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Authors: Alistair MacLean
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accent."
"I'm as English as you are," he growled. "But my home's in Australia."
"Who's paying you for all this, Fleck?" He rose abruptly to his feet, gathered up the empty glasses and bottles and went away without another word.
It wasn't until about half-past five in the evening that Fleck came to tell us to get below. Maybe he'd spotted a vessel on the horizon and didn't want to take the chance of anyone seeing us if they approached too closely, maybe he just thought we'd been on deck long enough, or maybe it had something to do with that dark brown smudge I could vaguely make out on the southern horizon, just off the starboard bow. It could have been cloud, of course, but even through that heat haze it looked too solid-and too solitary-for cloud. It was difficult to estimate its distance-fifteen, maybe twenty miles away. The prospect of returning to that stinking and rat-infested hole was no pleasure, but apart from the fact that both of us had slept nearly all day and felt rested again, we weren't too reluctant to go: black cumulus thunderheads had swept up out of the east in the late afternoon, an obscured sun had turned the air cool and the rain wasn't far away. It looked as if it were going to be a black and dirty night. The sort of night that would suit Captain Fleck very well indeed: the sort of night, I hoped, that would suit us even better.
The hatch-cover dropped in place behind us and the bolt slid home. Marie gave a little shiver and hugged herself tightly. "Well, another night in the Ritz coming up. You should have asked for fresh batteries-that torch isn't going to last us all night."
"It won't have to. One way or another we've spent our last night on this floating garbage can. Just as we came down I thought I saw an island way ahead. I could be wrong and if I've made a mistake about it, well, it's my last mistake. But it's also our last chance. We're leaving this evening, just as soon as it's good and dark. If Fleck had his way we'll be leaving with a couple of iron bars tied to our feet: if I have mine, we'll leave without them. If I were a betting man, I'd put my money on Fleck."
"What do you mean?" she whispered. "You-you were sure that nothing was going to happen to us. Remember all the reasons you gave me when we arrived on board last night. You said Fleck was no killer."
"I still don't think he is. Not by nature, anyway. He's been drinking all day, trying to drown his conscience. But there are many things that can make a man do what he doesn't want to do, even kill: threats, blackmail, a desperate need for money. I was speaking to him while you slept. It seems that whoever wanted me out here no longer needs me. What it was for I don't know, but whatever it was the end appears to have been achieved without me."
"He told you that we-that we-"
"He told me nothing, directly. He merely said that the person who had arranged the kidnap thought that he no longer wanted me-or us. The definite word is to come through at seven, but from the way Fleck spoke there wasn't much doubt about what the word is going to be. I think old Fleck's got a soft spot for you and he spoke of you, by inference, as if you already belonged to the past. Very touching, very wistful."
She touched my arm, looked up at me with a strange expression I'd never seen before and said simply: "I'm scared. It's funny, all of a sudden I look into the future and I don't see it and I'm scared. Are you?"
"Of course I'm scared," I said irritably. "What do you think?"
"I don't think you are, it's just something you say. I know you're not afraid-not of death, anyway. It's not that you're any braver than the rest of us, it's just that if death came your way you'd be so busy figuring, planning, calculating, scheming, working out a way to beat it that you'd never even see it coming except in an academic sort of way. You're working out a way to beat it now, you're sure you will beat it; death for you, death that even one chance in a million might
"I'm as English as you are," he growled. "But my home's in Australia."
"Who's paying you for all this, Fleck?" He rose abruptly to his feet, gathered up the empty glasses and bottles and went away without another word.
It wasn't until about half-past five in the evening that Fleck came to tell us to get below. Maybe he'd spotted a vessel on the horizon and didn't want to take the chance of anyone seeing us if they approached too closely, maybe he just thought we'd been on deck long enough, or maybe it had something to do with that dark brown smudge I could vaguely make out on the southern horizon, just off the starboard bow. It could have been cloud, of course, but even through that heat haze it looked too solid-and too solitary-for cloud. It was difficult to estimate its distance-fifteen, maybe twenty miles away. The prospect of returning to that stinking and rat-infested hole was no pleasure, but apart from the fact that both of us had slept nearly all day and felt rested again, we weren't too reluctant to go: black cumulus thunderheads had swept up out of the east in the late afternoon, an obscured sun had turned the air cool and the rain wasn't far away. It looked as if it were going to be a black and dirty night. The sort of night that would suit Captain Fleck very well indeed: the sort of night, I hoped, that would suit us even better.
The hatch-cover dropped in place behind us and the bolt slid home. Marie gave a little shiver and hugged herself tightly. "Well, another night in the Ritz coming up. You should have asked for fresh batteries-that torch isn't going to last us all night."
"It won't have to. One way or another we've spent our last night on this floating garbage can. Just as we came down I thought I saw an island way ahead. I could be wrong and if I've made a mistake about it, well, it's my last mistake. But it's also our last chance. We're leaving this evening, just as soon as it's good and dark. If Fleck had his way we'll be leaving with a couple of iron bars tied to our feet: if I have mine, we'll leave without them. If I were a betting man, I'd put my money on Fleck."
"What do you mean?" she whispered. "You-you were sure that nothing was going to happen to us. Remember all the reasons you gave me when we arrived on board last night. You said Fleck was no killer."
"I still don't think he is. Not by nature, anyway. He's been drinking all day, trying to drown his conscience. But there are many things that can make a man do what he doesn't want to do, even kill: threats, blackmail, a desperate need for money. I was speaking to him while you slept. It seems that whoever wanted me out here no longer needs me. What it was for I don't know, but whatever it was the end appears to have been achieved without me."
"He told you that we-that we-"
"He told me nothing, directly. He merely said that the person who had arranged the kidnap thought that he no longer wanted me-or us. The definite word is to come through at seven, but from the way Fleck spoke there wasn't much doubt about what the word is going to be. I think old Fleck's got a soft spot for you and he spoke of you, by inference, as if you already belonged to the past. Very touching, very wistful."
She touched my arm, looked up at me with a strange expression I'd never seen before and said simply: "I'm scared. It's funny, all of a sudden I look into the future and I don't see it and I'm scared. Are you?"
"Of course I'm scared," I said irritably. "What do you think?"
"I don't think you are, it's just something you say. I know you're not afraid-not of death, anyway. It's not that you're any braver than the rest of us, it's just that if death came your way you'd be so busy figuring, planning, calculating, scheming, working out a way to beat it that you'd never even see it coming except in an academic sort of way. You're working out a way to beat it now, you're sure you will beat it; death for you, death that even one chance in a million might
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