The Liquidator

Sixteen

I cleared the harbor under running lights, using the inboard auxiliary. When there were no other boats in sight, Alex crept up into the cockpit and sat down at my feet.

“You do not know these waters,” he announced. “The light buoys, they tell you where not to go. I will tell you where to go.”

Under his guidance we chugged along the still sound that lay between the island and the mainland; one cluster of brilliant lights, he told me, marked the border between Albania and Greece. “Such fortifications they have! Not even a baby eel could get past them on the darkest night of the world.”

“How did you manage it?”

“Not there, my friend. But where they put so much men and equipment to safeguard their borders, then there must be other places where there cannot be so much. Perhaps not even enough, eh?”

“I thought the Albanian coast was pretty well guarded everywhere.”

“Yes... pretty well. But maybe not well enough.”

“Like the northern border?”

“Ah?”

“Along Yugoslavia? And that part of Greece?”

Alex sat up a little straighter. “Do you know about that then, Nick Carter?”

“Enough,” I lied. “You said you had something vital to tell us when you came out. You’re out. What is it?”

He chuckled and pointed ahead. “When we clear that strait there, where we run under the guns of the Albanians so close you can smell the powder in their artillery shells, then I will tell you one or two things. It will be time for you to know.”

He was right about being close to the Albanian coast; as he pointed out the navigation lights I had the feeling I could almost reach out and touch the shore on either side. A tanker coming through the passage from the other direction scared the hell out of me for a little while; it seemed to fill the space with no room for even our small boat. Alex advised me to ignore it.

When we cleared the strait and headed out into the open sea I almost heaved a sigh of relief again, but didn’t. The wind had freshened and, once we were free of the barricade of Korfu, was blowing directly in our teeth. As we started to buck in the heavy chop, Alex went forward to raise the jib, then the main. He handled both the way you drop a couple of hamburgers on the grill and stand back to watch them char.

“We sail, Nick Carter. You are a good sailor?”

“I manage.”

“Good. This is still your pleasure cruise, and when the daylight comes I must go below again. If anyone approaches... well, my beautiful sister could not bear to be parted with you, eh? You will wave and be happy, and if they look unfriendly you will shoot them and kill them.”

“Alex?”

“Yes?”

“What the hell is all this about? We’ve cleared the strait now.”

“Yes. And I should tell you, because if I do not survive you must know. You know what I have been these many years?”

“A defector.”

“Oh yes, that, but do not be so disapproving, my friend. In my country... well, look at it today. Is a Communist a greater menace than one of those loyal to the present government? Or the one just past? No. I make no excuses for myself, Nick, understand that. I found unbearable corruption in my own country, and so I went to Albania where they were very happy to use my services. They are strong people, those Albanians, sometimes called the Mongols of Europe. Different from everyone else, do you know?”

I did, vaguely. They were strong, secretive, hostile to outsiders and fierce fighters who had resisted centuries of would-be conquerors. More than half the people were Moslems, and they fought in their mountains as fanatically as their brothers did in the desert countries of the Near East.

“What happened?” I asked. “What made you come back.”

“Ah well, my friend, it would take weeks to tell you all about that. Communism, you see, is the great leveler; even in Albania it makes petty bureaucrats of the proud warriors. But that is not the answer to your question, eh?”

“No.”

“So I will tell you, and you must listen closely. The great World Communism movement has drifted to almost a standstill; your President meets with leaders in China and Moscow, and the war in Vietnam is over. For the moment.” He chuckled. “Yes. But there are members of that great Movement who are not pleased with such developments, my friend. They are still listening to Marx, to Lenin, to Stalin, and they believe that Communism must always expand until the system controls the entire world. At one time, believe me, I was almost one of those. But not now, Nick, not now. At any rate, they are still active, those fanatics, and they are preparing a monstrous action which may well further their cause better than twenty Vientams.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you know the two lakes along the border between Albania and Yugoslavia? Just next to Greece?”

“I do.” Hawk’s map lecture was clear in my memory.

“There is an army there, right now. They belong to no country; they are Greeks, Albanians, Yugoslavs, but they are all dedicated Communists of the old, hard-line school. In... yes... two days, they, will launch a series of guerilla attacks from that no-man’s land between three countries that will totally confuse the world powers. They will be led, no, advised, as you Americans coined the expression so nicely, by a contingent of the Vietcong...”

I let go of the wheel as I snapped around to look down at Alex’s broad calm face. “What!?”

“That is right, my friend. Who is better fitted to conduct such military actions than the Vietcong? With their primitive weapons and their puny, underfed troops, they have fought the French and the Americans to a standstill for as long as we can remember. Is it unthinkable that they should lend their knowledge and their idealism to such a group as has been gathered in that remote terrain between Lakes Ohrid and Prespa? Think of the opportunities! On one side a staunch ally of the United States, though a military dictatorship these days; on another the most repressive Communist regime in the western world, and on the third Yugoslavia, more compatible with the West than with the Russians. Who will act to retaliate against them once their forays begin? From which country do they conduct their operations? And even if they can be found, what will any of the Great Powers do? Will the United States napalm them? Will the Russians send in tanks through Yugoslavia? No, my friend. And yet something must be done, eh? Because together with this campaign of terror and death there will be a campaign of propaganda that will not permit the world to ignore what is happening in our little corner of the world. Action must be taken, sooner or later, and that must inevitably lead to conflict between the West and the Communist powers.”

“Sounds pretty grim,” I admitted. “But how do you know all this?”

“Me?” Alex laughed. “Because I, my friend, helped set it all up, until I knew what I was doing.”

“You mean you didn’t know?”

“Do not sound so skeptical, Nick. I am an expert in my field, and like many such experts I was not told any more than I needed to know about the over-all purpose of any plan.”

“But you found out?”

“Yes. I found out. And I found out I could not live with the knowledge I had. So...” He looked around at the dark, oppressive sky above us. “And so I am here.”

Before daylight came he took the wheel, but I didn’t even try to sleep. There were too many questions to ask.

“You told our agents in Greece that nobody would miss you in Albania for several days. How did you manage that?”

“Oh well, that was not too hard. It is a country all mountains, you know, the roads very bad. I have had great freedom to travel in the course of my duties. Back and forth over the mountains; I have never been to South America, but from what I have read there are countries like Chile and Peru with much the same conditions. All the time there are cars and buses going off the roads to plunge down some remote mountainside. Not found for days, quite often.”

“But they’d be looking for you, wouldn’t they? Even down a mountainside?”

“Ah yes. My driver and I, we picked up an old man on our last journey. A big old man, nearly as big as me. I had promised him a ride down to the coastal area; I make many friends among the people of Albania in my travels, you know? I put my uniform jacket over his shoulders to keep him warm in the cold mountains. Didn’t bother to take my papers from the pocket, it is not such a long journey. And then my driver makes the wrong turn and I somehow manage to jump clear before the car goes over the mountain. Much fire far down below. The old man will never be cold again, eh?”

I was at the helm again, fighting the heavy seas, when Christina came up on deck. Her face was swollen, and it wasn’t from sleep. She didn’t speak to me, but took her mug of coffee and leaned against the cabin top looking forward.

“Hey,” I called softly.

It took a long time for her to respond, but in the silence she finally turned around to face me.

“Get a good night’s sleep?”

“I suppose so,” she said indifferently. “How long before we reach Taranto?”

“Probably some time tomorrow morning. We haven’t had much luck with our weather on this cruise.”

“No. We haven’t.” She went below without another word, and I was alone for a long stretch of hours until the sun came out again.

Alex surprised me by coming on deck in broad daylight, but his explanation made sense. “Look, my friend, we are halfway to Italy, eh? If they think I am aboard this boat... poof!” He made a dive-bomber motion with his hand. “I do not like to be down there when the sun is shining. Not if I don’t have to be.”

Christina joined us a short while later, bringing steaming cups of coffee and a neatly arranged plate of sliced Spam and feta cheese. Alex applauded when he saw it.

“Now that is my good Greek sister!” he roared, grabbing a handful and stuffing the meat and cheese into his mouth. Christina smiled wanly. I made her take the wheel while I went below to shave and change my clothes.

I was just scraping the last of the lather from under my nose when I heard the distant roar of powerful engines. There was the scramble of feet on the cockpit deck, and I looked out the door of the head in time to see Alex dive into the main cabin.

“What is it?”

“Big power boat. Coming right up on us.” He took his revolver from a shelf above the galley sink, checked the load and went back to the companionway.

I dropped my razor, wiped the last of the shaving cream from my upper lip and got the .45. A lousy weapon at more than twenty feet, but it was all I had. I pushed past Alex and went up into the cockpit, where Christina was letting the helm come up into the wind as she stared at the boat overtaking us.

“Keep her moving,” I ordered, and tucked the pistol under my shirt.

It was a big, black-hulled cruiser, slicing through the swells as though they didn’t exist. From our angle all I could see was the bow and a little bit of the cabin, with a big spot-light mounted on top of it. It bore down on us like a halfback in pursuit of a tackle who had lucked into a fumble and couldn’t get his feet unstuck from the grass. Once more I cursed Hawk and his whole sailboat plan.

I pulled the gun free, held it down by my leg, out of sight. The boat sped closer, moving too close to our stern before it slowed a little and veered off to one side. I was ready to raise the automatic and fire when I saw the man at the wheel.

“Allo, beautiful baby!” he called through the spray his hull kicked up. “Next time you in Paxos, leave that dumb American behind, okay?”

The Frenchman with the mop of hair and the shy-confident smile waved, blew a kiss at Christina, and kicked a lot of water our way as he gunned his engines, headed off at right angles to our course.

“Son of a bitch,” I breathed, tucking the pistol back in my belt. “Bet he’s heading for Bari.”

“What?” Christina asked. She was pale and shaking, and I didn’t blame her.

“Never mind. I’ll take the wheel.”

By dark we still hadn’t made a landfall, but I knew we were on course for the heel of Italy’s boot. With no sign of pursuit so far, I decided I could relax; I went into the forward cabin to see if I could get a solid four or five hours’ sleep. For a little while I heard Christina in the main cabin, making coffee and rattling plastic dishes, doing the cleaning up that all women seem born knowing how to do. Then I heard her go up to the cockpit, and there was total silence except the lap of the waves against the hull an inch or so away from my head...

It was a nightmare, and my first thought was that it was about due. There was cold breath on my face, the chill of steel against my throat. I tried to struggle up out of sleep, but in the pitch darkness the nightmare wouldn’t go away. I felt the edge of the blade slice the flesh, and I knew I was awake.

I must have yelled as I flung myself away from the knife. For my violent effort I got a bang on the head from the ribs bracing the hull of the boat next to the narrow bunk. I was stunned, felt my hair yanked and my head pulled back. The knife started to draw deep across my Adam’s apple, and then it was gone with an explosive grunt from somewhere behind me.

There was a dim light, my pencil flash I realized, and in the ghostly glow I saw two contorted faces bending over me. They were like nothing I’d ever seen before, eyes wide, mouths straining, and no sounds emerging but labored wheezes that sounded like an old engine about to give its last gasp.

I jerked upright, grabbed for the .45 and found it still tucked securely in my belt.

“Don’t worry, Nick,” Alex growled. “She didn’t get it.”

He was holding his sister with an oak-stump forearm across her throat, and as I watched he coldly twisted her fingers until she dropped a knife, Hugo, from her hand.

“What the hell?” I said.

“Wake up, Nick.” He shoved the girl across the narrow cabin to the other bunk, “Do you want to kill her, or shall I?”

I looked at her in the faint light, her face covered by the thick curtain of hair. “Kill her?”

“Sure.”

“Your sister?” I was still half-asleep.

“Sister?” He snorted and grabbed her chin, making her look up into the light. “She is no sister of mine, Nick Carter. And now she is about to be dead.”