Jack Higgins - Sheba

He went up on deck, the Hindu at his heels. Skiros was standing on the edge of the jetty, his face shaded by a large Panama hat. He was wearing a soiled white linen suit, and a slight breeze lifted from the water against him, moulding his grotesque figure.

As Piroo dropped down into the dinghy and sculled rapidly towards him, the Greek raised his malacca cane and called cheerfully, ‘Is it safe for me to come across? I’ve already had one bath today.’

Kane waved a hand. ‘I’ll have a drink waiting for you.’

He watched Skiros negotiate the iron ladder pinned to the side of the jetty and safely step into the dinghy, and then he went below. He had just finished mixing two gin-slings when the dinghy bumped against the hull of the launch. A moment later Skiros creaked heavily down the stairs and entered the cabin.

He flopped into a chair with a groan. ‘Why the hell do you have to anchor your boat in the middle of the harbour? Why can’t you tie up at one of the jetties like everybody else?’

Sweat stained his jacket in great patches and trickled along the folds of his fat face. He produced a red silk handkerchief and mopped the worst of it away, then removed his Panama and proceeded to fan himself. His hair was shiny with pomade and carefully combed, and his tiny black eyes sparkled with cunning.

Kane handed him one of the drinks. ‘You should know me by now. I don’t trust anybody in this damned town. Let’s say I prefer to have a moat around me.’

Skiros shook his head. ‘Crazy Americans. I shall never understand you.’ He sipped appreciatively at his drink and then placed it carefully on the table. ‘I believe you had a little trouble with Selim?’

Kane lit a cigarette. ‘I wouldn’t call it trouble. I simply tossed him off my boat. Since when has he been working for you, anyway?’

The Greek shrugged, and took his time over lighting an oily black cheroot. ‘I find him useful, now and then. He does the odd trip to India for me when it’s necessary. I only sent him this afternoon because I was busy with something else.’

Kane frowned. ‘Well, don’t send him again. I don’t like his smell. I once picked up four slaves he dumped overboard three miles out in the Gulf when a British gunboat was on his heels.’

Skiros shrugged and raised one hand in a gesture of submission. ‘All right, so you don’t like the way he makes his money, but take a tip from me. He’s lost a lot of face over the way you treated him this afternoon. From now on I’d be extremely careful if I were you.’

Kane pushed the oilskin package across the table. ‘Let’s get down to business.’

Skiros produced a clasp knife and proceeded to cut open the package carefully. ‘Did you have any trouble?’

Kane shook his head. ‘I was at the rendezvous just after midnight. The boat was late, and O’Hara was drunk as usual. Guptas was in charge. He told me something interesting.’

‘What was that?’

‘They saw the Catalina about thirty miles out, off-loading from a Portuguese freighter.’

Skiros laughed. ‘So Romero’s developed sticky fingers too. That is interesting. What about customs when you came in?’

Kane shrugged. ‘No trouble there. Gonzalez didn’t even come on board. All that business with the oil can under the keel was a waste of time.’

Skiros shook his head. ‘Nothing is a waste of time in this work. One day, when you least expect it, he will take it into his head to perform his duties conscientiously.’ He removed the outer wrappings of the package as he spoke, and revealed a neat stack of Indian rupees.

As Skiros counted the bundles, Kane shook his head. ‘I’ll never understand this racket. Gold smuggled into India, rupees smuggled out.’

Skiros smiled. ‘It’s all a question of exchange. In this modern world it is really so easy to make money. One doesn’t need to steal at all.’ His face was shiny with sweat once more. He held his hands lightly over the stack of bank-notes and sighed. ‘Ah, my friend, if you knew the effect money has on me. When I moved here from Goa six months ago I’d no idea what a gold mine the place is.’

Kane poured himself another drink. ‘Why don’t you try spending some of it once in a while?’

Skiros shrugged. ‘I started life on a mountain farm in northern Greece. The fields were more stones than soil. My mother was an old woman at twenty-five, and one year, when the crops failed in the drought, my two sisters died of starvation. It is something I have never forgotten. That is why I live only to make money. I gloat over the size of my bank balance. I begrudge every penny I have to pay out.’

Kane grinned. ‘While we’re on the subject of paying out, I’ll take my cut now. Dollars as usual, if you don’t mind.’

Skiros laughed so that the flesh trembled on his huge body. ‘But I would never forget you, my friend. After all, you are an essential part of my whole organization. The king-pin, I believe you call it.’

‘Skip the flattery and let’s have the cash,’ Kane said.

Skiros produced a bulging wallet and proceeded to count out hundred-dollar bills. His hands were sweating, and he placed each bill reluctantly upon the table. When he had reached twenty, he paused, then added five more. ‘There you are, my friend,’ he said. ‘We agreed on two thousand, but I give you a bonus of five hundred dollars. Let no man say Skiros does not reward good service.’

Kane swept the bills into the table drawer. ‘You old spider. You know damned well, most of it will come back to you, either over the bar at your hotel or across the gambling tables.’

Skiros laughed again, his face crinkling so that the eyes almost disappeared, and pushed himself to his feet. ‘Now I must go.’ He moved to the door and then paused. ‘But I am forgetting some important news.’ He turned slowly. ‘A woman came in from Aden on the boat this afternoon. An American named Cunningham – Mrs Ruth Cunningham. Extremely pretty. She has been asking for you.’

Kane stiffened, a surprised frown crossing his face. ‘I don’t know anyone called Cunningham.’

Skiros shrugged. ‘She appears to know you, or to know of you at least. She is staying at my hotel. I told her I would be seeing you, and she asked me to give you a message. She would like you to come to the hotel. She said it was most important.’

Kane still frowned down at the table, leaning forward, his weight on his hands. After a slight pause Skiros said, ‘You will come?’

Kane straightened up and nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll come. I’ll be there some time this evening.’

Skiros nodded. ‘Good, I shall tell her.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t look so worried. Perhaps she is only a tourist. Maybe she wishes to charter your boat to go spear-fishing along the reef.’

Kane nodded slowly. ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ But he didn’t believe that was the reason – not for a moment – and, after Skiros had gone, he went back to the bunk and lay staring at the ceiling, groping back into the past, trying to place Ruth Cunningham. But it was no good. The name meant nothing to him.

He glanced at his watch. It was just after three, and for a little while longer he lay there; then, with a sigh of exasperation, he swung his legs to the floor and started to dress.

He pulled on his faded denims and a sweat-shirt and went up on deck. Piroo was lounging against the rail, head bowed against his chest so that only the top of his white turban was visible. Kane stirred him slightly with one foot, and the Hindu came awake at once and rose easily to his feet. ‘I’m going ashore,’ Kane said. ‘What about you?’

Piroo shrugged. ‘I think not, Sahib. Later, perhaps. I will row you across to the jetty and then return with the dinghy. It would be wiser. Selim might return.’