by him, to get away. Instead he gripped her wrists, bent her backward against the rail, and kissed her savagely.

"Please—"

"Afraid?"

"I don't mean to ... tease you. The way you said I did."

She felt him go rigid against her. What now? He let go of her
wrists
?md stepped back, frowning. Behind her back she gripped the sharp tool so hard her fingers hurt. She was turning it point outward, steeling herself for what she would have to do, when a choked cry came from below them, alongside the boat.

"Dick! Bernie! Help. Tiller's been hurt!"

Galloway came to with someone's fingers in his mouth. Before thought came he bit down on them and on the sick taste of oil. Someone cursed. The fingers retreated and he turned his head to one side and coughed and retched uncontrollably.

He lay motionless after the spasm had passed, trying to get enough air. Only gradually did he understand the rough warmth of wood against his cheek and realize that he was lying on
Victory's
deck in a flood of sunlight, yellow and red through his closed lids. He tried to rub at his eyes, but someone stopped him. He allowed his face to be cleaned with a wet towel.

"Can you hear me, Tiller?"

"Yeah," he grunted. The effort set off a fresh fit of coughing. He wondered if he had swallowed any of the stuff. His stomach heaved again at the thought.

Bernie had his hands; he felt her stroking them. "Don't touch your eyes. They're okay, but you've got oil all over your arms."

"Paint thinner," he gasped.

"To clean it off with," Keyes interpreted.

"I'll get some. We'll need rags too." She ran forward.

Galloway pried open an eye. The sun made him blink. It was beautiful. Above him Keyes was looking at Caffey, who was sitting in full gear in the sternsheets, panting after climbing aboard without help. As he watched, a dark bullet head appeared behind the boy: Aydlett. The black man threw his mask up into the boat and hoisted his dripping bulk after it, his eyes fixed on Galloway with undisguised hostility.

"Jack, did you get any of it? Swallow any?"

"Some on my suit. None on me."

Hirsch returned with a kerosene-soaked rag, but Galloway shoved her away, struggling to get up. "You came straight up?" he said thickly.

"Oh, calm down." Caffey pulled off his mask and scaled it across the deck. "I got up to thirty feet before I remembered, but I did. I checked you and you were breathing so I went back down and did the decomp stops by the clock." He smiled. "Well? How'd I do in the pinch?"

'You did damned fine," said Galloway, managing a weak grin. He reached for the rag and scrubbed at a hand. The brownish mass came off reluctantly and his nose wrinkled. Four decades in salt water did not improve German ersatz diesel fuel. It stank.

"What's goin' on here?" said Aydlett.

"We ran into some oil on the wreck, Shad. Got in Tiller's regulator and stopped it."

Hirsch said, "Hadn't we better get him ashore?"

Keyes looked at her angrily, but Galloway forestalled him. "Hell, no. I'm breathing and I haven't got the bends; we'll keep at it. Thanks to my brave young dive buddy. How'd you get there so fast, Jack?"

"Pure dumb luck—if my head had been straight I'd never have gone in after you. But I didn't seem to care." He shrugged. "I waited outside for all of about two seconds after you disappeared. Then I got bored. Why let you take all the chances? We're partners, right?"

'Yeah, I remember how you charged into that forward hatch."

"Same feeling. Crazy kind of high. So I went in after you. I saw your light fall and when I clicked mine on you were fighting with something on the ceiling. I had no idea what it was, so I stayed low and grabbed your legs. I stuck my regulator down your throat and got you back to
Charlene
as fast as I could."

"Well, I'm proud of you." Bernie kissed him on the cheek, then crossed to Galloway and bent down. "And very happy that you made it back."

This kiss was longer, and full on his mouth. Galloway tensed, surprised. When she stood up he saw her look directly at Keyes, smiling coolly.

Keyes turned away. Galloway sat up, just managing to stop a groan. As he began to undress, Hirsch smiled at him. He stared back, wondering what was going on. Turning her eyes away, but still with that slight smile on her lips, she dipped up a bucket of seawater and began sluicing away the vomit and oil.

Half an hour later Galloway came back on deck in clean work trousers and a blue dungaree shirt. His hair was still gummed in tufts and his eyes and lips were raw, but he looked vital again. He also carried a strong smell of liquor. He squinted up at the sun. "Dick, we might as well get in another dive today."

'You ready for another, after that?"

'You're the one who told me how little time we've got to do this. Now listen. I'll brief you on what it's like down there, and what to do." He pointed. "The wreck's over there—"

"Tiller, can I talk to you?"

"Of course, Counselor Hirsch. What do you need?"

"In the cabin. In private."

When the companionway hatch banged closed she turned to him, hands on her hips. "Listen, Tiller. I don't think you should go down alone with him."

"With Keyes? Why not? He can dive."

"Don't treat me like a fool! I shouldn't have to give you explanations. I'm not working for you. But he as much as attacked me when you were down! I don't like him, Tiller, and I don't trust him alone with me or anyone else—especially on the bottom with you."

"Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders; he was surprised to feel that she was trembling. "Say, you're really upset. He
attdcked
you? I'll have a talk with him, tell him hands off Dare County's bureaucracy. But look, he wouldn't try anything underwater."

"Tiller, he already tried to kill yoii once underwater!"

"That was narcosis. He didn't know what he was doing."

"Are you sure?"

"Reasonably."

She turned away from him and he let his hands drop. Her eyes darted to the hatch, then came back up to meet his. She moved closer. "I have to tell you something. I don't think Keyes is who he pretends to be."

"Who is he, then?"

"I don't—know, exactly. But I think he's more dangerous than you think. Maybe he was in the SS. Weren't they taking them in young at the end of the war?"

"I don't think he's old enough. He sure didn't grow up in Germany, you can tell that from the way he talks. But did it really take you till now to figure out he was some kind of Nazi?"

She was speechless. The words seemed to melt their way down into her. Galloway watched her for a moment, then grinned and reached behind the chart table. He took a long swig, wincing as the whiskey burned his lips, then offered it to her. She shook her head angrily; he capped the bottle and replaced it.

'"You're not the only one who gets suspicious. Remember when I threw you out of the restaurant? I had a talk with him then. He gave me a long story about how his father was on that U-boat and survived the sinking, then later how he was in South America and happened to hear something about some gold being aboard it. That's what he's after, gold.

"Well, I didn't like the sound of it then. So I checked it out. And you know what? My old man didn't recover any survivors. All he picked up were bodies, and not in very good shape, either. So his father wasn't on the boat. Lie number one.

"Lie number two. That crap about 'overhearing conversations'—just that, crap. The big boys don't air things like that at cocktail parties. I don't care if they're in harvesting machines or drugs or politics. They don't talk business, they talk about their golf scores and next year's tax structure. No, I figure this guy's in with the head honchos down there in New Berlin. He may be working for them, or maybe he's trying for a fast score on his own. Either way it's a dangerous hand. I don't blame him for playing it as close as he can."

"You don't?"

"Not a bit."

"And knowing who he is, are you still going to help him get it?"

He looked at her for several seconds and then sat down on the starboard bunk. He reached for the bottle again. "Obviously I am. I'm out here."

"I mean once he's got it. What are you going to do then?"

He took a slow sip, considering her question. "Well—if I was going to play it absolutely by the book, I guess I'd watch my chance and call the Coast Guard at Ocracoke or Hatteras Village. The government'll show up and take custody. There'll be a hell of a row over who owns it, but I should get ten percent salvage whatever they decide."

She puffed her cheeks in relief and sat down beside him. His bare arm was warm against hers. "Good. Good. It'll be dangerous, but... I'm so relieved, Tiller. I thought I was the only one who suspected him. And if they got that money—"

"I suppose that would worry you more than it would me. Yeah. But look, having it wouldn't change much for them."

"With a lot of money they could buy things. Weapons."

"Nothing that matters." He leaned his head back against the bookshelves. His face had gone distant. "What does a Fascist group need most to succeed? Answer: a leader with a capital L; a self-willed, ruthless man with a psychopathic sense of mission. Without one, no matter how much money or arms they got their hands on, the real key to success wouldn't be there. And fortunately they're rare.

"So I think that, even if they got their hands on this, it wouldn't have such terrible results. A few rich old men in South America would get richer. That's all."

"But they won't."

He sighed and looked at her. "But they won't."

"We'll have to keep a real close eye on him, Tiller."

"Yeah. Real close."

She smiled at him; they were agreed; it was all right now. She debated for a moment saying it, telling him she cared about him. But then she decided that it could wait. With a little time, maybe, he'd say it first himself. Yes, that would be better.

"Let's get back on deck," he said, getting up. "We've got a lot to do."

Caffey had hauled
Charlene
alongside and was unloading the used tanks. He looked up as they came out on deck. "We divin' again, Till?"

"Let me look at the tables." He made some calculations, examined his watch again. He waved Keyes down from the flying bridge, where he was watching the horizon.

"We've got a problem."

"What is it?"

"Stay time. At the depth the wreck lies we don't have but a few minutes bottom time each dive. And this looks like a long, rough job."

"So, we do a little each time till we're finished," said Keyes. "Right? I thought you were all ready to go, a minute ago?"

"I changed my mind. Okay? Now listen. The point is, we're building up nitrogen each time. You don't purge it all when you decompress. We've got to rest between dives; otherwise we run risks—big risks. I don't feel up to it yet; Jack and I could both use a few hours topside.

And we need to run the compressor, recharge these tanks. So here's what I suggest: We'll all three of us go down together after supper."

"That'll put us into darkness below."

"Yeah, but we've got a buoy on the wreck now; we don't have to do any looking around. And it'll be dark inside the hull no matter when we dive. You done much night diving?"

"No."

"It'll be okay. There's a headlight on the vehicle and we have plenty of batteries for the hand lights. I'll start the compressor going and we'll have full tanks at eight. Sound good?"

"I want to get this done quickly, Tiller."

"I know, Dick. Believe me, I don't want to hang around anchored off Hatteras an hour longer than I have to. We'll work as fast as we can."

Keyes nodded, eyes back on the horizon.

"Now—how about something to eat?"

"Sounds good to me," said Caffey. "Whose turn is it? Let's see—Shad, you haven't done any cooking yet."