she said angrily, ‘I can walk out by the front door! As I’m fully legally entitled to do!’
He stood aside and waved his hand.
‘Try it. See how far you get. You won’t get near the front door! They’ll forcibly detain you. They haven’t gone to all this trouble just to let you stroll away. But go ahead, try it!’
‘But they can’t detain me – that’s illegal!’
‘Of course it’s illegal! But whatever it is you’ve got in your head they want so badly that they’ll do it! And a hell of a lot more!’ He glared at her, then took a deep, tense breath. ‘Look, Anna, right now they’re off their guard because I’ve told them that you’re cooperative. So this moment, I’m your only jailer. There’re two security men in the house, plus a bastard called Carrington who’s supposed to be my controller. But they’re all entrusting your safe-keeping to me because I’m the only one who can keep you happy. But if you try to walk out and kick up a fuss, they’ll politely lock you up with the two security men as your jailers and at midnight they’ll put you on that plane in a straitjacket!’ He glared at her. ‘But if you trust this jailer’ – he banged his chest – ‘we’ve got a chance of escaping, because they trust me and won’t be watching! Then we can get you a lawyer.’
She stared at him. The shower gushing down.
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because you are legally entitled to do what you like! They have no rights over you. And I’m not going to stand by and let them force you to do something. And I believe they will use force if necessary – it’s that important to them. And worse than that – I’m by no means sure that if you’ve been uncooperative they’ll let you walk out and tell the world what the beastly British did to you. Or let you blow your secret information to the wide world!’ He took a tense breath. ‘I’m doing this because I believe you’re in serious danger.’ He added: ‘And because I love you.’
She looked at him angrily.
‘And what’ll the British do to you? For helping me escape their clutches?’
He said: ‘To me? Nothing! What can they do? I’m here on an illegal assignment of kidnapping Anna Hapsburg. What can they legally do to me for refusing to be an accomplice to a crime? They daren’t court-martial me, because I’m here unofficially and deniably, quote unquote, and I’ve committed no crime. And I’ll be a terrible embarrassment when I tell the court what the British were up to in Grenada. That would make lovely reading in the press.’ He waved his hand impatiently. ‘They daren’t do a damn thing to me.’
She said, ‘They could kill you. To keep your mouth closed.’
He snorted. ‘They won’t dare do anything once we’ve got a lawyer.’ He pointed grimly at the window. ‘That’s the only way out, Anna. We’re committing no crime and you’ve got nothing to lose.’
She looked at him. Exhausted. ‘And where do we go?’
‘You have to tell me. I don’t know where this precious information is, remember. First we have to get off this island. To South America, obviously, only a hundred miles away. From there, you have to tell me.’ He held out a warning finger. ‘I don’t want you to tell me now. I don’t want you to think I may tip-toe downstairs and tell those bastards what you’ve told me.’
She took a big, tremulous breath.
‘Oh, thank God,’ she whispered.
And he knew she really was thanking God.
He was suddenly awake, just as it was getting dark. She was still deep asleep. He went into the bathroom, dashed cold water onto his face. He pulled on the clothes Mr Gillespie had provided. He unzipped Anna’s handgrip and took some money. Then he sat down, to wait for dark.
He parted the curtain. For a minute he watched. There was nobody to be seen in the garden. There was no light in the study window below.
He slid the window open. He swung his leg over the sill. He dropped onto the lawn below. He scrambled up and ran for the trees.
He ran at the wall, and jumped. He gripped the top and swung his leg up. He straddled it, then he rolled over.
He dropped into the road below. He scrambled up.
He walked down the road fast for a hundred yards, then he came to the beach. He started running.
The taxi dropped him off along the waterfront.
He walked feverishly towards the harbour. There were sailing boats, sport-fishing boats. He came to a handpainted sign. It read: Big King for Big Fish. It gave a telephone number. There were more signs. He pulled out his wallet and made a note.
Ahead there was a bar, overlooking the harbour. He made for it. He went in and signalled to the black barman. ‘Beer, please.’
He paid for it with one of Max Hapsburg’s fifty-dollar bills and got the change. ‘Have you got a telephone?’
‘Nope. Don’t work.’
Morgan pushed a dollar bill across the bar. ‘Where do I find Big King? I want to go fishing.’
The barman took the dollar. He jerked his head. ‘He’s anchored out there aways. See that hot-water boat?’
Morgan peered across the harbour. The launch was about forty feet long, with a flying bridge.
‘How do I get out there? Is there a rowboat?’
‘Sounds like five bucks to me.’
He would gladly have paid fifty.
The barman turned and yelled: ‘Take this gennelman to Big King …’
A black boy rowed him out. There were lights burning in Big King’s portholes. There was a rubber dinghy tied to the stern. Morgan grabbed the gunnel. He called, ‘Mr King?’
A head appeared at the aft hatch. It wore a baseball cap and the face was round and heavy. ‘Yeah?’
‘Can I rent your boat tomorrow?’
‘Nope,’ Big King said, ‘she’s already rented. For the next three days. After that, okay.’
‘Can you take me to Saint Vincent, day after tomorrow?’
‘Saint Vincent?’
Morgan gave the boy ten dollars, so he would remember him. And, hopefully, Saint Vincent. ‘Okay, son, Mr King will row me ashore.’ He climbed aboard the Kingfisher. He extended his hand. ‘My name is Smithers.’
Big King’s hand was big and rough.
‘Smithers, huh? Or Jones? What do you want to go to Saint Vincent for? Cos I don’t smuggle dope no more, got my ass burned.’
Morgan
