Bernard Cornwell - Wildtrack

I still had not answered. Kassouli picked up the framed photograph and turned it so I could stare into the dead girl’s face. “Can you imagine the pure terror of her last moments, Captain?” He paused, though no answer was needed, then he sighed. “Now Nadeznha is among the caballi .”

He had said the word very softly. I waited for an explanation, but none came. “The caballi? ” I prompted him.

“The souls of the young dead, the untimely dead.” Kassouli’s voice was very matter of fact, almost casual. “They roam the world, Captain, seeking the consolation of justice. Who, but their families, can provide such solace?”

I said nothing. My father had often told me that the very rich, having conquered this world, set out to conquer the next, which was why spiritualist frauds so often found patrons among practical men and women whose dour talents had made vast fortunes. Kassouli, having failed to convince me with the science of meteorology and oceanography, had retreated to the claptrap of the ghost world.

But neither ghosts, nor weather charts, nor even two hundred and fifty thousand dollars could make me accept. I needed the money, God knows how Sycorax and I needed the money, but there was an old-fashioned dream, as old as the dream that was carried in the Mayflower , and it was called honour. There was no proof that Bannister had done murder, and till that proof was found there could be no punishment. I shook my head. “I’m not your man, sir. I’ve already told Bannister I’m not sailing with him.”

“But that decision could be reversed?”

I shrugged. “It won’t be.”

He half smiled, as though he had expected the refusal, then carefully replaced the silver-framed family portrait. “You are a patriot, Captain?”

The question surprised me. “Yes, sir.”

“Then you should know that I have given myself one year to avenge my daughter’s death. So far, Captain, I have tried to achieve that satisfaction through conventional means. I pleaded with your government to re-open the inquest, I went on my knees to them!

They have refused. Very well. What your government will not do, I will do. But I need the help of one Englishman, and that is you.

Miss Kirov assures me you are a brave and resourceful young man.” I looked at Jill-Beth, but she gave no sign of recognition. “But you have no proof,” I protested to the father.

Kassouli was long past that argument. “If no Englishman will help me, Captain, then I will wash my hands of your country. I don’t flatter myself that I can bring Great Britain to its knees, as I went on my knees to Great Britain, but I will withdraw all my investments out of your country and I will use my influence, which is not negligible, to deter others from investing in your economy.

Do you understand me?”

I understood him. It was blackmail on an enormous scale; so enormous that it defied belief. My face must have reflected that incredulity, for Kassouli raised his voice. “Every cent of every investment I have in Britain will be withdrawn. I will become an enemy of your country, Captain Sandman. Whenever it will be in my power to do it harm, that harm will be done. And when I die, I will charge my son to continue the enmity.”

Charles Kassouli, under the thrall of his father’s powerful voice, nodded.

Kassouli smiled. “But this is a nonsense, Captain Sandman! Fate has sent you to me. Fate has put you into Anthony Bannister’s confidence, and I do not believe that fate is so very capricious.” He held up a hand to check my protest. “I understand, Captain, that I am asking you to take on trust that my daughter was murdered. You must reflect that not every course of action in this world is under-pinned by cause and proof, by validation and reason, or by the natural justice of good sense and right feeling. Sometimes, Captain, we have to trust our God-given instincts and act!” The last word was stressed by a punch of his right fist into his left. “Did you?” he asked,

“consider the sense and rationality of your actions when you assaulted the Argentinian positions on the night you won your medal?”

“No,” I said.

“Then do not become a weak man now, Captain.”

“It isn’t weakness…”

“My daughter is dead!”

I closed my eyes. “And you cannot prove it was not an accident.” I opened my eyes to see that, surprisingly, Kassouli was smiling.

“You have not disappointed me, Captain. I would have been shocked had you offered instant agreement. I like strong people.

They are the only ones on whom I can rely. So, I wish you to do one thing for me.” He held out a hand to indicate that I should accompany him to the door. As we walked he made one last effort to sway me. “I want you to consider everything I have said. I want you to consider the meteorological conditions, the sea conditions, and the experience of my daughter. I want you to weigh in the balance the value of her immortal soul against that of Anthony Bannister. I want you to search your conscience. I want you to consider the damage I can cause to your country. And when you have done all of those things, then I want you to inform me whether or not you will help me. Will you do that, Captain?”

I glanced towards Jill-Beth, but she just smiled and lifted a hand in farewell.

“Will you do that, Captain?” Kassouli insisted.

“Yes, sir,” I said lamely.

He pressed a button beside the doorframe and the tall Scandinavian servant appeared instantly. Kassouli gripped my hand. “Good-night, Captain. I will send for your answer in due time.” The door closed on me. The Scandinavian asked whether I wanted to rejoin the party, but I shook my head. Instead I was shown to a limousine that took me back to my lavish hotel. I waited there half expecting a knock on the door or a telephone call, but none came.

So I slept uneasily. And alone.

In the morning I walked about the harbour and tried to persuade myself that Kassouli’s threats had been nonsensical. I could not convince myself. I walked back to the hotel where I was informed that a car would be taking me to the airport that afternoon, and that Miss Kirov was waiting for me in the Lobsterman’s Saloon.

The saloon was decorated with old-fashioned lobster pots, nets and plastic crustaceans. I found Jill-Beth sitting alone at the polished bar. She smiled happily. “Hi, Nick! Irish whiskey?” Her ebullience was like a mockery of the evening before. “How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Alone.”

“Me too.” She shrugged, and I knew I had been brought to this town only to meet Kassouli. Jill-Beth had been nothing but the bait and, like a greedy mackerel snapping at a gaudy feather, I’d bitten. “So what did you make of Yassir?” she asked me.

“Mad.”

She shook her head. “He’s a grieving father, Nick. He lost a daughter and he wants to sleep better. It isn’t madness. You want to eat lobster?”

I took the menu out of her hands and laid it down. “He isn’t talking about sabotaging Bannister’s attempt at the St Pierre, Jill-Beth, he’s talking about killing Bannister!” Her eyes widened in mock horror. “I didn’t hear him say that!”

“Not in so many words.”

She shook her head disapprovingly. “Then you’re talking out of turn, Nick. Maybe Yassir just wants to talk to Bannister? Maybe he wants a signed confession so the courts can take it over? Hell, he probably wants to save his insurance company paying out a million bucks! Maybe he just wants to put Bannister over his knee and tan his hide? I don’t know what he wants, Nick.”

“He’s mad! He can’t declare economic war on a whole country!”

“Sure he can! Hotels, chemical works, computers, investments, oil, shipping. I guess his companies employ thirty thousand people in Britain? I know that’s not many, but there are subcontractors too.