And what about all those times Kane had brought currency into Dahrein for Skiros? Gonzalez hadn’t searched the boat once, obviously because he’d been fixed by Skiros and they hadn’t bothered to take Kane into their confidence.
They had arrived at the Customs Chiefs house. Kane pulled hard on the bell chain and waited. After a while, there was a movement on the other side of the door and Gonzalez peered out through the grill.
‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘I’d like a word with you,’ Kane told him. ‘It’s rather urgent.’
Grumbling, Gonzalez unchained the door. It opened slightly and Jamal kicked it back against the wall.
When Kane moved in through the gateway, Gonzalez was sprawled on the ground. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded angrily.
Kane hauled him to his feet and pulled him close. ‘Where’s Skiros?’
Something very like fear appeared in the Spaniard’s eyes, but he tried to bluster. ‘How should I know?’
Kane held him with one hand and turned to Jamal. He spoke clearly and distinctly in Arabic. ‘This dog knows where Miss Ferret is being held prisoner. Make him talk.’
The Somali’s great hands reached out and fastened around the Spaniard’s shoulders. A second later, he was bent over one mighty knee, back arched. He screamed once and Kane moved forward and nodded to Jamal.
As the Somali relaxed the pressure, Gonzalez stretched out a hand appealingly to Kane. ‘Tell this black devil to leave me alone.’
‘Not until you’ve told me what I want to know,’ Kane said harshly.
‘Skiros and the girl are on board Selim’s dhow, the Farah,’ Gonzalez said. ‘They sail with the dawn tide.’
Kane nodded to Jamal and the Somali dropped the Customs Chief to the ground where he lay, groaning with pain.
Kane hurried along the waterfront and turned on to the jetty. Several dhows were tied alongside, but there was no sign of the Farah. For a moment, he was filled with fear, and then Jamal touched him on the shoulder and pointed.
The Farah was anchored in the middle of the harbour. No other boats were moored in the vicinity, and moonlight carpeted the water with silver.
It would be impossible to approach in a boat without being seen, and they crouched low and worked their way towards the end of the jetty. Kane paused as he heard a slight sound.
He peered over the edge of the jetty and saw an Arab sitting in a dinghy, hidden in the shadows between two dhows. ‘Is that you, Sahib?’ the Arab called softly.
Kane realized that he had been mistaken for Muller. He started to climb down the iron ladder backwards and replied in a muffled tone, ‘Yes, reach out your hand to steady me.’
He half-turned and kicked the man in the stomach as he stood up. The man subsided into the bottom of the boat with a groan, and Kane dropped down beside him.
He quickly peeled off his shirt. He was busy with the laces of his desert boots when Jamal joined him. The Somali squatted beside him in the darkness and Kane quickly explained the plan. When he had finished, there was a worried frown on Jamal’s face, but he nodded reluctantly.
Kane stood up clad only in his khaki pants. He took the knife from the belt of the Arab sailor who lay in the bottom of the boat, pushed it into his waistband, and lowered himself into the water. He started to swim out into the harbour, using a powerful, but quiet, breast-stroke.
He felt naked and alone as he came from the shadows between the moored dhows and moved into the silver path of the moon. Luckily, a slight breeze was blowing in from the sea, lifting the surface of the water into tiny waves which helped to hide him.
As he approached the Farah, he could see the look-out standing in the bows, rifle slung from his shoulder. Kane swam quietly under the bowsprit and rested, hands firmly wrapped round the anchor rope.
After a moment, he started to climb, hand over hand. The look-out was standing on the other side of the deck looking towards the jetty. Kane climbed over the rail and moved on silent feet.