Дональд Уэстлейк - Castle in the Air

“What a day,” Eustace said. “Stop praying, Lida, I’m all right.”

In front, Andrew said, “What’s that awful smell?”

“Me,” said Bruddy, dangerously. “You can smell like it, too, if you just jump in the canal.”

To Eustace, Sir Mortimer said, “Good God, man, you didn’t have to swim.”

“I did,” Eustace said, “after our friend Bruddy sank the motorcycle. Any sign of our quarry?”

“I haven’t been able to look,” Sir Mortimer said, “with all this traffic.”

Eustace said, “I thought Andrew was driving.”

“I was,” Andrew said. “And I never will again, I assure you. If I had a license, I’d rip it up.”

Sir Mortimer blanched. “You don’t have a license?”

Ignoring all that, Eustace said, “They have to be farther on. Drive, Bruddy, and try to stay out of the canal this time.”

Andrew said, “Would you all mind terribly, Eustace, if you came up here and I got in back?”

Eustace frowned. “Why?”

Sir Mortimer said, “To concentrate the aroma, I suppose. The suggestion has its merits.”

“All right, all right,” Eustace said. “But then let’s get on with it.”

The exchange was made, Sir Mortimer ostentatiously closed the glass partition between the front and back seats, Eustace and Bruddy opened their side windows all the way, and at last they drove on, traveling south past the Gare de l’Arsenal right down to the Seine, where they stopped at the Pont Morland, the bridge under which the canal at last empties into the river. All five climbed out of the cab and went to the railing to look left and right along the Seine. To the right were the two islands in the middle of Paris — the Ile St. Louis nearest and the Ile de la Cité beyond it — while to the left was the open river, extending away more or less straight under its bridges to the city line and beyond. And in neither direction, among the boats and barges of the river traffic, was there to be seen a flat-bottom boat piled high with building blocks.

“Ah, dear,” Andrew said. “We’ve lost them.”

“Well, we’ve got to find them,” Eustace said. “They can’t have gotten far, not yet.”

Sir Mortimer said, “But which way? Assuming they tied up somewhere along the river, in which direction?”

Eustace said, “We’ll have to split up.”

He got a number of cold looks for that, and Bruddy said, with deceptive softness, “Oh, we will, will we?”

“It’s the only sensible way,” Eustace insisted. “Can’t we trust one another?”

“Certainly not,” Sir Mortimer said, as though someone had just insulted him.

Unexpectedly, Andrew took Eustace’s part, saying, “But we can trust one another. We few British.”

“I’ve heard,” Bruddy said, “of Brits what couldn’t trust one another. Once or twice I’ve heard such things.”

“But surely there’s enough loot for us all,” Andrew said. “I mean, for those of us right here.”

“Of course there is,” Eustace said. “And if we all go off in the wrong direction, how does that help anyone?”

“All right,” Bruddy said to Eustace. “You go off with Andrew here, and I’ll stick with Sir Mortimer.”

Doubtful, Andrew said, “Is that best?”

“Whatever you want is fine with me,” Eustace said.

“Perhaps,” Andrew said, “those of us who have been in the canal should form one group, and those of us who haven’t been in the canal should form the other.”

“Hear, hear,” said Sir Mortimer.

“Fine,” Eustace said. “Bruddy, you’ll come with me.”

“I suppose so,” Bruddy said, and turned a gimlet eye on Andrew and Sir Mortimer. “Just remember,” he said, “I know you two very well.”

“Of course, Bruddy,” said Sir Mortimer, with an encouraging smile. “And Andrew and I know you.”

“We’ll leave the car here,” Eustace said, “and meet back here in an hour.”

“Very good,” said Andrew.

Pointing away toward the lie St. Louis, Eustace said, “we’ll go that way, you go the other. Come along, Lida.”

And the intrepid band became two intrepid bands, one of which smelled bad.

Renee and Charles and Jean, constructing a low wall at the waterline on the south side of the Ile St. Louis, were unaware of the three interested observers on Pont Sully, the nearby bridge. “They’re sloppier builders than the Germans,” commented Vito.

“The wall doesn’t have to last very long,” Rosa pointed out. “Only until they’re out of sight.”

“They’re finished,” Angelo said.

Below, Renee and Charles and Jean, with much handshaking and smiling and back-slapping, had indeed finished their wall. Leaving the boat tied to it, they made their way up a nearby flight of steps onto the island and disappeared into the crowded tangle of ancient buildings there.

“Now,” Angelo said, “it’s our turn.”

“We put it all back in the boat,” Rosa said.

“No,” said Vito. “I’m not a turtle, I stay on dry land. We want a truck.”

“Yes, a truck,” agreed Angelo. “Much better.”

“All right,” said Rosa. “You two go get one.”

Both men considered her. Vito said, “What about you?”

“Someone has to stand guard,” she said, reasonably enough. “In case the Frenchmen come back and move it again.”

The two men continued to consider her. Rosa looked back at them in amazement, and said, “You don’t trust me? ”

“No,” said Angelo.

“Not for a second,” said Vito.

“But what could I do,” Rosa demanded, “a mere woman, with all those heavy blocks, all by myself?”

Vito and Angelo thought that over, looking at one another out of the corners of their eyes. Finally, they both shrugged in agreement. “All right,” Angelo said. “But we won’t be long, Rosa.”

“That’s right,” Rosa said. “You should hurry.”

Vito said, “Oh, we will. Rely on it.”

Deadpan, Rosa watched the two men hurry away.

Loping, Herman entered the tunnel where much earlier today he had last seen the booty. He stopped, he gazed about at emptiness, and somehow he seemed to grow both taller and thinner, his harsh cheekbones gleaming with a pale light all their own. Raising his arms like a vampire bat, he spoke two thundering words, which echoed and reverberated forever inside the tunnel: “OTTO! RUDI!”

Turning about, Herman loped away.

Vito and Angelo paused near a trucking company parking lot just off the Quai Henry VI. “You wait here,” Angelo said, “I’ll go in and get us a truck.”

“Why don’t we go in together?”

“Two people would attract too much attention. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back. You can watch the gate.”

“I will,” Vito promised. “I’ll be waiting.”

Angelo hurried away.

Returning to the London taxi, morose and depressed, having been assured by several English-speaking tourists that no flat-bottom boat piled high with building blocks had traveled eastward along the Seine this afternoon, Andrew and Sir Mortimer plodded along in silence until Andrew, spotting the taxi, said, “The others aren’t back yet.”

“I am becoming,” Sir Mortimer said, “profoundly gloomy. Profoundly.”

“Look!” said Andrew, suddenly pointing.

Sir Mortimer looked, and now they both saw the same thing: strolling this way, chatting happily together, were Jean and Charles and Renee.

“Hi!” called Andrew, trotting forward, Sir Mortimer in his wake. “Hi! You there!”

Charles, looking up from an extremely pleasant discussion to see the two Englishmen hurrying his way, was about to turn tail and run when Jean grabbed his arm with a warning hiss, saying, “Wait! They don’t know we took it.”