Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

“Well said, Doctor,” Josep agreed. “In addition to your money, perhaps we can use your aid in the new Uruguay…. “

A single shot sounded and Josep stood rigid, the final word Uruguay on his lips. Then, as though in slow motion, the submachine gun fell from his hands and he leaned forward, falling, faster and faster. Slumping dead on the deck of the launch.

Behind him Esteban sat, quietly, the pistol that had fired the shot was still in his hand. No one moved, the Tupamaros as rigid with shock as all the others.

“He wanted to betray us,” Esteban said in a voice so low they could scarcely catch the words. “Betray the revolution. I followed him, believed in him, believed he was the leader who would guide us to victory. I even sat here and did nothing when he murdered my sister. Loyalty, we must have loyalty. But not when we take in this Nazi filth as our partners. If we do that, why then the revolution is well and truly lost and we are no better than those we seek to replace.”

He threw the pistol to the deck beside Josep’s body.

In the silence that followed, Uzi’s voice cracked loud as a whip.

“Put the guns down. We have had enough killing. I don’t want to shoot.” His gun was levelled at them. “But I will if I must. Let us stop this murder now…. “

“Millions!” Wielgus shouted. “Don’t listen to this dirty Jew with his kike offer of a few shekelks! I’ll give you millions…. “

His words choked off in a gasp as the nearest Tupamaro tucked his pistol into his belt and casually leaned out to clamp his hand on Wielgus’s throat, to squeeze hard so that the German’s face turned scarlet and his eyes bulged. Only then did he release his grip and let the man fall, gasping, onto the deck.

“My offer still strands,” Uzi said. “We’ll pay cash for these two specimens. With that money and the signed agreements you will have your revolution.

Without having to deal with these scum.”

“We will do it that way,” Diaz said.

“It is our only choice,” Esteban said, and none of the Tupamaros chose to argue. Some strength had gone out of them with Josep’s death. He was their leader, the one who had showed them the way. But now he was gone. He had murdered Concepcion before their eyes and it was perhaps only fair that her brother had exacted retributive justice. Everything was confused and the only thing that was clear was that he was dead.

The time to act had long passed. Their guns were put aside and one of them pulled a canvas tarpaulin over the body. Then the engine died away and voices called down to them and they looked up to see that they were beside the Tigre Amarillo. The momentous, world-changing events had taken only a few minutes.

They climbed aboard the fishing boat, pushing the German prisoners up ahead of them. Esteban remained to the last, looking at the body of the man he.had killed, the man who had been their movement, their life. He came to a decision and called out to the other Tupamaros.

“We must sink this launch. Bullets through the flotation tanks, then grenades. The corpse of this person will stay aboard for burial at sea. That is what Josep told me before he left. Josep leads our revolution always, in the flesh when he is by our sides, in spirit when he is not.”

The others nodded with understanding. The great leaders never die. Barbarossa sits in his cavern in the rock waiting to be called; Holger Dansk will return; somewhere in the mountains of Morelos, Zapata still rides his white horse, ready for the time when he will be needed.

The machine gun roared and splinters flew from the side of the launch. Other guns joined in and the launch dropped astern, rocking in the hall of fire, low in the water. Esteban primed two grenades and threw them into the sinking boat. The men aboard the Tigre Amarillo fell to the deck as the grenades exploded and bits of shrapnel whirled over their heads.

When they stood again just a swirl in the water and some floating debris marked where the launch had been. Uzi leaned close to the staring Wielgus and spoke softly in German to him.

“Look closely. Your Fourth Reich just sank with that launch. We have you and we will have your blood money some day, but even if we don’t, your movement is at an end. And so are you, Herr Doktor Joachim Weilgus.”

Wielgus did not protest, or even raise his head. For suddenly he was nothing more than an old man with a past and no future, absolutely no future at all. He lurched forward to hurl himself over the rail but Uzi’s strong hand seized him and pulled him back.

“It won’t be that easy,” Uzi said. “A million dead Jews would like to see some justice done first.”

The fishing boat’s engine blatted loudly as she ran up to full speed and turned her bow back towards Mexico. Her white wake stretched out longer and longer as she grew small on the horizon, then vanished from sight.

Silent and still, the waves slapping against her high black sides, the QE2 was alone in the ocean at last.

Through a rift in the clouds a bar of sunlight penetrated, striking gold highlights from the waves as they ran up onto the beach, hissing as they ran back through the coarse sand. On the rocky slopes behind the beach the nesting seagulls screamed like lost souls.

Libor Chvosta had spent an uncomfortable night on the unyielding beach, finally falling asleep just before dawn. The sunlight woke him now and he tried to pull up the blanket to shield his eyes — then realized the significance of the light and sat up, yawning.

The last of the clouds were disappearing on the horizon. The storm was over at last. A few people were beginning to stir among the thousands sleeping on the beach, walking towards the area in the scrub that had been cordoned off as toilets. The lifeboats lay in neat rows where they had been beached at high tide. Everything had been efficiently organized by the ship’s personnel. He could see that.the kitchen staff and stewards were already awake, brewing up something hot to drink from the lifeboats’ stores. Chvosta smacked his lips together, aware of the foul taste in his mouth. He had scarcely had anything to eat, just some water to drink, all the time he had been locked in the cabin with Aurelia. Nor had he wanted anything after his seasickness had returned. Now, on dry land again, he felt well — and ravenous. He threw the blankets from his immense body, sat up and stretched. Aurelia was lying asleep next to him, her round, full rump rising up, clearly delineated by the blankets. Chvosta reached slowly out.

“Bitch,” he muttered and prodded his large thumb again and again into her flesh. She squealed and was awake. When they had been tied in that bed together, and he had been sick, she had said some unforgettable things. He would make her pay.

“I’m going to get something to eat. For myself. Meanwhile you find some paper and start preparing a message to Captain Bartovska aboard the Lyngby Kro. I made provisions in case the payment was misdirected. He knows what to do. Those Uruguayan sailors are never going to reach port with those arms.”

“And how am I supposed to send this cable?” Her voice dripped venom; she rubbed her sore buttocks. “The boat and launch radios have all been destroyed, you heard that yourself.”

“We won’t be on this island forever. If you were listening so closely, then you must have heard them talk about filling the empty water cans with petrol. With the storm over, the launch should be able to reach Mexico. And they’ll be searching for us. We’ll be off this rock soon. And I want that cable ready. Do it now.”

He stalked away, sniffing the air in anticipation, his massive stomach rumbling its need. This deal would have to be written off, what with the two contracted governments tottering, the payment gone — and the German paymasters themselves apprehended. But Global Traders wouldn’t lose out, once they had the cargo back from the ship. The nonreturnable dances that had been paid would more than cover their expenses. The arms would be sold elsewhere at a good profit. He might even get a bonus out of it. If he did, after she apologized, he might even let Aurelia keep her job. She was really too efficient to fire.