Donald Hamilton - The Betrayers

This didn't concern me, but I was thinking of a wounded woman in a small sailboat. Straight downwind to Kalaupapa, I'd said, but now there was no wind.

Without the steady, driving trades it could take her days to make it, if she lasted that long.

Well, there was obviously nothing I could do about it, except count her out as far as the assignment was concerned. It had been a forlorn chance, anyway. Picturing what she might be going through out there wouldn't help anybody, so I put it out of my mind, or tried.

In the morning they came for us well before daylight. It was hot and still. We were untied and led down to the inlet in the dark. Both boats had been brought out of cover and were lying against the bank, quite motionless. Soo and I were put aboard the larger one, which had a motor box in the stern, and a funny sort of propulsion unit sticking out behind the transom that looked like the sawed-off lower end of a giant outboard. I was used to the old-fashioned type of motorboat, where the power plant shared the cockpit with you and drove a propeller by means of a shaft running through the bottom of the boat, and the steering was done by a simple, old-fashioned rudder. Maybe this rig had advantages, but I wasn't seaman enough to spot what they were.

The bow of the boat was taken up by a tiny cabin. The rest was cockpit, at the forward end of which, to starboard, were the steering wheel and other controls. To port was a kind of electronic box with switches, buttons, and dials that could have been a navigating device of some kind, but I was reasonably sure it wasn't. There were seats for six people, two at the forward end of the cockpit facing forward, two back-to-back with these facing aft, and a couple more just in front of the motor compartment, facing forward again.

Mr. Soo and I were placed in these rearmost seats, and our ankles were lashed to the chair legs-if that's what they're called at sea-which were bolted to the cockpit floor. Then, since there was no space for our arms behind us, our wrists were tied in front of us with the same strong, heavy fishing line. It was a little gain. It's easier to do something about your bonds if you have them where you can look at them. Irina jumped aboard and sat down facing us, gun in hand.

"Later you will be put in the cuddy, forward," she said. "However, Monk doesn't want you to spend too much time alone. You might be bored. So for the present you'll ride out here where I can entertain you."

Monk was standing on the bank beside the other boat, a somewhat smaller and stubbier craft boasting two huge outboard motors on the transom. At least they looked enormous to me. I guess the one I remembered from boyhood must have been Ole Evinrude's little pilot model or a very near descendant. Monk was giving instructions to a couple of men. I could hear enough to know that he was arranging a rendezvous, but not enough to have any idea where it would be.

Irina looked annoyed when Monk dropped aboard our craft and immediately used his flashlight to inspect our wrists and ankles.

"I have already checked," she said sharply. "Can't you trust me to do anything right?" She caught herself, and mopped her face, and said in the humble voice I'd come to know, "I'm sorry, Monk. I didn't mean.

This damn kona weather!"

He grinned. He was in a good mood. "Check and double-check is my motto, kid," he said, patting her on the shoulder. I couldn't help wondering what their relations were and how they'd spent the night, but they weren't lovers now. His touch and voice were casual and preoccupied. "Well, don't put any more holes in the specimens than you have to. Here we go."

He went down the aisle between the seats, picking his way past the clumsy-looking water skis stowed there, and paused to take off his damp Boy Scout shirt and throw it into the little cabin. He sat down behind the steering wheel. When he turned the key, things began to rumble and vibrate behind the seats to which Soo and I were tied. ~

A man on the bank turned us loose. Monk maneuvered us around in the narrow channel, using, I noticed, a husky lever for a throttle and three colored buttons to work the gears: apparently the boat was equipped with an electric or hydraulic shift of some kind. I watched him carefully. I mean, I'm an automobile man at heart. A fine twisty mountain road and a good sports car is my idea of traveling. After my recent experience in the Pailolo Channel, I'd resigned myself to the fact that I'd probably never be a true sailboat sailor; and I wasn't really yearning to test my motorboating abilities, but I might have to.

So I watched him closely, by the instrument lights, as he worked the boat back and forth until he had it heading out. Then he shoved the throttle lever smoothly forward. The rumbling and burbling behind me increased in volume. The trees slid past, and some grass and sand. We slipped through a final opening and Monk gave another shove to the throttle. The boat seemed to rise and level off, planing. He switched off the instrument lights, and we headed out across the glassy dark sea. I didn't spend much time looking around. If Isobel was becalmed out here somewhere, there was nothing I could do for her and certainly nothing she could do for me.

The trip was, I figured, more than three times as long as the one we'd made from Maui to Molokai, and we made it in less than a third of the time, which shows what the internal combustion engine can do for you. As the dawn broke behind us, Irma, facing into the sunrise, put on a pair of dark glasses from the pocket of the garment she was wearing this morning: a short, sleeveless muu-muu that, except for its bright colors, looked like the kind of starched smock they used to put on very little girls.

We came up on Oahu at thirty knots-or miles per hour. From the rear of the cockpit I could read the figure but I couldn't read just how the nautical speedometer was calibrated. The fact that there was such a thing at all was a surprise to me. It was daylight when we rounded Diamond Head. There were many more boats out than usual, I noticed, including a good many catamarans with bright sails that didn't seem to be doing very well without wind. I could see the hotel where I was still paying rent on a room and the beach where I'd first seen Irma. Monk threw the engine into neutral, glanced at his watch, and came aft.

"Okay, get them below while I rig your towline," he -snapped at the girl. "Hurry it up before somebody comes too close; it looks as if every boat in Honolulu is heading out to welcome the Lurline." He was feeling some strain now, and his voice showed it. "I hope you've got your bathing suit ready under that pinafore."

Irma laughed. "Really, Monk…"

"Don't really-Monk me. Just get them out of sight and get overboard where you belong. And remember the instructions. I'll make one pass. Don't forget to laugh and wave at all the nice boys. We'll go right down the side of the ship and swing off to port. At a quarter of a mile, I'll hit the firing button. You let go and fall when it blows, but not before. Make it look natural, as if you were knocked right off your skis by the concussion. I'll swing around to pick you up. By the time I've got you and the rope aboard, there should be so much smoke and confusion nobody'll be paying any attention to us.

•.. That's it, tie them up good, there."

Irina, lashing my ankles, gave an extra yank to the cords. She already had Soo hog-tied on the other bunk in the tiny, wedge-shaped cabin. She paused in the opening to regard me for a moment; then she smiled slowly and took off her sunglasses and dropped them into the pocket of her smock. Still smiling, she reached back to unfasten the garment and, with the same graceful movement I remembered-which she was obviously remembering too-she slipped it off with her sandals and dropped it into the cabin beside me tauntingly, like a stripper parting with a strategic tassel. She stood there for a moment in her white bikini, slim and tanned and blonde and beautiful.