“Do you know who I admire the most?” he asked me, as we slewed around the corner into Havant High Street. “Fangio. What a driver. The last lap of the German Grand Prix, he averaged ninety-one-point-seven miles an hour.
Averaged
.”
We reached the outskirts of Southampton at three minutes of twelve. It was raining hard and the Rover’s windshield wipers were having difficulty in coping, so that George had to drive more slowly. But as we approached the docks, I could see the
Queen Elizabeth
’s two red funnels over the rooftops, and as we turned the corner to the Cunard Terminal, and the sheer black wall of the liner’s sides came into view, it was clear that she wasn’t yet ready to sail.
George parked by the railings at the terminal entrance. A policeman in a raincape came up and knocked on the window.
“Can’t leave it here, mate.”
George produced his identity card. “I think you’ll find
that I can,” he said, with public-school self-assurance. “Look after it for me, will you, constable?”
“Yes, sir,” said the policeman, grudgingly. “You’ll be wanting Chief Inspector Holloway, sir. He’s inside the terminal, at the information desk.”
We climbed out of the car. I turned my coat-collar up against the rain, which was hammering down all across the docks. “Come on, Bullet,” I urged him. “Let’s find Jill, shall we? Come on, boy.”
We crossed the wet, reflective asphalt. Close up, the
Queen Elizabeth
was enormous, over a thousand feet long and nearly two hundred feet high, its sides streaked with runnels of rain. Passengers were looking down on us from the upper decks and waving, even though the ship’s gangways were still down, and the dock was still cluttered with vans and trucks and luggage. The air smelled strongly of brine and diesel.
We went through the swing doors into the reception area, which was still noisy and crowded with passengers and relatives. We found Chief Inspector Holloway next to one of the stainless-steel counters, surrounded by detective constables and at least fifteen uniformed officers. Chief Inspector Holloway was very tall and lugubrious-looking, with a thin sallow face and a nose like a fire axe. His brown trilby hat was soaked with rain and the lapels of his flappy brown double-breasted suit were curled up.
“I don’t know why Hampshire Constabulary can’t be trusted to deal with this,” he said to George, even before George had introduced himself.
“It’s what you might call a specialist operation,” I put in.
“You’re
American
,” said Chief Inspector Holloway.
“That’s correct, sir. Captain James Falcon, seconded to MI6.”
“This is all
very
irregular.”
“Yes, sir. You’re right. It is irregular. Have you checked the passenger manifest?”
One of the detectives held out a clipboard. “Mr. Terence Mitchell made a telephone reservation early this morning and booked a middle-class cabin, M64. He hasn’t checked in yet. Cunard have promised to let us know as soon as he does.”
I said, “OK, officer, thanks.” Then I turned to George. “I need to get on board now. Duca’s here already, I can feel it.”
“But he hasn’t checked in yet.”
“It won’t. It doesn’t have to. It can get on board without anybody seeing it. Christ—it could climb straight up the side of the ship if it needed to. All it needs is a cabin for itself and Jill while it crosses the Atlantic.”
I looked down at Bullet. I think Bullet had picked up the scent, too. He was quivering, and staring toward the doorway which led out to the pier.
“Come on, boy,” I told him. “There’s one little thing we have to do before we go on board.”
I asked one of the uniformed girls behind the Cunard counter if there was a spare office I could use. Then I led Bullet into the back, and opened up my Kit. I took out two pots of white and black paint, and a paintbrush.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked George.
“Hold Bullet’s head still, would you? I’m giving him an extra pair of eyes.”
Bullet and I walked up the gangway with the rain drumming on the canvas awning above our heads. Two detectives came with us, so that we wouldn’t have any trouble getting on board. A smooth-faced Cunard purser greeted us at the top of the gangway and he looked down at Bullet with amusement.
“I’ve seen plenty of four-eyed people, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen a four-eyed dog.”
“Please,” I said. “He gets embarrassed very easily.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” I guess the purser was experienced in dealing with eccentric passengers.
Once we were on board, I told the detectives to wait where they were.
“Can’t really do that, sir. We’re supposed to stick close, just in case you need us.”
“You’re that eager to die?”
One detective looked at the other detective. “If you put it that way, sir, we can wait here, yes. But call if you need us.”
The
Queen Elizabeth
was supposed to have sailed over twenty minutes ago, and her turbine engines were making the whole ship vibrate, but the decks and promenades
were still crowded and chaotic. Passengers were saying tearful good-byes, pageboys in pillbox hats were hurrying about with messages and bunches of flowers, porters were carrying suitcases on board. As Bullet and I made our way down to M Deck, we shared the elevator with a strongly perfumed woman in a green Dior dress and a veiled hat, who was openly sobbing as if her world were coming to an end.
We hurried along the corridor to M64. Bullet’s claws pattered on the highly polished Korkoid flooring. “Come on, boy,” I encouraged him. “Find Jill for me, OK?”
A Cunard official had given me a pass key, but as it turned out I didn’t need it. The door to cabin M64 was unlocked. I put down my Kit, turned the handle, and cautiously eased it open.
There was nobody around. The bed was neatly made, the blinds were drawn down over the portholes. The only indication that anybody had been here was the pale blue overnight case in the corner, and the rucked-up throw on the floor.
I led Bullet into the cabin and let him sniff around. He trotted over to the overnight case, licked it and then turned to me and gave a high-pitched whine.
“Good boy, Bullet! Go find Jill!”
Bullet nudged the cabin door open with his nose and began to patter his way along the passageway. The scent that he had picked up must have been very strong because I could hardly keep up with him. Several passengers looked at his extra pair of painted-on eyes and laughed. They wouldn’t have found it so amusing if they had known why I had done it.
Bullet made his way to one of the elevators aft and sat
down outside the closed doors, keening. Duca and Jill could have gone upward or downward to any number of decks. But I took a guess that they had gone up to the promenade deck or the sun deck, like most of the other passengers, and I took out my
strigoi
compass to confirm it.
The elevator took over five minutes to come down, and when it did it was jam-packed with passengers and their luggage and they took another two or three minutes to jostle their way out of it, with lots of “sorries” and “do excuse mes.”
We rose slowly upward. The pageboy who shared the elevator with us kept making kissing noises at Bullet, which Bullet disdainfully ignored. I kept my compass open, and as we came to the promenade deck the needle sharply swiveled and pointed forward.
The elevator doors opened and Bullet immediately trotted out and started sniffing around the deck. It was still raining, but not as heavily now, and over the Solent the sky was gradually beginning to clear. The ship’s horn blew, deep and deafening, and Bullet looked up at me in alarm.
“It’s OK, boy. Just find Jill for me.”
Bullet picked up the scent almost at once. I followed him along the wet planking of the promenade deck and twenty yards in front of me, leaning against the railings with their backs to me, I saw Duca, wearing a gray fedora and a dark gray suit, and Jill, in a light fawn summer coat. They were standing so close to each other that anybody would have thought they were husband and wife, or lovers.
Bullet started to run even faster, but I yanked on his
leash and forced him to slow down. “Careful, Bullet. Careful, boy.” He gave a strangled whine but I think he must have understood that something wasn’t right, because he didn’t bark or strain at his leash, and he obediently came to heel.
“Here, boy. Hold up a minute.” I went into the doorway of the cocktail lounge and put down my Kit. “Sit, boy. Stay.” I took out one of the hypodermics that I had found in Dr. Watkins’s consulting room. My hands were shaking, but I filled it with anti-poliomyelitis vaccine and squirted a few drops out to make sure that the needle was clear.
“Come on, boy. This is it. Showdown time.”
I approached Duca and Jill until Bullet and I were standing less than ten feet away from them. Neither of them turned around but Duca must have sensed that I was there, because it took a step sideways, away from Jill, and let go of her hand.
Over Southampton Water, the sun suddenly broke through, and shafts of light shone down from the clouds as if they were the windows of a great gray cathedral.
“So, Captain,” said Duca, still with his back to me. “You have found me.”
Bullet barked, and Jill turned round at once. Her face was so bloodless that I hardly recognized her. She stared at me in shock, and then she said, “Bullet! Bullet—what are you doing here? What’s that on your face?”
Instead of running toward her and jumping up, Bullet sat down, and gave another whine. “Bullet,” she said. “Bullet, what’s wrong with you, boy?”
She stepped toward us but Duca reached out and held her wrist. Then it turned around and faced us.
“Let me tell you something, Captain—” Duca began, but then it saw Bullet and Bullet’s extra pair of eyes. Its reaction was astonishing. It raised one hand to shield its face, and it jolted convulsively backward until it was up against the ship’s railings. Then it seemed to slide away sideways, still holding up its hand.
“You
dare
?” it rasped at me. “You dare to bring a devil-dog with you?”
Jill looked bewildered. “Bullet!” she said. “Bullet! Here, boy!”
But Bullet stood up now, with his fur bristling, and he started to stalk toward Duca with his teeth bared, growling. I came right behind him, holding my hypodermic in the palm of my right hand. Several people stopped and stared at us, but nobody could have understood what Duca was, and what was really happening here.
“Stay back!” Duca warned me. “Take that dog away from me, Captain Falcon, or I will make sure that you die the most agonizing of all possible deaths!”
“Sorry, Duca. This is where you find out what it’s like to be mortal.”
“Jill!” snapped Duca. “Take this devil-dog away!”
“Jill!” I said, without looking at her. “Just stay back!”
“Bullet!” Jill called him. “Here, boy! Bullet!”
Bullet was confused now. He knew that I wanted him to keep Duca at bay, but at the same time he had grown up with Jill, and she had trained him since puppyhood to obey her implicitly.
“Bullet!” I ordered him. “Stay!”
But Jill crouched down and held out her hands toward him and Bullet didn’t really have any choice. He trotted toward her, and even though he still seemed to
be unsure about her, he allowed her to take hold of his collar.
“Take it away!” Duca ordered her. “Take that cursed animal out of my sight!”
“Jill!” I appealed, but Jill led Bullet away, and the two of them disappeared around the curved windows of the cocktail lounge.
“Well, Captain,” said Duca, lowering its hand. It looked more relaxed now, but I thought that its face was grayer and more strained than the last time I had seen it. Its sea green eyes seemed to have faded, and its lips were redder, almost as if they were bleeding. It was beginning to look more and more like a creature whose time was coming to an end, a creature that had survived for too many centuries, and committed too many acts of murder and cruelty.
“This is the finish, Duca,” I told it. “You’re not going to get away this time.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re very wrong, Captain. Nobody will ever find me on this vessel, even if they search it from stem to stern. And I have a new love in my life, to give me succor and support.”
“Jill won’t stay with you.”
It smiled and raised its eyebrows. “You really don’t think so? She reminds me so much of my Anca. She could almost be Anca reincarnated. I will certainly love her just as much, and give her just as much devotion, forever.”
“What have you done to her?”
“What do you think? I have won her heart.”
“Won her heart? You’re kidding me. Jill knows exactly what kind of creature you are.”
“Oh, yes. But I have won her heart all the same, and
now I am going to win your heart, too, but in a very different way. I am going to cut it out of your body and drink your life’s blood fresh and warm, and watch the light in your eyes go out while I do so.”
“Oh, I see. You’re going to kill me right here, in front of all of these people?”
“Of course not. You and I, we’re going to go below, to the privacy of my cabin, and you can feed me there.”
“And what makes you think that I’m going to come with you?”
“I am ten times stronger than you, Captain, and a hundred times quicker. And what will you do when I take hold of your arm and force you to walk through these crowds with me? Will you shout out for help? I don’t think so. You know what I will do to any of these innocent people if they try to intervene.”
Duca lifted its hat and smoothed back his hair with its hand. Then it took a step toward me, holding out its right hand.
“What do you think, Captain? Shall we walk together? There’s no way that you can stop me, not even with your box of tricks. You think a Bible can stop me? You think a silver mirror can stop me? You think whips and nails and poppy seeds can stop me?”
I stayed where I was, even though several passengers had to push their way past me.
Duca came right up to me. There was no denying how handsome it was, what good bone-structure it had. But, close up, there was an unhealthy transparency to its skin, which reminded me that for all of its good looks, it was dead.