Night Over Water (62 page)

“Go this way—they’re all in the dining room.”

The boy was not very sensibly dressed for fishing, in his two-tone shoes and yellow tie, Nancy thought with amusement. She followed Mervyn up the ladder to the flight deck, which was deserted. That explained why Mervyn had been unable to raise the Clipper on the radio. But
why
were they all in the dining room? It was odd that the entire crew should leave the flight deck.

She began to feel uneasy as she went down the stairs to the passenger deck. Mervyn led the way into number 2 compartment and stopped suddenly.

Looking past him, Nancy saw Mr. Membury lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.

Mervyn said: “Dear God, what’s been happening here?”

Behind them, the young man in the yellow tie said: “Keep moving.” His voice had become harsh.

Nancy turned to him and saw that he had a gun in his hand. “Did you do this?” she said angrily.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth and keep moving!”

They stepped into the dining room.

Three more men with guns were standing in the room. There was a big man in a striped suit who looked as if he might be in charge. A little man with a mean face was standing behind Mervyn’s wife, casually fondling her breasts: when Mervyn saw this he let out a curse. The third gunman was a passenger, Mr. Luther: he was pointing his gun at another passenger, Professor Hartmann. The captain and the engineer were also there, looking helpless. Several passengers were seated at tables, but most of the dishes and glassware had fallen to the floor and smashed. Nancy caught a glimpse of Margaret Oxenford, pale and frightened; and in a sudden flash she recalled the conversation in which she had glibly told Margaret that regular people did not need to worry about gangsters because they only operated in the slums. How stupid of her.

Mr. Luther was speaking. “The gods are on my side, Lovesey. You have arrived in a seaplane just when we need one. You can fly me and Mr. Vincini and our associates over the navy cutter that the treacherous Eddie Deakin has summoned to trap us.”

Mervyn looked hard at him and said nothing.

The man in the striped suit spoke up. “Let’s get moving, before the navy starts to feel impatient and comes along to investigate. Kid, you take Lovesey. His girlfriend can stay here.”

“Okay, Vinnie.”

Nancy was not sure what was going on, but she knew she did not want to be left behind: if Mervyn was in trouble she would rather be by his side. But no one was asking what she preferred.

The man called Vincini continued giving instructions. “Luther, you take the Kraut.”

Nancy wondered why they were taking Carl Hartmann. She had assumed this was all something to do with Frankie Gordino, but he was nowhere in sight.

Vincini said: “Joe, bring the blonde.”

.The little man pointed his gun at Diana Lovesey’s bosom. “Let’s go,” he said. She did not move.

Nancy was horrified. Why were they kidnapping Diana? She had a dreadful feeling she knew the answer.

Joe poked the barrel of the gun into Diana’s soft breast, prodding her hard, and she gasped with pain.

“Wait a minute,” Mervyn said.

They all looked at him.

“All right, I’ll fly you out of here, but there’s a condition.”

Vincini said: “Shut up and move. You can’t make no fuckin’ conditions.”

Mervyn spread his arms wide. “So shoot me,” he said.

Nancy let out a cry of fear. These were the kind of men who would shoot someone who dared them; didn’t Mervyn understand that?

There was a moment of silence, then Luther said: “What condition?”

Mervyn pointed at Diana. “She stays.”

Joe, the little man, gave Mervyn a killing look.

Vincini said: “We don’t need you, shithead. There’s a whole bunch of Pan American pilots up front—any one of them can fly that seaplane as well as you.”

“And any one of them will make the same condition,” Mervyn said. “Ask them—if you’ve got time.”

Nancy realized that the gangsters did not know there was another pilot in the Goose. Not that it made much difference.

Luther said to Joe: “Leave her behind.”

The little man went red with anger. “Hell, why—”

“Leave her behind!” Luther shouted. “I paid you to help me kidnap Hartmann, not rape women!”

Vincini intervened. “He’s right, Joe. You can pick up another cunt later.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe said.

Diana began to cry with relief.

Vincini said: “We’re running out of time. Let’s get out of here!”

Nancy wondered whether she would ever see Mervyn again.

From outside came the sound of a Klaxon. The skipper of the launch was trying to get their attention.

The one they called Kid spoke up from the next room. “Holy shit, boss, look out the fuckin’ window!”

 

Harry Marks was knocked out when the Clipper splashed down. On the first bounce he fell headlong across the piled suitcases; then, just as he was getting to his hands and knees, the plane flopped into the sea and he was flung against the forward wall. He banged his head and was out cold.

When he came round, he wondered what the hell was going on.

He knew they had not arrived at Port Washington: they were only about two hours into a five-hour flight. This was an unscheduled stop, then; and it had seemed like an emergency splashdown.

He sat upright, feeling his injuries. Now he knew why planes had seat belts. His nose was bleeding, his head hurt like hell, and he was bruised just about everywhere; but nothing was actually broken. He wiped his nose with his handkerchief and considered himself lucky.

There were no windows in the baggage hold, of course, so he had no way of finding out what was going on. He sat still for a while and listened for clues. The engines were shut down, and there was a long period of quiet.

Then he heard a shot.

Firearms meant gangsters, and if there were gangsters on board they were probably after Frankie Gordino. More important, gunplay meant confusion and panic, and in those circumstances Harry might be able to get away.

He had to take a look outside.

He opened the door a crack. He saw no one.

He stepped out into the corridor and went forward to the door that led to the flight deck. He stood behind it, listening hard. He heard nothing.

Gently and silently, he eased the door open and peeped through.

The flight deck was deserted.

He stepped over the high threshold, treading softly, and went to the top of the staircase. He could hear men’s voices raised in argument, but he could not make out the words.

The cockpit hatch was open. Looking through it, he could see daylight in the bow compartment. He went closer and saw that the bow door was open.

He stood up and looked through the window, and saw a motor launch tied up to the nose of the aircraft. There was a man on deck in rubber boots and a cap.

Harry realized he could be very close to escape.

Here was a fast boat that could take him to a lonely spot on the coast. There appeared to be only one man on board. There had to be a way Harry could get rid of him and take the boat.

He heard a footstep right behind him.

He spun around, his heart pounding.

It was Percy Oxenford.

The boy stood in the rear doorway, looking as shocked as Harry felt.

After a moment Percy said: “Where have you been hiding?”

“Never mind that,” Harry said. “What’s going on down there?”

“Mr. Luther is a Nazi who wants to send Professor Hartmann back to Germany. He’s hired some gangsters to help him and he gave them a hundred thousand dollars in a briefcase!”

“Blimey,” said Harry, forgetting to do his American accent.

“And they killed Mr. Membury—he was a bodyguard from Scotland Yard.”

So that was what he was. “Is your sister all right?”

“So far. But they want to take Mrs. Lovesey with them because she’s so pretty—I hope they don’t notice Margaret....”

“God, what a mess,” said Harry.

“I managed to sneak away and come up through the trapdoor next to the ladies’ toilet.”

“What for?”

“I want Agent Field’s gun. I saw Captain Baker confiscate it.” Percy pulled open the drawer under the chart table. Inside was a compact revolver with a short barrel, just the sort of gun an F.B.I. man might carry under his jacket. “I thought so—it’s a Colt Thirty-eight Detective Special,” Percy said. He picked it up, broke it open expertly and spun the cylinder.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. You’ll get yourself killed.” He grabbed the boy’s wrist, took the gun from him, put it back and closed the drawer.

There was a loud noise from outside. Harry and Percy both looked out of the windows and saw a seaplane circling the Clipper. Who the hell was this? After a moment it started to descend. It splashed down, riding a wave, and taxied toward the Clipper.

“Now what?” said Harry. He turned around. Percy had disappeared. The drawer was open.

And the gun was gone.

“Damn,” Harry said.

He went through the rear door. He dashed past the holds, under the navigator’s dome and across a low compartment, then looked through a second door.

Percy was scampering along a crawlway through a space that got lower and narrower as it approached the tail. The plane’s structure was bare here, with struts and rivets visible and cables trailing along the floor. The space was obviously a redundant void above the rear half of the passenger deck. There was light at the far end, and Harry saw Percy drop down through a square hole. He remembered seeing a ladder on the wall next to the ladies’ room, with a trapdoor above it.

He could not stop Percy now: it was too late.

He recalled Margaret saying they could all shoot—it was a family obsession; but the boy knew nothing about gangsters. If he got in their way they would gun him down like a dog. Harry liked the boy, but his own feelings did not concern him so much as Margaret’s. Harry did not want her to see her brother killed. But what the hell could he do?

He returned to the flight deck and looked out. The seaplane was tying up to the launch. Either the people from the seaplane would come aboard the Clipper, or vice versa: in any event someone would soon be passing through the flight cabin. Harry had to get out of the way for a few moments. He went out through the rear door, leaving it open a crack so he could hear what went on.

Soon someone came up the stairs from the passenger deck and went through to the bow compartment. A few minutes later a number of people, two or three, came back. Harry listened to their footsteps going down the stairs, then came out.

Had they brought help, or reinforcements for the gangsters? Harry was in the dark again.

He went to the top of the stairs. There he hesitated. He decided to risk going partway down to listen.

He went to the bend in the staircase and peeked around the corner. He could see the little kitchen: it was empty. What would he do now if the seaman from the launch decided to come aboard the Clipper? I’ll hear him coming, Harry thought, and slip into the men’s room. He went on down, one slow step at a time, pausing and listening on each step. When he reached the bottom he heard a voice. He recognized Tom Luther’s voice, a cultured American accent with a trace of something European underneath. “The gods are on my side, Lovesey,” he was saying. “You have arrived in a seaplane just when we need one. You can fly me and Mr. Vincini and our associates over the navy cutter that the treacherous Eddie Deakin has summoned to trap us.”

That answered the question. The seaplane was going to enable Luther and Hartmann to get away.

Harry crept back up the stairs. The thought of poor Hartmann being taken back to the Nazis was heartbreaking; but Harry might have let it happen—he was no hero. However, young Percy Oxenford would do something stupid any moment now, and Harry could not stand aside and let Margaret’s brother get himself killed. He had to get in first, create a diversion, somehow put a spoke in the gang’s wheel, for her sake.

Looking into the bow compartment, he saw a rope tied to a strut, and he was inspired.

Suddenly he saw a way he could create a diversion and maybe get rid of one of the gangsters as well.

First he had to untie the ropes and set the launch adrift.

He went through the hatch and down the ladder.

His heart beat faster. He was scared.

He did not think about what he would say if someone caught him now. He would just make something up, as he always did.

He crossed the compartment. As he had thought, the rope came from the launch.

He reached up to the strut, undid the knot and dropped the rope on the floor.

Looking out, he saw that there was a second rope running from the bow of the launch to the nose of the Clipper. Damn. He would have to get out onto the platform to reach it, and that meant he might be seen.

But he could not give up now. And he had to hurry. Percy was back there like Daniel in the lions’ den.

He stepped up onto the platform. The rope was tied to a capstan sticking up from the nose of the aircraft. He untied it rapidly.

He heard a shout from the launch. “Hey, you, what are you doing?”

He did not look up. He hoped the guy did not have a gun.

He detached the rope from the capstan and threw it in the sea.

“Hey, you!”

He turned around. The skipper of the launch was standing on deck shouting. He was not armed, thank God. The man picked up his end of the other rope and pulled. The rope snaked out of the bow compartment and fell in the water.

The skipper ducked into the wheelhouse and started his engine.

The next part was more dangerous.