James Munro - The Innocent Bystanders

He roused Miriam and sent her to look after Omar, then went back to Kaplan, grateful for the solid doors in Angelos's house, and for the fact that he'd locked Kaplan in every night. He'd locked in Asimov, too, even though he'd looked so weak, and so defeated. But he'd found a way past the door. And now he was up in the mountains with a rifle. Craig woke up Kaplan and told him what had happened. The fear that was a part of his life came back to his face.

By the morning, Omar had recovered consciousness. His face looked gray, and very old, but his strength was astonishing. Craig marveled at the hardness of the old man's head, and the stamina that had brought him round.

"I was a fool, effendi. A bloody fool—and at my age too," he said. "He asked me if he could go to the toilet." He put a hand to his head. "My oath, he can hit."

"It wasn't your fault," Craig said.

"He'll be up in the mountains." Craig nodded. "With a rifle. But he won't use it, boss. Not with that shoulder the way it is."

"Why not?"

"It'll kill him."

"I don't suppose he cares," said Craig, and made for the door.

Omar called out to him. "Did he take my money, boss?" "No," Craig said. "It's here." He rummaged in a dressing-table drawer and produced the half bills, put them in Omar's hands.

"Thanks," said Omar, and went to sleep holding his money.

Later that day a Land-Rover appeared on the path. Miriam was watching, and she called Craig at once. Joanna Benson was driving, and beside her Loomis sat, enormous, liquescent, and very angry.

Craig told Omar to stay out of sight, and left Miriam on watch, then he went into the kitchen, collected Kaplan, who was preparing lunch, and locked him in his room, warning him to stay away from the window. As Loomis waddled angrily to the open front door, Joanna following, Craig stood inside it, the Smith and Wesson in his hand. Loomis puffed past him without a word, and Craig let Joanna go by and took them into the kitchen. The smell of food made Loomis angrier than ever.

"All right," he said. "I accept your offer."

Craig raised the Smith and Wesson.

"What the devil are you looking so coy about?" asked Loomis. "And put that thing down."

"I hardly know how to say this," Craig said. "Face the wall, please."

"You really have gone potty," Loomis yelled.

"Face the wall." The gun, that had pointed between them, now concentrated on Loomis, and he obeyed.

"Handbag on the table, Miss Benson," Craig said. She put it down. "Now, turn around. Put your hands on the wall. Lean forward."

In silence, they did as they were told. Joanna Benson's handbag yielded the .32 she had carried before; neither of them had weapons concealed on them.

'"All right," said Craig. "You can turn around."

"I bet you enjoyed that," Joanna Benson said, and Loomis said only, "There are limits, Craig. You've reached them."

"It's a compliment, really," said Craig. "There's nothing you wouldn't try to do me down, and we both know it." "Balls," said Loomis. "I told you. I accept your offer," "Let's see the guarantee," said Craig.

Loomis reached into his pocket and handed over a sheet of paper. It contained all that he had asked. "The money," said Craig.

"Ah," Loomis said. "We got conditions about the money. Kaplan goes to New York—the Yanks insist on delivery— and you take him. When you get there you get a hundred thousand quid in dollars—less fifty thousand dollars you pinched from the emergency fund."

"Why doesn't the department take him?"

"I want my hundred thousand quid's worth," said Loomis.

"I may need a bit of help."

"Why?"

"The KGB want Kaplan too. Let me have Royce and Benson here." "All right."

"She can take you back in the Land-Rover, then come back to pick us up. Royce too."

"His foot's still bad," said Loomis.

"He doesn't shoot with his foot. She can also get a man's white wig, a man's yellow wig, a Cyprus stamp on Miriam Loman's passport—and mine. And air tickets to New York."

Loomis glowered at him once more.

"You like your pound of flesh, don't you?"

"That brings us to Omar," Craig said. "You'll have to smuggle him out or it's no deal. Well?"

"I'll find a feller to do it," said Loomis.

"That's it, then," Craig said. He stuck the gun in his waistband. "You're a pleasure to do business with, Mr. Loomis."

Loomis used three words. Craig had heard them all before. He put the .32 back in the handbag and gave it to Joanna Benson.

Miriam was delighted to be going home. Omar also was happy. He'd lost his boat—that was unfortunate—but instead he had a vast wad of hundred dollar bills. Craig found him a roll of transparent tape and Omar was happy. Kaplan alone made difficulties.

"I don't want to go to America," he said. "I was happy in Kutsk."

"You can't go back there. Asimov will find you," Miriam said. "And anyway—what's wrong with going to America? Your brother's there."

"I'd like to see Marcus. That's fine," said Kaplan. "But what will they make me do there?"

"Work," said Craig. "The kind of work you should be doing."

"But the KGB will find out. They'll come after me again."

"You'll be looked after," Craig said. "I was happy in Kutsk," Kaplan said again. "You had six months," said Craig. "You're lucky it lasted that long."

The Land-Rover arrived, and in it were Royce, Benson, and a taciturn sailor whose business was to take Omar back to Turkey. Craig sent them both off at once in the Volkswagen. The old man turned to Craig, his fingers counted the money for the last time.

"You made me rich, effendi," he said. "The only rich man in Kutsk." He sighed. "Now I'll have to buy my wife a fur coat."

"Don't tell her," said Craig.

"Boss," Omar's voice was reproachful. "She's a woman. How can I help it?" He bowed to Craig. "Have a good journey. And come and look me up some time. Maybe we can do some more business together."

Craig watched him go, then turned to Royce. "How's the limp?" he asked.

"Fair," Royce said.

"Let's see you walk."

Royce braced himself, then moved across the room. For a short distance, at least, the limp was hardly noticeable.

"That's fine," said Craig. "Now you and Kaplan change clothes."

"What is this?" said Royce.

"Didn't Loomis tell you who was boss? Go in the bedroom if you're shy."

When they'd gone, Joanna Benson looked from Miriam to Craig.

"Isn't there someone missing?" she asked. "Who?"

"Your friend Angelos. I thought he was with you." "He is," said Craig. "But it's better if you and he don't meet."

"Fair enough," said Joanna. "Then there's the Israeli pair. I had a look for them, Craig. They've disappeared." She hesitated. "Is that why Andrew's changing clothes with Kaplan?" Craig didn't answer. "Loomis was right. You really do like your pound of flesh." She turned to Miriam. "Doesn't he, darling?"

Royce and Kaplan came back and Craig fitted on the wigs Joanna had brought.

"These wouldn't fool anybody," said Royce.

They'd fool a man on a mountainside, watching a moving car, Craig thought.

Asimov would soon be ill. He'd taken another look at his wound, seen how inflamed it was. His temperature was rising too, and soon he'd have fever. But there was food enough to keep him going—last night he'd robbed the kitchen—and water in the mountain streams. And he didn't have to hold out for long. He was certain of it. The Land-Rover would be coming back soon, with Kaplan in it, and no matter what precautions Craig took, he, Asimov, would then kill Kaplan. The likelihood was that he would then die, of exposure and weakness, up here in the mountains, or by execution, if they hanged murderers in Cyprus. He didn't know. It was funny. He was going to commit a murder and he didn't know what the penalty was. Life imprisonment, perhaps. The British had abolished hanging, and maybe the Cypriots had too. Life imprisonment he could face, so long as the prison wasn't Volochanka, and he'd even escaped from there.