Ник Картер - The Liquidator

This time she kissed me, her lips cool and light on mine. I started to put my arm around her, but she pulled away, not much, just enough to let me know this wasn’t the time.

“So tomorrow you will sail away?” she said.

“That’s the idea. Funny thing, in my country and probably in yours too, when boating people see a man arrive in a car and start asking questions, they don’t tend to talk much. But when the same person shows up in a boat and asks the same questions they’ll talk their heads off.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be.” She took another swallow of her brandy. “And you honestly wish to take me with you?”

Now I was certain she was talking for the benefit of possible bugs, because she knew damned well I had to take her with me. “I would like to very much. Three, four days only, just coastwise sailing. No hurry.”

She appeared to be thinking it over; then she nodded slowly. “Yes. That would be very, very nice.” And with that she rose, put the empty brandy glass down on a nearby dresser and picked up the white wool stole she wore against the evening chill. “I must be getting back to my hotel now, McKee.”

My surprise must have shown clearly, but she stifled my protest with a fierce frown. “Do you... have to?” I said lamely.

“Oh yes. This has been most pleasant, McKee. I feel we have come to know each other well in so short a time, and there is so much to look forward to. No?” She tilted her head to one side and gave me a teasing little smile. “Once we are alone at sea, I am sure we will find a great deal to talk about.”

She got the message across, and I made no objections. Christina wouldn’t hear of letting me drive her back to her hotel, but I made damned sure the tan Mercedes wasn’t across the street before I put her in a cab. I watched until she was out of sight and saw no sign of a tail picking her up, but I still felt a cold worry in my gut; Christina was my only way of contacting Alex, and if anything happened to her...

All I could do now was hope she knew what she was doing, because I sure as hell didn’t.

Elgon Xefrates was waiting for me when I arrived early the next morning, but he wasn’t the friendly, smiling man I’d met the day before. He shook his head sadly when he saw me get out of the car and enter his small, cluttered office.

“So sorry disappoint,” he started right in, eying the white duffel bag I carried. “Your boat will not be ready to sail today. Tomorrow, perhaps two, three days. I cannot say.”

“What the hell’s the matter,” I demanded.

“Accident last night.” He shrugged and pointed vaguely over his shoulder. Through the window behind him I could see the bustling boatyard, the docks and the small cove beyond where several dozen boats, mostly small, were moored. I recognized the thirty-two-foot ketch he’d shone me the day before, snugged up against the dock with a long, thick snake of hose pouring over the side and down into the cabin.

“What happened?”

“Someone comes into mooring late, I think. Must have rammed your Argos pretty hard; this morning we find her with much water, some planks sprung forward. You see, we are pumping her out now.” He pointed unnecessarily.

“It can’t be too badly damaged if it didn’t sink overnight,”

“Perhaps not; we will have to haul her out to be certain.”

“Can I go take a look? Maybe I can get an idea...”

His eyes were cold. “You know more about my boats than me Mr. McKee?”

“Of course not; I didn’t mean that. Look, you said you had another boat I might take. What about that one?”

“Ah, but after you departed yesterday two gentlemen came along and chartered it. You said you preferred Argos at any rate.”

I did; she was smaller, easier to handle single-handed, and seemed generally in better shape. Still... “Have they taken her already?”

“ Scylla? Not yet, no.”

“I need a boat,” I said flatly.

Xefrates looked surprised. “But you said there was no haste, Mr. McKee.”

“Things have changed. I’d like to do business with you, but if you can’t keep your word I’ll have to go elsewhere, Mr. Xefrates.”

If I’d expected panic from the fireplug-shaped man I was sadly mistaken. He simply looked at me for a long moment, then shrugged. “That is your; privilege.”

“Look, I’ll pay whatever you ask for Scylla. Let the others wait a day or so for Argos to be repaired.”

“It is that important to you, Mr. McKee?”

“It is.” I grinned. “You’ll understand why before long.”

Xefrates looked thoughtful, his eyes somber, and then his dark, beard-stubbled face exploded in a sudden smile. “Ah! Perhaps I do understand.” He tapped a stub of pencil against his tombstone teeth. “It is possible that the other gentlemen would understand also.”

“When did they say they’d start out?”

“Only some time today. In fact, since it was so late when they came yesterday that I had no chance to take them out on the boat. Usually I must be certain that someone knows how to handle one of my lovelies before I allow them to take her away. Except when they possess such... what is the word? Credentials? Yes, credentials such as you, Mr. McKee.”

Among the other documents I’d been provided with was a photostat of a certificate that said I’d been twice across the Atlantic in small boat races, once as navigator and the other as sailing master. I was just as glad that Xefrates hadn’t asked me to maneuver Scylla, a broad-beamed sloop with enough room in the cockpit for a flock of goats to be carried as cargo, around the congested cove.

“So I can take Scylla instead?” I said, reaching for my wallet.

The boatyard owner shook his head. “I could not do that, Mister McKee. I have given my word to the other two gentlemen.”

“But you promised me.”

“For some day soon when you would want Argos. ”

“Can you call these other guys? At least ask them if they’d mind postponing their trip for a day or so?” I felt ridiculous, almost begging like this, but there was no other place in Pirgos where I could expect to charter a boat right away. The only alternative was to go back to Piraeus, where the Royal Greek Yacht Club could arrange charters at almost any port where they were available. But that would mean not only a delay of at least a day but, more important, would tip off my anxiety to start my “leisurely” cruise.

Xefrates frowned, shuffled through some papers on his rat’s nest of a desk, found what he was looking for and finally sighed resignedly. “I’m sorry. I do not seem to have taken their hotel.”

He sat there like a squat, regretful but implacable spider, and I was beginning to think this mission was a complete washout when Christina arrived.

Xefrates almost jumped to his feet when the girl walked in, his dark face split in an idiot smile of appreciation. In faded blue shorts, a striped crewneck jersey and radiating let’s-go eagerness, she was enough to make any man stand up.

“Are we ready?” she asked, pecking me on the cheek and dropping her two small canvas bags on the dusty floor.

I told her briefly of the complications. Christina’s reaction was perfect; she turned to Xefrates, pouting just enough.

“But that’s not fair! My vacation will be over in a few days, and I was promised a nice little cruise.”

Xefrates was obviously flustered. He spouted some Greek at the girl, and she replied; I couldn’t understand either one of them. But whatever she said, Christina had powers of persuasion that I couldn’t begin to muster; within a few minutes Xefrates was nodding, a little sadly, but with a what-else-can-I-do shrug, and we were carrying our gear down to the dock.