The Eye of the Tiger

Even as I stared I saw the splash at her bows as she let go her anchor, and she rounded up into the wind showing her full silhouette so that I could not doubt that she was the Mandrake.

Before I had recovered my wits, she had dropped a boat which sped in swiftly towards the beach.

I started to run.

fell once on the path, but the force of my headlong descent from the peak carried me on and with a single roll I was on my feet again, still running.

I was panting wildly as I burst into Chubby’s cave, and I shouted, “Move, man, move! They are on the beach already.”

The two of them tumbled from their sleeping bags. Angelo was tousle-haired and blank-eyed from sleep, but Chubby was quick and alert.

“Chubby,” I snapped, “go get that piece out of the ground. jump, man, they’ll be coming up through the grove in a few minutes.” He had changed while I spoke, Pulling on a shirt and belting his denim breeches. He grunted an acknowledgement. “I’ll follow you in a minute,” I called as he ran out into the feeble light of dawn.

“Angelo, snap out of it!” I grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

“I want you to look after Miss. Sherry, hear?”

He was dressed now and he nodded owlishly at me. “Come on.” I half dragged him as we ran across to my cave. I dragged her out of bed and while she dressed I told her.

“Angelo will go with you. I want you to take a can of drinking water and the two of you get the hell down to the south of the island, cross the saddle first though and keep out of sight. Climb the peak and hide out in the chimney where we found the inscription. You know where I mean.”

“Yes, Harry,“she nodded.

“Stay there. Don’t go out or show yourself under any circumstances. Understand?”

She nodded as she tucked the tail of her shirt into her breeches.

“Remember, these people are killers. The time for games is over, this is a pack of wolves that we are dealing with.”

“Yes, Harry, I know.”

“Okay then,” I embraced and kissed her quickly. “Off you go then.” And they went out of the cave, Angelo lugging a fivegallon can of drinking water, and they trotted away into the palm grove.

Quickly I threw a few items into a light haversack, a box of cheroots, matches, binoculars, water bottle and a heavy jersey, a tin of “chocolate and of survival rations, a torch and I buckled my belt around my waist with the heavy baitknife in the sheath. Slinging the strap of the haversack over my shoulder, I also ran from the cave and followed Chubby down into the palm grove towards the beach.

I had run fifty yards when there was the thud, thudding of small-arms fire, a shout and another burst of firing. It was directly ahead of me and very close.

I paused and slipped behind the hole of the palm tree while I peered into the lightening shades of the grove. I saw movement, a figure running towards me and I loosened the baivknife in its sheath and waited until I was sure, before I called softly, “Chubby?” The running figure swerved towards me. He was carrying the IN rifle and the canvas bandolier with spare magazines of ammunition, and he was breathing quickly but lightly as he saw me.

They spotted me,” he grunted. “There are hundreds of the bastards.”

At that moment I saw more movement amongst the trees.

“Here they come,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I wanted to give Sherry a clear run, so I did not take the path across the saddle, but turned directly southwards to lead the pursuit off her scent. We headed for the swamps at the southern end of the island.

They saw us as we ran obliquely across their front. I heard a shout, answered immediately by others, and then there were five scattered shots and I saw the muzzle flashes bloom amongst the dark trees. A bullet struck a palm trunk high above our head, a woody thunk, but we were going fast and within minutes the shouts of pursuit were fading behind us.

I reached the edge of the salt marsh, and swung away inland to avoid the stinking mudflats. On the first gentle slope of the hills I halted to listen and to regain our breath. The light was strengthening swiftly now. Within a short while it would be sunrise and I wanted to be under cover before then.

Suddenly there were distant cries of dismay from the direction of the swamps and I guessed that the pursuit had blundered into. the glutinous mud. That would discourage them fairly persuasively, I thought, and grinned.

“Okay, Chubby, let’s get on,” I whispered, and as we stood there was a new sound from a different direction.

The sound was muted by distance and by the intervening heights of the ridge, for it came from the seaward side of the island, but it was the unmistakable ripping sound of automatic gunfire.

Chubby and I froze into listerung attitudes and the sound was repeated, another long tearing burst of machinegun fire-. Then there was silence, though we listened for three or four minutes.

“Come on,” I said quietly, we could. delay no longer and we ran on up the slope towards the southernmost peak.

We climbed quickly in the fast-growing morning light, and I was too preoccupied to feel any qualms as we negotiated the narrow ledge and stepped at last into the deep rock crack where I had arranged to meet Sherry.

The shelter was silent and deserted but I called without hope, “Sherry! Are you there, love?”

There was no reply from the shadows, and I turned back to Chubby.

“They had a good lead on us. They should have been here,” and only then did that burst of machinegun fire we had heard earlier take on new meaning.

I removed the binoculars from the haversack and then thrust it away into a crack in the rock.

“They’ve run into trouble, Chubby,” I told him. “Come on. Let’s go and find out what happened.”

Once we were off the ledge we struck out through the jumble of broken rock towards the seaward side of the island, but even in my haste and dreadful anxiety for Sherry’s safety, I moved with stealth and we were careful not to show ourselves to a watcher in the groves or on the beaches below us.

As we crossed the divide of the ridge a new vista opened before us, the curve of the beach and the jagged black sweep of Gunfire Reef. I halted instantly and pulled Chubby down beside me, as we crouched into cover.

Anchored in a position to command the mouth of the channel through Gunfire Reef was the armed crash boat from Zinballa Bay, flagship of my old friend Suleiman Dada. Returning to it from the beach was a small motorboat, crowded with tiny figures.

“God damn it,” I muttered, “they really had it planned. Manny Resnick has teamed up with Suleiman Dada. That’s what took him so long to get here. while Manny hit the beach, Dada was covering the channel, so we couldn’t make a bolt for it like we did before.”

“And he had men on the beach - that was the machinegun fire.

Manny Resnick sailed Mandrake into the bay to flush us, and Dada had the back door covered.”

What about Miss. Sherry and Angelo? Do you think they got away?

Did Dada’s men catch them when they crossed the saddle?”

“Oh Godv I groaned, and cursed myself for not having stayed with her. I stood up and focused the binoculars on the motorboat as it crawled across the clear waters of the outer lagoon to the anchored crash boat.

“I can’t see them.” Even with the aid of the binoculars, the occupants of the dinghy were merely a dark mass, for the morning sun was rising beyond them and the glare off the water dazzled me. I could not make out separate figures, let alone recognize individuals.

“They may have them in the boat - but I can’t see.” In my agitation I had left the cover of the rocks, and was seeking a better vantage point, moving about on the skyline. Out in the open I must have been highlit by the same sun rays that were blinding me.

I saw the familiar flash, and the long white feather of gunsmoke blow from the mounted quick-firer on the bows of the crash boat, and I heard the shell coming with a rushing sound like eagles” wings “Get down!” I shouted at Chubby, and threw myself flat amongst the rocks.

The shell burst in very close, with the bright hot glare like the brief opening of a furnace door. -Shrapnel and rock fragments trilled and whined around us, and I jumped to my feet.

“Run!” I yelled at Chubby, and we jinked back over the skyline just as the next shell passed over us, making us both flinch our heads at the mighty crack of passing shot.

Chubby was wiping a smear of blood from his forearm as we crouched behind the ridge.

“Okay?” I asked. “A scratch, that’s all. Bit of a rock fragment,“he growled. “Chubby, I’m going down to find out what happened to the others. No point both of us taking a chance. You wait here.”

“You’re wasting time, Harry, I’m coming with you. Let’s go.” He hefted the rifle and led the way down the peak. I thought of taking the FN away from him. In his hands it was about as lethal as a slingshot when fired with his closedeyes technique. Then I left it. It made him feel good.

We moved slowly, hugging any cover there was and searching ahead before moving forward. However, the island was silent except for the sough and clatter of the west wind in the tops of the palms and we saw nobody as we moved up the seaward side of the island.

I cut the spoor left by Angelo and Sherry as they crossed the saddle, above the camp. Their running footsteps had bitten deep into the fluffy soil, Sherry’s small slim prints were overlapped by Angelo’s broad bare feet.

We followed them down the slope, and suddenly they shied off the track. They had dropped the water-can here and, turning abruptly, had separated slightly, as though they had run side by side for sixty yards.

There we found Angelo, and he was never going to enjoy his share of the spoils. He had been hit by three of the soft heavy-calibre slugs. They had torn through the thin fabric of his shirt, and opened huge dark wounds in his back and chest.

He had bled copiously but the sandy soil had absorbed most of it, and already what was left was drying into a thick black crust. The flies were assembled, crawling gleefully into the bullet holes and swarming on the long dark lashes around his wide open and startled eyes.

Following her tracks I saw where Sherry had run on for twenty paces, and -then the little idiot had turned back and gone to kneel beside where Angelo lay. I cursed her for that. She might have been able to escape if she had not indulged in that useless and extravagant gesture.

They had caught her as she knelt beside the body and dragged her down through the palms to the beach. I could see the long slide marks in the sand where she had dug her feet in and tried to resist.

Without leaving the shelter of the trees, I looked down the smooth white sand, following their tracks to where the marks of the motorboat’s keel still showed in the sand of the water’s edge.

They had taken her out to the crash boat, and I crouched behind a pile of driftwood and dried palm fronds to stare out at the graceful little ship.

Even as I watched she weighed anchor, picked up speed and passed slowly down the length of the island to round the point and enter the inner lagoon where Mandrake was still lying at anchor.

I straightened up and slipped back through the grove to where I had left Chubby. He had laid the carbine aside and he sat with Angelo’s body in his arms, cradling the head against his shoulder. Chubby was weeping, fat glistening tears slid wearily down the seamed brown cheeks and fell from his jaw to wet the thick dark curls of the boy in his arms.

I picked up the rifle and stood guard over them while Chubby wept for both of us. I envied him the relief of tears, the outpouring of pain that would bring surcease. My own grief was as fierce as Chubby’s, for I had loved Angelo as much, but it was down deep inside where it hurt more.

“All right, -Chubby,” I said at last. “Let’s go, man.” He stood up with “the boy still in his arms and we moved back along the ridge.

In a gully that was choked with rank vegetation we laid Angelo in a shallow grave that we scraped with our hands, and we covered him with a blanket of branches and leaves that I cut with my baitknife before filling the grave. I could not bring myself to throw sand into his unprotected face, and the leaves made a gentler shroud.

Chubby wiped away his tears with the open palm of his hand and he stood up.

“They got Sherry,” I told him quietly. “She is aboard the crash boat.” “Is she hurt?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, not yet.”

“What do you want to do now, Harry?” he asked, and the question was answered for me.

Somewhere far off towards the camp, we heard a whistle shrill, and we moved up the ridge to a point where we could see down into the inner lagoon and landward side of the island.

Mandrake lay where I had last seen her and the Zinballa crash boat was anchored a hundred yards closer to the shore. They had seized the whaleboat and were using her to land men on the beach-They were all armed, and uniformed-They set off immediately into the palm trees and the whaleboat ran back to Mandrake.

I Put the binoculars on to Mandrake and saw that there were developments taking place there also. In the field of the glasses I recognized Manny Resnick in a white opens neck shirt and blue slacks as he climbed down into the whaleboat. He was followed by Lorna Page. She wore dark glasses, a Yellow scarf around her pale blonde hair and an emerald green slack suit. I felt hatred seethe in my guts as I recognized them.

Now something happened that puzzled me. The luggage that I had seen loaded into the Rolls at Curzon Street was brought out on to the deck by two of Manny’s thugs and it also was passed down into the whaleboat.

A uniformed crew member of Mandrake saluted from the deck, and Manny waved at him in a gesture of airy dismissal.

The whaleboat left Mandrake’s side and moved in towards the crash boat. As Manny, his lady friend, bodyguards and luggage were disembarked on to the deck of the crash boat, Mandrake weighed anchor, turned for the entrance of the bay, and set out in a determined fashion for the deep-water channel.

“She’s leaving,” muttered Chubby. “Why is she doing -,that?”

“Yes, she’s leaving,” I agreed. “Manny Resnick has finished with her. He’s got a new ally now, and he doesn’t need his vwn ship. She’s probably costing him a thousand nicker a day, - and Manny always was a shy man with a buck.”

I turned my glasses on to the crash boat again and saw -Manny and his entourage enter the cabin.

“There is probably another reason,” I muttered. “What’s that, Harry?”

“Manny Resnick and Suleiman Dada will want as few witnesses as possible to what they intend doing now.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,“grunted Chubby.

“I think, my friend, that we are about to be treated to the kind of nastiness that will make what they did to Angelo seem kind, by comparison.”

“We’ve got to get Miss. Sherry off that boat, Harry.” Chubby was coming out of the daze of grief into which Angelo’s killing had thrown him. “We’ve got to do something, Harry.” “It’s a nice thought, Chubby, I agree. But we aren’t going to help her much by getting ourselves killed. My guess is that she will be safe until they get their hands on the treasure.”

His huge face creased up like that of a worried bulldog. “What we going to do, Harry?”

“Right now we are going to run again.”

“What do you mean?” “Listen,” I told him, and he cocked his head. There was the shrill of the whistle again and then faintly we heard voices carried up to us on the wind.

“Looks like their first effort will be brute strength. They’ve landed the entire goon squad, and they are going to drive the island and put us up like a brace of cock pheasant.”

“Let’s go down and have a go,” Chubby growled, and cocked the FN- “I got a message for them from Angelo.”

“Don’t be a fool, Chubby,” I snapped at him angrily.

“Now listen to me. I want to count how many men they have. Then, if we get a good chance, I want to try and get one of them alone and take his piece off him. Watch for an opportunity, Chubby, but don’t have a go yet. Play it very cautious, hear!” I didn’t want to refer to his markmanship in derogatory tones.

“Okay,” Chubby nodded.

“You stay this side of the ridge. Count how many of them come down this side of the island. I’ll cross over and do the same on the other side.” He nodded. “I’ll meet you at the spot where the crash boat shelled us in two hours.”

“What about you, Harry?” He made a gesture of handing me the FN - but I didn’t have the heart to deprive him.

“I’ll be okay,” I told him. “Off you go, man.”

It was a simple task to keep ahead of the line of beaters for they called to each other loudly to keep their spirits up, and they made no pretence at concealment or stealth, but advanced slowly and cautiously in an extended line.

There were nine of them on my side of the ridge, seven of them were blacks in naval uniform, armed with AK47, assault rifles and two of them were Manny Resnick’s men. They were dressed in casual tropical gear and carried sidearms. One of them I recognized as the driver of the Rover that night so long ago, and the passenger in the twinengined Cessna that had spotted Sherry and me on the beach.

Once I had made my head count, I turned my back on them and ran ahead to the curve of the salt marsh. I knew that when the line of beaters ran into this obstacle, it would lose its cohesion and that it was likely that some Of its thembers would become isolated.

I found an advanced neck of swampland with stands of Voting mangrove and coarse swamp grass in dense shades of fever green. I followed the edge of this thicket and came upon a spot where a fallen palm tree lay across the neck like a bridge - offering escape in two directions. It had collected a dense covering of blown palm fronds and swamp grin which provided a good hide from which to mount an ambush.

. I lay in the back of this shaggy mound of dead vegetation and I had the heavy baitknife in my right hand ready to throw.

The line of the beaters came on steadily, their voices growing louder as they approached the swamp. Soon I could hear the rustle and scrape of branches as one of them came directly down to where I lay.

He paused and called when he was about twenty feet from me, and I pressed my face close to the damp earth and peered under the pile of dead branches. There was an opening there and I saw his feet and his legs below the knees. His trousers were thick blue serge and he wore grubby white sneakers without socks. At each step his naked ankles showed very black African skin.

It was one of the sailors from the crash boat then, and I was pleased. He would be carrying an automatic weapon. I preferred that to a pistol, which was what Manny’s boys were armed with.

Slowly I rolled on to my side and cleared my knife arm. The sailor called again so close and so loud that my nerves jumped and I felt the tingling flush of adrenalin in my blood. His call was answered from farther off, and the sailor came on.

I could hear his soft footfalls on the sand, padding towards me.

Suddenly he came into full view, as he rounded the fall of brushwood. He was ten paces from me.

He was in naval uniform, a blue cap on his head with its gay little red pom-pom on the top, but he carried the vicious and brutal-looking machinegun on his hip. He was a tall lean youngster in his early twenties, smooth faced and sweating nervously so there was a purple black sheen on his skin, against which his eyes were very white.

He saw me and tried to swing the machinegun on to me, but it was on his right hip and he blocked himself awkwardly in the turn. I aimed for the notch where the two collarbones meet, that was framed by the opening of his uniform. at the base of his throat. I threw overhand, snapping my wrist into it at the moment of release so the knife leapt in a silvery blur and thudded precisely into the mark I had chosen. The blade was completely buried and only the dark walnut handle protruded from his throat.

He tried to cry out, but no sound came, for the blade had severed all his vocal chords as I intended. He sank slowly to his knees facing me in a prayerful attitude with his hands dangling at his sides and the machinegun hanging on its strap.

We stared at each other for a moment that seemed to last for ever.

Then he shuddered violently and a thick burst of bubbling blood poured from his mouth and nose, and he pitched face forward to the ground.

Crouched low, I flipped him on to his back and withdrew the knife against the clinging drag of wet flesh, and I cleaned the blade on his sleeve.

Working swiftly I stripped him of his weapon and the spare magazines in the bandolier on his webbing belt, then, still crouching low, I dragged him by his heels into the gluey mud of the creek and knelt on his chest to force him below the surface. The mud flowed over his face as slowly and thickly as molten chocolate, and when he was totally submerged I buckled the webbing belt around my waist, picked up the machinegun and slipped back quietly through the breach that I had made in the line of beaters.

As I ran doubled over and using all the cover there was, I checked the load on the AK47. I was familiar with the weapon. I had used it in Biafra and I made sure that the magazine was full and that the breech was loaded before I slipped the strap over my right shoulder and held it ready on my hip.

When I had moved back about five hundred yards I paused and took shelter against the trunk of a palm while I listened. Behind me, the line of beaters seemed to have run into trouble against the swamp, and they were trying to sort themselves out. I listened to the shouts and the angry shrill of the whistle. It sounded like a cup final, I thought, and grinned queasily, for the memory of the man I had killed was still nauseatingly fresh.

Now that I had broken through their line I turned and struck directly across the island towards my rendezvous with Chubby on the south peak. Once I was out of the palm groves on to the lower slopes, the vegetation was thicker, and I moved more swiftly through the better cover.

Halfway to the crest I was startled by a fresh burst of gunfire.

This time it was the distinctive whipcracking lash of the FN, a sharper slowerbeat than the storm of AK47 machinegun fire that answered it immediately.

I judged by the volume and duration of the outburst that all the weapons involved had emptied magazines in a continuous burst. A heavy silence followed.

Chubby was having a go, after all my warnings. Although I was bitterly angry, I was also thoroughly alarmed by what trouble he had got himself into. One thing was certain Chubby had missed whatever he had aimed at.

I broke from a trot into a run, and angled upwards towards the crest, aiming to reach the area from which the gunfire had sounded.

I burst out of a patch of goose-bush into a narrow overgrown path that followed the direction I wanted, and I turned into it and went into a full run.

I topped the rise and almost ran into the arms of one of the uniformed seamen coming in the opposite direction, also at a headlong run.

There were six of his comrades with him in Indian file, all making the best possible speed on his heels. Thirty yards farther back was another who had lost his weapon and whose uniform jacket was sodden with fresh blood.

On all their faces were expressions of abandoned terror, and they ran with the single-minded determination of men pursued closely by all the legions of hell.

I knew instantly that this rabble were the survivors of an encounter with Chubby Andrews, and that it had been too much for their nerves. They were hell-bent and homeward-bound - Chubby’s shooting must have improved miraculously, and I made him a silent apology.

So much were the seamen involved with the devil behind them that they seemed not to notice me for the fleeting instant which it took for me to slip the safety-catch on the machinegun on my hip, brace myself with knees bent and feet spread.

I swung the weapon in a short kicking traverse aimed low at their knees. With a rate of fire like that of an AK47, you must go for the legs, and rely on another three or four hits in the body as the man drops through the sheet of fire. It also defeats the efforts of the short barrel to ride up under the thrust of the recoil.

They went downward in a sprawling shrieking mass, punched backwards into each other by the savage strike of the soft heavy-calibre slugs.

I held the trigger down for the count of four, and then I turned and plunged off the path into the thick wall of goose-bush. It hid me instantly and I doubled over as I jinked and dodged under the branches.

Behind me, a machinegun was firing, and the bullets tore and snapped through the thick foliage. None came near me and I settled back into a quick trot.

I guessed that my sudden and completely unexpected attack would have permanently acounted for two or three of the seamen, and may have wounded one or two others.

However, the effect on their morale would be disastrous - especially coming so soon after Chubby’s onslaught. Once they reached the safety of the crash boat, I guessed that the forces of evil would debate long and hard before setting foot on the island again. We had won the second round decisively, but they still had Sherry North. That was the major trump in their hands. As long as they held her they could dictate the course of the game.

Chubby was waiting for me amongst the rocks on the saddle of the peak. The man was indestructible.

“Jesus, Harry, where the hell you been?“he growled. “I’ve been waiting here all morning.”

I saw that he had retrieved my haversack. from the cleft in the rocks where I had left it. It lay with two captured AK47 rifles and bandoliers of ammunition at his feet.

He handed me the water bottle, and only then did I realize how thirsty I was. The heavily chlorinated water tasted like Veuve Clicquot, but I rationed myself to three swallows.

“I got to apologize to you, Harry. I had a go. just couldn’t help it, man. They were bunched up and standing out in the open like a Sunday-school picnic. just couldn’t help myself, gave them a good old squirt. Dropped two of them and the others run like hens, shooting their pieces straight up in the air as they go.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I met them as they crossed the ridge.”

“Heard the shooting. just about to come and look for you.) I sat down on the rock beside him, and found my cheroots in the haversack. We each lit one and smoked in grateful silence for a moment which Chubby spoiled.

“Well, we lit a fire under their tails - don’t reckon they’ll come back for more. But they have still got Miss. Sherry, man. Long as they got her, they are winning.”

“How many were there, Chubby?”

“Ten.” He spat out a scrap of tobacco and inspected the glowing tip of the cheroot. “But I took out two - and I think I winged another.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I met seven on the ridge. I had a go at them also. Aren’t more than four left now - and there are eight more out of my bunch. Say a dozen, plus those left on board - another six or seven. About twenty guns still against us, Chubby.”

“Pretty odds, Harry.”

“Let’s work on it, Chubby.”

“Let’s do that, Harry.”

I selected the newest and least abused of the three machineguns and there were five full magazines of ammunition for it. I cached the discarded weapons under a slab of flat rock and loaded and checked the other.

We each had another short drink from the water bottle and then I led the way cautiously -along the ridge, keeping off the skyline, back towards the deserted camp.

From the spot at which I had first spotted the approach of the Mandrake we surveyed the whole northern end of the island.

As we guessed they would, Manny and Suleiman Dada had taken all their men off the island. Both the whaleboat and the smaller motorboat were moored alongside the crash boat. There was much confused and meaningless activity on board, and as I watched the scurrying figures I imagined the scenes of terrible wrath and retribution which were taking place in the main cabin.

Suleiman Dada and his new protege were certainly wreaking a fearful vengeance on their already badly beaten and demoralized troops, “I want to go down to the camp, Chubby. See what they left for us,” I said at last, and handed him the binoculars. “Keep watch for me. Three quick shots as a warning signal.”

“Okay, Harry,” he agreed, but as I stood up there was a renewed outbreak of feverish activity on board the crash boat. I took the glasses back from Chubby and watched Suleiman Dada emerge from the cabin and make a laborious ascent to the open bridge. In his white uniform, bedecked with medals that glittered in the sunlight and attended by a host of helpers he reminded me of a fat white queen termite being moved from its royal cell by swarming worker ants.

The transfer was effected at last and as I watched through the binoculars I saw an electronic bullhorn handed to Suleiman. He faced the shore, lifted the hailer to his mouth and through the powerful lens I saw his lips moving. Seconds later the sound reached us clearly, magnified by the instrument and carried by the wind.

“Harry Fletcher. I hope you can hear me.” The deep wellmodulated voice was given a harsher sound by the amplifier. “I plan to put on a demonstration this evening which will convince you of the necessity of co-operating with me. Please be in a position where you can watch. You will find it fascinating. Nine o’clock this evening on the afterdeck of this ship. It’s a date, Harry. Don’t miss it.”

He handed the bullhorn to one of his officers and went below.

. “They’re going to do something to Sherry,” murtered Chubby and fiddled disconsolately with the rifle in his lap. “We’ll know at nine,” I said, and watched the officer with the bullhorn climb from the deck into the motorboat. They set off on a slow circuit of the island, stopping every half mile to shout a repetition of Suleiman Dada’s invitation to me at the silent tree-lined shore. He was very anxious for me to attend.

“All right, Chubby,” I glanced at my watch. “We have hours yet.

I’m going down to the camp. Watch out for me.” The camp had been ransacked and plundered of most items of value, equipment and stores had been smashed and scattered about the caves - but still some of it had been overlooked.

I found five cans of fuel and hid them along with much other equipment that might be of value. Then I crept cautiously down into the grove, and learned with relief that the hiding-place of the chest and the golden tigers head and the other stores was undisturbed.

Carrying a fivegallon can of drinking water and three cans of corned beef and mixed vegetables I climbed again to the ridge where Chubby waited. We ate and drank and I said to Chubby: “Get some sleep if you can. It’s going to be a long hard night.”

He grunted and curled up in the grass like a great brown bear.

Soon he was snoring softly and regularly.

I smoked three cheroots slowly and thoughtfully, but it was only as the sun was setting that I had my first real stroke of genius. It was so clear and simple, and so delightfully apt that it was immediately suspect and I reexamined it carefully.

The wind had dropped and it was completely dark by the time I was certain of my idea and I sat smiling and nodding contentedly as I thought about it.

The crash boat was brightly lit, all her ports glowed and a pair of floods glared whitely down upon the afterdeck, so it looked like an empty stage.

I woke Chubby and we ate and drank again.

“Let’s go down to the beach,” I said. “We’ll have a better view from there.”

“It might be a trap,” Chubby warned me morosely.

“I don’t think so. They are all on board, and they are playing from strength. They’ve still got Sherry. They don’t have to try any fancy tricks.”

“Man, if they do anything to that girl!” he stopped himself, and stood up. “All right, let’s go.”

We moved silently and cautiously down through the grove with our weapons cocked and our fingers on the triggers, but the night was still and the grove deserted.

We halted amongst the trees at the top of the beach. The crash boat was only two hundred yards away and I leaned my shoulder against the trunk of a palm and focused my glasses on her. It was so clear and close that I could read the writing on the lid of a packet from which one of the sentries took and lit a cigarette.

We had a front row seat for whatever entertainment Suleiman Dada was planning, and I felt the stir of apprehension and knowledge of coming horror blow like a cold breeze across my skin.

I lowered the glasses and whispered softly to Chubby, “Change your piece for mine,” and he passed me the longbarrelled FN and took the AK47I wanted the accuracy of the FN to command the deck of the crash boat. Naturally there was nothing I could do to intervene while Sherry was unharmed, but if they did anything to her - I would make sure she didn’t suffer alone.

I squatted down beside the palm tree, adjusted the peep sights of the rifle, and drew a careful bead on the head of the deck guard. I knew I could put a bullet through his temple from where I sat and when I was satisfied I laid the rifle across my lap and settled down to wait.

The mosquitoes from the swamp whined around our ears but both Chubby and I ignored them and sat quietly. I longed for a cheroot to soothe the tension of my nerves, but I was forced to forgo that comfort.

Time passed very slowly, and new fears came to plague me and make the waiting seem even longer than it was but finally, a few minutes before the promised hour, there was a renewed stirring and bustle on board the crash boat and once more Suleti -man Dada was helped up the ladder by his men and he took his place at the bridge rail looking down over the afterdeck. He was sweating heavily and it had soaked the area around the armpits and across the back of his white uniform jacket. I guessed that he had passed his own period of waiting by frequent recourse, to the whisky bottle, probably from my own stock that had been plundered from the cave.

He laughed and joked with the men around him, his vast belly shaking with mirth and his men echoed the laughter slavishly. The sound of it carried across the water to the beach.

Suleiman was followed by Manny Resnick and his blonde lady friend.

Manny was well groomed and cool-looking in his expensive casual clothing. He stood slightly apart from the others, his expression aloof and disinterested. He reminded me of an adult at a children’s party, seeing out a boring and mildly unpleasant duty.

In contrast, Lorna Page was excited and shiny-eyed as a girl on her first date. She laughed with Suleiman Dada and leaned expectantly over the rail above the deserted deck. Through the powerful glasses I could see the flush on her cheeks which was not rouge.

I was concentrating on her so that it was only when I felt Chubby move suddenly and restlessly, and heard his grunt of alarm that I swung the glasses downwards on to the deck.

Sherry was there, standing between two of the uniformed sailors.

They held her arms and she looked small and frail between them.

She still wore the clothes she had thrown on so hurriedly that morning and her hair was dishevelled. Her face was gaunt and her expression strained - but it was only when I studied her carefully that I saw that what looked like sleepless dark rings below her eyes were in fact bruises. With a cold chill of anger, I realized that her lips were swollen and puffed up as though they had been stung by bees. One of her cheeks was also fatly distorted and bruised.

They had beaten her and knocked her about badly. Now that I looked for it I could see dark splotches of dried blood on her blue shirt, and when one of the guards dragged her around roughly to face the shore I saw that one of her hands was bandaged roughly - and that either blood or disinfectant had stained the bandages.

She looked tired and ill, nearly at the end of her strength. My anger threatened to wipe out my reason. I wanted to inflict hurt upon those that had treated Sherry like this, and I had already begun to lift the rifle with hands that shook with the force of my hatred before I could control myself. I closed my eyes tightly and took a long deep breath to steady myself. The time would come - but it was not now.

When I opened my eyes again and refocused the binoculars, Suleiman Dada had the bullhorn to his lips.

“Good evening, Harry, my dear friend, I am sure you recognize this young lady.” He made a wide gesture towards Sherry and she looked up at him wearily. “After questioning her closely, a procedure which alas caused her a little discomfort, I am at last convinced that she does not know the whereabouts of the property in which my friends and I are interested. She tells me that you “have hidden it.” He paused and mopped his streaming face with a towel handed to him by one of his men before he went on.

“She is no longer of any interest to me - except possibly as a medium of exchange!

He made a gesture, and Sherry was hustled away below. Something cold and slimy moved in my guts at her going. I wondered if I would ever see her again - alive.

On to the deserted deck filed four of Suleimans men, Each of them had stripped to the waist and the floodlights rippled on their smooth darkly muscled bodies.

Each of them carried the hickory wooden handles of a pickaxe, and silently they formed up at the points of a star about the open deck. Next a man was led into the open centre by two guards. His hands were tied behind his back. They stood on each side of him and slowly forced him to turn in a circle -and show himself while Suleiman Dada’s voice boomed through the bullhorn.

“I wonder if you recognize him?” I stared at the stooped creature in canvas prison overalls that hung in filthy grey tatters from his gaunt frame. His skin was pate and waxy with deep-set dark eyes, long scraggly blond hair hung in greasy snakes about his face and his half-grown beard was thin and wispy.

He had lost teeth, probably knocked from his mouth with a careless blow.

“Yes, Harry?” Suleiman laughed fruitily over the loud hailer. “A sojourn in Zinballa prison does wonders for a man, does it not - but the regulation garb is not as smart as that of an Inspector of Police.”

“ Only then did I recognize ex-Inspector Peter Daly - the man who I had pitched from the deck of Wave Dancer into the waters of the outer lagoon just before I had escaped from Suleiman Dada by running the channel at Gunfire Reef.

“Inspector Peter Daly,” Suleiman confirmed with a chuckle, “a man who let me down badly. I do not like men who let me down, Harry. I really take it very hard. I brought him along for just such an eventuality. It was a wise precaution, for I believe that a graphic demonstration is so much more convincing than mere words!

Once again he paused to mop” his face and to drink deeply from a glass offered him by one of his men. Daly fell to his knees and looked up at the man on the bridge. His expression was of abject terror, and his mouth dribbled saliva as he pleaded for mercy.

“Very well, we can proceed if you are ready, Harry,” he boomed, and one of the guards produced a large black cloth bag which he pulled over Peter Daly’s head and secured with a drawn string around his neck. They dragged him roughly to his feet again.

“It’s our own variation on the game of blind man’s bluff.”

Through the glasses I saw the liquid flood soak through the front of Peter Daly’s canvas trousers, as his bladder emptied in anguished terror. Obviously he had seen this game played before during his stay in Zinballa prison.

“Harry, I want you to use your imagination. Do not see this snivelling filthy creature - but in his place imagine your lovely young lady friend.” He breathed heavily, but when the man beside him offered him the towel again Suleiman struck him a passionless backhanded blow that sent him sprawling across the bridge, and he continued evenly, “Imagine her lovely young body, imagine her delicious fear as she stands in darkness not knowing what to expect.”

The two guards began to spin Daly between them, as they do in the children’s game, around and around he went and now I could faintly hear his muffled shrieks and cries of fear.

Suddenly the two guards stepped away from him, and left the circle of half-naked men with their pick handles. One of them placed the butt of his weapon in the small of Daly’s back and shoved him, reeling and staggering across the circle and the man opposite was waiting to drive the end of his club into Daly’s belly.

Back and forth he staggered, driven by the thrust of the clubs.

Slowly his tormentors increased the savagery of their attack, until one of them hefted his club and swung it like an axe at a tree. It smashed into Daly’s ribs.

It was the signal to end it, and as Peter Daly fell to the deck they crowded about him, the clubs rising and falling in a fearsome rhythm and the blows sounding clearly across the lagoon to where we watched in disgust and revulsion.

One after the other they tired, and stepped back to rest from their grim work and Peter Daly’s crumpled and broken body lay in the centre of the deck.

“Crude, you will say, Harry - but then you will not deny that it is effective.”

I was sickened by the barbaric cruelty of it, and Chubby muttered beside me, “He’s a monster - I’ve never heard of nothing like that before!

“You have until noon tomorrow, Harry, to come to me unarmed and reasonable. We will talk, we will agree on certain matters, we will make an exchange of assets and we will part friends.”

He stopped speaking to watch while one of his men secured a line to Peter Daly’s ankle, and they hoisted him to the masthead of the crash boat where he dangled grotesquely, like some obscene pennant. Lorna Page was looking up at him, her head thrown back so the blonde hair hung down her back and her lips were slightly parted.

“If you refuse to be reasonable, Harry, then at noon tomorrow I shall sail around this island with your lady friend hanging like that-” He pointed up to the corpse whose masked head swung slowly back and forth only a few feet above the deck, “—from the mast. Think about it, Harry. Take your time. Think about it well.”

Suddenly the floodlights were switched off, and Suleiman Dada began his laborious descent to the cabin. Manny Resnick and Lorna Page followed him. Manny was frowning slightly, as though he was pondering a business deal, but I could see that Lorna was enjoying herself.

“I think I’m going to throw up,“muttered Chubby.

Get it over then,” I said, “because we have a lot of work to do.”

I stood up and quietly led the way back into the palm grove. We took it in turns to dig while the other stood guard amongst the trees. I would not use a light for fear of attracting attention from. the crash boat and we were both exaggeratedly careful to maintain silence and not to let the clank of metal sound through the grove.

We lifted the remaining cases of gelignite and blasting equipment, then we did the same with the rusted pay chest and carried it to a carefully chosen site below the steeply sloping ground of the peak. Fifty yards up the slope was a fold in the ground thickly screened with goose-bush and salt grass.

We dug another hole for the chest, going deep into the soft soil until we struck water. Then we repacked the pay chest and reburied it. Chubby climbed up to the hidden fold above us and made his arrangements there.

In the meantime I reloaded the machinegun and wrapped it lightly in one of my old shirts, the five full magazines placed with it, and I buried the lot under an inch of sand, next to the stern of the nearest palm tree where the recent rain waters had cut a shallow dry runnel down the slope.

The water-torn trench and the tree were forty paces from the spot where the chest was buried, and I hoped it was far enough. The trench was little more than two feet deep and would provide scanty cover.

The moon came out after midnight and it gave us enough light to check our arrangements. Chubby made sure I was in full view from his hideaway up the slope when I stood beside the shallow runnel. Then I climbed up to him and double-checked him. We lit a cheroot each, sheltering the match and screening the glowing tips with cupped hands, while we went over our planning once again.

I was particularly anxious that there should be no misunderstanding in our timing and signals, and I made Chubby repeat them twice. He did so with long-suffering and theatrical patience, but at last I was satisfied. We dumped the cheroot butts and scraped sand over them and when we went down the slope we both carried palm-frond brooms to sweep out all signs of activity.

The first part of my planning was complete, and we returned to where the golden tiger and the rest of the gelignite was cached. We reburied the tiger and then I prepared a full case of gelignite. It was a massive overdose Of explosive, sufficient for a tenfold over-kill - but I have never been a man to stint myself when I have the means to indulge.

I would not be able to use the electric blaster and insulated wire, and I must rely on one of the time-pencil detonators. I have a strong distaste for these temperamental little gadgets. They operate on the principle of acid eating through a thin wire which holds the hammer on a powder cap. When the acid cuts the wire the cap explodes, and the delay in the detonation is governed by the strength of the acid and the thickness of the wire.

There can be a large latitude of error in this timing which on one occasion caused me a nearly fatal embarrassment. However, in this case I had no choice in the matter - and I selected a pencil with a six-hour delay and prepared it for use with the gelignite.

Amongst the equipment overlooked by the looters was my old oxygen rebreathing underwater set. This diving set is almost as dangerous to use as the time pencils. Unlike the aqualung which uses compressed air, the rebreather employs pure oxygen which is filtered and cleansed of carbon dioxide after each breath and then cycled back to the user.

Oxygen breathed at pressures in excess of twice atmospheric becomes as poisonous as carbon monoxide. In other words, if you rebreathe pure oxygen below underwater depths of thirty-three feet, it will kill you. You have to have all your wits together to play around with the stuff - but it has one enormous advantage. It does not blow bubbles on the surface to alarm a sentry and give away your position to him.

Chubby carried the prepared case of gelignite and the rifle when we went back to the beach. It was after three o’clock when I had donned and tested the oxygen set, and then I carried the gelignite down to the water and tested that for buoyancy. It needed a few pounds of lead weights to give it a neutral buoyancy and make it easier to handle in the water.

We had reached the water from the beach around the horn of the bay from the anchored crash boat. The point of sand and palm trees covererd us as we worked, and at last I was ready.

It was a long tiring swim. I had to round the point and enter the bay - a distance of almost a mile - and I had to tow the case of explosive with me. It dragged heavily through the water and it took me almost an hour before I could see the lights of the crash boat glimmering above me through the clear water.

Hugging the bottom I crept forward slowly, terribly aware that the moonlight would silhouette me clearly against the white sand of the lagoon bed, for the water was clear as gin and only twenty-five feet deep.

It was a relief to move slowly into the dark shadow cast by the crash boat’s hull and to know that I was safe from discovery. I rested for a few minutes, then I unrolled the nylon slings that I had on my belt and secured them to the case of gelignite.

Now I checked the time on my wristwatch, and the luminous hands showed ten minutes past four o’clock.

I crushed the glass ampoule of the time pencil, releasing the acid to begin its slow eroding attack on the wire, and I returned it to its prepared slot in the case of explosive. In six hours, more or less, the whole lot would go up with the force of a two hundred pound aerial bomb.

Now I left the floor of the lagoon and rose slowly to the hull of the crash boat. It was foul with a hanging slimy beard of weed and the hull itself was thick with a rough scale of shellfish and goose-neck mussels.

I moved slowly along the keel, searching for an anchor point - but there was none and at last I was forced to use the shank of the rudder. I bound the case in position with all the nylon rope I had - and when I was finished I was certain that it would resist even the drag of water when the crash boat was travelling at the top of her speed.

Satisfied at last, I sank once more to the bed of the lagoon and moved off quietly on my return. I made much better speed through the water now without the burden of the gelignite case and Chubby was waiting for me on the beach.

“Fixed up?” he asked quietly, as he helped me shed the oxygen set.

“Just as long as that pencil does its job.”

I was so tired now that the walk back through the grove seemed like an eternity and my feet dragged in the loose footing. I had slept little the previous night, and not at all since then.

This time Chubby watched over me while I slept, and when he shook me gently awake it was after seven o’clock and the daylight was growing swiftly.

We ate a breakfast cold from the can, and I finished it with a handful of high-energy glucose tablets from the survival kit and washed them down with a mug of chlorinated water.

I drew the knife from the sheath on my belt and threw it underhand to pin into the trunk of the nearest palm. It stood there shivering with the force of the impact.

“Show off!” muttered Chubby, and I grinned at him, trying to look relaxed and easy.

“, just like the man said - no weapons,” and I spread my empty hands.

“You ready?” he asked, and we both stood up and looked at each other awkwardly. Chubby would never wish me good luck - which was the worst of all possible hex to put on someone.

“See you later,“he said.

“Okay, Chubby.” I held out my hand. He took it and squeezed it hard, then he turned away, picked up the FN rifle and plodded off through the grove.

I watched him out of sight, but he never looked back and I turned away myself and walked down unarmed to the beach.

I walked out from amongst the trees and stood at the water’s edge, staring across the narrow strip of water at the crash boat. The dangling corpse had been removed from the masthead, I saw with relief.

For many seconds none of the sentries on deck noticed me, so I raised both hands above my head and gave them a loud

“Halloo’. Instantly there was a boil of activity and clamour of shouted orders on board the crash boat. Manny Resnick and Lorna appeared at the rail and stared across at me, while half a dozen armed seamen dropped into the whaleboat and headed for the beach.

As the boat touched-they leaped out on to the sand and surrounded me with the muzzles of the AK47’s pressed eagerly into my back and belly. I kept my hands hoisted at half-mast and tried to maintain an expression of disinterest as a petty officer searched me with deliberate thoroughness for any weapon. When he was at last satisfied, he placed his hand between my shoulder-blades and gave me a hearty shove towards the whaleboat. One of the more eager of his men took this as a licence and he tried to rupture my kidneys with the butt of his AK47 - but the blow landed six inches high.

I made briskly for the whaleboat to forestall any further martial displays and they crowded into the boat around me pressing the muzzles of their fully loaded weapons painfully into various parts of my anatomy.

Manny Resnick watched me come in over the side of the crash boat.

“Hallo again, Harry,“he smiled without mirth.

“The pleasure is all yours, Manny,” I returned the death’s head grin, and another blow caught me between the shoulder-blades and drove me across the deck. I ground my teeth together to control my anger, and I thought about Sherry North. That helped.

Commander Suleiman Dada was sprawled on a low couch covered with plain canvas cushions. He had removed his uniform jacket and it hung heavy with all the braid and medals from a hook on the bulkhead beside him. He wore only a sweat-soaked and greyish sleeveless vest, and even this early in the morning he held a glass of pale brown liquid in his right hand.

“Ah, Harry Fletcher - or should it be Harry Bruce?” he grinned at me like an enormous coal-black baby.

“You take your pick, Suleiman,” I invited him, but I didn’t’feel like playing word games with him now. I had no illusions about how dangerous was the position in which Sherry and I were placed, and my nerves were painfully tight and fear growled like a caged animal in my belly.

“I have learned so much more about you from my good friends,” he indicated Manny and the blonde Lorna who had followed me into the main cabin. “Fascinating, Harry. I never dreamed you were a man of such vast talent and formidable achievement.”

“Thanks, Suleiman, you really are a brick, but let’s not get carried away with compliments. We have important business - don’t we, “True, Harry, very true.”

“You have raised the tiger throne, Harry, we know that,” Manny cut in, but I shook my head.

“Only part of it. The rest has gone - but we salvaged what there was.”

“All right, I’ll buy that,” Manny agreed. “Just tell us what there is.”

“There is the head of the tiger, about three hundred pounds weight in gold-” Suleiman and Manny glanced at each other.

“Is that all?” Manny asked, and I knew instinctively that Sherry had told them everything she knew during the beating they had given her. I did not hold that against her. I had expected it.

“There is also the jewel chest. The stones removed from the throne were placed in an iron pay chest.”

“The diamond - the Great Mogul?“demanded Manny. “We’ve got it,” I said, and they murmured and smiled and nodded at each other. “But I’m the only one who knows where it is—” I added softly, and immediately they were tense and quiet again.

“This time I’ve got something to trade, Manny. Are you interested?”

“We are interested, Harry, very interested,” Suleiman Dada spoke for him, and I was aware of the tension growing between my two enemies now that the loot was almost in view.

“I want Sherry North,” I said.

“Sherry Northt Manny stared at me for a moment, and then let out a brief cough of amusement. “You’re a bigger fool than I thought you were, Harry.”

“The girl is of no further interest to us.” Suleiman took a swallow from his glass, and I could smell his sweat in the rising warmth of the cabin. “You can have her.”

“I want my boat, fuel and water to get me off the island “Reasonable, Harry, very reasonable,” Manny smiled again as if at a secret joke.

“And I want the tiger’s head,” and both Manny and Suleiman laughed out loud.

“Harry! Harry!” Suleiman chided me, still laughing. “Greedy Harry,” Manny stopped laughing.

“You can have the diamond and about fifty Pounds weight of other gem stones, - I tried to sell the idea with all the persuasion I could muster. It was the understandable thing to do for a man in my position,” - in comparison the head is nothing. The diamond is worth a million - the head would just cover my expenses.”

“You are a hard man, Harry,” Suleiman chuckled. “Too hard.” “What will I get out of it, then?” I demanded.

“Your life, and be grateful for it,” Manny said softly, and I stared at him. I saw the coldness in his eyes, like those of a reptile and I knew beyond all doubt what his intentions were for me, once I had led them to the treasure.

“How can I trust you?” I went through the motions however, and Manny shrugged indifferently.

“Harry, how can you not trust us?” Suleiman intervened. “What could we possibly gain by killing you and your young lady? “And what could you possibly lose,” I thought, but I nodded and said, “Okay. I don’t have much choice.”

They relaxed again, smiling at each other and Suleiman lifted his glass in a silent salute.

“Drink, Harry? he asked.

“It’s a little early for me, Suleiman,” I declined, “but I would like to have the girl with me now.”

Suleiman motioned one of his men to fetch her.

“I want the whaleboat loaded with fuel and water and left on the beach,” I went on doggedly, and Suleiman gave the orders.

“The girl goes with me when we go ashore and after I have shown you the chest and the head, you’ll take it and go.” I stared from one to the other. “You’ll leave us on the island unharmed, do we agree?”

“Of course, Harry.” Suleiman spread his hands disarmingly. “We are all agreed.” I was afraid that they would see the disbelief in my expression - so I turned with relief to Sherry as she was led into the cabin.

My relief faded swiftly as I stared at her.

“Harry,” she whispered through her swollen purple lips. “You came - oh God, you came.” She took a faltering step towards me.

Her cheek was bruised and swollen horribly, and from the extent of the oedema I thought perhaps the bone was cracked. The bruising under her eyes made her look sick and consumptive, and blood had dried in a black crust on the rims of her nostrils. I didn’t want to look at her injuries, so I took her in my arms and held her to my chest.

They were watching the pair of us with amusement and interest, I felt their eyes upon us, but I did not want to face them and let them see the murderous hatred that must show in my eyes.

“All right,” I said, “let’s get it over with.” When at last I turned to face them, I hoped that my expression was under control.

“Unfortunately, I shall not be going with you,” Suleiman made no effort to rise from the couch. “Climbing in and out of small boats, walking great distances in the sun and through the sand are not my particular pleasures. I shall say farewell to you here, Harry, and my friends-again he indicated Manny and Lorna, -will go with you as my representatives. Of course, you will also be accompanied by a dozen of my men - all of them armed and operating under my instructions.” I thought that this warning was not entirely for my benefit alone.

“Goodbye, Suleiman. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“I doubt it, Harry,” he chuckled. “But God speed and my blessings go with you.” He dismissed me with one great pink-palmed paw and with the other he raised his glass and drained the last half-inch of liquor.

Sherry sat close beside me in the motorboat. She leaned against me, and her body seemed to have shrivelled with the pain of her ordeal. I put my arm about her shoulders, and she whispered wearily, “They are going to kill us, Harry, you know that, don’t you?”

I ignored the question and asked softly, “Your hand,” it was still wrapped in the rough bandage, “what happened?” Sherry looked up at the blonde girl beside Manny Resnick, and I felt her shiver briefly against me.

“She did it, Harry.” Lorna Page was chatting animatedly to Manny Resnick. Her carefully lacquered hairstyle resisted the efforts of the breeze to ruffle it, and her face was meticulously made up with expensive cosmetics. Her lipstick was moist and glossy and her eyelids were silvery green, with long mascaraed lashes around the cat’s eyes.

“They held me - and she pulled out my fingernails.” She shuddered again, and Lorna Page laughed lightly. Manny cupped his hands around a gold Dunhill lighter for her while she lit a cigarette. “They kept asking me where the treasure was - and each time I couldn’t answer she pulled a nail with the pliers. They made a tearing sound as they came out.” Sherry “broke off and held her injured hand protectively against her stomach. I knew how near she was to breaking completely and I held her close, trying to transmit strength to her by physical contact.

“Gently, baby, gently now,” I whispered, and she pressed a little closer to me. I stroked her hair, and tried once again to control my anger, bearing down hard upon it before it clouded my wits.

The motorboat ran in and grounded on the beach. We climbed out and stood on the white sands while the guards ringed us with levelled weapons.

“Okay, Harry,” Manny pointed- “There’s your boat all ready for you.” The whaleboat was drawn up on the beach. “The tanks are full and when you’ve shown us the goods you can take off.”

He spoke easily, but the girl beside him looked at us with hot predatory eyes - the way a mongoose looks at a chicken. I wondered what way she had chosen for us. I guessed that Manny had promised us to her for her pleasure without reservations - just as soon as he was through with us.

“I hope we aren’t going to play games, Harry. I hope you’re going to be sensible - and not waste our time.”

I had noticed that Manny had surrounded himself with his own men.

Four of them, all armed with pistols, one of them my old acquaintance who had driven the Rover on our first meeting. To balance them there were ten black seamen under a petty officer, and already I sensed that the opposition was divided into two increasingly hostile parties. Manny farther reduced the number of seamen in the party by detailing two of them to stay with the motorboat. Then he turned to me, “If you are ready, Harry, you may lead the way.

I had to help Sherry, holding her elbow and guiding her up through the grove. She was so weak that she stumbled repeatedly and her breathing was distressed and ragged before we reached the caves.

With the mob of armed men following us closely, we went on along the edge of the slope. Surreptitiously I glanced at my watch. It was nine o’clock. One hour to go before the case of gelignite under the crash boat blew. The timing was still within the limits I had set.

I made a small show out of locating the precise spot where the chest was buried, and it was with difficulty that I refrained from glancing up the slope to where the fold of ground was screened by vegetation.

“Tell them to dig here,” I said to Manny, and stepped back. Four seamen handed their weapons to a comrade and assembled the small folding army-type shovels they had brought with them.

The soil was soft and freshly turned so they went down at an alarming speed. They would expose the chest within minutes.

“The girl’s hurt,” I said to Manny, “she must sit down.” He glanced at me, and I saw his mind work swiftly. He knew Sherry could not run far and I think he welcomed the opportunity to distract some of the seamen - for he spoke briefly to the petty officer and I led Sherry to the palm tree and sat her down against the stem.

She sighed with weary relief, and two of the seamen came to stand over us with cocked weapons.

I glanced up the slope, but there was no sign of anything suspicious there, although I knew Chubby must be watching us intently. Apart from the two guards, everyone else was gathered expectantly around the four men who were already knee-deep in the freshly dug hole.

Even out two guards were consumed with curiosity, their attention kept wandering and they glanced repeatedly at the group forty yards away.

I heard quite clearly the clang as a spade struck the metal of the chest - and there was a shout of excitement. They all crowded around the excavation with a babble of rising voices, beginning to pull and elbow each other for the opportunity to look down on to it. Our two guards turned their backs on us, and took a step or two in the same direction. It was more than I could have hoped for.

Manny Resnick-shoved two seamen aside roughly, and jumped down into the hole beside the diggers. I heard him shouting, “All right then, bring those ropes and let’s lift it out. Carefully, don’t damage anything.”

Lorna Page was leaning out over the hole also. It was perfect.

I lifted my right hand and wiped my forehead slowly in the signal I had arranged with Chubby, and as I dropped my hand again, I seized Sherry and rolled swiftly backwards into the shallow rain-washed runnel.

It caught Sherry by surprise, and I had handled her roughly in my anxiety to get under cover. She cried out as I hurt her already painful injuries.

The two guards whirled at the cry, lifting their machineguns and I knew that they were going to fire - and that the shallow trench provided no cover.

“Now, Chubby, now!” I prayed and threw myself on top of Sherry to shield her from the blast of machinegun fire and I clapped both hands over her ears to protect them.

At that instant Chubby switched the knob on the electric battery blaster, and the impulse ran down the insulated wire that we had concealed so carefully the night before. There was half a case of gelignite crammed into the iron pay chest - as much explosive as I dared use without destroying Sherry and myself in the blast.

I imagined Chubby’s fiendish glee as the case blew. It blew upwards, deflected by the sides of the excavation - but I had packed the sticks of gelignite with sand and handfuls of semi-precious stones to serve as primitive shrapnel and to contain the blast and make it even more vicious.

The group of men around the hole were lifted high in the air, spinning and somersaulting like a troupe of insane acrobats, and a column of sand and dust shot a hundred feet into the air.

The earth jarred under us, slamming into our prone bodies - then the shock wave tore across us. It knocked sprawling the two guards who had been about to fire down on us, ripping their clothing from their bodies.

I thought my eardrums had both burst, I was completely deafened but I knew that I had saved Sherry’s ears from damage. Deafened and half blinded by dust, I rolled off Sherry and scratched frantically in the sandy bottom of the trench. My fingers hit the machinegun buried there and I dragged it out, pulling off the protective rags and coming swiftly to my knees.

Both the guards nearest me were alive, one crawling to his knees and the other sitting up dazedly with blood from a burst eardrum trickling down his cheek.

I killed them with two short bursts that knocked them down in the sand. Then I looked towards the broken heap of humanity around the excavation.

There was small, convulsive movement there and soft moans and whimpering sounds. I stood up shakily from the trench - and I saw Chubby standing up on the slope. He was shouting, but I heard nothing for the ringing buzzing din in my ears.

I stood there, swaying slightly, peering stupidly around me and Sherry rose to her feet beside me. She touched my shoulder, saying something, and with relief I heard her voice as the ringing in my ears subsided slightly.

I looked again towards the area of the explosion and saw a snw*e and frightening sight. A half-human figure, stripped of clothing and most of its skin, a raw bleeding thing with one arm half torn loose at the shoulder socket and dangling at its side by a shred of flesh rose slowly from beside the excavation like some horrible phantom from the grave.

It stood like that for the long moment which it took me to recognize Manny Resnick. It seemed impossible that he should have survived that holocaust, but more than that he began walking towards me.

He tottered step after step, closer and closer, and I stood frozen, unable to move myself. I saw then that he was blinded, the flying sand had scorched his eyeballs and flayed the skin from his face.

“Oh God! Oh God!” Sherry whispered beside me, and it broke the spell. I lifted the machinegun and the stream of bullets that tore into Manny Resnick’s chest were a mercy.

I was still dazed, staring about me at the shambles we had created when Chubby reached me. He took my arm and I could hear his voice as he shouted, “Are you okay, Harry?” I nodded and he went on, The whaleboat! We have got to make sure of the whaleboat.”

“I turned to Sherry. “Go to the cave. Wait for me there,” and she turned away obediently.

“Make sure of these first,” I mumbled to Chubby, and we went to the heap of bodies about the shattered iron chest. All of them were dead or would soon be so.

Lorna Page lay upon her back. The blast had torn off her outer clothing and the slim pale body was clad only in lacy underwear, with shreds of the green slack suit hanging from her wrists and draped about her torn and still bleeding legs.

Defying even the explosion, her hairstyle retained its lacquered elegance except for the powdering of fine white sand. Death had played a macabre joke upon her - for a lump of blue lapis lazuli from the jewel chest had been driven by the force of the explosion deep into her forehead. It had embedded itself in the bone of her skull like the eye of the tiger from the golden throne.

Her own eyes were closed while the third precious eye of the stone glared up at me accusingly.

They are all dead,“grunted Chubby.

“Yes, they’re dead,” I agreed, and tore my eyes away from the mutilated girl. I was surprised that I felt no triumph or satisfaction at her death, nor at the manner of it. Vengeance, far from being sweet, is entirely tasteless, I thought, as I followed Chubby down to the beach.

I was still unsteady from the effects of the explosion, and although my ears had recovered almost entirely, I was hardpressed to keep up with Chubby. He was light on his feet for such a big man.

I was ten paces behind him as we came out of the trees and stopped at the head of the beach.

The whaleboat lay where we had left her, but the two seamen detailed to guard the motorboat must have heard the explosion and decided to take no chances.

They were halfway back to the crash boat already, and when they saw Chubby and me, one of them fired his machinegun in our direction. The range was far beyond the accurate limits of the weapon, and we did not bother to take cover. However, the firing attracted the attention of the crew remaining aboard the crash boat - and I saw three of them run forward to man the quick-firer in the bows.

“Here comes trouble,” I murmured.

The first round was high and wide, cracking into the palms behind us and pitting their stems with the burst of shrapnel.

Chubby and I moved quickly back into the grove and lay flat behind the sandy crest of the beach.

What now?” Chubby asked.

“Stalemate,” I told him, and the next two rounds from the quick—firer burst in futile fury in the trees above and behind us - but then there was a delay of a few seconds and I saw them training the gun around.

The next shot lifted a tall graceful spout of water from the shallows alongside the whaleboat. Chubby let out a roar of anger, like a lioness whose cub is threatened.

“They are trying to take out the whaleboat!“he bellowed, as the next round tore into the beach in a brief spurt of soft sand.

“Give it to me,” I snapped, and took the FN from him, thrusting the short-barrelled AK47 at him and lifting the strap of the haversack off Chubby’s shoulder. His marksmanship was not equal to the finer work that was now necessary. “Stay here,” I told him, and I jumped up and doubled away around the curve of the bay. I had almost entirely recovered from the effects of the blast now - and as I reached the horn of the bay nearest the anchored crash boat I fell flat on my belly in the sand and pushed forward the long barrel of the FN.

The gun crew were still blazing away at the whaleboat, and spouts of sand and water rose in rapid succession about it. The plate of frontal armour of the gun was aimed diagonally away from me, and the backs and flanks of the gun crew were exposed.

I pushed the rate of fire selector of the FN on to single shot, and drew a few long deep breaths to steady my aim after the long run through the soft sand.

The gun-layer was pedalling the traversing and elevating handles of the gun and had his forehead pressed hard against the pad above the eye-piece of the gunsight.

I picked him up in the peepsight and squeezed off a single shot.

It knocked him off his seat and flung him sideways across the breech of the gun. The untended aiming handles spiralled idly and the barrel of the gun lifted lazily towards the sky.

The two gun-loaders looked around in amazement and I squeezed off two more snap shots at them.

Their amazement was altered instantly to panic, and they deserted their posts and sprinted back along the deck, diving into an open hatchway.

I swung my aim across and up to the open bridge of the crash boat.

Three shots into the assembled officers and seamen produced a gratifying chorus of yells and the bridge cleared miraculously.

The motorboat from the beach came alongside, and I hastened the two seamen up the side and into the deckhouse with three more rounds. They neglected to make the boat fast and it drifted away from the side of the crash boat.

I changed the magazine of the FN and then carefully and deliberately I put a single bullet through each porthole on the near side of the boat. I could hear clearly the shattering crack of glass at each side.

This proved too much provocation for Commander Suleiman Dada. I heard the donkey winch clatter to life and the anchor chain streamed in over the bows, glistening with seawater, and the moment the fluked anchor broke out through the surface, the crash boat’s propellers churned a white wash of water under her stern and she swung round towards the opening of the lagoon.

I kept her under fire as she moved slowly past my hiding, place lest she change her mind about leaving. The bridge was screened by a wind shield of dirty white canvas, and I knew the helmsman was lying behind this with his head well down. I fired shot after shot through the canvas, trying to guess his position.

There was no apparent effect so I turned my attention to the portholes again, hoping for a lucky ricochet within the hull.

The crash boat picked up speed rapidly until she was waddling along like an old lady hurrying to catch a bus. She rounded the horn of the bay, and I stood up and brushed off the sand. Then I reloaded the rifle and broke into a trot through the palm grove.

By the time I reached the north tip of the island, and climbed high enough up the slope to look out over the deep-water channel, the crash boat was a mile away, heading resolutely for the distant mainland of Africa, a small white shape against the shaded greens of the sea, and the higher harsher blue of the sky.

I tucked the FN under my arm and found a seat from where I could watch her further progress. My wristwatch showed seven minutes past ten o’clock, and I began to wonder if the case of gelignite below the crash boat’s stern had, after all, been torn loose by the drag of the water and the wash of the propellers.

The crash boat was now passing between the submerged outer reefs before entering the open inshore waters. The reefs blew regularly, breathing white foam at each surge of the sea as though a monster lay beneath the surface.

The small white speck of the crash boat seemed ethereal and insubstantial in that wilderness of sea and sky, soon she would merge with the wind-flecked and current-chopped waters of the open sea.

The explosion when it came was without passion, its violence muted by distance and its sound toned by the wind. There was a sudden soft waterspout that enveloped the tiny white boat. It looked like an ostrich feather, soft and blowing on the wind, bending when it reached its full height and then losing its shape and smearing away across the choppy surface.

The sound reached me many seconds later, a single unwar-like thud against my still-tender eardrums, and I thought I felt the flap of the blast like the puff of the wind against my face.

When the spray had blown into nothingness the channel was empty, no sign remained of the tiny vessel and there was no mark of her going upon the wind-blown waters.

I knew that with the tide the big evil-looking albacore sharks hunted inshore upon the flood. They would be quick to the taint of blood and torn flesh in the water, and I doubted that any of those aboard the crash boat who had survived the blast would long avoid the attentions of those single-minded and voracious killers. Those that found Commander Suleiman Dada would fare well, I thought, unless they recognized a kindred spirit and accorded him professional privilege. It was a grim little joke, and it gave me only fleeting amusement. I stood up and walked down to the caves.

found my medical kit had been broken open and scattered during the previous day’s looting, but I retrieved sufficient material to clean and dress Sherry’s mutilated fingers. Three of the nails had been torn out. I feared that the roots had been destroyed, and that they would never grow again - but when Sherry expressed the same fears, I denied them stoutly.

Once her injuries were taken care of I made her swallow a couple of codeine for the pain and made a bed for her in the darkness of the back of the cave.

“Rest,” I told her, kneeling to kiss her tenderly. “Try and sleep. I will fetch you when we are ready to leave.”

Chubby was already busy with the necessary tasks. He had checked the whaleboat and, apart from a few shrapnel holes, found her in good condition.

We filled the holes with Pratleys putty from the toolchest, and left her on the beach.

The hole in which the chest had been buried served as a communal grave for the dead men and the woman lying about it. We laid them in it like sardines, and covered them with the soft sand.

We exhumed the golden head from its own grave with its glittering eye still in the broad forehead, and staggering under its weight we carried it down to the whaleboat and padded it with the polythene cushions in the bottom of the boat. The plastic packets of sapphires and emeralds I packed into my haversack and laid it beside the head.

Then we returned to the caves and salvaged all the undamaged stores and equipment - the jerrycans of water and petrol, the scuba bottles and the compressor. It was late afternoon before we had packed it all into the whaleboat and I was tired. I laid the FN rifle on top of the load and stood back.

“Okay, Chubby?” I asked, as I lit our cheroots and we took our first break. “Reckon we can take off now.”

Chubby drew on the cheroot and blew a long flag of blue smoke before he spat on the sand. “I just want to go up and fetch Angelo,” he muttered, and when I stared at him he went on, “I’m not going to leave the kid up there. It’s too lonely here, he’ll want to be with his own people in a Christian grave.”

So while I went back to the caves to fetch Sherry, Chubby selected a bolt of canvas and went off into the gathering darkness.

I woke Sherry and made sure she was warmly dressed in one of my jerseys, then I gave her two more codeine and took her down towards the beach. It was dark now, and I held the flashlight in one hand and helped Sherry with the other. We reached the beach and I paused uncertainly. There was something wrong, I knew, and I played the torch over the loaded vessel.

Then I realized what it was, and I felt a sick little jolt in my belly.

The FN rifle was no longer where I had left it in the whaleboat.

“Sherry,” I whispered urgently, “get down and stay there until I tell you.”

She sank swiftly to the sand beside the beached hull, and I looked around frantically for a weapon. I thought of the spear-gun, but it was under the jerrycans, my baitknife was still pegged into a palm tree in the grove - I had forgotten about it until this moment. A spanner from the toolbox, perhaps - but the thought was as far as I got.

“All right, Harry, I’ve got the gun.” The deep throaty voice spoke out - of the darkness close behind me. “Don’t turn around or do anything stupid.”

He must have been lying up in the grove after he had taken the rifle, and now he had come up silently behind me. I froze.

“Without turning around - just toss that flashlight back here.

Over your shoulder.”

I did as he ordered and I heard the sand crunch under his feet as he stooped to pick it up.

“All right, turn around - slowly.” As I turned, he shone the powerful beam into my eyes, dazzling me. However, I could still vaguely make out the huge hulking shape of the man beyond the beam.

“Have a good swim, Suleimanr I asked. I could see that he wore only a pair of short white underpants, and his enormous belly and thick shapeless legs gleamed wetly in the reflected torchlight.

“I am beginning to develop an allergy to your jokes, Harry,” he spoke again in that deep beautifully modulated voice, and I remembered too late how a grossly overweight man becomes light and strong in the supporting salt water of the sea. However, even with the turn of the tide to help him, Suleiman Dada had performed a formidable feat in surviving the explosion and swimming back through almost two miles of choppy water. I doubted any of his men had done as well.

“I think it should be in the belly first,” he spoke again, and I saw that he held the stock of the rifle across his left elbow. With the same hand he aimed the torch beam into my face. “They tell me that is the most painful place to get it.”

We were silent for moments then, Suleiman Dada. breathing with his deep asthmatic wheeze and I trying desperately to think of some way in which to distract him long enough to give me a chance to grab the barrel of the FN.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go down on your knees and plead with me?“he asked.

“Go screw, Suleiman,” I answered.

“No, I didn’t really think you would. A pity, I would have enjoyed that. But what about the girl, Harry, surely it would be worth a little of your pride ” We both heard Chubby. He had known there was no way he could cross the open beach undetected, even in the dark. He had tried to rush Suleiman Dada, but I am sure he knew that he would not make it. What he was really doing was giving me the distraction I so desperately needed.

He came fast out of the darkness, running in silently with only the squeak of the treacherous sand beneath his feet to betray him. Even when Suleiman Dada turned the rifle on to him, he did not falter in his charge.

There was the crack of the shot and the long lightning flash of the muzzle blast, but even before that, I was halfway across the distance that separated me from the huge black man. From the corner of my eye I saw Chubby fall, and then Suleiman Dada began to swing the rifle back towards me.

I brushed past the barrel of the FN and crashed shoulder first into his chest. It should have staved his ribs in like the victim of a car smash - instead I found the power of my rush absorbed in the thick padding of dark flesh. It was like running into a feather mattress, and although he reeled back a few paces and lost the rifle, Suleiman Dada remained upright on those two thick tree-trunks of his legs, and before I could recover my own balance I was enfolded in a vast bear hug.

He picked me up off my feet, and pulled me to his mountainously soft chest, trapping both my arms and lifting me so that I could not brace my legs to resist his weight and strength. I experienced a chill of disbelief when I felt the strength of the man, not a hard brutal strength - but something so massive and weighty that there seemed no end to it, almost like the irresistible push and surge of the sea.

I tried with my elbows and knees, kicking and striking to break his hold, but the blows found nothing solid and made no impression upon the man. Instead, the enfolding grip of his arms began to tighten with the slow pulsing power of a giant python. I realized instantly that he was quite capable of literally crushing me to death - and I experienced a sense of panic. I twisted and struggled frantically and unavailingly in his arms, but as he brought more of his immense power to bear upon me, so his breathing wheezed more harshly and he leaned, forward, hunching his great shoulders over me and forcing my back into an arc that must soon snap my spine.

I bent back my head, reached up with an open mouth and I locked my teeth into the broad flattened nose. I bit in hard, with all my desperation, and quite clearly I felt my teeth slice through the flesh and gristle of his nose and instantly my mouth filled with the warm salty metallic flood of his blood. Like a dog at a bull-baiting, I worried and tugged at his nose.

The man bellowed a roar of agony and anger and he released his crushing grip from around my body to try and tear my teeth from his face. The instant my arms were free I twisted convulsively and got a purchase with both feet in the firm wet sand, so I could put my hip into him for the throw. He was so busy attempting to dislodge the grip of my teeth from his nose that he could not resist the throw and as he went over backwards my teeth tore loose, cutting away a lump of his living flesh.

I spat out the horrid mouthful but the warm blood streamed down my chin and I resisted the temptation to pause and wipe it clean.

Suleiman Dada was down on his back, stranded like some massive crippled black frog, but he would not remain helpless much longer, I had to take him out cleanly now and there was only one place where he might be vulnerable.

I jumped up high over him and came down to knee-drop into his throat, to drive my one knee with the full weight and momentum of my body into his larynx and crush it.

He was swift as a cobra, throwing up both arms to shield his throat and to catch me as I descended on to him. Once again, I was enmeshed by those thick black arms, and we rolled down the beach, locked chest to chest into the warm shallow water of the lagoon.

In a direct contrast of weight for weight like this, I was outmatched, and he came up over me with blood streaming from his injured nose, still bellowing with anger, and he pinned me into the shallows forcing my head below the surface and bearing down upon my chest and lungs with all his vast weight.

I began to drown. My lungs caught fire, and the need to breathe laced my vision with sparks and whorls of fire. I could feel the strength going out of me and my consciousness receding into blackness.

The shot when it sounded was muted and dull. I did not recognize it for what it was, until I felt Suleiman Dada jerk and stiffen, felt the strength go out of him and his weight slip and fall from me.

I sat up coughing and gasping for air, with water cascading from my hair and streaming into my eyes. In the light of the fallen torch I saw Sherry North kneeling on the sand at the edge of the water. She had the rifle still clutched in her bandaged hand and her face was pale and frightened.

Beside me, Suleiman Dada floated face down in the shallow water, his half-naked body glistening blackly like a stranded porpoise. I stood up slowly, water pouring from my clothing and she stared at me, horrified with what she had done.

“Oh God,“she whispered, “I’ve killed him. Oh God!”

“Baby,” I gasped. “That was the best day’s work you’ve ever done,” and I staggered past her to where Chubby lay.

He was trying to sit up, struggling feebly.

“Take it easy, Chubby,” I snapped at him, and picked up the torch.

There was fresh blood on his shirt and I unbuttoned it and pulled it open around the broad brown chest.

It was low and left, but it was a lung hit. I saw the bubbles frothing from the dark hole at each breath. I have seen enough gunshot wounds to be something of an authority and I knew that this was a bad one.

He watched my face. “How does it look?” he grunted. “It’s not sore.”

“Lovely,” I answered grimly. “Every time you drink a beer it will run out of the hole! He grinned crookedly, and I helped him to sit up. The exit hole was clean and neat, the FN had been loaded with solid ammunition, and it was only slightly larger than the entry hole. The bullet had not mushroomed against bone.

I found a pair of field dressings in the medical chest and bound up the wounds before I helped him into the boat. Sherry had prepared one of the mattresses and we covered him with blankets.

“Don’t forget Angelo,” he whispered. I found the long heartbreaking canvas bundle where Chubby had dropped it, and I carried Angelo down and laid him in the bows.

I shoved the whaleboat out until I was waist-deep, then I scrambled over the side and started the engines. My one concern now was to get proper medical attention for Chubby, but it was a long cold run down the islands to St. Mary’s.

Sherry sat beside, Chubby on the floorboards, doing what little she could for his comfort - while I stood in the stern between the motors and negotiated the deep-water channel before turning southwards under a sky full of cold white stars, bearing my cargo of wounded, and dying and dead.

We had been going for almost five hours when Sherry stood up from beside the blanketed form in the bottom of the boat and made her way back to me.

“Chubby wants to talk to you,” she said quietly, and then impulsively she leaned forward and touched my cheek with the cold fingers of her uninjured hand. “I think he is going, Harry.” And I heard the desolation in her voice.

I passed the con to her. “You see those two bright stars,” I showed her the pointers of the Southern Cross, “steer straight for them,” and I went forward to where Chubby lay.

For a while he did not seem to know me, and I knelt beside him and listened to the soft liquid sound of his breathing. Then at last he became aware. I saw the starlight catch his eyes and he looked up at me, and I leaned closer so that our faces were only inches apart.

“We took some good fish together, Harry,” he whispered. “We are going to take a lot more,” I answered. “With what we’ve got aboard now we will be able to buy a really good boat. You and I will be going for billfish again next season - that’s for sure.”

Then we were silent for a long time, until at last I felt his hand grope for mine and I took it and held it hard. I could feel the callouses and the ancient line burns from handling heavy fish.

“Harry,” his voice was so faint I could just hear it over the sound of the motors when I laid my ear to his lips, “Harry, I’m going to tell you something I never told you before. I love you, man,” he whispered. “I love you better than my own brother.”

“I love you too, Chubby,” I said, and for a little longer his grip was strong again, and then it relaxed. I sat on beside him while slowly that big horny paw turned cold in my hands, and dawn began to pale the sky above the dark and brooding sea.

During the next three weeks, Sherry and I seldom left the sanctuary of Turtle Bay. We went together to stand awkwardly in the graveyard while they buried our friends, and once I drove alone to the fort and spent two hours with President Godfrey Biddle and Inspector Wally Andrews - but the rest of that time we were alone while the wounds healed.

Our bodies healed more quickly than did our minds. One morning as I dressed Sherry’s hand, I noticed the pearly white seeds in the healing flesh of her fingertips and I realized that they were the nail roots regrowing. She would have fingernails once more to grace those long narrow hands - I was thankful for that.

They were not happy days, the memories were too fresh and the days were dark with mourrning for Chubby and Angelo and both of us knew that the crisis of our relationship was at hand. I guessed what agonies of decision she must be facing, and I forgave her the quick flares of temper, the long silences - and her sudden disappearances from the shack when for hours at a time she walked the long deserted beaches or made a remote and lonely figure sitting out on the headland of the bay.

At last I knew that she was strong enough to face what lay ahead for both of us. One evening I raised the subject of the treasure for the first time since our return to St. Mary’s.

It lay now buried beneath the raised foundations of the shack.

Sherry listened quietly as we sat together upon the veranda, drinking whisky and listening to the sound of the night surf upon the beach.

“I want you to go ahead to make the arrangements for the arrival of the coffin. Hire a car in Zarich and drive down to Basie. I have arranged a room for you at the Red Ox Hotel there. I have picked that hotel because they have an underground parking garage and I know the head porter there. His name is Max.” I explained my plans to her. “He will arrange a hearse to meet the plane. You will play the part of the bereaved widow and bring the coffin down to Basie. We will make the exchange in the garage, and you will arranged for my banker to have an armoured car to take the tiger’s head to his own premises from there.”

“You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?”

“I hope so.” I poured another whisky. “My bank is Falle et Fils and the man to ask for is M. Challon. When you meet him you will give him my name and the number of my account - ten sixty-six, the same as the battle of Hastings. You must arrange with M. Challon for a private room to which we can invite dealers to view the head-” I went on explaining in detail the arrangements I had made, and she listened intently. Now and then she asked a question but mostly she was silent, and at last I produced the air ticket and a thin sheaf of traveller’s cheques to carry her through.

“You have made the reservations already? she looked startled, and when I nodded she thumbed open the booklet of the air ticket. “When do I leave?”

“On the noon plane tomorrow.”

“And when will you follow?”

“In the same plane as the coffin, three days later - on Friday. I will come in on the BOAC flight at 1.30 p.m. That will give you time to make the arrangements and be there to meet me.”

That night was as tender and loving as it had ever been, but even so I sensed a deeper mood of melancholia in Sherry - as at the time of leave-taking and farewell.

In the dawn, the dolphins met us at the entrance of the bay, and we romped with them for half the morning and then swam in slowly to the beach.

I drove her out to the airport in the old pick-up. For most of the ride she was silent and then she tried to tell me something, but she was confused and she did not make sense. She ended lamely, “—if anything ever happens to us, well, I mean nothing lasts for-ever, does it-” “Go on,” I said.

“No, its nothing. just that we should try to forgive each other - if anything does happen.” That was all she would say, and at the airport barrier she kissed me briefly and clung for a second with both arms about my neck then she turned and walked quickly to the waiting aircraft She did not look back or wave as she climbed the boarding ladder.

I watched the aircraft climb swiftly and head out across the inshore channel for the mainland, then I drove slowly back to Turtle Bay.

It was a lonely place without her, and that night as I lay alone under the mosquito net on the wide bed, I knew that the risk I was about to take was necessary. Highly dangerous, but necessary. I knew I must have her back here. Without her, it would all be tasteless. I must gamble on the pull I would be able to exert over her outweighing the other forces that governed her. I must let her make the choice herself, but I must try to influence it with every play in my power.

In the morning I drove into St. Mary’s and after Fred Coker and I had argued and consulted and passed money and promises back and forth, he opened the double doors to his warehouse and I drove the pick-up in beside the hearse. We loaded one of his best coffins, teak with silvergilt handles, and red velvet-lined interior, into the back of the truck. I covered it with a sheet of canvas and drove back to Turtle Bay. When I had packed the coffin and screwed down the lid it weighed almost five hundred pounds.

When it was dark, I drove back into town and it was almost closing time at the Lord Nelson before I had completed my arrangements. I had just time for a quick drink and then I drove back to Turtle Bay to pack my battered old canvas campaign bag.

At the noon of the next day, twenty-four hours earlier than I had arranged with Sherry North, I boarded the aircraft for the mainland and that evening caught the BOAC connection onwards from Nairobi.

There was no one to meet me at Zarich airport, for I was a full day early, and I passed quickly through customs and immigration and went out into the vast arrivals hall.

I checked my luggage before I went about tidying up the final loose threads of my plan. I found a flight outwards leaving at 1.20 the following day which suited my timing admirably. I made a single reservation, then I drifted over to the inquiries desk and waited until the pretty little blonde girl in the Swissair uniform was not busy, before engaging her in a long explanation. At first she was adamant, but I gave her the old crinkled eyes and smiled that way, until at last she became intrigued with it all - and giggled in anticipation.

“You sure you’ll be on duty tomorrow?” I asked anxiously. “Yes, Monsieur, don’t worry, I will be here.”

We parted as friends and I retrieved my bag and caught a cab to the Zorich Holiday Inn just down the road. The same hotel where I had sweated out the survival of the Dutch policeman so long ago. I ordered a drink, took a bath and then settled down in front of the television set. It brought back memories.

A little before noon the following day I sat at the airport cafe pretending to read a copy of the Frmilqarw AUgmiene Zeitung and watching the arrivals hall over the top of the page. I had already checked my baggage and my ticket. All I had to do was to go through into the final departure lounge.

I was wearing a new suit purchased that morning of such a bizarre cut and mousy shade of grey, that no one who knew him could believe that Harry Fletcher would be seen in public wearing it. It was two sizes too large for me, and I had padded myself with hotel towels to alter my shape entirely. I had also self-barbered my hair into a short and ragged style and dusted it with talcum powder to put fifteen years on my age. When I peered at my image through goldrimmed spectacles in the mirror of the men’s room, I did not even recognize myself. At seven minutes past one, Sherry North walked in through the main doors of the terminal. She wore a suit of grey checked wool, a full length black leather coat and a small matching leather hat with a narrow businesslike brim. Her eyes were screened by a pair of dark glasses, but her expression was set and determined as she strode through the crowd of tourists.

I felt the sick slide and turn of my guts as I saw all my suspicions and fears confirmed and the newspaper shook in my hands. Following a pace behind and to her side, was the small neatly dressed figure of the man she had introduced to me as Uncle Dan. He wore a tweed cap and carried an overcoat across his arm. More than ever he exuded an air of awareness, the hunter’s alert and confident tread as he followed the girl.

He had four of his men with him. They moved quietly after him, quiet, soberly dressed men with closed watchful faces.

“Oh, you little bitch,” I whispered, but I wondered why I should feel so bitter. I had known for long enough now.

The group of girl and five men stopped in the centre of the hall and I watched dear Uncle Dan issuing his orders. He was a professional, you could see that in the way he staked out the hall for me. He placed his men to cover the arrivals gate and every exit.

Sherry North stood listening quietly, her face neutral and her eyes hidden by the glasses. Once Uncle Dan spoke to her and she nodded abruptly, then when the four strongarm men had been placed, the two of them stood together facing the arrivals gate. Get out now, Harry,” the little warning voice urged me. “Don’t play fancy games. This is the wolf pack all over again. Run, Harry, run.”

Just then the public address-system called the outward flight on which I had made a reservation the previous day. I stood up from the table in my cheap baggy suit and shuffled across to the Inquiries Desk. The little blonde Swissair hostess did not recognize me at first, then her mouth dropped open and her eyes flew wide. She covered her mouth with her. hand and her eyes sparkled with conspiratory glee.

“The end booth,” she whispered, “the end nearest the departures gate.” I winked at her and shuffled away. In the telephone booth I lifted the receiver and pretended to be speaking, but I broke the connection with a finger on the bar and I watched the hall through the glass door.

I heard my accomplice paging.

“Miss. Sherry North, will Miss. North please report to the inquiries desk.”

Through the glass I saw Sherry approach the desk and speak with the hostess. The blonde girl pointed to the booth beside mine and Sherry turned and walked directly towards me. She was screened from Uncle Dan and his merry men by the row of booths.

The leather coat swung gracefully about her long legs, and her hair was glossy black and bouncing on her shoulders at each stride. I saw she wore black leather gloves to hide her injured hand, and I thought she had never looked so beautiful as in this moment of my betrayal.

She entered the booth beside me and lifted the receiver. Swiftly I replaced my own telephone and stepped out of the booth. As I opened her door she looked around with impatient annoyance.

“Okay, you dumb cop - give me a good reason why I shouldn’t break your head,” I said.

“You!” Her expression crumpled, and her hand flew to her mouth.

We stared at each other.

“What happened to the real Sherry North?” I demanded, and the question seemed to steady her.

“She was killed. We found her body - almost unrecognizable - in a quarry outside Ascot.” “Manny Resnick told me he had killed her-_2 I said. “I didn’t believe him. He also laughed at me when I went on board to do a deal with him and Suleiman Dada for your life. I called you Sherry North and he laughed at me and called me a fool.” I grinned at her lopsidedly. “He was right - wasn’t he? I was a fool.”

She was silent then, unable to meet my eyes. I went on talking, confirming what I had guessed.

“So after Sherry North was killed, they decided not to announce her identity - but to stake out the North cottage. Hoping that the killers would return to investigate the new arrival - or that some other patsy would be sucked in and lead them home. They chose you for the stake-out, because you were a trained police diver. That’s right, isn’t it?”

She nodded, still not looking at me.

They should have made sure you knew something about conchology as well. “then you wouldn’t have grabbed that piece of fire coral - and saved me a lot of trouble.”

She was over the first shock of my appearance. Now was the time to whistle for Uncle Dan and his men, if she was going to. She remained silent, her face half-turned away, her cheek flushed with bright blood beneath the dark golden tan.

That first night, you telephoned when you thought I was asleep.

You were reporting to your superior officer that a sucker had walked in. “They told you to play me along. And - oh baby - how you played me.”

She looked at me at last, dark blue eyes snapping with defiance, words seemed to hod behind her closed lips, but she held them back and I went on.

“That’s why you used the back entrance to Jimmy’s shop, to avoid the neighbours who knew Sherry. ““that’s why those two goons of Manny’s arrived to roast your fingers on the gas-ring. They wanted to find out who you were - because you sure as hell weren’t Sherry North. They had killed her.”

I wanted her to speak now. Her silence was wearing my nerves.

“What rank is Uncle Dan - Inspector?”

“Chief Inspector,“she said.

“I had him tabbed the moment I laid eyes on him.”

“If you knew all this, then why did you go through with it?“she demanded.

“I was suspicious at first - but by the time I knew for certain I was crazy stupid in love with you.”

She braced herself, as though I had struck her, and I went on remorselesly.

“I thought by some of the things we did together that you felt pretty good about me. In my book when you love someone, you don’t sell them down the river.”

“I’m a policewoman,” she flashed at me, “and you’re a killer.”

“I never killed a man who wasn’t trying to kill me first,” I flashed back, “just the way you hit Suleiman Dada.”

That caught her off-balance. She stammered and looked about her as if she were in a trap.

“You’re a thief,” she attacked again.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I was once - but that was a long time ago, and since then I worked hard on it. With a bit of help, I’d have made it.”

“The throne-” she went on, “you are stealing the throne.”

“No, ma’am,” I grinned at her. “What is in the coffin then?”

“Three hundred pounds of beach sand from Turtle Bay. When you see it, think of the times we had there.”

“The throne - where is it?”

“With its rightful owner, the representative of the people of St. Mary’s, President Godfrey Biddle.”

“You gave it up?” she stared at me with disbelief that faded slowly as something else began to dawn in her eyes. “Why, Harry, why?” “Like I said, I’m working hard on it.” Again we were staring hard at each other, and suddenly I saw the clear liquid flooding her dark blue eyes.

“And you came here - knowing what I had to do?” she asked, her voice choking.

“I wanted you to make a choice,” I said, and she let the tears cling like dewdrops in the thick dark eyelashes. I went on deliberately, “I’m going to walk out of this booth and go out through that gate. If nobody blows the whistle I will be on the next flight out of here and the day after tomorrow, I will swim out through the reef to look for the dolphins.”

“They’ll come after you, Harry,” she said, and I shook my head.

“President Biddle has just altered his extradition agreements.

Nobody will be able to touch me on St. Mary’s. I have his word for it.”

I turned and opened the door of the booth. “I’m going to be lonely as all hell out there at Turtle Bay.”

I turned my back on her then and walked slowly and deliberately to the departures gate, just as they called my flight for the second time. It was the longest and scariest walk of my entire life, and my heart thumped in time to my footsteps. Nobody challenged me and I dared not look back.

As I settled into the seat of the Swissair Caravelle and fastened my seat belt, I wondered how long it would take her to screw up her nerve enough to follow me out to St. Mary’s, and I reflected-that there was much I still had to tell her.

I had to tell her that I had contracted to raise the rest of the golden throne from Gunfire Break for the benefit of the people of St. Mary’s. In return President Godfrey Biddle had undertaken to buy me a new deep-sea boat from the proceeds - just like Wave Dancer - a token of the people’s gratitude.

I would be able to keep my lady in the style to which I was accustomed, and of course there was always the case of Georgian silver gilt plate buried behind the shack at Turtle Bay for the lean and hungry off season. I hadn’t reformed that much. There would be no more night runs, however.

As the Caravelle took off and climbed steeply up over the blue lakes and forested mountains, I realized that I did not even know her real name.

That would be the first thing I would ask her when I met her at the airport of St. Mary’s island, - Pearl of the Indian Ocean.