Jack Higgins (16 page)

Gaunt had gone very pale, but he didn't look as if he had lost control. In fact I could almost hear the wheels turning inside as he looked for some way out of this.

“Would someone kindly tell me what all this is about?” I said.

Harrison shook his head. “Not your affair, old man. All I want from you are a few facts and figures. How long is the course you've plotted from Grant Bay to Shannon?”

I glanced across at Gaunt who nodded. “We're not going to Shannon,” I said. “Our destination is Reykjavik in Iceland.”

“Well, bless my soul,” he said. “That is a turn-up for the book. How far have we come?”

“Just over six hundred.”

He smiled brightly. “Ah, well, Iceland will suit me just as well as anywhere else.” He looked down at Gaunt. “You know, Marvin, you were really very stupid. All I wanted was my share.”

“All right, all right!” Gaunt raised a hand quickly as if to shut him up. “No need to advertise. We can discuss it elsewhere.”

Harrison backed out of the cabin and Gaunt followed him, closing the door. They were out there for a good five minutes and talked all the time, but I wasn't able to catch what they were saying. The shots, when they came, sounded remote and far away. There were two very close together, a short pause and then three more, two of which
passed through the door splintering the windscreen.

I put the automatic pilot in control and unstrapped myself quickly. As I got to my feet and turned, the door burst open and Gaunt fell into my arms. I pushed him down into the other seat and he clawed at my jacket as I tried to unfasten his flying suit at the neck. And then blood erupted from his mouth and he lolled back, his head turning sideways, eyes fixed and staring.

Harrison was lying just inside the main cabin, face-down and when I turned him over, he was already dead, shot twice through the body. So there I was, up to my neck in trouble, two dead bodies on my hands, mixed up in something that was obviously far more serious than I'd ever appreciated.

I went down to the galley, poured hot coffee from a Thermos and lit a cigarette. What was I going to do, that was the thing? I could always drop them both over the side, but that still meant I had to land somewhere and the plane would take a hell of a lot of explaining away because even if I just dumped it there would still be enquiries and that was the last thing I wanted. Of course, the ideal solution would have been to send the damned thing down to the bottom of the Atlantic with both of them inside, but that wouldn't do me much good. There was a variation on that theme, of course. Find a suitable piece of wilderness and bale out leaving the Heron to come down the hard way. With the additional petrol she was carrying in the auxiliary tanks she would go up like a torch.

What I needed sounded like an impossibility. The sort of area so sparsely populated that the crash would pass
unnoticed and yet so close to some sort of civilisation that I would have a fair chance of walking out.

The solution, when it came, was so simple that I almost laughed out loud. I hurried back to the pilot's cabin, sat down in my seat again and reached for the chart. I found what I was looking for straight away—the Julianehaab Bight on the southwest coast of Greenland and the little fishing village of Sandvig, the fjord on which it stood cutting inland through the mountains to the ice-cap beyond.

That ice-cap was one of the most desolate places on God's earth. Through the years many planes had disappeared over it without trace. The Heron would be just one more and in any case, the official view when it failed to show at Shannon, would be that it was at the bottom of the Atlantic somewhere.

I calculated the distance to the coast carefully. Four hundred and fifty miles to go and according to the dial, there was enough fuel left in the tanks for approximately another five hundred miles. It couldn't have been more perfect. All I had to do was put it on automatic pilot and jump without switching the auxiliary tanks through. The plane would fly on perhaps another fifty miles, but when the fuel gave out it would nosedive, exploding like a bomb on impact.

The only tricky bit was going to be the jump, but that was a calculated risk I'd just have to take. I lit a cigarette, reached for the automatic pilot control and found myself looking Gaunt straight in the face. It wasn't very pleasant and I pushed him away to the other side of the seat, switched off the automatic pilot and took control again.
All I needed now was a plausible story for my good friend Olaf Rasmussen when I walked in on him at his farm above Sandvig. But that shouldn't prove too difficult. There was a road of sorts linking Frederiksborg and Sandvig. I could say I'd been on the hunting trip I'd talked about all season, but had been too busy to take. That I'd had some kind of accident and lost all my gear. I had the bare bones of a story. Now I started to concentrate on making it sound convincing.

 

I brought the plane in low over the sea and took her up to three thousand as land appeared and beyond, through the harsh white moonlight, the Greenland Icecap gleamed like a string of pearls.

East from Cape Desolation the Julianehaab Bight was full of smoky mist indicating no wind to speak of and certainly nothing more than five knots which was something. At least it gave me the chance of dropping into the valley at the head of the fjord. Not much of a one, but better than staying here.

It was cold in the cabin with the night wind streaming in through the splintered windscreen and the lighted dials on the instrument panel were confusing in their multiplicity, occasionally merging into a meaningless blur.

And then, on the far side of the mist the waters of the fjord gleamed silvery white in the intense light and the strange twisted moonscape rolled towards the ice-cap, every feature etched razor-sharp.

It was time to go. I reduced speed, put the auto pilot in control and unbuckled my safety belt. When I turned Gaunt's body had slid round again so that he seemed to
be staring at me, mouth slightly parted as if he would speak, head disembodied in the light from the instrument panel.

I moved into the darkness of the main cabin, stumbling across Harrison's body so that I fell to one knee and my outstretched hand touched his ice-cold face. God knows why, but at that moment I suddenly became desperately afraid and lurched through the darkness and clawed at the quick release handles on the exit hatch. It fell away into the night and I stepped into space without hesitation, aware of the intense cold, feeling strangely free. I seemed to somersault in slow motion and for a single moment saw the plane above me in the night drifting steadily eastwards like some dark ghost and then I reached for the ring to open my chute.

For a moment it seemed to stick and my throat went dry. I tugged again with all my strength. I still continued to fall, turning over and then, quite suddenly, I heard what at the right moment is the most reassuring sound in the world—the crack of a chute opening above your head, blossoming like a white flower as the air fills it. I started to drift down into the hills at the head of the fjord.

R
ain drummed against the window and I peered out into the gathering darkness.

“What happened after you landed?” Desforge asked.

I turned to face them. “I had a rather enjoyable twelve-mile hike by moonlight. When I walked in on Olaf Rasmussen I told him I'd been on a hunting trip in the mountains from Frederiksborg. That I'd managed to scramble clear when my jeep had gone over the edge of the road on a washed-out section taking all my gear with it. That sort of thing happens all the time in country like this. He didn't question it for a moment. The following day I got a lift to Frederiksborg in a fishing boat. From there I flew to Newfoundland in one of the Catalina flying boats that East Canada Airways use on the coastal run. They always get out before the ice starts.”

Sarah Kelso sat on the edge of the bed, her
handkerchief screwed up into a ball, her face drained of all colour. Desforge turned slowly, looked down at her. “You certainly fooled me, angel. Who are you, anyway?”

“Does that matter now?” she said.

“No, I suppose it doesn't.”

He poured himself another drink and I pulled a chair forward and sat down in front of her. “Shall we have the truth now?”

“All right,” she said wearily. “What do you want to know?”

“Let's start with the emeralds. Who did they belong to originally?”

“The International Investment Company of Brazil. They were a plane shipment to Sao Paulo from somewhere in the interior. Gaunt hijacked them with some local help and Harrison was waiting to fly him out.”

“And Vogel was behind the whole deal?”

“That's right.”

“Where did you fit in?”

She shrugged. “I work for Vogel—have done for years.”

“When the plane went missing what was Vogel's reaction?”

“Oh, he accepted it completely. Said it was just one of those things.”

“Didn't he worry about the mysterious Mr. Kelso?”

She shook her head. “Not particularly. Harrison frequently used another identity and in any case, there was nowhere they could have gone—not without Vogel getting some sort of word. Another thing, there was always the insurance which was better than nothing.”

“You mean he actually had the company pay out?”

“Why not? It was a legitimate claim. In any case, you don't seem to realise. He
is
the London and Universal Insurance Company.”

Desforge poured himself another drink. “From what you say, Joe, it looks as if Gaunt was trying to pull a fast one and Harrison simply caught up with him.”

I nodded and said to Sarah Kelso, “It was a neat idea to pass you off as Kelso's widow. Tell me something—the dental record and signet ring? Who did they really belong to?”

“Gaunt,” she said.

I glanced up at Desforge. “Simple when you know how and no one would think to query the cause of death, not with the state those two bodies were in.”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “One thing I don't understand—what happened to the emeralds?”

I told him about the package Gudrid had addressed to herself at Sandvig and he whistled softly. “That must be just about the most ironic twist of all. Isn't this about the time when Simonsen should be taking a hand?”

“He's at a fishing village a hundred miles up the coast from here at the moment,” I said. “Won't be back till tomorrow afternoon. In fact he's expecting me to pick him up.”

“And by that time you'll be long gone I suppose.”

“I expect so.”

I moved to the window and looked outside. The fog was thickening but the rain had slackened off considerably. When I turned, Ilana was standing a couple of feet away. Her eyes were unnaturally large and her skin
seemed to have tightened over her cheekbones, ageing her considerably.

“Did you mean that?” she demanded. “About clearing out before the storm breaks.”

“It would seem the sensible thing to do,” I said. “If I stay anything could happen after what I did.”

“Tell me something. If you'd kept quiet would anyone have known that Gaunt and Harrison had been shot to death?”

Desforge cut in quickly. “She's got a point there, Joe. From what you told us those bodies must have been in a hell of a state.”

“Then why didn't you keep quiet?” she said. “With any kind of luck you needn't have been involved at all.”

I'd been asking myself the same question for sometime now without coming up with an answer that made any kind of sense. “God knows,” I said. “Maybe I have a death-wish or something or perhaps I just can't keep out of trouble.”

She smiled gently. “You won't run, Joe. It's not in your nature—not any more.”

And she was right, I knew that the moment she said it. The days when I turned back on any part of life and simply walked away from it were in the past.

I grinned. “All right, what do I do now? Sally forth into the night and capture Vogel and Stratton single-handed?”

Desforge went to the window and peered out. “I wouldn't have thought there was much point. I mean where in the hell can they go in a pea-souper like this.”

He was right, of course. There was simply no way out
until the weather cleared and at sea that schooner of Da Gama's wouldn't last half a day with the Danish Navy corvette that had been doing coastal survey work out of Godthaab on its tail. I suddenly realised that the whole thing was as good as over. Vogel and Stratton didn't stand a chance, hadn't from the moment Arnie had been murdered. That had really been a very stupid thing to do. Surprising really, for someone like Vogel, but on the other hand a man was only as good as the people who worked for him.

“What are you going to do about Arnie?” Ilana said.

I shrugged. “There isn't much we can do, is there? Better to leave things exactly as they are for Simonsen to see tomorrow. I think that's what he'd want.”

There was a knock on the door and when I opened it, Gudrid was standing there. Her face was blotched and swollen with weeping, but otherwise she seemed to be in control of herself.

“Mr. Martin, I wonder if you'd do me a great favour?”

“If I can.”

“I'd like to charter your plane. Could you fly me down to Sandvig first thing in the morning? I want to get away from here—right away.”

“Olaf Simonsen might not be too happy about that when he gets back tomorrow afternoon,” I said.

“If he wants me, he can come to Sandvig for me.” She clutched my arm. “Please, Mr. Martin.”

I nodded slowly. “All right, Gudrid, but it all depends on the weather, remember. You'd better pray for the fog to lift.”

“Thank you, Mr. Martin.” There was real relief on her face as she moved to the door and then she hesitated and turned slowly. “What was in the package Arnie gave me, Mr. Martin?”

“Emeralds, Gudrid,” I said. “A fortune in emeralds. He would have been rich beyond his wildest dreams. Enough to go to anyone's head.”

“And that's why he was murdered.” I nodded. “Do you know who did it?”

“That's for the police to decide. Let's say we have a fair idea. Why do you ask?”

“It doesn't matter,” she said calmly. “After all, nothing can bring him back now, can it?”

I watched her go and swallowed hard. Another of those times when I could have done with a drink. As I turned, Sarah Kelso got up wearily. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets, her face was pinched and drawn. I remembered the supremely beautiful woman I'd met only three nights ago and could detect not the slightest resemblance.

“If no one has any objection, I think I'd like to go to bed,” she said.

Desforge looked at me, compassion in his eyes. “Let her go, Joe. After all, where can she run to?”

Which was true enough and I nodded without speaking. She went out, closing the door softly behind her.

“And now what?” Desforge said.

I suddenly realised I was hungry and glanced at my watch. It was just after ten. “Still time for a late dinner if anyone feels like joining me?”

“And that's the best idea yet,” Desforge said. “Just give me time to change,” and he went into the bedroom.

I turned to Ilana and held out my hands. She hesitated before taking them. “What's this for?”

“I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “For straightening me out.”

“Oh, that!” she smiled faintly. “I wonder if you'll feel the same way when the court has finished with you.”

“Very civilised people the Danes,” I said. “Finest prisons in the world or didn't you know?”

“I always thought that was Sweden.”

“Now you've got me worried.” I pulled her into my arms and kissed her.

 

In view of the circumstances it may sound macabre to say that I ate a hearty meal, but the truth was that I'd only had a sandwich since flying from Sandvig that morning. Desforge wasn't far behind me, but Ilana contented herself with coffee and watched us eat.

We sat in the bar for an hour afterwards and I made do with cigarettes and more coffee while Desforge consumed his usual quantity of alcohol. At one stage in the conversation he suddenly pointed out that by flying Gudrid down to Sandvig I'd be able to return with the emeralds, which for some reason hadn't occurred to me before. Beyond that, we didn't really discuss what had happened, but it was there just the same beneath the surface of things and our general conversation was disjointed and without any real pattern to it.

It was half past eleven when we went upstairs. I asked Ilana to check on Sarah Kelso and Desforge and I went on to his room. Ilana joined us within a couple of minutes.

“She's sleeping, which seems the sensible thing to do. It's been a long and interesting day so I think I'll turn in. I'll see you in the morning.”

Desforge was pouring himself a drink, his back to us and she looked up at me very deliberately as if waiting for something. I did the only thing I could think of which was to put an arm around her and walk her to the door. I kissed her briefly. She had expected more, so much was obvious and I couldn't imagine what it might be. There was something close to disappointment in her eyes when she went out.

I turned and found Desforge looking at me gravely. “You want to watch yourself there, Joe,” he said. “The hooks are out.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I've seen it all before. Why waste your time?”

There was a kind of malice underlying what he had said. It was almost as if he hated her now and in view of her father's attitude towards financing the picture, that might well be true. Or perhaps he simply resented her going elsewhere? The old lion still trying to hang on to what was his.

I didn't pursue it and he let it drop and suggested a hand of cards. We played poker, blackjack, a few hands of whist and ended up with a diabolical little game called Slippery Sam that I hadn't played since my navy days. He took a little over two hundred dollars off me and by three-thirty I'd had enough.

I left him and went along to my bedroom. I didn't feel
tired and I flung myself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about it all.

A moment later the door opened and Desforge came in. “She's gone,” he said simply.

“Sarah Kelso?”

He nodded. “I've just looked in.”

His reasons were pretty obvious, but that didn't concern me now and I swung my feet to the floor and got up. “Have you checked with Ilana?”

“First place I looked, but there's no sign of her there. Ilana's getting dressed. She'll be here in a minute.”

I left him there and went along the corridor and knocked on Gudrid's door. When she opened it I saw with some surprise that she was still dressed.

“Oh, it's you, Mr. Martin.” She nodded towards a couple of suitcases on the bed. “I couldn't sleep so I've been packing.”

“I want you to do something for me,” I said. “Mrs. Kelso seems to have disappeared. Check with the rest of the night staff. See what you can find out without making too much of a fuss.”

She nodded breathlessly, her face white and excited and I left her there, went down the back stairs and let myself out of the yard door. The hotel had two Land-Rovers which were kept in a garage across the yard. One was obviously in use so I took the other and drove away as quickly as the fog would allow.

The road down to the harbour was deserted and when I reached the canning factory I parked the Land-Rover and went the rest of the way to the jetty on foot. I was wasting my time, of course. Incredible as it seemed in
view of the weather conditions, Da Gama's schooner had disappeared as completely as if it had never existed.

 

It was just after four as I drove back into the yard at the rear of the hotel and already dawn was seeping through the curtain of fog so that I could see the outlines of buildings clearly.