The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter. Desmond Bagley

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СКАЧАТЬ was in the way of being a firmly ripening friendship between us when he had left South Africa a hop, skip and a jump ahead of the police, who wanted to nail him on a charge of I.D.B. Since then I had not seen him, but I had heard passing mentions and had occasionally seen his name in the papers, usually quoted as being in trouble in some exotic hot-spot.

      Now he was climbing on to the deck of Sanford.

      ‘I thought it was you,’ he said. ‘So I got the glasses to make sure. What are you doing here?’

      ‘Just idly cruising,’ I said. ‘Combining business with pleasure. I thought I might see what the prospects in the Med. are like.’

      He grinned. ‘Brother, they’re good. But that’s not in your line, is it?’

      I shook my head, and said, ‘Last I heard of you, you were in Cuba.’

      ‘I was in Havana for a bit,’ he said. ‘But that was no place for me. It was an honest revolution, or at least it was until the Commies moved in. I couldn’t compete with them, so I quit.’

      ‘What are you doing now?’

      He smiled and looked at Walker. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

      I said, ‘This is Walker and this is Coertze.’ There was handshaking all round and Metcalfe said, ‘It’s good to hear a South African accent again. You’d have a good country there if the police weren’t so efficient.’

      He turned to me. ‘Where’s Jean?’

      ‘She’s dead,’ I said. ‘She was killed in a motor smash.’

      ‘How did it happen?’

      So I told him of Chapman’s Peak and the drunken driver and the three-hundred-foot fall to the sea. As I spoke his face hardened, and when I had finished, he said, ‘So the bastard only got five years, and if he’s a good boy he’ll be out in three and a half.’

      He rubbed his finger against the side of his nose. ‘I liked Jean,’ he said. ‘What’s the bludger’s name? I’ve got friends in South Africa who can see to him when he comes out.’

      ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘That won’t bring Jean back.’

      He nodded, then slapped his hands together. ‘Now you’re all staying with me at my place; I’ve got room enough for an army.’

      I said hesitantly, ‘What about the boat?’

      He smiled. ‘I see you’ve heard stories about the Tangier dock thieves. Well, let me tell you they’re all true. But that doesn’t matter; I’ll put one of my men on board. Nobody steals from my men – or me.’

      He rowed back across the harbour and presently returned with a scar-faced Moroccan, to whom he spoke in quick and guttural Arabic. Then he said, ‘That’s all fixed. I’ll have the word passed round the docks that you’re friends of mine. Your boat’s safe enough, as safe as though it lay in your own yard.’

      I believed him. I could believe he had a lot of pull in a place like Tangier.

      ‘Let’s go ashore,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry.’

      ‘So am I,’ said Coertze.

      ‘It’ll be a relief not to do any more cooking for a while, won’t it?’ I said.

      ‘Man,’ said Coertze, ‘I wouldn’t mind if I never saw a frypan again.’

      ‘That’s a pity,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I was looking forward to you making me some koeksusters; I always liked South African grub.’ He roared with laughter and slapped Coertze on the back.

      Metcalfe had a big apartment on the Avenida de España, and he gave me a room to myself while Coertze and Walker shared a room. He stayed and chatted while I unpacked my bag.

      ‘South Africa too quiet for you?’ he asked.

      I went into my carefully prepared standard talk on the reasons I had left. I had no reason to trust Metcalfe more than anyone else – probably less – judging by the kind of man he was. I don’t know whether he believed me or not, but he agreed that there was scope in the Mediterranean for a good boatyard.

      ‘You may not get as many commissions to build,’ he said. ‘But there certainly is room for a good servicing and maintenance yard. I’d go east, towards Greece, if I were you. The yards in the islands cater mostly for the local fishermen; there’s room for someone who understands yachts and yachtsmen.’

      ‘What have you got a boat for?’ I asked banteringly. ‘Hiring it out for charter cruises?’

      He grinned. ‘Aw, you know me. I carry all sorts of cargoes; anything except narcotics.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’m a bad bastard, I know, but I draw the line at drugs. Anything else I’m game for.’

      ‘Including guns to Algeria,’ I hazarded.

      He laughed. ‘The French in Algiers hate my guts – they tried to do me down a couple of months ago. I’d unloaded a cargo into some fishing boats and then I ran into Algiers to refuel. I was clean, see! they couldn’t touch me – my papers were in order and everything.’

      ‘I let the crew go ashore for a drink and I turned in and had a zizz. Then something woke me up – I heard a thump and then a queer noise that seemed to come from underneath the boat. So I got up and had a look around. When I got on deck I saw a boat pulling away and there seemed to be a man in the water, swimming alongside it.’

      He grinned. ‘Well, I’m a careful and cautious man, so I got my snorkel and my swim-fins and went over the side to have a look-see. What do you think those French Security bastards had done to me?’

      I shook my head. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

      ‘They’d put a limpet mine on my stern gear. They must have reckoned that if they couldn’t nail me down legally they’d do it illegally. If that thing went off it would blow the bottom out of my stern. Well, I got it off the boat and did a bit of heavy thinking. I knew they wouldn’t have timed it to blow up in harbour – it wouldn’t have looked nice – so I reckoned it was set to blow after I left.

      ‘I slung it round my neck by the cord and swam across the harbour to where the police patrol boat was lying and stuck it under their stern. Let them have the trouble of buying a new boat.

      ‘Next day we left early as planned and, as we moved out, I heard the police boat revving up. They followed us a long way while I was taking it nice and easy, cruising at about ten knots so they wouldn’t lose me. They hung on to my tail for about thirty miles, waiting for the bang and laughing to themselves fit to bust, I suppose. But they didn’t laugh when the bang came and blew the arse off their own boat.

      ‘I turned and picked them up. It was all good clean fun – no one was hurt. When I’d got them out of the water I took them back to Algiers – the noble rescuer. You ought to have seen the faces of the Security boys when I pitched up. Of course, they had to go through the motions of thanking me for rescuing those lousy, shipwrecked mariners. I kept a straight face and said I thought it must have been one of the antisubmarine depth charges in the stern that had СКАЧАТЬ