Алистер Маклин - Caravan to Vaccares

‘Never mind your shoulder. Come with me.’

The four men stood just inside the doorway of the cabin as the fishing boat came at them again.

But this time the powerboat, though sluggish and far from responsive because of its depth in the water, had succeeded in turning away enough to reduce the impact to the extent that the two boats merely grazed each other. As the wheel-house of the fishing boat passed by the cabin of the powerboat, Le Grand Duc and his three men rushed out into the cockpit. Le Grand Duc waited his moment then, with that speed and agility so surprising in a man of his bulk, stood on the gunwale and flung himself on to the poop of the fishing boat. Within two seconds the others had followed.

Ten seconds after that Bowman turned round sharply as the port door of the wheel-house opened abruptly and Ferenc and Searl stood framed there, both with guns in their hands.

‘No.’ Bowman spun again to locate the voice behind him. He hadn’t far to look. The guns of Le Grand Duc and El Brocador were less than a foot from his face. Le Grand Duc said: ‘Enough is enough?’

Bowman nodded. ‘Enough is enough.’

Fifteen minutes later, with the first shades of evening beginning to fall, the fishing boat, a curiously unperturbed Pierre des Jardins at the wheel, moved placidly up the Canal du Rhône à Sète. The three scientists and their womenfolk, the last of whom had been hauled aboard only seconds before the powerboat had sunk, were seated on the foredeck under the concealed guns of the gypsies, for all the world like vacation trippers enjoying a leisurely cruise in the warm summer evening. All the glass had been knocked out from the broken windows and the few bullet holes in the woodwork of the wheel-house were discreetly camouflaged by El Brocador and Masaine, who were leaning negligently against the starboard side of the structure. Pierre apart, the only two other occupants of the wheel-house were Bowman and Le Grand Duc, the latter with a gun in his hand.

A few kilometres up the canal they passed by the tractor and trailer that had so abruptly left the road when the shooting contest between the Rolls and the powerboat had begun. The tractor was as it had been, a front wheel still over-hanging the canal: clearly and understandably, the driver had deemed it wiser to wait for assistance rather than risk a watery grave for his tractor by trying to extricate it under its own power. The driver, oddly enough, was still there, pacing up and down with a legitimately thunderous look on his face.

Czerda joined the three men in the wheelhouse. He said worriedly: ‘I do not like it, I do not like it at all. It is much too quiet. Perhaps we are going to some kind of trap. Surely some person–’

‘Does that make you feel happier?’ Le Grand Duc pointed in the direction of Aigues-Mortes: two black police cars, sirens wailing and blue lights flashing, were approaching at high speed. ‘Something tells me that our friend the tractor driver has been complaining to someone.’

Le Grand Duc’s guess proved to be correct. The police cars swept by and almost at once started slowing as the tractor driver stood in the middle of the road and frantically waved his arms. They stopped and uniformed figures jumped out of the car and surrounded the gesticulating tractor driver who was obviously retelling his story with a great deal of verve and gusto.

‘Well, if the police are bothering somebody else, they can’t very well be bothering us at the same time,’ Le Grand Duc observed philosophically. ‘Happier now, Czerda?’

‘No,’ Czerda said and looked as if he meant it. ‘Two things. Dozens of people, hundreds for all I know, must have seen what was happening out in the gulf. Why did no one stop us on the way in? Why did no one report what was happening to the police?’

‘Quite frankly, I don’t know,’ Le Grand Duc said thoughtfully. ‘I can guess, though. Same thing happens time and again – when large numbers of people see something happening they invariably leave it to someone else to do something about it. Why, there have been cases of pedestrians watching a man being beaten to death in the street and not lifting a hand to help. Mankind is curiously apathetic about that sort of thing. Maybe it’s a natural reluctance to step into the limelight. I do not profess to know. All that matters is that we came up the harbour without causing an eyebrow to be lifted. Your other question? You had two?’

‘Yes,’ Czerda was grim. ‘What in God’s name are we going to do now?’

‘That is no problem.’ Le Grand Duc smiled. ‘Did I not tell you that we would see the good ship Canton again?’

‘Yes, but how–’

‘How long will it take us to drive to Port le Bouc?’

‘Port le Bouc?’ Czerda furrowed his brow. ‘With the caravan and truck?’

‘How else?’

‘Two and a half hours. Not more than three. Why?’

‘Because that’s where the Canton has instructions to await us if any difficulty arose at the Palavas rendezvous. It will remain there until tomorrow – and we will be there tonight. Don’t you know by now, Czerda, that I always have another string to my bow? Many strings, in fact. And there, tonight, the scientists and their women will be taken aboard. So will Bowman. And so, to eliminate any possibility of risk whatsoever, will the two young ladies and, I’m afraid, this unfortunate fisherman here.’ Pierre des Jardins glanced at Le Grand Duc, lifted an eyebrow, then concentrated on his task again: it was a minuscule reaction for a man listening to what was virtually a death sentence. ‘And then, Czerda, you and your men will be as free as the air for when Bowman and his three friends arrive in China they will simply disappear and never be heard of again. The only witnesses against you will be gone for ever and no breath of suspicion will ever attach itself to you or your men on either side of the Iron Curtain.’

‘If I have ever questioned you in the past, I apologize.’ Czerda spoke slowly, almost reverently. ‘This is genius.’ He looked as a man might look after the Forth Bridge had been lifted off his back.

‘Elementary, elementary.’ Le Grand Duc waved a disparaging hand. ‘Now, then. We shall be in sight of the jetty shortly and we don’t want to give the young ladies any shocks to their delicate nervous systems, the kind of shock, for instance, that might prompt them to drive away at speed with the truck and caravan before we even reach the jetty. Everybody into the fish-hold now and to keep out of sight till the word is given. You and I will remain here – seated, of course – while Bowman takes the vessel alongside. Understood?’

‘Understood.’ Czerda looked at him admiringly. ‘You think of everything!’

‘I try,’ Le Grand Duc said modestly. ‘I try.’

The three girls with a youngster seated on a scooter were at the head of the jetty as Bowman, apparently alone, brought the boat alongside. They ran down, secured the ropes he threw them and jumped aboard. Cecile and Lila were half-smiling, half-apprehensive, wondering what news he bore: Carita remained in the background, aloof and rather remote.

‘Well?’ Cecile demanded. ‘Well, tell us. What happened?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Bowman said. ‘Things have gone wrong.’

‘Not for us,’ Le Grand Duc said jovially. He stood up, gun in hand, accompanied by Czerda, similarly equipped, and beamed at the girls. ‘Not really, I must say. How nice to see you again, my dear Carita. Had a pleasant time with the two young ladies?’

‘No,’ Carita said shortly. ‘They wouldn’t speak to me.’

‘Prejudice, sheer prejudice. Right, Czerda, everyone on deck and in the caravan inside a minute.’ He looked towards the head of the jetty. ‘And who is that youth with the scooter?’