Philip Kerr - The Five Year Plan (1998)

Dave thought he did and grinned back at him. 'I think so.'

Jock looked apologetic. 'You're the one with the flash boat, not me. I'm just trying to make ends meet.'

'How much?'

'Fifty bucks. Enough to see you through the bad weather.'

'Done.'

Jock took a small packet from his pocket.

'You had it with you?'

'Quite a few people are feeling like shit today,' laughed Jock. 'Business is good.'

'That's a nice little racket,' said Dave, handing over the five Hamiltons.

'You make it any way you can.'

'Sure do,' agreed Dave.

'These are tablets and plasters,' Jock explained, giving Dave the packet. 'Give him one tablet now and stick a plaster to his arm. He'll have difficulty in passing water. Maybe blur his vision a bit. And it'll stop him sweating altogether.'

'I can't wait,' said Dave. 'How soon does this shit kick in?'

'Right away. An hour should see him on his feet again. Then one of the plasters and one of the pills every six hours. Just don't mix the stuff with any alcohol.'

'Right.'

'Thanks for the beer.'

'Pleasure doing business with you, Doc'

Jock walked precipitously toward the stern.

'Oh yeah. I meant to tell you. That sub. I reckon it's gone. No one's been broadcasting in a while and there's nothing on the echo-sounder. Must have got bored, and pissed off.'

'Must have done,' agreed Dave.

'It's that kind of voyage,' said Jock. 'I can't think why I ever imagined going to sea would be more interesting than becoming a vet. Nothing ever bloody well happens on this boat.'

'No, I guess not.'

Al was lying on the floor, one arm wrapped around the toilet bowl as if it was his best friend. Dave knelt down, wrapped one of Al's anaconda-sized arms around his own neck, and dragged him into the stateroom.

'One thing I like about you, Al. You know your proper station in life. It's been a pleasure sailing with you, you know? A guy out of the can, like me? It's been a great comfort to have been around someone lower than myself.'

'Fuck you,' groaned Al.

Dave dropped him onto the bed and finding a towel he began to dry Al's arms carefully.

'The doc was just by to give you something,' said Dave. 'To be completely honest with you, he's really a vet. But I knew you wouldn't hold that against him, you being a fuckin' gorilla n'all.'

Dave unwrapped the supply of Scopoderm and taped a plaster to the inside of each chunky forearm.

'Normally the guy only treats domestic animals but I persuaded him to make an exception in your case. I told him to pretend you were a domestic ass and y'know something? He didn't seem to have any problem with that.'

Dave placed one of Jock's tablets on Al's lolling, beige sock of a tongue, and then closed his jaw before reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. The glass was in his hand and then almost on the floor as he realized with disgust that the water covered a set of dental plates.

'Jesus, what the fuck is this?' Dave laughed and then lifted Al's slack lip on the edge of his finger. Grinning, his own teeth shining perfectly, Dave peered into Al's pukey mouth. He said, 'Man, there's not one tooth in the whole fucking bowling ball.' Dave kept on looking, fascinated and feeling like the bitch in King Lear come to gloat over some old guy's empty eye sockets. Until Al's big hairy paw swept Dave's hand away.

'Fuck you.'

'OK, you gotta sit up now and swallow this bitter little pill, Al. Make you feel better. It's a seasickness pill, so be a good fellow and just swallow the goddamn thing. Stuff cost me fifty bucks.'

Al sat up, swallowed the pill and, taking the glass out of Dave's hand, drained it of the water covering his dentures.

'You bastard,' he whispered and collapsed back onto the bed.

'Yeah, I know. All my patients say the same thing. My manner's more dockside than bedside.' Dave wiped Al's forehead with the towel. 'Takes a little while for the Scopoderm to kick in. The dope's attached to your arms as well, just in case your stomach's paying less attention than your brain. Just one note of precaution. No booze while you're tripping on this stuff. That means no booze until we're off this ship, right? You and I have got a job to do.' Dave glanced at his watch. 'In less than twelve hours. You want some character motivation? Then think about that for a while. This time tomorrow you and I are going to be multi-millionaires.'

'So,' said Sam Brockman. 'We're on our own now. Excepting when there's a NATO exercise, the Navy generally stays this side of the Atlantic. It makes things less complicated for the ASW people.'

'ASW?'

'Anti-submarine warfare,' he told Kate. 'French'll pick us up in a few hours, just west of the Azores.' He sighed. 'Shit.'

'What?'

'Just that I almost wish something would happen. Seems kind of a shame to hand the collar over to Interpol.'

Kate agreed without much enthusiasm. For her there was more than enough happening already. More than she had bargained for, anyway. Since breakfast she had stayed on the Carrera, grateful that the bad weather gave her the excuse not to go up on deck and see Dave. Perhaps it was as well the sub had gone. It meant that there was no temptation to get a message relayed back to FBI HQ and check on Dave's criminal record. Assuming Dulanotov was his real name.

A very green-looking Kent Bowen came up to the galley and stood breathing heavily over the sink for a moment before fetching a glass and taking some water from the faucet.

'How are you feeling, Kent?' Sam asked the ASAC.

'Like dog shit.'

Kate gave Bowen a look as if to say dog shit was what he was. She hadn't yet worked out a way of paying him back for implying to Dave that he was fucking her. But she was working on it.

'The Dramamine not effective?' said Sam.

'That's the top of the news,' said Bowen. 'I take any more of that stuff and I'll fall asleep. I'm nearly out on my feet as it is.'

'You know, nothing much is happening right now,' said Kate. 'Turkey in the straw has signed off. There doesn't seem much point in staying awake if you're feeling lousy. Why not go to bed?'

Bowen smiled weakly. 'Why not go to bed? Is that your personal motto or something?'

Kate bit her lip. 'What's that supposed to mean?' she said evenly.

'I think you know what I'm talking about, Agent Furey.'

'God, you sound just like my mother.'

'I doubt that. I doubt that very much. Clearly your mother can never have offered you anything in the way of moral guidance.'

Kate felt her cheeks color. Then she laughed scornfully. 'Listen to Bob Guccione. What would you know about moral guidance?'

Persisting, Bowen said, 'If she had--'

'I'm assuming it's the Dramamine that's making you sound like an asshole, Kent.'

'If she had, you'd have returned to this boat last night.'

'Did you come up here especially to insult me?'

'You don't deny it then?'

'Deny what?'

'That you slept with that guy?'

'Actually we didn't really sleep at all. We were too busy fucking.'

'I was right, then.'

'But what I did or did not do last night is really none of your goddamn business.'

'If it affects the integrity of this operation, it is.'

'And you'd know all about that, watching porno all evening.'

Bowen leaned forward and retched into the sink.

'You make a lot more sense with your head in a toilet bowl,' she sneered.

Bowen straightened and wiped his mouth with a paper towel. 'It was not all evening.'

'It was a couple of hours, Kate,' said Sam. 'Maybe three.'

'So don't lecture me on integrity,' said Kate.

Sam said, 'Never seen that kind of thing before. Probably won't ever see it again. Last night, I reckon I saw everything it was possible to see. There was one particular female --' He glanced awkwardly at Kate. 'Well, I'll just say this. That now I know what it really means to have your head screwed on.' He laughed. 'Anyway, I don't see that any of us have affected the integrity of this operation. Nothing happened last night that's anyone's business but his or her own. Now why don't we just leave it at that, huh, Kent?'