The White Schooner (15 page)

Manuela was pulling at him, crying, begging him to leave them alone, hissing that the police would be along at any moment for windows above them were opening, lights were coming on, and querulous voices were being raised.

Black said, ‘Not to worry. I’m coming.’

Tino Costa was groaning. Black felt the Cypriot’s heart beat and found it satisfactory. Kyriakou was sitting in the gutter, head in hands, sobbing quietly.

Black knelt down and said something. The Greek looked up, his face haggard in the dim light spilling down from a high window. ‘Okay,’ he said brokenly. ‘Okay.’

Black said, ‘Remember. It’s that—
or
else.
’

Kyriakou nodded emphatically. ‘Okay. Leave me,’ he sobbed. ‘Just leave me.’

Black patted him on the head. ‘Good boy,’ he said. ‘You put up a great fight.’

He took Manuela’s arm and ran her up the lane clear of the window lights. They came out into the
calle
above and he hurried her along alleys and streets, twisting and turning,
working their way down until they came to the fish market.

The lights there were on and women were busy cleaning and cutting fish from the early morning catch, so they steered off into Calle Antonio Palau and started back towards the church. There they stopped, leaning against the stone wall recovering their breath, their faces pallid in the light of a street lamp.

They had not spoken since the run from the alley.

‘You all right?’ he panted.

‘God! It was horrible.’ She was breathing deeply. She’s not fit, he thought. It’s that bloody muck.

‘It was horrible, Charles.’ Her eyes were frightened. ‘I didn’t know you were like that.’

‘Nor did they.’ He dusted his trouser legs where he had knelt.

She shook her head. ‘There will be trouble. Kyriakou is a dangerous man.’

‘Oh, bugger Kyriakou,’ he said. ‘What did you expect me to do? Let them sort me out?’

‘No. But you needn’t have been so violent.’

His sudden peal of laughter startled her. ‘You mean I should have defended myself
gently
?’

‘I am frightened, Charles. They will do something.’

‘I’m bloody certain they won’t.’

‘How can you say that?’

In the distance he saw two patrolling policemen. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Home now. To-morrow I’ll tell you what I whispered in Kirry’s ear. Then you’ll know all is well.’

‘Tell me now.’

‘No. It’s too late. But you’ve nothing to worry about.’

‘For sure?’

‘For sure,’ he said, stopping and kissing her, and then taking her hand and hurrying her along so that she had difficulty in keeping up.

‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’ she said.

‘Instinct.’

‘Liar. Tell me.’

‘Come on,’ he said, thinking that maybe, one day, he’d tell her, but realising that he probably never would because there wasn’t likely to be a
one
day
for them.

He sat at a table outside the Montesol, waiting. It was a hot
day, the sun just past the meridian, and he enjoyed its warm play on his arms and face. How considerate of God, he thought, to switch on that giant radiator, and how splendid that I no longer have to worry about Hassan. Jan and Vara Ludich waved from a table lower down the pavement and he raised his hand in answer, and ordered another
coñac
. He put on sunglasses and leant back in the chair, content for the moment because it was a fine day and he would be seeing her soon. Idly he examined the edge of his right palm, rubbing it where it had bruised on Tino Costa’s neck. He wondered how the Cypriot was getting on. The arm would still be in a sling. A green-stick fracture, not a clean break. He had been that much considerate. He thought of Kyriakou sobbing in the gutter and felt contrite.

One should not humiliate such a man. His life was an act and if you jerked away the stage you destroyed him. Looking back on the night he was not proud of it. But how could it have been avoided? And what he’d done to them was
probably
a pale shadow of what they would have done to him. He wondered about himself. How such violence could be a part of him. It was so out of accord with the rest of his nature, with the things he set store by. Perhaps, its origins lay in the violence which had been done to him?

And yet without those things he would not be sitting there at that moment, he would not be involved in what had brought him to Ibiza, he would not …

He felt the light touch of fingers on his neck and Manuela said, ‘Am I late?’ There were shadows under her eyes.

‘Get a decent sleep?’

‘No. I was too worried.’

The waiter arrived, Black ordered an orange juice for her and another
coñac
for himself.

‘I told you not to worry,’ he said.

She looked round, leant towards him, lowering her voice. ‘Tell me
now.
Tell me,’ she said urgently. ‘How do you know it will be all right?’

‘Two days ago I wrote to the Jefe de Comisario. I gave the letter to a third person. If anything unpleasant happens to me—or to you—that letter will be delivered. It contains information about Kyriakou’s activities on the island. Information the police would very much like to have.’

‘And so?’ she challenged, and he saw her expression
hardening
.

‘Last night I told Kyriakou what I have just told you. He saw the point at once. I think his survival values are of a high order.’

For some moments she sat chin in hand, staring at the glass in front of her. Then she said, ‘What do
you
know of his activities?’

He leant back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head, watching her through dark glasses. ‘Perhaps as much as you do.’

She was not pleased, he could see that. His Pawn was threatening her Queen. Her move next. The lines at the corners of her mouth had tightened and the warmth had gone from her eyes. ‘I suppose you realise that if your letter reaches the Jefe it will involve others,’ she said.

‘It will only reach him, my sweet,
if
something unpleasant happens to me—or to you. I thought it was rather a good idea, including you.’

‘Brilliant,’ she said in a brittle way, gathering up her things and frowning into the distance. But the frown changed to a smile as a shadow fell across the table and a man’s voice, said ‘
Bonjour,
mam
’
selle
!’ and another’s
‘Guten
Tag,
Fräulein
Valez.
’

It was the men from the
Snowgoose.

‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘It is lovely to see you.’

Black mumbled, ‘Hallo,’ in the flattest voice he could manage, looked at his watch and said, ‘Be seeing you.’

Then, ignoring the new arrivals, he slung his shopping bag over his shoulder and slouched off.

The new arrivals sat down and Manuela watched Black’s retreating figure. Francois laughed. Helmut smiled quizzically. ‘Your friend is not pleased,
nein
?’

Manuela looked at herself in a mirror, patting her hair. ‘Well if he is, let’s say he shows it in the strangest way.’

‘You know him long?’ asked Francois.

She shook her head. ‘Not very.’

‘So,’ said Helmut solemnly. ‘Goot. Please what to drink?’

‘That,’ said Manuela, ‘is a sensible question.’

She didn’t tell him that Charles Black had just stood her up on a lunch date, and failed to pay for the last round of drinks.

From the line of lamps between the quay and the roadway, pools of light reached across dimly to the stacked timber, oil drums, orange cylinders of butane, pockets of cement, coils of wire, steel pipes, and straw-bound demijohns awaiting
shipment
to Formentera.

In the shadows beyond lay the island schooners, decklights throwing into relief sections of their upperworks and rigging, so that they were broken into unco-ordinated shapes like
unfinished
jig-saw puzzles.

The throb of diesel generators, the suck and squeak of bilge pumps, a cat miaowing, a faint thread of pop music from somewhere and the distant whine of a jet, were the only sounds of the night. At the end of the quay a solitary light burning amidships in a white schooner illuminated the
gangplank
and the white lifebuoy in the cockpit which had
Snowgoose
and
Piraeus
lettered around it in gold leaf.

In the town a clock chimed twice as a man came from the shadows and crossed the gangplank to the deck of the schooner. He went into the cockpit and down the forward companionway to the saloon. For a moment he stood in the doorway blinking in the strong light. The men round the table stood up and greeted him. It was evident that they were old friends.

The heavy bearded man pointed to the table. ‘The charts and things are here. We can start when you’re ready, Bernard.’

The newcomer swung round on him. ‘
Charles
. Charles Black,’ he said with fierce insistence. ‘Not
Bernard.
And for Christ’s sake don’t forget it.’

The big man said,
‘Ach!
Mein
Gott:
I forgot.’

Black nodded. ‘That’s why I sheered off yesterday when you people pitched up at the Montesol. Scared me stiff. You should have kept away. What if Francois had called you Werner—or I’d called him André. Would’ve looked bloody good, wouldn’t it?’

The German flushed but said nothing.

‘
Elle
est
très
jolie.
’ Francois made a circle with his thumb and forefinger.

Black rebuffed the attempted humour. ‘Security’s paramount. Should have kept away when you saw me.’ He stared them into silence.

Kamros said, ‘Shall I fetch the coffee?’

The Englishman’s frostiness disappeared. ‘Yes. Good.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But first tell me about Hassan.’ He looked round the saloon. ‘Where is he?’

Helmut pointed forward. ‘In the crew’s quarters. Handcuffed. Locked up and battened down. You need not worry. He is
co-operative
. Anxious to keep clear of the police.’

‘Is he well?’

‘Very. But not happy at sea. He suffers from seasickness.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘As you suggested. That we are from Cyprus. That we took him from the water on Kyriakou’s orders because the police were about to arrest him, and it was necessary for him to disappear. Otherwise they could all be implicated.’

‘What does he say about that?’

Helmut shrugged his shoulders. ‘He thinks the coshing was unfriendly, that he might have been given the opportunity to co-operate.’

‘Good point. What does he think will happen to him now?’

‘We’ve told him that quite soon he will be put ashore—but not on Ibiza—and that he will then be a free man again.’

In a sudden gesture of affection, Black patted the German on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Helmut,’ He turned to the others. ‘You too. You’ve saved the operation. I can’t say more.’ He looked at Kamros. ‘Now for that coffee.’

They sat down round the table and exchanged notes about how they were and what they’d been doing. Helmut reported on the reconnaisance of the
cala
near Cabo Negret. Black told them of the night with Manuela at Altomonte, and of his observations there on other occasions. He mentioned the punch-up with Kyriakou and Tino Costa two nights back.

‘I’m sorry it happened,’ he said. ‘But there was no way out. It was them or me. If they were going to the police, they’d have been by now. But they’re too vulnerable. Apart from the letter threat, they know they started the fight. Manuela would testify to that.’

Helmut stroked his beard. ‘To whom did you give the
letter?’

‘No one. It doesn’t exist. Except in their minds. And I don’t know any more about Kyriakou than local gossip. But human nature being what it is, he’ll assume I know the worst. And that must be pretty unattractive.’

The discussion switched to Manuela. Black told them of her involvement with the Greek.

‘I don’t understand their relationship,’ he said. ‘I think he’s got her hooked. She’s loyal to him, but she fears him. Some sort of love-hate complex, maybe. Whatever it is, I think drugs are at the bottom of it.’

‘And
your
relationship with her?’ Francois leant forward, the intensity of his dark stare, the gold earrings and mandarin moustache emphasising the aura of piracy.

‘Entirely operational,’ said Black irritably. ‘But I’ll be frank. Under other circumstances I’d have gone for her. She’s got something.’

‘They all have it,’ Dimitrio grumbled, loading his pipe with calloused fingers. ‘That’s what half the trouble in the world’s about.’

Black ignored him. Francois relaxed his stare. ‘Does she know anything about
this
situation?’ he said.

‘Absolutely nothing.’

‘And about you?’

‘Only what is generally known on the island. What we have intended should be known all along: that I would very much like to see van Biljon’s pictures, and the reasons why. That I’m a fairly dissolute character. Aimless. Not very successful.’ He looked away, embarrassed. ‘Some even say I’m a queer.’

Francois raised an eyebrow, cleared his throat and stroked his moustache. Black frowned at him before going on. ‘At times I’ve been afraid that if I were to play this part too long I’d become Charles Black. To be dissolute and idle is not unattractive.’

‘Especially in attractive company.’ Francois lit a cheroot.

Black regarded him speculatively, his thoughts elsewhere. Then he said, ‘That’s pretty recent. But she’s been invaluable. Without her I couldn’t have got into the house. Anyway, let’s get on with the job.’ He looked at his watch. ‘God, how the time flies.’

Kamros came back with coffee and rolls, and Black
produced
plans of Altomonte and its surroundings, a town plan
of Ibiza, and a road map of the island. On it he indicated the route from Altomonte down into the valley, then westwards to San José, where it joined the road to Cubells, later forking off to the east towards Cabo Negret.

‘That’s the direct route,’ he said. ‘Eleven kilometres. But we won’t use it. Here are the diversionary routes. Longer, but better tactically. If there’s a pursuit we should be able to shake it off. Give the impression we’re heading for San Antonio or Ibiza.’

He turned to Helmut. ‘Fixed the car?’

‘Yes. A Zephyr. From the Ford people on the Figueretes road. I said we wanted it for a few days to tour the island. Usual guidebook stuff. All okay.’

‘Good,’ said Black. ‘An hour or so before you sail, park it here.’ He made a cross on the town plan, close to El Corsario. ‘Leave the key under the right front seat. Well back.’

He took the
Nautical
Almanac
from the table. ‘Now let’s check the basic timetable. To-day’s the tenth of May.’ He turned the pages of the almanac. ‘Here it is. Times of
moon-rise
and moonset. Night of the eighteenth/nineteenth. Yes. It’s slap in the middle of the period of no moon. So we didn’t get that wrong.’

He closed the almanac and pushed it away. ‘You must sail on the morning of the sixteenth. Keep to the south, well out of sight of land, and get the painting done. At daybreak on the eighteenth, make for Vedra. Go into Cala d’Or soon after midday and anchor. You two,’ he turned to Helmut and Francois, ‘go for a bathe in the afternoon. Swim ashore and wander about the beach. Get your bearings. Return on board at about five. Soon after dark Kamros will land you in the dinghy. Doesn’t matter if you’re seen. Perfectly normal. Yachtsmen having a run ashore. Wear dark slacks, wind cheaters and rubber-soled shoes. Carry the gear in a canvas beach bag. Start up the road towards San José about a quarter to eight. Don’t go to the road immediately on landing. Wander about a bit first.

‘I’ll be along in the Zephyr to pick you up at eight-fifteen. It’s an unlit winding road. Okay so far?’

There was a murmur of assent.

‘Right. Now we’ll stop the car here.’ He pointed to the position on the map. ‘About a kilometre below Altomonte. Helmut and I will get out on to the terraces. That’ll be about
nine o’clock. Then you turn the car, Francois, and drive back down the road. When you reach the junction, set off in the Ibiza direction.

‘Give us until ten-thirty to get into position. In the woods here, alongside Altomonte.’ He marked the spot on the plan. ‘At ten to eleven,
exactly,
drive up to the front gate …’ He paused, thinking of something. ‘We’ll synchronise watches by the noon time signal that day. Okay?’

They nodded.

‘When you get to the gate,’ he continued, ‘hoot twice and turn the car so that it’s facing down the road. Pocket the ignition key. They’ll put the light on you, and the dogs’ll raise hell. Pedro or Juan will be on duty there. Probably both, once the lights go on. They’ll recognise you, which is a good thing. Neither of them has much English, so don’t let on that you speak Spanish. It’s better …’

Francois interrupted. ‘We’ve already spoken to them at the harbour. Always in French or English. We do not forget our instructions. They’re not much good at either.’

‘Fine. Tell them you’ve an urgent message for van Biljon. Say you must see him. They’ll stall on this and want to know what it’s all about. Tell them you’ve come from the harbour where
Nordwind
is in trouble. They’ll want to know what sort of trouble. Stall. Make the most of the language difficulty. When they press you, say that the boat is sinking slowly. Underwater damage or an outlet not properly shut, or
something
. That’ll be difficult to put over in broken English. Say you couldn’t raise anybody at the moorings at that time of night, but a man in one of the island schooners told you where van Biljon lived so you decided to come up.

‘You know. A sailor’s concern for another man’s boat. According to Manuela, you’ll probably be taken to the front door where the housekeeper will quiz you. She speaks good English. Keep up the chat with her, but at that stage ease up on the insistence to see van Biljon. It might look queer. Say that as long as she appreciates the urgency, etcetera, etcetera, and will give him the message it’s all right by you. Okay? The important thing is to keep the chat going for as long as possible.

‘When Helmut and I hear the dogs barking—we’ll also have heard the Zephyr coming up and the two hoots—we’ll go down to the wall on the west side and pop the meat over.
Then we’ll double round to the back, go over the wall there and make for the gallery.’ He looked round the table, ‘Okay?

‘From then on the drill will be as laid down by ZID. You’ve discussed and practised it often enough. The problem will be to adapt it to this house on a dark night in the circumstances which apply at the time. Now let’s run through it using the plan of Altomonte, We’ll make a number of different
assumptions
and vary our tactics to suit each. There’ll always be the imponderable. We’ll have to play them by ear as they come up.’

Almost an hour later Black said to Kamros. ‘Now for your final part. Use an anchor light in Cala d’Or and when you leave keep the navigation lights burning until you’re south of Vedra. Then switch off and start the run in to the
cola
. Be in position there from 2300 onwards. If all goes well, we’ll make a torch signal from the shore between 2400 and 0200. Ideally at 0100. We may coast down the road to the beach. It’s steep, so don’t expect to hear the car, but you’ll see the lights. Acknowledge our signal, then bring the dinghy in as fast as you can. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Kamros.

Black took a pad and pencil. ‘I’ll cable the standby to ZID from the post office this morning. They should have it a few hours later.’

He wrote on the pad:
Can
let
you
have
vernissage
article
on
eighteenth
nineteenth.
Twenty-four
pounds
sterling
. He pushed it across to Helmut. ‘Check it please.’

Helmut read it, nodded, and passed it to Francois. ‘
Bon
,’
said the Frenchman.

‘Confirm it with ZID direct by radio once you are south of Formentera. And confirm the rendezvous in the same signal.’

‘Okay,’ said Helmut.

Black leant over the chart of the Mediterranean. ‘Now let’s have a look at that rendezvous again.’ Helmut marked the position with a pencilled cross.

Frowning with concentration as he set the dividers. Black measured the distance from the
cala
to the rendezvous. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Any questions?’

‘What about Hassan?’ asked Francois.

‘We’ll stop in the lee of Abago Island on our way south,’ said Black, ‘and put him ashore that night. Provisions and water for three or four days. When we’re well clear we’ll
make an anonymous signal to the harbour master here,
reporting
Hassan’s presence on the island and asking them to pick him up.’

Helmut frowned. ‘What story will he tell?’

‘That’s up to him. It’ll be too late then to worry us.’

The town clock had not long chimed four, when Black went up on deck and made his way across the gangplank to the quay.

Soon afterwards a man came from behind a pile of timber near the
Snowgoose
and watched the Englishman disappear into the darkness.

In one hand the Comisario de Policia held the telephone, in the other a cigar the end of which he considered carefully, eyelids drooped over deep-set eyes.

Opposite him his deputy, Capitan Bonafasa, and the thin man, Capitan Calvi, looked out of the window, their faces expressing bored unconcern with the Comisario’s end of a conversation to which they were listening intently.