Dennis Wheatley - The White Witch of the South Seas

Chugging away from the hotel, for a while they hugged the shore, on which there were a few pleasant villas scattered along a bathing beach, then they turned out and crossed an arc of the lake, to arrive an hour later at the rickety landing stage that served the village of San Antonio Palopo. Going ashore, they made their way up a narrow, winding, potholed track to the church. It was an empty, barn like structure and proved disappointing. The carvings which had been so cracked up turned out to be eight or ten wooden figures obviously intended to represent saints. In a group they leaned disconsolately against one wall, with no altars or candles burning before them. They were unquestionably old, but none could honestly have considered them fine works of art.

After a glance at these dusty, neglected relics, as the village was no more than a cluster of hovels, they returned to the boat.

The surface of the lake had already become choppy and the boatman, anxious to get back before it became really rough, set a direct course for the hotel, which could be picked out as a white blob several miles distant. Between it and San Antonio lay three wide bays, separated by two rocky capes that projected a good way out into the lake.

For a while the nearest cape gave them some protection, but when they had passed it the launch caught the full force of the wind. The waves did not rise to dangerous heights, but were large enough to lift the little boat so that every other minute her bottom boards smacked down on to the water and clouds of spray hissed up on either side of her.

They were about a third of the way across the middle bay when they noticed another launch coming towards them. Two minutes later it looked as if it would pass within ten feet of them. Instead its engine was abruptly cut. Apparently the only person in it was the man at the wheel, but as it drifted past another man, who must have been crouching behind the gunwale, suddenly bobbed up. With a swift movement he lobbed what looked like a small tin of soup across the few feet that separated the two boats.

At that moment, through a gap in the flying spray, Gregory got a clear view of the men in the other launch. Corbin was at the wheel and it was Lacost who had thrown the missile. Only seconds later it landed in James's lap.

He and Gregory were sitting one either side of the boatman in the fore part of the boat. Instantly guessing that the missile was a home made bomb, Gregory threw himself across the boatman and snatched it up. As his fingers closed on the tin his heart seemed to come up into his throat. At any instant it might explode. Unless there was just time for him to throw it overboard all three of them would be torn to ribbons.

Gregory was sprawled right across the astonished boatman, so to pitch the bomb clear meant an awkward movement. With all his force he jerked up his hand. But in plunging sideways he had knocked the man's hands from the wheel and the boat was already beginning to veer off course. The boatman made a grab at the wheel to bring her back on to it. Just as Gregory was about to release his grip on the tin, their arms came into sharp contact. Instead of going over the side, the tin shot up into the air. It landed with a thud on the roof of the cabin behind them, then rolled away to the stern of the boat.

Springing to his feet, Gregory yelled, `It's a bomb Over you go!' Still shouting to the others to save themselves, he threw himself into the water. Next moment there was a shattering explosion.

The water heaved and he was thrown half out of it. Falling back, his weight carried him deep down. As he became conscious of the coldness of the lake water, it added to his fears for himself. They were in the middle of the bay and must be a good mile from the shore. If the boat had been wrecked there was small likelihood that Lacost would take them aboard his and there had been no other in sight. He was a good swimmer, but in cold, rough water he greatly doubted if he could cover such a distance.

As he came gasping to the surface, he saw that the bomb had blown the stern of the launch away and that the boat was sinking. Grimly, he turned on his side to strike out for the shore. Suddenly a shot rang out, another, another and another. Bitterly he realised that he was to be given little chance to reach the shore. Without even glancing over his shoulder, he knew that both Lacost and Corbin were shooting at him and shooting to kill.

7

Death on the Lake

Gregory needed no telling then that his situation was desperate. Lacost's threats had not been idle ones. He clearly meant to rid himself of any rival seekers of the treasure, even if it meant committing murder. And he had been not only swift to act, but clever. Here, out on the broad lake, there were no witnesses to what had taken place. Even if the explosion had been seen from the distant shore it would be thought that some carelessness, perhaps the throwing away of a cigarette butt, had caused the petrol tank to blow up. In due course the bodies of the victims would be washed ashore, but in that sparsely populated area it could be days or weeks before they were found. It would naturally be assumed that they had drowned, and any wound inflicted by a bullet would be thought to be a gash caused by the body having been hurled against a jagged rock. In any case all the odds were that, by the time Gregory and his companions were washed up, Lacost and Corbin would long since have left Guatemala.

From Gregory's swift glance at his would be murderers he derived only one ray of comfort. Shooting with pistols from a heaving boat, their aim must be uncertain. Even so, there was a very nasty chance that they might get him, so he promptly dived. A dozen swift strokes took him under the sinking launch. With aching lungs he surfaced on its far side. But he knew that it could give him only temporary protection.

Anxiously he looked round for his companions. The boatman, emitting a stream of curses, was clinging to the other side of the launch, but James was nowhere to be seen. Gregory was now faced with a choice of remaining where he was, or striking out for the shore. If he did the latter, it seemed certain that he would be spotted and the Colons would come in pursuit of him; so it seemed safer to remain under cover, anyhow for as long as the wreck stayed afloat. Just then she swung a little, revealing beyond her stern a box like wooden structure that was floating a few feet away from the main wreck. It was the roof which had been blown off the cabin.

Striking out, Gregory swam towards it. He had barely reached the half submerged roof when he caught a glimpse of the Colons' launch. They had switched on the engine and had come round the wreck to hunt him down. Knowing that his life now hung by a thread, he ducked and thrust himself sideways so as to come up beneath the cabin roof. While under water, he barged into an obstruction. Coming up, he shook the water from his eyes. To his delight, the obstruction proved to be James, who had already taken cover under the floating roof.

Finding that it was Gregory who had joined him, James began to speak; but, fearful that they would be heard and discovered, Gregory quickly put a hand over his friend's mouth. Under their hideout there was barely enough room for both of them to lie floating on their backs, and between the top of the roof and the water there were only a few inches of air space. Their faces were half submerged and wavelets constantly slapped over them.

They had been reunited for no more than two minutes when three shots rang out, followed by a piercing scream. That told them without a doubt that the Colons had spotted the boatman clinging to the wreck. To make certain that he did not survive to bear witness against them, they had killed the poor fellow in cold blood.

This brutal act was the final confirmation of Gregory's fears that they would not be satisfied and head back to land until they had killed James and himself; and every moment their position was becoming more precarious. To prevent themselves from floating out through the open end of their box like cover, each of them had to hold on to the underside of the roof, and their weight was dragging it down. Another few minutes and there would be no air space at all left. Then they must either drown there or come out to face a hail of bullets.