turned to where bullen was standing, his gun still trained on the other
nurse. “Is that character armed, sir?”
“We’ll soon find out,” bullen said grimly. “You carrying a gun, my
friend?”
the “nurse” swore at him, two words in basic anglosaxon, in a low,
snarling voice. Bullen gave him no warning; he swept up the colt and
struck the barrel heavily across the man’s face and temple. He
staggered and swayed, out on his feet. I caught him, held him with one
hand, while with the other I ripped the dress down the front, pulled out
a snub-nosed automatic from a felt holster under the left arm, then let
him go. He swayed some more, collapsed on the settee, then rolled to
the floor.
“Is’s all this necessary?” beresford’s voice was still hoarse and
strained.
“Stand back, everyone,” bullen said authoritatively. “Keep well
over to the windows and clear of these two men, our two carreras
friends. They are highly dangerous and might try to jump in among you
for cover. Macdonald, that was splendidly done. But next time shoot to
kill. That’s an order. I accept full responsibility. Dr. Marston,
bring the necessary equipment, please, and attend to carreras’ hand.”
he waited till marston had left, then turned to beresford with a wry
smile. “Sorry to ruin your party, mr. beresford. And all this, I
assure you, is highly necessary.”
“But-but the violence, the-the killing “they murdered three of my
men in twenty-four hours.”
“They what?”
“Benson, brownell, and fourth officer dexter. Murdered them.
Brownell was strangled; benson was strangled or shot; dexter’s lying
dead in the wireless office with three bullets in his stomach, and god
knows how many more men would have died if chief officer carter hadn’t
got on to them.”
I looked round the white, strained, still unbelieving faces; there
was no real understanding yet of what the captain was saying; the shock,
the fear, the near hysteria left no room for thought in their minds. Of
them all, I had to admit that old beresford had taken it best, to adjust
himself to what must have been the incredible spectacle of seeing fellow
passengers suddenly gunned down by officers of the campari, to fight his
way out of this fog of crazy bewilderment. “But I mean, captain, what
part can an old cripple like mr. cerdan have in all this?”
“According to mr. carter, cerdan isn’t old at all-he’s just made up
to look old. And also, according to mr. carter, if cerdan is a cripple,
paralysed from the waist down as he is supposed to be, then you’re going
to witness a modern miracle of healing just as soon as he recovers
consciousness. For all we know, cerdan is very probably the leader of
this bunch of murderers. We don’t know.”
“But what in god’s name is behind it all?” beresford demanded.
“That’s just what we are about to find out,” bullen said tightly.
He glanced at carreras, father and son. “Come here, you two.”
they came, macdonald and tommy wilson following. Carreras senior
had a handkerchief wrapped round his shattered hand, trying, not very
successfully, to stem the flow of blood, and the eyes that caught mine
were wicked with hate; tony carreras, on the other hand, seemed calmly
unconcerned, even slightly amused. I made a mental note to keep a very
close eye indeed on tony carreras. He was too calm and relaxed by half.
they halted a few feet away. Bullen said, “mr. wilson?”
“Sir?”
“That sawn-off shotgun belonging to our late friend here. Pick it
up.”
wilson picked it up.
“Do you think you could use it? and don’t point the damned thing
at me,” he added hastily.
“I think so, sir.”
“Cerdan and the so-called nurse. A sharp eye on them.
if they come to and try anything…” bullen left the sentence
unfinished. “Mr. carter, carreras and his son may be armed.”
“Yes, sir.” I moved round behind tony carreras, careful to keep
out of the line of fire of both bullen and macdonald, caught his jacket
by the collar, and jerked it savagely down over shoulders and arms till
it reached the level of his elbows.
“You seem to have done this sort of thing before, mr. carter,” tony
carreras said easily. He was a cool customer all right, too damned cool
for my liking. “Television,” I explained. He was carrying a gun under
the left shoulder. He was wearing a specially made shirt with a couple
of hemmed slits front and back on the left-hand side so that the chest
strap for the holster was concealed under the shirt. Tony carreras was
very thorough in his preparations.
I went over his clothes, but he’d only the one gun. I went through
the same routine with miguel carreras, who wasn’t anywhere near as
affable as his son, but maybe his hand was hurting him. He wasn’t
carrying any gun. And maybe that made miguel carreras the boss: maybe
he didn’t have to carry any gun; maybe he was in a position to order
other people to do his killing for him.
“Thank you,” captain bullen said. “Mr. carreras, we will be in
nassau in a few hours’ time. The police will be aboard by midnight. Do
you wish to make a statement now or would you rather make it to the
police?”
“My hand is broken.” miguel carreras’ voice was a harsh whisper.
“The forefinger is smashed; it will have to be amputated. Someone is
going to pay for this.”
“I take it that is your answer,” bullen said calmly. “Very well.
Bo’sun, four heaving lines, if you please. I want those men trussed
like turkeys.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” the bo’sun took one step forward, then stood
stock-still. Through the open doorway had come a flat staccato burst of
sound-the unmistakable chattering of a machine gun. It seemed to come
from almost directly above, from the bridge. And then all the lights
went out.
I think I was the first person to move. I think I was the only
person to move. I took a long step forward, hooked my left arm round
tony carreras’ neck, rammed the colt into the small of his back, and
said softly, “don’t even think of trying anything, carreras.” and then
there was silence again. It seemed to go on and on and on, but it
probably didn’t last more than a few seconds altogether. A woman
screamed, a brief choking sound that died away into a moan, and then
there was silence once more, a silence that ended abruptly with a
violent crashing, splintering as heavy solid metallic objects, operating
in almost perfect unison, smashed in the plate-glass windows that gave
to the deck outside. At the same instant there came the sharp echoing
crash of metal against metal as the door was kicked wide open to smash
back against the bulkhead.
“Drop your guns, all of you,” miguel carreras called in a high
clear voice. “Drop them now! unless you want a massacre.”
the lights came on.
vaguely outlined against the four smashed windows of the drawing
room I could see the blurs of four indistinct heads and shoulders and
arms. The blurs I didn’t care about; it was what they held in their
arms that worried me-the wicked looking snouts and cylindrical magazines
of four submachine guns. A fifth man, dressed in jungle green and
wearing a green beret on his head, stood in the doorway, a similar
automatic carbine cradled in his hands.
I could see what carreras meant about dropping our guns.
it seemed an excellent idea to me; we had about as much chance as
the last ice cream at a children’s party. I was already starting to
loosen my grip on the gun when, incredulously, I saw captain bullen jerk
up his colt on the armed man in the doorway. It was criminal, suicidal
folly; either he was acting completely instinctively, without any
thought at all, or the bitter chagrin, the killing disappointment after
having thought that he had held all the cards in his hands, had been too
much for him. I might have known, I thought briefly and wildly, he’d
been far too calm and self-controlled, the safety valve screwed down on
the bursting boiler.
I tried to shout out a warning, but it was too late; it was far too
late. I shoved tony carreras violently aside and tried to reach bullen,
to strike down his gun hand, but I was still far too late, a lifetime
too late. The heavy colt was rearing and bucking in bullen’s hand, and
the man in the doorway, to whom the ridiculous idea of resistance must
have been the very last thought in his head, let the machine gun slide
slowly out of lifeless hands and toppled backwards out of sight.
the man outside the window nearest the door had his machine gun
lined up on the captain. Bullen, in that second, was the biggest fool