Ник Картер - The Liquidator

“Well... why not?”

Just then a waiter brought us Turkish coffee, and while I was filtering the sediment from the bottom of the cup through my teeth Christina got up to attend to herself. When she returned, all legs and tan, she dropped into her chair so abruptly I thought she would break it.

“McKee!” she hissed. “There was someone!”

“Uh-huh. What kind of someone?”

“A man! Leaning against the wall right outside the ladies’ room!”

“So?”

“But I have seen him before! Last night, in Pirgos!”

That got my attention. “Where in Pirgos?”

“It was...” She hesitated, put a finger to her mouth and gnawed on the nail. “In my hotel, after I left you. He was talking to the desk clerk when I arrived there.”

I stood up. “He is still there?”

“No! When I left he had gone. McKee! How can they follow us like this?”

“Don’t be too sure he’s following us.”

“But he must be!”

“Okay, okay. Relax.” I got up. “Let me make a little visit of my own.”

But when I got back into the little passageway off the main dining room, there was no one there at all, and I found the men’s room empty. Christina was looking anxiously in my direction when I returned, and I shook my head as I sat down. “Nobody. You’re positive it was the same man you saw at your hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Describe him.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “He was... shorter than you, but very wide. Dark suit, dark hair. Balding, I think, but he wore a hat so I couldn’t be sure.”

“Just what did he do?”

“He was just... standing there. Talking to the desk clerk...”

“What language?”

“Oh, Greek. Yes.”

“Did he speak to you? Do anything?”

“No, nothing like that. He simply looked; I could feel his eyes on me all the way up the stairway.”

I laughed. “I can hardly blame him.”

“But he’s here!”

“Uh-huh. That’s not funny, is it? Okay, Christina, an all-night sail it is. But you’re going to have to spell me at the wheel if I can’t keep my eyes open.”

She smiled. “I promise, McKee, that I will do everything I can think of to keep you awake.”

By the time we headed back to the boat, Christina’s fleeting spell of lightheartedness was gone; at every turn she kept glancing back over her shoulder until I had to tell her to knock it off. When we were aboard and clearing the harbor, she scrutinized every craft we passed, then kept an eye on anything that moved. It was almost dark, but a number of other boats were still scudding back and forth. One was a good-sized power boat that skimmed close to us, jammed with shrieking revelers who obviously couldn’t have cared less where the party was. Several of them waved at us; I waved back, but Christina seemed to try to shrink down out of sight.

“Cut that out!” I snapped. “You’re just attracting attention to us. The wrong kind.”

She glowered at me, then straightened, waved feebly at the retreating cruiser. As we watched, the speeding boat headed for a huge motor yacht, nearly as big as a cruise ship, that was idling along well out to sea. Every porthole was ablaze with lights, and even from that distance I could hear the throb of rock music coming faintly across the water.

“Looks like some kind of party,” I remarked.

Christina nodded. We watched the power boat slow, come alongside the motor yacht. Lines were lowered and attached, and the smaller boat, still filled, was hauled up to the main deck level. There were whoops of laughter, and through my binoculars I saw one woman stand up, nearly falling overboard.

“Damn fools,” I muttered.

“Yes,” the girl beside me agreed. “Tourists.”

I grinned at her. “That’s me.”

“No you are not, McKee. You are a spy.”

I winced. “Okay, then, Miss Assistant Spy. Take the wheel while I go below and break out some warm sweaters for us. It’s starting to get chilly.”

Her smile was loaded with meaning. “But I am not at all cold.”

She wore a light shirt, buttoned carelessly over the top of her bikini and the same faded blue shorts. I made a point of showing my appreciation of how she looked. “Let’s keep it that way,” I said, and went below.

When I got back she was half-curled up on the wide built-in seat that ran all the way around the cockpit, legs tucked under her and her head propped up on one elbow.

“That looks comfortable, but I don’t want you running my boat like that during the night. Too easy to go to sleep in that position.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” she responded, flipping me a little salute.

I tossed her a sweater and dumped a blanket on the seat beside her, then went forward to check the jib. It was bellied nicely by the quartering breeze, and when I tested it I found the self-setting rig wasn’t at all fouled up. The anchor was rigged, ready to go over the side if we had to stop, though in these deep waters there weren’t many places where our line would reach bottom. I remembered to close the forward hatch, mentally accepting Nathaniel Franklin’s pat on the back, and edged back to the cockpit.

“Everything shipshape, Skipper?” Christina asked.

“Uh-huh.” I eyed her curiously. “You sound as though you’ve been seeing too many let’s-go-Navy movies.”

“I was taught to sail by an American ensign.”

“Hah! You mean those swabbies can actually sail? ”

“Well, it was a tiny little boat. There was barely room for both of us on it.”

“That must have been cozy.” I dropped down on the seat next to her tucked-under feet.

Abruptly she sat up straight, her eyes fixed on a flashing light off to starboard. “What is that?”

I didn’t have to check my chart. “It’s the light off that headland we saw when we went into port. Once we’ve put that behind us, we head north again.”

“I see. You are right, McKee, this would be no time to be paying no attention. Do you wish to sleep? You have had a long day.”

She sounded almost prim as she spoke, her eyes fixed straight ahead, both hands on the spoked wheel.

“No. Not now. I’ll just sit here and... enjoy the view.”

Christina didn’t acknowledge the clumsy remark.

For a long time neither of us spoke; then she started to wriggle, conscious of my steady gaze.

“Why do you look at me so much?” she demanded irritably.

“I didn’t think you minded. Last night, in the street, you were... a very different girl.”

“That was acting.”

“For the men in the tan Mercedes?”

“Of course.”

“And now you’re not?”

She turned her head to face me, and in the gathering darkness her eyes were steady and sober. “McKee, I would perhaps like to go to bed with you. Some time. If it were necessary to make love with you in order to convince anyone that we are what we pretend to be, then I would not hesitate. For a time I was in love with a fellow student, and I can honestly say he was not nearly so attractive as you. And yet...” She shrugged and glanced aloft again, then back at me. “I am not a tramp, to tumble into bed with the first American tourist, or spy, call yourself what you will, I meet. Do you understand?”

“Sure.” I shifted slightly away from her, though not out of touching distance. “It also explains why you suddenly decided to sail all night long.”

It was too dark to see if she flushed, but from the way she ducked her head I could see she was embarrassed.

“That is true, McKee. In part. If I am to be firm in my resolve, there is no point in risking unnecessary temptation.”

“But only in part?”

“Yes. I have been doing some thinking since we spoke earlier today.”