A Fine Night for Dying (15 page)

In the silence, Chavasse picked up the machine pistol and grinned. “I'd say we're in business again.”

“What's next on the agenda?” Darcy asked.

Chavasse held up the machine pistol. “Even with this, we don't stand much of a chance against Rossiter, Ho Tsen and those Albanians. If we could get on board
L'Alouette
, things could look a little different. Those hand grenades and the machine pistols Malik hid in the false bottom of that locker could more than even things up.”

“What about the girl?”

“She sold us out, didn't she? As a matter of interest, your hunch was right. She and Rossiter can't keep their hands off each other. As far as I'm concerned, she's had it.”

He cut off any further discussion by leading the way outside and tried the other end of the passage. The first stairs they came to had a door at the top, which was not locked. When Chavasse opened it cautiously, he looked into the kitchen, a large, square room with a fire burning on an open hearth. At that moment, a door opened and two of the Albanians entered. He closed the door gently, put a finger to his lips and he and Darcy retreated. At the far end of the passage, more steps took them to a door long disused. Darcy wrestled with the rusted bolt and it finally opened to reveal a small walled garden that was as much a jungle as everything else. They went out through an archway at the far end and ran for the shelter of the trees.

They made it and kept on going, Chavasse in the lead, following one of the overgrown paths, the undergrowth pressing in so closely on either side that it brushed against them.

Without warning, the path emptied into a clearing on the edge of the lagoon in which stood the ruins of a fake Greek temple. Famia Nadeem was standing there, staring up at the broken columns, hands in the pockets of her duffle coat.

She swung round, startled, and an expression of real alarm appeared on her face. Chavasse dropped the machine pistol and grabbed her cruelly, clamping a hand across her mouth.

“Listen to me, you silly little bitch. Your boyfriend is an agent of the Chinese Communist government. He's responsible for the deaths of a great many people, including Old Hamid and Mrs. Campbell. Do you understand?”

She gazed at him, wide-eyed, and he took his hand away. Immediately she opened her mouth, a scream rising in her throat, and he struck her on the jaw with his clenched fist.

He lowered her to the ground and turned to Preston. “Sling her over your shoulder and make for the landing stage. Get as close as you can and wait in the bushes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Create a diversion. If I can draw them off, it will give you time to board
L'Alouette
and get moving.”

“What about you?”

“I'll swim out from here and join you on your way past, and if I'm not there in time, don't start getting all heroic on me. Just get out of here.”

“You're in charge.”

The Jamaican picked up the girl, slung her over one shoulder and moved away into the undergrowth. Chavasse hurried back toward the house. He already had a plan of sorts. The house was wholly constructed of timber. With the right encouragement, it should go up like a torch, and there was one obvious place to start.

He moved back through the tangled garden and entered the basement again. This time, when he cautiously opened the door at the top of the second flight of stairs, the kitchen was empty.

He went in, removed the glass chimney from the oil lamp on the table and scattered its contents across the floor. He made a brief search through the cupboards and found a half-full can of paraffin in one of them. He emptied it to good effect, then moved toward the fire. Behind him, the door opened and Colonel Ho Tsen entered.

If he was armed, it didn't show, and in any case, the machine pistol already had him covered.

Ho Tsen actually smiled. “No sporting chance, Mr. Chavasse?”

“In a pig's eye,” Chavasse said. “The Breton half of me's in charge at the moment and we always pay our debts. This is for Jacob Malik.”

The first burst caught Ho Tsen in the right shoulder, spinning him around, and the second shattered his spine, driving him out through the open door. As he fell, Chavasse picked a burning log from the hearth and tossed it into the center of the room. There was a minor explosion and he only just made it to the cellar door, flames reaching out to engulf him.

As he went out through the garden, he could hear cries of alarm from the other side of the house, the Albanians from the sound of it, running to see what had gone wrong, just as he had hoped.

He gave it another minute, then ran for the trees. As he reached their shelter,
L'Alouette
's engine roared into life. So Darcy had made it after all? Behind him there was a sudden crackling, as flames burst through the windows, blowing out the glass.

A bullet splintered the trees above his head and he swung round and emptied the machine pistol in a wild burst that sent the Albanian who had fired at him in a headlong retreat round the corner of the house.

Chavasse ran, head down, and shots chased him through the undergrowth, slicing through the pine trees above his head. He burst from cover and plunged headlong into the lagoon as
L'Alouette
appeared round the point about fifty yards out.

As he started to swim,
L'Alouette
altered course toward him, slewing to a halt broadside on as Darcy spun the wheel and cut the engine.

The Jamaican ran for the rail and pulled Chavasse over with easy strength.

“Get going, for Christ's sake,” Chavasse, said with a gasp.

As Darcy vanished into the wheelhouse, a bullet ricocheted from the rail as the first Albanian arrived at the water's edge. Chavasse turned and saw Rossiter appear from the trees with the other three men. The engines of
L'Alouette
roared, and Darcy took her away in a burst of speed, bullets chopping into her hull.

O
nce around the southern tip of the island, they were out of the direct line of fire and safe. The girl lay on her face near the stern rail where Darcy had dropped her. When Chavasse picked her up, she groaned and her eyelashes fluttered.

He took her into the cabin, laid her gently down on one of the seats, then opened the map locker and removed the false bottom. He unbuttoned his wet shirt, stuffed the grenades inside for ease of carrying, picked up the two machine pistols and went on deck.

Darcy was giving the engine all it had and Chavasse shook his head. “You're wasting your time. That MTB has four times our speed. We've got maybe five minutes to get ready for them, so throttle down.”

“What do we do?”

“Flight the best way we know how. First of all, I'll show you how to use one of these things.”

He went over the finer points of the machine pistol briefly, then quickly primed the grenades. “I want them to go off in a hurry. Three seconds is all you've got from the moment you release the handle, and don't you forget it. You take three—I'll take three. You can carry them inside your shirt.”

He looked back through the mist to where smoke drifted sluggishly through the heavy rain. “I shouldn't think there will be much of Hellgate left after that little lot has burned itself out. Cut the motor.”

Somewhere not too far away, the engine of the MTB roared like an angry lion. They had entered a smaller lagoon, and
L'Alouette
moved broadside toward the entrance of the narrow waterway at the far end. She drifted to a halt, her prow in the reeds, and Chavasse nodded.

“This is as good a place as any. Now let's have the girl up here and I'll tell you what we do next.”

 

HER speed considerably reduced in the narrow waterway, the MTB was moving slowly when she entered the small lagoon, and the Albanian stationed in the prow, submachine gun at the ready, saw
L'Alouette
and cried out.

The engines of the MTB died, and she moved on, carried by her own momentum, drifting past the place where Darcy Preston stood waist deep among the reeds, holding Famia securely, a hand clamped across her mouth.

Chavasse waited on the other side of the lagoon on a piece of relatively high ground, soft black sand surrounded by marsh grass. Two grenades lay on the ground beside him, another was ready in his hand.

He caught a glimpse of Rossiter's flaxen hair in the window of the wheelhouse and then the MTB was abreast. She was perhaps twenty or thirty feet away from him when he tossed the first grenade. It bounced on the stern deck, rolled into the water and exploded. The MTB rocked in the turbulence, and there was a cry of alarm as the man in the prow went headfirst into the water.

On the other side of the lagoon, Darcy pushed the girl away from him, took a grenade from inside his shirt, pulled the pin and tossed it. It had farther to go than he had realized and fell short, sending a fountain of water skyward. As he took out another one, the girl screamed and flung herself on him just as he tossed the grenade. It fell into the water no more than fifteen feet away and the blast flattened the reeds and blew them both over.

Darcy surfaced, reaching for the girl, and found himself under heavy fire from two of the Albanians who crouched by the rail of the MTB with submachine guns. In the wheelhouse, Rossiter gave the engines full power and spun the wheel, and in the same instant, Chavasse's second grenade exploded under the bow, blowing most of the stern away and taking the propeller with it. The MTB shuddered and bucked like a live thing. As she slowed, Chavasse tossed his last grenade. It landed amidships and exploded with shattering force.

Rossiter was at that very moment emerging from the wheelhouse and the blast blew him into the water. The MTB heeled over, black smoke pouring from the engine hatch. Two of the Albanians still crouched at the rail, firing toward Darcy. Chavasse moved a few yards to one side, to a place where he could get a clear view, and drove them both over the side with a long burst from his machine pistol.

There was some kind of explosion in the engine room and flames burst through the hatch. The entire boat seemed to lurch to one side, rolled over and started to sink.

It was all over. In the sudden quiet, the only sound was Famia's hysterical cries as she floundered through the shallows, trying to pull free from Darcy Preston's restraining hand.

Chavasse slung his machine pistol and swam toward them. When he was close enough to their side of the lagoon, he started to wade, reaching for the girl's left hand. She struggled fiercely, with a strength that was frightening in its power. For a moment, the three of them were caught in a mad tableau, Chavasse hanging on to one hand, Darcy Preston the other, at the same time trying to hold his machine pistol out of the water under the mistaken impression that it would cease to function if wet.

And then it happened like something out of a nightmare. Out of the water from amongst the floating wreckage, Rossiter rose like some terrible phoenix, his body soaked in blood. That strange aesthetic face was calm, devoid of all expression, the wet flaxen hair plastered into a skullcap.

The girl screamed his name, tore herself free and plunged toward him. In the same moment, his right hand went back, there was a click, a flash of steel in flight.

Everything seemed to happen at once. The girl still frantically trying to tear herself free, floundered across Chavasse's path and the knife buried itself in her heart, the ivory Madonna protruding from beneath her breasts.

Rossiter gave a terrible cry, reaching out toward her, and Darcy Preston emptied the machine pistol into him, driving him under the surface of the water.

Chavasse caught the girl as she swayed, a look of complete surprise on her face. He held her close to him and gently eased out the knife. In the same moment that it left her body, the life went out of her also. She hung for a moment in his left arm and then he released her and she sank from sight.

He turned and Darcy cried, “Is this what we came for, this butcher's shop?”

He threw the machine pistol into the water, turned and waded through the shallows to
L'Alouette
. Chavasse went after him, and when he scrambled over the rail, Darcy was already in the wheelhouse.

The boat started to move, pushing its way through the narrow waterway, emerging a few moments later into the main channel. Beyond, through the rain, the smoke drifted up from Hellgate. Chavasse crouched there by the rail, very cold, trembling slightly, drained of all emotion.

And then he realized a strange thing—he was still clutching Rossiter's knife in his right hand. The channel widened as they moved through the estuary out to sea and he stared down at the ivory Madonna.

“And how many men have you killed in your career, Chavasse?”

The words seemed to whisper in his ear as if Rossiter himself had spoken. With a sudden gesture of repugnance, Chavasse flung the knife from him. It glinted once, then sank beneath a wave. Somewhere overhead, geese called as they moved out to sea, and he got to his feet wearily and went to join Darcy in the wheelhouse.