Michael Dibdin: And then you die

'That one cuts across the tip of the peninsula.'

'Then choose another. After that you press here, where it says "Set Course", and then here, "Engage Automatic Pilot. After that, if s just a matter of deciding how fast you want to go and keeping an eye out for other boats. Would you like some coffee?

'I'd love one. With a shot of grappa, if there is any.'

'Of course there is. Tommaso was a complete bastard, but he didn't cheap out. There's everything. Microwave, Jacuzzi, satellite TV, sound-surround stereo, DVD player, computers with Internet access, and of course a fully stocked bar.'

She turned to leave. Zen stopped her with one finger placed just above her left breast.

'Won't he be angry when he finds out?' he asked.

'Finds out about what?'

'That we've taken his boat without his permission.' Gemma smiled radiantly and kissed him very briefly on the lips.

‘I certainly hope so,' she said.

Zen throttled back, leaving just enough power to maintain steerage way, and studied the video screen more closely. It showed a detailed nautical chart of the Gulf of La Spezia, the white blob indicating their current position just off the coast at Portunciulla. He wiggled the button until the arrow lay over the entrance to the gulf to the south-west, then clicked the button Gemma had showed him. The dotted line reappeared. He inspected it closely. There were no marked rocks or other obstructions. He pressed the other two buttons. The dotted line became continuous, and the boat nudged round gently to starboard, then settled on the new course. 'SSW 15.8' read the display on the screen. Zen checked the compass. That was indeed the heading. He increased the engine power until the wavelets under the bow produced a healthy smacking sound, then settled back and lit a cigarette.

Gemma brought Zen his caffe corretto and seated herself in the other leather-dad stool in the cockpit.

'Aren't you having anything?' he asked.

She shook her head.

'Actually, I think I might take a nap, if that's all right with you. I'm pretty exhausted.'

As yet there was no sign of daybreak, but the jagged promontory to their right and the imposing mountain chain on the other side stood out velvet black in the incisive moonlight. All around, the undulating surface of the water stirred and shifted restlessly in continual permutations of some underlying pattern always alluded to but never stated. There were no other vessels in sight, and the only light was the insistent blinking of a lighthouse on the Isola del Tino at the very end of the peninsula.

'Well, I'm going to lie down,' said Gemma.

'Sogni d'oro!

Zen settled back into the comfortable chair, sipping his stiffened espresso, and watched the coastline slide past. Unlike Gemma, he didn't feel tired at all, but exhilarated and about twenty years younger. They'd done it! He'd never really believed they would until now, but they had. The boat was at sea, Lessi's body safely on board, and as far as he knew no paper trail behind them. Once they got into deeper water, he would detach one of the boat’s anchors, hitch it up to a spare rope, tie that around the corpse and heave the whole issue overboard. Then he'd toss the gun in after it, and they would be in the clear. No one could ever find out what had really happened.

Despite his apparent wakefulness, he must have dozed slightly, because he was summoned back to full consciousness by a beeping sound. At first he thought it was the secret communication device he had been given at the Ministry, but when he checked in his pocket the unit proved to be dormant. Then he realized that it was coming from the navigation screen on the ledge in front of him, signalling that they had arrived at the position previously entered.

By now it was almost light, one of those long, slow, summer dawns full of promise. Zen picked a point at random on the chart, far out in the Ligurian Sea, then confirmed the course and clicked the autopilot button. The boat obediently bobbed round to the west and thudded forward into the slightly steeper seas. He checked the horizon. A few sets of navigation lights were showing out in the main sea lane, but all at a considerable distance. He rubbed the slight chill of dawn off his hands and went below.

Inside the saloon, Gemma was lying quietly asleep under a blanket on the row of seating opposite Lessi's bundled body. They both looked very cosy. With the boat's computer systems apparently doing all the work, Zen was strongly tempted to join them, but resisted the impulse. Instead he found the bag of groceries and took it into the spacious galley, where he made himself a salami roll. He then removed a couple of cans of beer from the fridge and made his way back to the cockpit.

And it was just as well he did, for around the time he finished the roll and the first can of beer, the engine's reassuringly sexy murmur became raucous and intermittent, and shortly after that stopped altogether. The boat came to a halt, slurping and sloshing around at random in the shallow waves.

Zen grabbed the second can of beer and took a long pull. His knowledge of engines of any kind was strictly limited to knowing how to turn them on and off. This one had already turned itself off, though, and showed no inclination to start again no matter how many times he twisted the ignition key or pushed the starter button. He had no idea how to work the marine radio, either, still less what frequencies to use. Which left them adrift on a lee shore a couple of kilometres off the Tuscan coast, in water too shallow to risk disposing of Lessi's corpse. Sooner or later it would turn up in a fishing net or washed up by the currents on a beach, and then the investigation would begin. If that ever happened, Zen had no illusions about how it would end. His only hope – their only hope – was to ensure that it never started in the first place.

He tried his mobile phone, but couldn't get a signal. Using the Ministry's much-vaunted emergency device was clearly out of the question. The same applied to putting out a Mayday call on the radio, even supposing he could get it to work. The coastguards would eventually send someone out to tow them into port, but with Lessi's body still aboard. But if he didn't, they were bound to be spotted in the end by some passing boat or plane, with the same result. And if even that failed, the wind and waves would eventually carry the boat ashore.

Shallow water or not, then, the first priority was to get the murdered man overboard. He ferreted about in various drawers and cupboards until he found a heavy screwdriver that would serve as a marlinspike, then made his way out on deck. One of the vessels he had spotted earlier was a lot closer now. Not only that, but it seemed to be coming directly towards them. There wasn't a moment to lose.

The twin anchors, of the modern plough design, were stowed inboard at the bow. Both were attached to lengths of neatly coiled chain. Neither showed any sign of ever having been used. If you couldn't plug in the electrics and step ashore to restock the fridge, Tommaso wouldn't have been interested. Zen inserted the screwdriver into the shackle holding one of the anchors to its chain and heaved, without the slightest effect. He looked up. The oncoming vessel was a lot closer now. It looked very much like a coastguard cutter.

He moved over to the other anchor and twisted on the screwdriver with all his might. Finally the screw gave and reluctantly started to turn. Zen forced it round until it finally cleared the shackle, then pulled out the pin, releasing the anchor. Bending his knees, he gripped the anchor with both hands, lifted it with difficulty and began to make his way back aft. As he was negotiating the narrow passage between the saloon decking and the guard rail, a freak wave hit the port bow, causing the boat to corkscrew and sending him headlong on to the deck, falling on top of the anchor with a jolt that made him cry out.