Hatteras Blue (34 page)

The sirens were singing. But something deep, something he'd never called on before, had not yet given up. It held yet, though it could not prevail. He felt his fingernails tear off as they slid slowly up the inside of the gunwale. Then he heard steps. He closed his eyes again, and waited for the merciful shock of a bullet.

A hand grabbed his hair. Another took his shoulder. Galloway groaned once as he was hauled bodily back over the gunwale. The rest he bit back. He half-fell, was half-dragged to the deck and across it into shadow. He waited till the pain had lessened a little and opened his eyes.

The pilothouse roof was over him and Hirsch's face was close above his. She was whispering. But more shots from above drowned her words. Faintly, after the firing stopped, he could hear the tinkle of empty cartridge cases dancing on plywood above them.

"What?" he muttered.

"Where's Jack, Tiller?"

"That's what he's shooting at. He's already dead. Keyes killed him on the bottom."

"He shot Shad a moment ago."

"I saw."

"He was going to kill me next." She lifted her head and looked swiftly back to the deck. She put something in his hand: his diving knife. "We've got to try, Tiller. If we both go up at the same time, on opposite sides—"

"Whoa. Don't think I can do that."

"Are you hurt?"

He tried hard, looking at his legs. Sweat dripped from his forehead. "No go. I can't move them."

Her eyes were fierce. "All right. Good-bye, Tiller."

"Wait. Goddamn, Bernie, don't!"

She paused, halfway to the ladder. "You know he'll kill us anyway."

"I know. But don't go up after him. Waif at the bottom of the ladder. Let him start down. He'll only have one hand free then. It's not much, but..."

She nodded.

Silence had succeeded the last burst. Galloway dragged sweat off his face. He visualized the other man peering down, trying to make out the features of the floating corpse. Or would he be satisfied that now both of them were dead?

Footsteps sounded on the deck above, heavy, dragging. They neared the ladder. Hirsch slid catlike to it, gripping a gleam in a pale hand. She crouched, and her lips drew back.

And Galloway, watching her, suddenly saw something else new in the new clarity. It was about her. She hated violence. She tried to stop it, not by punishing, but by healing those who dealt in it. She was an intellectual. By his standards she was naive. She would not fight until she had no other choice. But then she turned savage.

He knew then that Keyes, despite the gun, had no more than an even chance of living through the next ten seconds.

"Galloway!" The voice above them was harsh and strangely high-pitched.

"Here."

"Somehow, it doesn't surprise me. But how did you do it?"

"Just luck," said Galloway.

^4<
You know I've got to kill you both now," said the voice above them, still high, but strangely reasonable.

"Why's that?"

"Because if I don't you'll kill me."

"Whoa now." He glanced at Hirsch; she was holding her crouch by the ladder. "I've got no such intention."

"You're a dangerous man, Galloway. You killed Ayd-lett's brother. And his father. You'll kill me if you have half a chance. This is self-defense."

Galloway raised his voice. "What about Jack, Keyes? Did I knife him too?"

"He surprised me. I thought he was going to attack me. But I didn't kill the old man."

"Who did?"

"Don't play coy with me, Galloway! You're just like me. Out for yourself. Well, now it's you or me. I'm sorry—I respect you—but you've got to die."

A diving boot appeared on the topmost rung. Blood dripped from it.

Below the ladder, Hirsch brought the knife up, staring at the blade.

A voice rolled over them, slow, guttural, and enormous. The boots paused. Hirsch jerked her head around, and her eyes seemed to congeal.

Galloway, seeing her look, dragged himself up with his arms, careless of the pain, till he could see through the bottom of the windshield. "Damn," he muttered. "What—"

"It's him," Bernie said. Her hands leapt to her face.

"Who?"

"Ruderman. The man I called!"

Not a hundred feet away, a short old man looked down on them from a glistening black tower. He lowered the megaphone and gestured to someone below. As Galloway stared, beyond thought or understanding, two other men appeared beside him. They carried submachine guns, which they immediately pulled to their shoulders to aim down at
Victory's
deck.

nineteen

«T REPEAT: PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS NOW

JL or I will open fire."

The three of them were motionless for a long moment, staring up at him.

Keyes was the first to move. He came slowly down the last steps of the ladder. He did not look at Hirsch, nor she at him.

"This is your last warning!"

He bent then, and placed the carbine on the deck. When he straightened he lifted his head for a long moment, looking across the water, then reached out to support himself on the rail. Blood seeped from the anklets of his wet suit.

Galloway, too, was staring up at the submarine.

The old man was leaning over the coaming of the conning tower. His gray hair ruffled gently in the breeze as he looked silentiy down at them. The two gunmen stood motionless on either side. A moment later two sailors appeared behind them, cradling heavy machine weapons, which they set up in mounts and swung to cover the boat. The old man glanced at them and said something that did not make it across the water.

Bernie raised a hand, hesitantly, and waved. Looking down, Ruderman lifted his palm slightly in return.

Galloway, once the astonishment passed, pulled himself up into the chair at the wheel for a better view. Generally submarines looked much alike, but this one struck his eye oddly. The tower was grayish-black, faired smoothly into the hull, which was slowly coming into view above the surface amid a rumble of bubbles. Still ballasting up, he thought. In contrast to the smoothness of its topside lines the underwater hull was foul with sea grass. It rolled ponderously, even in the light swell. The whole ship looked out of proportion. It took him several seconds of observation and progressively greater puzzlement before he realized why. It was smaller than any sub he had seen before, not much longer than
Victory
; though the deep hull would displace several times the tonnage of the old PT.

When three feet of freeboard showed, a steel shoal heaving slowly in the blue sea, a hatch hinged open in the deck aft of the tower. Two men climbed out. They were dressed entirely in white. A shapeless bundle came up after them, pushed from below. It was unrolled and half inflated before Galloway recognized it as a rubber dinghy. Moving quickly, they launched it from the side of the sub, then looked up expectantly to the man atop the conning tower.

Ruderman raised the megaphone again. "On the
Victory.
There are five of you. I want everyone out in plain sight."

Bernie stepped to the side, moving past the motionless Keyes without looking at him. She cupped her hands to her mouth. "Jack Caffey ... he's in the water ... dead. Straeter killed him. He shot Shad Aydlett too."

Galloway, watching Keyes, saw the blond man sag suddenly into the wood. Yet he said nothing.

Ruderman nodded. He lowered the megaphone and called something down to the two in the dinghy. They started a motor and cast off. As they came closer Galloway saw the weapons in their hands.

The raft circled at a safe distance, inspecting them, then returned to the submarine. It nuzzled the ballast tank, bobbing uneasily as Ruderman and another white-suited man clambered down into it from the deck. When they sat down the buzz of the outboard rose to a whine. The little craft backed off, spun in a tight circle, and headed straight for
Victory's
stern, bounding over the swells like a porpoise.

A man of about twenty, with close-cut blond hair, was the first on the diving platform. He looked them over carefully, blue eyes cool over the short barrel of a submachine gun. He flicked them away only to take a turn on a cleat with a line that sailed up from the raft.

One by one the others climbed over the transom and fanned out on deck. A chunky man with spiky brown hair and a readied automatic bent to Aydlett. When his fingers came away bloody he rolled the waterman's limp bulk into the scuppers. A slim swarthy man followed him up into the cockpit. He was armed too. He kicked the carbine down the companionway steps. They spread out, weapons ready, and stood waiting in silence.

Ruderman, his hands empty, climbed cautiously over the transom. The blond boy gave him a hand up. Like the others he was dressed in white, a loose coverall with the sheen of nylon. The first thing he did was unzip a pocket and pull out a pack and a lighter. When he had a cigarette lit he propped his hands on his hips and looked them over. Gradually a smile deepened the furrows around his mouth.

Bernie began to laugh.
^iC
You
came just in time. He was about to kill us." She started toward him, arms outstretched.

"Stop there," said Ruderman. "Karl, if she comes another step, cut her down."

"Jawohl," said the swarthy man, studying her.

Galloway struggled to sit upright.

Hirsch stopped, her hands still out. The old man regarded her with a half-smile of amusement or irony. "Thank you, Miss Hirsch. For your help. But now it is time to shatter your little dream."

"What do you mean?"

"Get back by the cabin. We'll discuss you two in a moment."

She heard the iron in the tone. She paused for a long moment, her face blank, then moved back to stand beside Galloway. Putting one hand on his shoulder, she faced the men with the guns.

Keyes was alone now, facing them. He slumped against the gunwale, holding himself up with one arm. The pool around his boots was growing.

"It's you I'm interested in first, Mr. Keyes. Did you really expect to succeed in this? Barefaced theft of our property?"

"I thought so," muttered the tall man, in tones the two in the cabin could barely make out.

The short man laughed. "You underestimated us. That is a mistake Americans often make. Why, I really think you are surprised to see us."

"No. But I didn't expect you to show up like this. Nor so soon."

Ruderman nodded. He looked down at the deck. "I see that you have been hurt."

"It's not too bad. She missed the lung."

"Lucky for you. Do you want a doctor? I have one aboard."

"A doctor," repeated Keyes. Surprise was mixed with wariness in his voice. "Are you serious? I mean ... sure, I could use some help."

"Perhaps in a few minutes, Mr. Keyes—if I get the right answers, and quickly."

The old man turned, to address all three of them, and suddenly there was no more humor in his face. "Now. I want to know a few things. No evasions, no lies. I don't have time for them. First. Where is the gold?"

"Under the lift bags," said Galloway. He glanced at the compass, then pointed. "The Gulf Stream's going north—you'll find them off in that direction, not very far."

Ruderman snapped orders in rapid German. Two of the three bodyguards went back over the transom. The youngest and blondest remained, gun level, finger on the trigger. As the dinghy whined away the old man walked slowly toward the cabin. Bernie's hand tightened on Galloway's shoulder as he stopped two feet away.

"Hello again, Bernice. And this must be Captain Galloway. I'm pleased to meet you at last."

"You know my name. Is Ruderman really yours?"

"As good as any, and better in most circumstances than some." Faded hazel irises surrounded by nets of sun wrinkles studied him. "You seem relaxed, Captain. That impresses me."

"Thanks, but it's because I can't get up. Something's wrong with my legs."

"How did that happen? Was it—" he glanced at Keyes—"his doing?"

"Mine as much as his, I guess, when you add it all up."

"Would you like my doctor to help you?"

'Your Nazi doctors don't have a real good reputation. I'd rather just have you let us go."

Ruderman laughed. "Warrior stock! And you were

one yourself once. It shows----As you wish. But we

could give you something to ease your pain."

Galloway shook his head quickly, before he could think too much about it

The old man shrugged, and turned to watch the submarine. An opening yawned in the afterdeck now, some sort of repair access, and a collapsible davit had been rigged over it. A swimmer was already attaching a line to one of the lift bags; the dinghy was towing another toward the ship. An electric motor hummed.

The boom groaned but held as the bag collapsed and the net beneath came up dripping from the sea.

"Yes, excellent," breathed the old man. He crossed the deck and stood, once again, in front of Keyes. "Now. There was something else. A bronze box. Perhaps you recall it?"