The Golden Keel. Desmond Bagley

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       TWO: COERTZE

      Air travel is wonderful. At noon the next day I was booking into a hotel in Johannesburg, a thousand miles from Cape Town.

      On the plane I had thought a lot about Coertze. I had made up my mind that if he didn’t bite then the whole thing was off – I couldn’t see myself relying on Walker. And I had to decide how to handle him – from Walker’s account he was a pretty tough character. I didn’t mind that; I could be tough myself when the occasion arose, but I didn’t want to antagonize him. He would probably be as suspicious as hell, and I’d need kid gloves.

      Then there was another thing – the financing of the expedition. I wanted to hang on to the boatyard as insurance in case this whole affair flopped, but I thought if I cut Harry Marshall in for a partnership in the yard, sold my house and my car and one or two other things, I might be able to raise about £25,000 – not too much for what I had in mind.

      But it all depended on Coertze. I smiled when I considered where he was working. He had a job in Central Smelting Plant which refined gold from all the mines on the Reef. More gold had probably passed through his hands in the last few years than all the Axis war-lords put together had buried throughout the world.

      It must have been tantalizing for him.

      I phoned the smelting plant in the afternoon. There was a pause before he came on the line. ‘Coertze,’ he said briefly.

      I came to the point. ‘My name’s Halloran,’ I said. ‘A mutual friend – Mr Walker of Cape Town – tells me you have been experiencing difficulty in arranging for the delivery of goods from Italy. I’m in the import-export business; I thought I might be able to help you.’

      A deep silence bored into my ear.

      I said, ‘My firm is fully equipped to do this sort of work. We never have much trouble with the Customs in cases like these.’

      It was like dropping a stone into a very deep well and listening for the splash.

      ‘Why don’t you come to see me,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to take up your time now; I’m sure you’re a busy man. Come at seven this evening and we’ll discuss your difficulties over dinner. I’m staying at the Regency – it’s in Berea, in …’

      ‘I know where it is,’ said Coertze. His voice was deep and harsh with a guttural Afrikaans accent.

      ‘Good; I’ll be expecting you,’ I said, and put down the phone.

      I was pleased with this first contact. Coertze was suspicious and properly so – he’d have been a fool not to be. But if he came to the hotel he’d be hooked, and all I had to do would be to jerk on the line and set the hook in firmly.

      I was pretty certain he’d come; human curiosity would see to that. If he didn’t come, then he wouldn’t be human – or he’d be superhuman.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ