Nick Carter - The Black Death

She snuggled the blanket up over her breasts, soft and slack looking this morning. I remembered how they came up hard and firm when she was excited. Her smile was derisive.

“You could never make it stick,” she said. “I’m the Black Swan, remember! My own people will never prosecute me. And anyway that bastard Duvalier is never going to ransom Dr. Valdez. Never! He has only been taunting us for the past two years. Taunting us and trying to maintain contact so his bogymen can find us and wipe us out one by one. I have known all this for a long time. So have a few others. It was my, our, decision to use the money for this boat and the arms and go in and kill Papa and take over the government.”

I had figured it that way, too. A small hard core, a minority in the HIUS led by this girl, had come up with the crackpot idea of invading Haiti. I doubted that the rank and file of the HIUS knew anything about the plans. All they contributed was money — money that Lyda Bonaventure was using in her own way.

I got out of my chair. “Okay for now. We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the way to Haiti. Why don’t you take a shower and get dressed and fix us some breakfast. I want to be headed downstream in an hour.”

She tossed the blanket aside and bounced out of bed, her large breasts jiggling. She was still wearing the white stockings and garter belt. She came to me and ruffled my hair and kissed my cheek, laughing.

“You’re really going to do it, Nick? You’re going in after Dr. Valdez?”

“We are going in after Dr. Valdez,” I said. “We are going to try to bring him out.” No point in telling her that if I couldn’t get Valdez out I had to kill him.

I gave her a hard look. “AXE is going to try and keep the promise the CIA made to you. I’ll try hard and do my best. But understand one thing — at the first sign of monkey business from you the whole deal is off. You got that?”

Lyda leaned to kiss me lightly. “There will be,” she promised, “no monkey business. I trust you and you trust me.”

She slapped me lightly and stepped back. She did a bump and a grind and rolled her belly at me and then ran for the bathroom. Laughing. She closed the door and a moment later I heard the shower start.

I went through the deckhouse and took a careful peek at the marina. I didn’t want anyone spotting the web belt and the holster. Tom Mitchell was at the far end of docking, leaning against a piling and drooping, a cigarette burning in his mouth. He looked beat.

I yelled at him, “Hey, Tom!”

He snapped erect and waved a hand at me. The morning was soft, nacreous, with layers of dank gray mist floating over the Hudson.

I tapped the holster. “I’ve got it now, Tom. Go home and get some sleep. And thanks. I won’t need you today — I’m casting off in a few minutes.”

He came down the dock to where the floating duck-boarding led out to the cruiser. He looked puffy and fat and old. He stopped and flipped his butt into the water. “You’re taking off, huh?”

“Yeah. Orders. Thanks again, Tom, and take care of yourself. Be sure you cash that voucher.”

He scratched his bald head and gave me a tired grin. “I’ll cash it. Christ, Nick, I wish I was going with you.”

I grinned at him. “No can do, Tom. Anyway you’re too old. You said it yourself. So long, Tom. Maybe I’ll see you again and we’ll tie one on — like we used to.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Anytime, Nick. Goodbye, fella.”

He raised a hand and then turned and walked back up the docking. He didn’t look back. I ducked down into the cockpit and looked the engine over. A minute later I heard a car start and drive away. So long, Tom.

I checked her out pretty good, and when I got back to the stateroom Lyda had breakfast ready. Bacon and eggs and toast and more coffee. She also had a surprise for me: she was wearing green fatigues and a little Castro cap and on the cap, and on each shoulder, she wore a single silver star.

I stared at her. “So now you’re a brigadier, eh? You are also some kind of nut, you know. If Papa Doc’s boys catch you wearing that insignia you won’t even get a trial. They’ll shoot you out of hand.”

She made a face at me. “I know. They will shoot me anyway, stars or no. Anyway, I won’t wear them when we go ashore.”

I nodded at her. “That is for damn sure, honey. Remember it. But if you want to play general on the way down I don’t care. Only don’t get uppity. Remember you’re still crew — and there is going to be plenty of work.”

As we ate I told her that we would cast off as soon as breakfast was over. She looked doubtful.

“In day time? Wouldn’t it be better to wait until after dark?”

I shook my head. “The risk is minimal. The bogyman haven’t spotted the Sea Witch or we wouldn’t be here now. You certainly wouldn’t be.”

She gave me a swift glance. “I know. I would be dead.”

“Yes. So I think it’s safe to take her down river. We’ll hug the Jersey shore and once we get into the harbor traffic nobody will bother us.”

There was one slight risk, which I didn’t mention. If the Tonton Macoute had spotted the cruiser, and had laid off for some reason of their own, and saw us heading out, they would have a pretty good idea where we were going. That might mean a reception committee in Haiti. I had to risk that.

I went into the deckhouse and took off the web belt and holster and stashed them in a locker. I didn’t want a police launch getting interested in me. I opened the radio cabinet in one corner of the deckhouse and checked out the equipment. It was pretty good — a ship to shore phone and a CW transceiver. Lyda came into the deckhouse to stand beside me as I inspected the stuff.

There was a bug and a manual key jacked into the transceiver. I pointed to the keys. “Can you handle a key? You know International Morse?”

She shook her head. “I don’t. We’ve got — had — a radio man. Juan was going to — what does it matter now?”

“Probably doesn’t,” I admitted. “Still you never know. And I can’t do everything.”

I flicked a toggle on the console and a green light came on. I am nothing with a bug, but a manual key I can handle pretty well, and now I tapped the key a couple of times and a thin squealing came out of the loud speaker. I put on the ear phones and tapped myself a CQ and adjusted the vernier and volume until the code was coming in loud and clear and five by five. I laid off the key and twisted the dial and listened to a couple of tugs working each other. Then I got an idea and just for the hell of it I sent a CQ to the AXE station on a remote island off the South Carolina coast. I really didn’t expect to get through, because the traffic was thick and I was Bending from a poor locale, at sea level and bouncing signals off the Palisades.

But in a minute the signal came in, booming and shrill: R — go ahead, N3—R — go ahead — K—

I had no message but somehow I felt better when I heard them come in. A tenuous link to my people, but a link just the same.

I pounded the key. K — testing — K—testing — AR—

The answer came ghosting back. K — AR— Silence.

I flipped the toggle to off and gave the crew some orders and went to start the engines. The crew did pretty well with the lines, and I backed Sea Witch out into a making tide and pointed her downstream on a diagonal slant to get some westing and hug the far shore. The sun came over the horizon and turned the flat lead color of the river into gold and silver. The far reaches were empty, a lot of vacant water, but a couple of tugs were crawling upstream and to the north a fat white tanker was lying at the Con Ed dock.