The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter. Desmond Bagley

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      He came, but not at seven o’clock and I was beginning to doubt my judgement of the frailty of human nature. It was after eight when he knocked on the door, identified me, and said, ‘We’ll forget the dinner; I’ve eaten.’

      ‘All right,’ I said. ‘But what about a drink?’ I crossed the room and put my hand on the brandy bottle. I was pretty certain it would be brandy – most South Africans drink it.

      ‘I’ll have a Scotch,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Thanks,’ he added as an afterthought.

      As I poured the drinks I glanced at him. He was a bulky man, broad of chest and heavy in the body. His hair was black and rather coarse and he had a shaggy look about him. I’d bet that when stripped he’d look like a grizzly bear. His eyebrows were black and straight over eyes of a snapping electric blue. He had looked after himself better than Walker; his belly was flat and there was a sheen of health about him.

      I handed him a drink and we sat down facing each other. He was tense and wary, although he tried to disguise it by over-relaxing in his chair. We were like a couple of duellists who have just engaged blades.

      ‘I’ll come to the point,’ I said. ‘A long time ago Walker told me a very interesting story about some gold. That was ten years ago and we were going to do something about it, but it didn’t pan out. That might have been lucky because we’d have certainly made a botch of the job.’

      I pointed my finger at him. ‘You’ve been keeping an eye on it. You’ve probably popped across to Italy from time to time just to keep your eye on things in general. You’ve been racking your brains trying to think of a way of getting that gold out of Italy, but you haven’t been able to do it. You’re stymied.’

      His face had not changed expression; he would have made a good poker player. He said, ‘When did you see Walker?’

      ‘Yesterday – in Cape Town.’

      The craggy face broke into a derisive grin. ‘And you flew up to Jo’burg to see me just because a dronkie like Walker told you a cock-and-bull story like that? Walker’s a no-good hobo; I see a dozen like him in the Library Gardens every day,’ he said contemptuously.

      ‘It’s not a cock-and-bull story, and I can prove it.’

      Coertze just sat and looked at me like a stone gargoyle, the whisky glass almost lost in his huge fist.

      I said, ‘What are you doing here – in this room? If there was no story, all you had to do was to ask me what the hell I was talking about when I spoke to you on the phone. The fact that you’re here proves there’s something in it.’

      He made a fast decision. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘What’s your proposition?’

      I said, ‘You still haven’t figured a way of moving four tons of gold out of Italy. Is that right?’

      He smiled slowly. ‘Let’s assume so,’ he said ironically.

      ‘I’ve got a foolproof way.’

      He put down his glass and produced a packet of cigarettes. ‘What is it?’

      ‘I’m not going to tell you – yet.’

      He grinned. ‘Walker hasn’t told you where the gold is, has he?’

      ‘No, he hasn’t,’ I admitted. ‘But he would if I put pressure on him. Walker can’t stand pressure; you know that.’

      ‘He drinks too much,’ said Coertze. ‘And when he drinks he talks; I’ll bet that’s how he came to spill his guts to you.’ He lit his cigarette. ‘What do you want out of it?’

      ‘Equal shares,’ I said firmly. ‘A three-way split after all expenses have been paid.’

      ‘And Walker comes with us on the job. Is that right?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said.

      Coertze moved in his chair. ‘Man, it’s like this,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you’ve got a foolproof way of getting the gold out or if you haven’t. I thought I had it licked a couple of times. But let’s assume your way is going to work. Why should we take Walker?’

      He held up his hand. ‘I’m not suggesting we do him down or anything like that – although he’d think nothing of cheating us. Give him his share after it’s all over, but for God’s sake keep him out of Italy. He’ll make a balls-up for sure.’

      I thought of Harrison and Parker and the two Italians. ‘You don’t seem to like him.’

      Coertze absently fingered a scar on his forehead. ‘He’s unreliable,’ he said. ‘He almost got me killed a couple of times during the war.’

      I said, ‘No, we take Walker. I don’t know for certain if three of us can pull it off, and with two it would be impossible. Unless you want to let someone else in?’

      He smiled humourlessly. ‘That’s not on – not with you coming in. But Walker had better keep his big mouth shut from now on.’

      ‘Perhaps it would be better if he stopped drinking,’ I suggested.

      ‘That’s right,’ Coertze agreed. ‘Keep him off the pots. A few beers are all right, but keep him off the hard-tack. That’ll be your job; I don’t want to have anything to do with the rat.’

      He blew smoke into the air, and said, ‘Now let’s hear your proposition. If it’s good, I’ll come in with you. If I don’t think it’ll work, I won’t touch it. In that case, you and Walker can do what you damn’ well like, but if you go for that gold you’ll have me to reckon with. I’m a bad bastard when I’m crossed.’

      ‘So am I,’ I said.

      We grinned at each other. I liked this man, in a way. I wouldn’t trust him any more than I’d trust Walker, but I had the feeling that while Walker would stick a knife in your back, Coertze would at least shoot you down from the front.

      ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s have it.’

      ‘I’m not going to tell you – not here in this room,’ I saw his expression and hurried on. ‘It isn’t that I don’t trust you, it’s simply that you wouldn’t believe it. You have to see it – and you have to see it in Cape Town.’

      He looked at me for a long moment, then said, ‘All right, if that’s the way you want it, I’ll play along.’ He paused to think. ‘I’ve got a good job here, and I’m not going to give it up on your say-so. There’s a long week-end coming up – that gives me three days off. I’ll fly down to Cape Town to see what you have to show me. If it’s good, the job can go hang; if it isn’t, then I’ve still got the job.’

      ‘I’ll pay for your fare,’ I said.

      ‘I can afford it,’ he grunted.

      ‘If it doesn’t pan out, I’ll pay for your fare,’ I insisted. ‘I wouldn’t want you to be out of pocket.’

      He looked up and grinned. СКАЧАТЬ