The black Mercedes called early next morning to pick up Abbot, who was wary when he found he was to be separated from Parker. ‘Where will Dan be?’
‘On the
Orestes,
’ said Eastman.
‘And me?’
‘Why don’t you go along and find out?’ said Eastman. He seemed disgruntled.
So Abbot went with reluctance in the Mercedes to wherever it was going to take him—which proved to be the heart of Beirut. As the car passed the office of the
Daily Star,
the English-language newspaper, he fingered the envelope in his pocket and wondered how he could get in there without undue attention. He and Hellier had arranged an emergency information service, but it seemed as though he was not going to get the chance to use it.
The car took him to the yacht harbour where he was met by a trimly dressed sailor. ‘Mr Abbot?’ Abbot nodded, and the sailor said, ‘This way, sir,’ and led him to a fast-looking launch which was moored at the steps.
As the launch took off smoothly, Abbot said, ‘Where are we going?’
‘The yacht—the
Stella del Mare.
’ The sailor pointed. ‘There.’
Abbot studied the yacht as they approached. She was a rich man’s toy of the type typically to be found in the Mediterranean. Of about two hundred tons, she would be fully equipped with every conceivable comfort and aid to navigation and would be quite capable of circumnavigating the world. But, also typically, that she would not do—these boats were usually to be found tied up for weeks at a time at Nice, Cannes, Beirut and all the other haunts of the jetset—the floating mansions of the wealthy. It looked more and more as though heroin smuggling was profitable.
He was met at the top of the companionway by another floating flunkey dressed in a sailor suit and escorted to the sun deck. As he climbed a ladder he heard the clank of the anchor chain and the vibration of engines. It appeared that the
Stella del Mare
had been waiting for him.
On the sun deck he found Jeanette Delorme. She was stretched supine, adding to her tan, and was so dressed that the maximum amount of skin got the benefit; her bikini was the most exiguous he had ever seen—a small triangle at the loins and two nipple covers. He hadn’t seen anything like it outside a Soho strip joint, and he doubted if the whole lot weighed more than an eighth of an ounce; certainly less than the dark glasses through which she regarded him.
She waved her hand lazily. ‘Hello, Mike; this is Youssif Fuad.’
Abbot reluctantly looked away from her and towards the man sitting near by. The bald head, the brown lizard skin and the reptilian eyes certainly made a change for the worse. He nodded in acknowledgment. ‘Morning, Mr Fuad.’ He had seen Fuad before. This was the Lebanese banker
with whom Delorme had had lunch, and whom he had written off as being too respectable. It just went to show how wrong you could be. Fuad was certainly not taking a sea voyage on the day of the torpedo trial for his health.
Fuad gave a quick and birdlike jerk of his head. He said petulantly, ‘What is he doing here?’
‘Because I want him here,’ said Jeanette. ‘Take a seat, Mike.’
‘I thought I said I was not to be brought into…’ Fuad stopped and shook his head again. ‘I don’t like it.’
Abbot, who was in a half-crouch preparatory to sitting down, straightened again. ‘I know when I’m not wanted. If you whistle up that launch again, I’ll be going.’
‘Sit down, Mike,’ said Jeanette with a whip-crack in her voice that automatically bent Abbot’s knees. ‘Youssif is always nervous. He’s afraid of losing his respectability.’ There was mockery in her voice.
‘We had an agreement,’ said Fuad angrily.
‘So I’ve broken it,’ said Jeanette. ‘What are you going to do about it?’ She smiled. ‘Don’t be so worried, Youssif; I’ll look after you.’
There was something going on between them that Abbot did not like. Apparently he was not supposed to know about Fuad, and Fuad did not like to have his cover broken. Which made it dicey for Mike Abbot if Fuad decided to bring things back to normal. From the look of him he would not bat a lizardlike eye at murder. He looked back towards Delorme—a much more rewarding sight—and had to remind himself that she would not, either.
Jeanette smiled at him. ‘What have you been doing with yourself, Mike?’
‘You know bloody well what I’ve been doing,’ said Abbot baldly. ‘Or else Eastman’s been wasting his time.’
‘Jack has told me as much as he knows,’ she agreed. ‘Which isn’t much—he’s no technician.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Will this torpedo work?’
‘I’m no technician, either,’ said Abbot. ‘But Dan Parker seems confident.’ He rubbed the side of his jaw. ‘I think you’ll owe us a hundred thousand dollars before the day’s out.’
‘Youssif has the cheque ready. I hope he’ll give it to you—for your sake.’
This clear warning of the penalty for an unsuccessful trial made the sweat break out on Abbot’s forehead. He thought of what Parker had said about working on the edge of the impossible, took a deep breath and forced himself to say lightly, ‘Where are we going? What’s the drill?’ He turned his head and looked towards the receding land, more to avoid Jeanette’s hidden gaze than out of interest. In a comparison of these two it was obvious that the female of the species was more deadly than the male.
She sat up suddenly, and adjusted the minimal bra which had sagged dangerously under the stress of her movement. ‘We are going to join the
Orestes.
She is out there—away from the shipping routes. We have some fast boats too, to make sure we are not disturbed. This is like a naval exercise.’
‘How long will we take to get out there?’
‘Maybe two hours—maybe longer.’
‘Say three hours each way,’ said Abbot. ‘And God knows how long for the trial. This is going to take all day. I’m beginning to feel seasick already. I never have liked ships.’
The tip of her tongue played along her top lip. ‘I have a certain cure for seasickness,’ she said. ‘Infallible, I assure you. I don’t think you will have time to be seasick, Mike Abbot.’
She put her hands behind her head and pushed her breasts at him, and he believed her. He glanced at Fuad who was also watching her with his lizard stare, but there was no hint of lust in those dead, ophidian eyes.
Not far over the horizon the
Orestes
lumbered through the calm morning sea on her way to the rendezvous. Parker
climbed the ladder to the bridge and made the thumbs-up sign. ‘Everything’s under control. I’m bringin’ the batteries up to heat now.’
Eastman nodded, then jerked his head towards the officer with the mildewed braid on his battered cap. ‘The skipper’s not too happy. He says the ship’s cranky in her steering.’
‘What would he expect with a bloody big hole cut offcentre in the bows?’ demanded Parker. ‘He’ll get used to it.’
‘I guess so,’ Eastman was thoughtful. ‘Would it help to cut another hole on the other side?’
‘It might,’ said Parker cautiously. ‘It would equalize things a bit.’
‘What’s this about warming up the batteries? I didn’t know you did that.’
‘A warm battery delivers power quicker an’ easier than a cold one. A difference o’ thirty degrees Fahrenheit can increase the range by a third—an’ we want all the range we can get.’ Parker took out his pipe. ‘I’ve set her to run at twelve feet. Any less than that an’ she’s likely to porpoise—jump in an’ out o’ the water. An instability like that could throw her right off course. At the end of her run she’ll bob up nice an’ easy like a cork, an’ her Holmes light will go off so you can see her.’
‘You’ll be there to find the torpedo.’
‘I thought you wanted me here to check the firing.’
‘You can do both,’ said Eastman. ‘There’ll be a boat waiting to take you to the other end of the course.’
Parker struck a match. ‘You’ll need a hell of a fast boat to outrun a torpedo.’
‘We’ve got one. Is forty-five knots fast enough?’
‘That’s fast enough,’ admitted Parker, and blew out a wreath of blue smoke.
Eastman sniffed distastefully and moved up wind. ‘What’s that you’re smoking? Old socks?’
Parker grinned cheerfully. ‘Feelin’ queasy already?’ He drew on the pipe again. ‘Where did Mike go this mornin’?’
Eastman stared at the horizon. ‘The boss wanted to see him,’ he said morosely.
‘What for?’ asked Parker in surprise.
‘I’ll give you three guesses,’ said Eastman sarcastically. ‘The little bitch has hot pants.’
Parker clucked deprecatingly. ‘That’s no way to talk of your employer,’ he observed. ‘You think…er…that she an’ Mike are…er…?’
‘I’ll bet they’re both in the sack now,’ said Eastman savagely, and thumped the rail.
‘Why, Jack ! I do believe you’re jealous.’ Parker chuckled delightedly.
‘The hell with that,’ said Eastman in a hard voice. ‘I’m immune to anything that chick does with her flaunty little ass—but she shouldn’t mix pleasure with business. It could get us all into trouble. She shouldn’t have…’
He broke off, and Parker said innocently, ‘She shouldn’t have what?’
‘Nothing,’ said Eastman brusquely, and walked away across the bridge where he talked in a low voice to the skipper.
Abbot buttoned his shirt and leaned across the tousled bed to look through the port. The things I do in the line of duty, he thought, and checked his watch. They had been at sea for just over two hours. From the compartment next to the cabin he heard the brisk splash of water as Jeanette showered, and presently she appeared, naked and dripping. She tossed him a towel. ‘Dry me,’ she commanded.
As he rubbed her down vigorously he was irresistibly reminded of his boyhood when he had haunted his grandfather’s stables and had been taught the horseman’s lore by old Benson, the chief groom. Automatically he hissed
through his teeth as Benson had done when currying a horse, and wondered what the old man would have thought of this filly.
‘You haven’t been around much,’ he said. ‘I expected to see more of you.’
‘You couldn’t see much more of me.’
‘What were you doing in the States?’
She stiffened slightly under his hands. ‘How do you know I was in the States?’
‘Eastman told me.’
‘Jack talks too much.’ After a while, she said, ‘I was doing what you would expect—setting things up.’
‘A successful trip?’
‘Very.’ She twisted free from him. ‘I’m going to make a lot of money.’
Abbot grinned. ‘I know. I’ve been trying to figure out how to carve myself a bigger share.’ He studied her as she walked across the cabin. Her long-flanked body was evenly tanned and there were no betraying white patches. Evidently the minimal bikini she had worn there morning had been a concession to someone’s modesty—but whose he could not imagine. Fuad’s? That was a laugh.
She turned and smiled. ‘It is a possibility—if the trial is a success.’ As she stepped into a pair of brief panties, she said, ‘What do you think of Jack Eastman?’
‘He strikes me as being a tough boy,’ said Abbot consideringly. ‘He’s no cream-puff.’
‘Could you get on with him?’
‘I might—if he could get along with me.’
She nodded. ‘Something might be arranged.’ She fastened the bra strap. ‘Even if you didn’t get along together something might be arranged—if you are prepared to help with the arrangements.’
Christ, what a hellcat! he thought. It was quite clear what was being tentatively offered. He could supplant
Eastman by getting rid of him, and he had no illusions about what that implied. Probably by enlisting his aid in rubbing out her partner she would make even more money. But then he would be in Eastman’s seat—the hot seat—a target for the next gun-happy sucker to enter her sexy little life. He thought of the list of murdered men in her dossier and wondered how many of them had been her lovers. The female spider—the eater of males.
He smiled engagingly. ‘It’s a thought. Where does friend Fuad fit into all this?’
‘Now
you
are talking too much,’ she said reprovingly as she buttoned her blouse. ‘He has nothing to do with you.’
‘Oh yes he does. He holds the moneybags, doesn’t he?’
She sat at the dressing-table and began to make up her face. ‘You jump to a quick conclusion,’ she said. ‘But you are right.’ Her eyes watched him through the mirror. ‘You are very clever, Mike; much cleverer than Jack. I don’t think you’d have any trouble with him at all.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Since you are so clever, perhaps you can tell me something. What do you know about Regent Films?’
Abbot was aware that she was watching him even though her back was turned, and hoped his expression had not changed. ‘It’s an English—British—film company. Quite a big one.’
‘Who is at the top?’
‘A man called Hellier—Sir Robert Hellier.’
She turned to him. ‘So tell me—why should an English nobleman—a milord—interfere with me?’
Abbot chuckled—he could not help it. ‘I suppose you could call old Hellier a nobleman.
Is
he interfering with you?’
‘His company is—very much so. It has cost me a lot of money.’
Abbot kept a straight face even though he wanted to cheer. So Warren and the Iranian team had stabbed her right in the wallet she substituted for a heart. He shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about Hellier. He wasn’t on my beat—I didn’t do films or the gossip stuff. For my money it’s a respectable outfit he runs. Regent makes pretty good pictures—I’ve seen some of them.’
She threw down a comb with a clatter. ‘These Regent people have cost me more money than you’ve even heard of. They’re…’ The telephone rang and interrupted her. She picked it up. ‘Yes? All right.’
Abbot looked through the port and saw the
Orestes
not very far away. Jeanette said, ‘Come on, Mike; we’re wanted on deck. We’re transferring to the other ship.’
When they arrived on deck Abbot saw a group of seamen busily engaged in lowering a boat. The
Stella del Mare
had stopped and was rolling uneasily in the slight swell, and the
Orestes
was abeam of them about two hundred yards away.
Fuad was not on deck, but Abbot caught sight of him lurking in the saloon. It seemed that Youssif Fuad was intent on concealing his association with these nefarious activities, which was why he had objected when Abbot had come on board. Jeanette, on the other hand, seemed to want Fuad more deeply involved, and Abbot wondered if he could use the issue as a point of attack.