Dr. Death (12 page)

Nothing. Not even a snore. Not even heavy breathing.

Li Chin raised her eyebrows at me questioningly. I nodded. She flattened herself to one side of the door as I cautiously tried the door handle.

It turned.

Slowly, I pushed the door open a crack. In the moonlight that came through the portholes, I could see two bunks, storage cabinets, a table, and a bench.

The bunks and the bench were empty. The bunks were neatly made up.

There was no sign of any human presence.

I motioned again to Li Chin, and cautiously, silently, slid through the crack in the door, spinning to avoid anyone who might be behind it.

No one.

Li Chin behind me, I pushed back the door to the galley.

Empty.

And there was no further place in the cabin or galley where anyone could hide. I stood for a moment, thinking. The dinghy meant someone was aboard. If not in cabin or galley, where? The one hatch had been tightly battened.

The same thing must have occurred to both of us simultaneously, because Li Chin suddenly grabbed my arm and gestured toward the bunks. Then she held up two fingers, and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

She was right. It was far too big a boat to sleep only two people. I let my eyes move slowly over every inch of the cabin wall.

They stopped at a panel in the far end, beyond the galley.

Motioning to Li Chin to cover me from behind, I padded silently to the panel, and began to feel its edges. If they concealed a trick lock or spring, they concealed it well. I gently pressed the ornamental molding around the panel, working my way carefully up one side, over the top, and down the other side. I was just starting on the bottom molding when I heard a creaking sound behind me. I turned, and cursed inwardly.

I had been working on the wrong panel. The panel I should have been working on was the one beside the door through which we'd entered the cabin. That panel had slid back.

And behind it stood a tall, lean black man. He was wearing flowered pajamas. He was pointing a shotgun. At me.

His lips were smiling. His eyes weren't.

"My, my," he shook his head gently. "You folks sure are quiet. I hardly knew I had visitors at all."

I shot a glance at Li Chin. She was standing too far from the shotgun to grab it before it could blast one of us to kingdom come. And her little derringer was nowhere in sight. She saw me looking at her, and shrugged as though with regret.

"Sorry, Carter," she said. "I… well… you know, damnit, the truth of the matter is, I forgot to take it out of the bag."

"Great," I said grimly.

"Forgot to take it out of the bag?" the black man said in mock wonderment. "Forgot to take what out of the bag? The cat?" He shook his head again. "You folks puzzle me. You sure do."

His left hand — the one that wasn't holding the shotgun — moved down to a table by his side, in the cabin beyond the trick panel. He popped something into his mouth and chewed leisurely, his eyes never leaving us a second.

"Now, I dig visitors, being a friendly kind of cat myself. And I sure appreciate your making a little call on me, being as I was feeling kind of lonely, having fired my watchman for being more dedicated to the sauce than to the
Lady Day.
His left hand descended again, and again popped something into his mouth. It looked suspiciously like a piece of chocolate. "But, being basically a curious kind of cat, I sure would dig knowing the
purpose
of your visit. I mean, could you lay a little information on me as to exactly what the scene is here?"

I glanced at Li Chin and shook my head slightly. We both remained silent.

The man shook his head again. Another chocolate — that was definitely what they were — was chomped down onto by strong looking teeth.

"Well, T sure am sorry to hear that," he said. "I genuinely am. Because that means I'll have to make a little call on the ship-to-shore, you dig? Have to have a little conversation with the local constabulary."

I still said nothing. He moved slowly, his eyes alert, into the cabin where we stood. He motioned Li Chin to back up still further.

"Second thoughts?" he asked. "Do I hear any second thoughts?"

If he could have heard my thoughts, he wouldn't have been talking to us. He would have been trying to deal with Michelle — who was coming down the steps into the cabin on cat feet, Li Chin's derringer pointed square at the back of the black man's skull.

"Well, that's a pity," he said. "That's truly a…"

"Don't move!" snapped Michelle. She slammed the nozzle of the derringer hard against the man's skull. He froze. "Drop the shotgun!"

He didn't move an inch. Not even his eyeballs. But his hands didn't loosen their grip on the shotgun, either.

"Well, now," he said slowly. "I don't believe I'll do that. I'm sort of attached to this shotgun, you might say. And my finger is sort of tight on the trigger, you might say. You might even say that if some mean dude were to put a bullet through my head, that finger would tighten on the trigger through reflex action, and your two friends would find themselves decorating the wall."

We all stood frozen in silence, a tableau of guns, tension, and pounding hearts.

Suddenly, in a blur of astonishing speed for one so tall and gangly, the man dropped and whirled. The stock of the shotgun caught Michelle in her belly. She crumpled and gasped. The derringer dropped, and the black man had it in his left hand half a second later. But Li Chin was already on the move. Her right foot shot forward as her whole body slid forward. The shotgun sailed from the black man's grasp and landed against a bulkhead. Seconds later it was in my hands, pointed squarely at him.

But the derringer, now in his hand, was jammed against Michelle's neck, pointing upward toward her skull. And he held Michelle's body between himself and me — and the shotgun and Wilhelmina.

He chuckled.

"A Mexican standoff, I do believe. Or how about, an Afro-American standoff, in this case. Or, not to neglect the little lady, a Chinese-American standoff?"

He was right. He could keep us immobilized, using Michelle's body as a shield, for as long as he could stand up. But he was immobilized too. In order to use the ship-to-shore radio, he would have to release Michelle, which he couldn't do without giving us the drop on him.

I wasn't about to risk getting Michelle's skull blown off.

And I couldn't risk having the San Juan police called in.

And I certainly wasn't supposed to go around shooting innocent American yacht owners, for that matter.

I made my decision.

"Let's talk," I said grimly.

"Groovy, man," he said. The derringer didn't move an inch.

"I take it you're Hunter, the owner of this yacht," I said.

"That's me," he said. "Robert F. Hunter. Of Robert F. Hunter Enterprises. But my friends call me Sweets. Cause I've got a bit of a sweet tooth."

"All right, Hunter," I said slowly and deliberately. "I'm going to level with you, because we need your cooperation. My name is Nick Carter, and I work for an agency of the United States Government."

The keen eyes flickered slightly.

"Now, you wouldn't be putting me on, would you man?" Hunter drawled. "Because I don't think ol' Mr. Hawk would appreciate somebody going around impersonating his Number One man."

This time,
my
eyes flickered.

"Tell me about Hawk." I demanded.

"Well, you see, man, I've got a little import-export business. Along with a little real estate business, and a little advertising business, and a couple of other businesses. They don't do too bad. In fact, I guess you could say I'm kind of a millionaire, which I think is a pretty groovy kind of thing to be. But I haven't forgotten that it was the good old U.S. of A., with all its faults, that gave me the opportunity to make my bread. So when old Mr. Hawk contacted me a few years ago and asked me to use my import-export office in Ghana to do him and AXE a few favors, I didn't mind at all. I didn't even mind when Mr. Nick Carter, the agent Hawk had originally told me was going to be put on the job, was called off on an emergency somewhere in Southeast Asia, and a second-string man sent in."

I remembered the job. Ghana had been important. Southeast Asia had been more important. I'd never gotten to Ghana. MacDonald, an N5, had been sent in my place.

"All right," I said. "You know who I am. Now let me tell you what I need."

Suddenly, Michelle, who had been standing glassy-eyed and paralyzed with terror, as well as Hunter's grip, spoke.

"Please, please… the gun…"

Hunter glanced at her, and withdrew the derringer slightly from her head.

"Before you tell me what you need," he said to me, "how about letting me eyeball a little identification."

Silently, I peeled off the wet suit, and showed him the tattoo on my inner arm. He looked at it carefully. Then broke into a big grin. The derringer was tossed casually onto the bunk. Michelle sank to the floor, and I heard a deep sigh of relief.

"Killmaster," said Hunter effusively, "it's a real pleasure. Sweets Hunter and the
Lady Day
are at your command."

"Thanks," I said curtly. "Meet my companions, Li Chin, troubleshooter for the Chin clan, with worldwide interests, and Michelle Duroche, daughter of the French scientist Fernand Duroche."

"It's a pleasure, ladies," said Hunter, bowing to each, then digging into his pajama pocket and coming out with a small box, which he offered with a flourish. "Have a chocolate. Orange-flavored. Made to my order in Perugia, Italy."

Michelle silently shook her head. Li Chin plucked a chocolate from the box and popped it into her mouth.

"Hey," she said. "Not bad."

"Lemme offer you folks a little refreshment," said Hunter, going toward the galley. "I've got a complete soda-fountain here. How about a nice ice-cream soda, or a hot-fudge sundae?"

Michelle and I shook our heads.

"I'll have a soda," said Li Chin. "Raspberry, if you've got it, Hunter."

"Call me Sweets," he said. "One fresh raspberry soda, coming up."

Sweets busied himself at the soda-fountain. I glanced at Michelle. She looked shaken, but gradually the color was coming back into her face. Li Chin, as I had expected, hadn't turned a hair.

"Hey, man," said Sweets, "you don't have to give me any more information than you want to, but I could probably be of a little more assistance if I were a little more hip, data-wise, that is."

I had already made my decision about that. My intuition — and if an agent can't often make snap decisions based on his intuition, he's a dead agent — told me Hunter was straight.

"Consider yourself a member of the team," I said. "And since we don't have any time to waste, here's the story."

I gave it to him, leaving out the details he didn't have to know, while Li Chin sipped contentedly on her soda and Sweets himself dug into a truly horrible-looking banana split.

"So that's it," I finished. "We need your boat for a fast trip to Martinique."

"You've got it," said Sweets promptly, licking chocolate syrup off one finger. "When do we leave?"

"Now," I said. "How much of a crew does the
Lady Day
need?"

"Umm," said Sweets, "any of you folk ever crew before?"

"I can handle it," I said.

"I messed around a little at the Hong Kong yacht club," said Li Chin, casually, probably meaning she'd captained a regatta winner.

"I was brought up spending summers on my father's boat on Lake Lucerne," Michelle said immediately.

"Well, the Caribbean ain't exactly Lake Lucerne," said Sweets, "But I think the four of us can handle it okay."

"Charts?" asked Li Chin, finishing her soda.

"In the other cabin," said Sweets. He reached into a drawer. "After-soda mint, anybody?"

I shook my head.

"Li Chin, chart a course to the north side of the island, somewhere on the coast beyond St. Pierre," I said. Then to Sweets: "How quiet is your engine?"

He grinned and stood up.

"Cool it, man," he said. "Even the fish won't know we're coming. Well be out of this harbor before you can say boo. Now let me get you folks some threads. Those wetsuits aren't too groovy out of the water."

Less than half an hour later we were out of San Juan harbor and heading south, now under sail and with the engine off, toward Martinique.

Toward the volcano.

It's roughly 400 nautical miles from San Juan Harbor to Martinique. By morning we had put over forty of those miles behind us, sailing round the western coast of Puerto Rico out into the open Caribbean. By Li Chin's reckoning, it would take another twenty-four hours before we dropped anchor somewhere north of St. Pierre. That meant we would have only two days to prevent the OAS from destroying the Curaçao refinery. It was going to be tight. I spent most of my time going over every detail of the available information in my head, and working out a detailed plan.

The rest of my time, Michelle and I shared in the far cabin. It had two bunks but we needed only one. We put that one to good use. I have a fairly imaginative mind myself when it comes to such things, but Michelle showed what I have to admit was creative genius. By the time the first eighteen hours on board was up, I was almost as familiar with — and more admiring of — every curve of Michelle's flesh than I was with the workings of Wilhelmina. It wasn't until late afternoon that I managed to disentangle myself from her still-desirous arms, shower, and put on a pair of the dungarees Sweets had loaned us.

"Where are you going?" asked Michelle, stirring voluptuously in bed.

"On deck," I said. "I want to have a word with Sweets and Li Chin. And I want you there, too."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't think of letting you out of my sight now," said Michelle, rolling immediately out of bed and reaching for a pair of dungarees and tee-shirt which, when put on, made her look even less dressed than when she had nothing on.