The Revengers (41 page)

Eleanor moaned with sudden distress. “Oh, God, Matt, this crazy jiggling little boat! Now I’m really getting sick. . ."

As she tried to turn around, Giulio said sharply, “Cut it out. None of that thrashing around!”

I shrugged elaborately. “Okay, if you want it sloshing around in the bottom of the boat with us.”

He hesitated. “Well, all right, but slow and careful, and I mean careful.”

I helped Eleanor turn, and boosted her up over the fat rubber tube until she had a clear shot at the water. Her thin little sweater had ridden up behind. I got a good, if awkward, grip on the exposed waistband of her slacks to keep her from going headfirst into the sea. There was some loud, agonized, and very convincing retching and gasping. A sharp unpleasant odor reached me, scaring me a little. If she was genuinely and disablingly ill, it was time for me to take action on my own. I didn’t know if, under Giulio’s sharp eyes, I could get at the trick belt buckle we’re issued, but I would have to try. Eleanor slid back down onto the floorboards and huddled there in the bilge water, spent, lying half across my lap, groaning feebly. I saw Giulio start to speak, to order her to move away from me, and check himself. I guess the whiff of bona fide vomit had convinced him of her total helplessness. . . .

“Christ, will you look at that fool girl!”

It was Henry’s voice, and he was not looking at Eleanor at all. He was staring into the darkness toward where
Jamboree
was already just a distant, slanting, three-light pattern decorating a dim sloping triangle of sail. The figure at the wheel was still discernible; her white shorts made a small reference point somewhat brighter than the sails.

Adam said, puzzled, “Hell, she hasn’t suited up yet. What the fuck does she think she’s doing? She’s running out of time; the bastard’s coming up fast.”

Henry didn’t seem to hear. His voice was pleading, “Don’t do it, Missy! Goddamn it, you get in that survival suit and get the hell off that sailing bomb! You don’t have to do it like that just because it’s the last. . ."

“You mean the screwball butch is doing a kamikaze?”

That was Giulio’s voice, but nobody answered him. I realized that I had just learned Serena Lorca’s defense against Giulio’s plans for her destruction. She didn’t have to worry about them, she could laugh at them, even, because she fully intended to destroy herself. This time she was simply going to stay on her self-propelled bomb and guide it home with her own hands.

The two light patterns were still well separated, but they had begun to close with frightening speed. We could see the luminous white wave at the ship’s bow and hear the faraway rumble of its engine as it rushed toward its secret rendezvous with death. And much closer, almost in my lap, I heard the tiny sound of a zipper being opened, and then the faint whispering noise of something being tom as the girl huddled across my lap went for the little knife she’d hidden in a very intimate location. I suppose I should have had an automatic masculine reaction to the thought of a lady deliberately ripping open her fragile nylon underwear to expose herself in that particular area; but I’ll have to admit that I was more concerned with the question of how she was going to get a folding knife unfolded with her wrists tightly bound, which I suppose says something unfavorable about my virility. I heard the faint zipper-sound again. Good girl. She had what she wanted and she wasn’t going to risk any awkward questions about why she was suddenly appearing in public with her fly open.

A sudden snarling noise made me look around. Henry had started the outboard motor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Giulio snapped.

“We can’t let her. . . .We’ve got to stop herl”

“Goddamn it, shut it off!”

“But—”

“I said off!” The gun’s threat left me as the weapon was directed aft. “Jesus, you can’t stop her, all you can do is get us blown up with her! Shut it down or I’ll—”

The outboard went silent, as a sharp knife blade nicked my wrist. Eleanor must have had more slack in her bonds than I’d hoped. I’d expected to have to help her, but she’d got it open by herself. She made a faint sound of apology for hurting me, which wasn’t so bright; but I’d have been an unappreciative bastard to criticize her now. She was doing fine. She was doing great. I felt the blade working under my wrists. The tape relaxed its firm grip somewhat, although it remained stuck in place. Then the open knife was put into my fingers and I managed to draw a little blood from her, too, before I got it working in the right place at the right angle. . . .

Henry’s voice spoke sharply, “He’s turning, he’s trying to turn. He’s seen her!” He was staring at the lights ahead, now approaching each other fast as the courses converged. “Come on, you lousy lubber, it’s about time you woke up on that fancy bridge; now get that wheel hard over. . .

I used the sound of his voice to cover the click of the closing knife, which I’d slipped into my pants pocket. It was smaller than I’d expected, smaller than I’d hoped; it really wasn’t enough of a weapon for either of us to rely on. On the other hand, it couldn’t be left lying in the boat to betray us, and pocket-bulges are less noticeable on gents than on ladies. Then there was only to keep the wrists close together so the cut tape wouldn’t fall away prematurely; and to watch the sea drama unfolding across the black water. Even Eleanor allowed herself to raise her head and show a dull interest.

“Back her down!” Henry was still issuing orders. “Hard astern, goddamn it; is everybody asleep down in that fucking engine room? Tack now, Missy! You’re too close to go overboard now, the blast would kill you in the water; but if you bring her around fast, maybe you can still. . . . Tack and cut that lousy arming switch. You don’t want to die like that, a nice young lady like you. . .

I watched with what might be called an ambivalent attitude. On the one hand, I didn’t want another ship sunk, not only for the ship’s sake, but because this was supposed to be a discreet operation all around, and another sinking would blow everything wide open. But on the other hand, I’ve never been sold on keeping people alive who want to be dead in this crowded world; it doesn’t seem quite fair to people who appreciate living and could use the extra space to do it in.

It was now clear that Serena Lorca had been heading for this toward the start. She’d planned just a single suicide mission but her father had given her the opportunity to exact a greater revenge than she’d hoped for and she’d accepted his offer. Now the job was finished and she was going to wind up the operation exactly as she’d planned from the start and rejoin her beautiful Ann in heaven, if her beliefs inclined that way. At least she’d avoid all the inevitable ugly hassles that came next; she’d go out clean, vengeance accomplished.

The ship was beginning to swing now, turning toward us to pass astern of the crossing sailboat. We could see the space between the range lights diminish slowly, gradually foreshortened by the changing angle. There was a distant vibrating roaring sound over there; the enormous power plant had been reversed at last.
Jamboree's
attitude did not change at all. I felt Eleanor’s fingers grip my arm tightly as the two light patterns came together over there.

In the Zodiac, nobody spoke, awaiting the unbearable burst of light, the deafening clap of sound. Then, for a moment, there was only one set of lights visible on the dark ocean, those of the freighter. There was time to wonder if perhaps the fuse had failed and
Jamboree
had simply gone down silently under the ship’s bow. . . .

“There she is!”

Henry’s voice was hoarse with emotion. We watched the red, green, and white sailboat lights appear again beyond the stem of the ship, the great bulk of which had briefly hidden them from view.

The sailboat’s lights worked their way back toward us, directed by the big waterproof flashlight Adam shone that way from time to time. The outboard motor was running and Henry was steering to meet Serena’s vessel, but he had to take it easy with a load of five passengers. There was some sea running and already we’d gotten thoroughly soaked as the blunt Zodiac bulled its way through the crests and butted them high enough for the wind to blow aboard. The level of the little lake in which we sat was rising; not dangerous in a rubber boat that would continue to float if filled to the top, but not exactly comfortable, either. I remembered Serena saying that she might possibly preserve our lives, but she certainly wouldn’t guarantee our dryness.

The receding tanker was again merely a pretty cluster of twinkling lights off near the horizon. The officers on the bridge had probably, by now, even stopped swearing at the crazy little yacht that had forced them to take violent evasive action. Henry and Adam were discussing the weird idiosyncrasies of their employer. Henry thought she was a gutsy but messed-up kid who ought to be under the care of a good shrink, if there was such a thing. Adam thought she was a crazy bitch and who the hell cared what happened to a dame who fucked dames except that kind of dame?

They almost got into a fight about it, and lapsed at last into sulky silence.

Then
Jamboree
was tacking to leeward to us and shooting up to us, her sails breaking into thunderous flapping as Serena cast off the sheets—I caught a glimpse of her in the light of the binnacle and she had a pale destroyed look, as befitted a girl who’d sailed deliberately up to the gates of death only to have them close in her face. Of course, the impression was undoubtedly helped by the ghastly red color of the compass light. Henry laid us alongside the ladder that had been lowered again. Giulio, closest to the bow, tossed Serena the Zodiac’s painter left-handed; and she gave it a couple of hasty turns around a cleat.

Came the old hostage gambit again, with a switch. Giulio aimed the big Browning directly at me and spoke to Eleanor,

“Up you go. No tricks or I’ll blow a hole right through him.”

Eleanor nodded dumbly, still sticking to her misery act. She made her way across the Zodiac and stepped up onto the big rubber float. Teetering there uncertainly, she made a grab for the stanchion she’d held before and hauled herself painfully up the ladder. I was very glad I’d stuck her little knife into my own pocket. Even in the darkness her drenched, clinging white slacks would have revealed any foreign object clearly. I noticed that she remembered to hold her wrists close together so as not to dislodge the tape or betray its sabotaged condition; just the same, I was happy that Serena, waiting above, wasn’t her usual sharp-eyed self. She was still just going through the motions of being alive after deliberately offering herself up to a loud and violent death. Giulio followed Eleanor’s upward progress warily without really shifting his attention, or his gun, from me. He waited until she’d dragged herself up to a kneeling position on
Jamboree's
rail and, at last, managed to stand up on the deck beside Serena, breathless and dripping.

Serena seemed to shake herself a little, waking up to the present. “Okay, she’s up. You can send up the man. . ."

Giulio rammed the automatic into his pants, rose, turned, and jumped for the ladder. He pulled himself up a step and reached far out for the cleat that held the Zodiac’s bow line, to cast it off. His intention was obvious. On
Jamboree
he had only two girls to deal with, one supposedly bound. He was turning loose the rubber boat holding three men, one supposedly bound, the other two armed only with knives. With his own pistol, and the shotgun that awaited him in the sailboat’s cockpit, he should have no trouble keeping the girls under control or disposing of them quickly; then he could easily hold off the Zodiac until
Ser-Jan
came up to help him take care of it.

I ripped my hands free—there was a sickening moment when a strand of tape that had escaped the knife threatened to be too tough to break—and dove across the rubber boat, reaching for the ladder. I felt the Zodiac, freed, slide out from under me and skitter away as I got a precarious hold too far down. I dangled there for an instant with ocean up to my knees; then I got my feet against the sailboat’s side and started walking up it like a monkey up a palm tree. A foot lashed out and grazed my head, but I could only duck and thank God that boat shoes are rubber-soled; I needed both hands for hanging on. The jointed ladder was bucking and swaying under the antics of two active men. I got a toehold on the bottom rung at last and tried to grab one of Giulio’s ankles, but he kicked at me again and hauled himself onto the deck above and rolled over and came to his feet up there. He was dragging the gun from his waistband, and there was no way I could possibly reach him in time. . . .

Serena screamed. It was a pure shrill howl of total agony. Giulio wasn’t quite pro-caliber after all; he couldn’t help a glance that way. I heaved myself over the rail and lunged at his legs. Bringing the gun to bear again, he stepped back quickly to avoid me, forgetting where he was. His heel caught in the cockpit coaming and he tumbled backward into the well of the cockpit beyond. I had a glimpse of the two girls locked in battle. For a husky young woman of her offbeat sexual persuasion, Serena fought in an oddly feminine manner, one hand tearing at her opponent’s sweater, the other yanking at her hair; and she was sobbing loudly as she fought. The smaller girl was battling in grim silence. She seemed to be doing okay, even though she was overmatched; it was up to me to do as well.

But Giulio, disarmed and half-stunned by his fall, was no real problem. I simply grabbed the heavy winch handle I’d seen Serena use and beat in his skull with a single blow as he rose before me in a half-dazed manner. When you feel everything give under the club like that, you know there’s no need to strike again. Serena screamed again, another high, cracking, uncontrolled shriek of pain. I glanced that way and saw that the two struggling figures had parted company. The smaller girl had been thrown off and the larger one was staring down at a bare foot covered with blood in the middle of which I could discern, even in the dark, a strange object that didn’t belong there: the broken-off high heel of a woman’s sandal. It had been driven clear through the foot like a spearhead. Obviously, the first scream had come with the original impalement; the second had been elicited by the agonizing wrench as Eleanor fell, leaving part of her sandal firmly lodged in the flesh and bone of Serena’s foot.