“No need. They got in this afternoon and tied up on the other side of the jetty. Moshe swam across and waited until they all went below for a meal or perhaps a conference. He boarded with a canister of Calsane and released it down the companionway. It’s a nerve gas that knocks you out for twelve hours. Only temporary, no ill effects afterwards.”
“As far as you know.”
Carter smiled. “Got to go. We’ll have words later.”
He went out and Dillon turned to Riley. The boat wasn’t moving very fast, obviously easing out through the small fleet of fishing boats. Riley poured another whiskey, looking hunted.
Dillon said, “So you don’t know who they are?”
“I swear on the Virgin, Sean. I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I want my money and I want out.”
“Really? And when do you go over the side with a bullet in the head?”
Riley looked shocked. “Why in the hell would they do that?”
“Because they don’t need you anymore. You’ve served your purpose. Christ, Dermot, are you thick or something? You heard Carter. You’re dealing with thoroughly ruthless people.” Dillon was actually feeling angry. “They not only stiffed Hakim and his two goons, they also killed the caretaker and his wife and the daughter. They simply don’t take prisoners, and I don’t care what they say, Calsane gas is still experimental and there’s a high chance of permanent brain damage.”
“Holy Mother of God!” Riley moaned.
“So who needs you, Dermot?”
“Sean, what do I do?”
“It’s staring you in the face. You’ve got my five thousand dollars operating money, you’ve got a passport. Over the side with you before we’re out of the harbor, but be quick about it.”
Riley seemed galvanized into action. “By Christ, and I will.” He hesitated. “I can’t take you with me, Sean, the handcuffs.”
“Oh, get on with it,” Dillon told him.
Riley opened the door at the top of the companionway cautiously and peered out. One of the men was on the prow. Carter and the one he had called Arnold were in the wheelhouse. The boat was edging forward, threading its way between the little ships of the fishing fleet. Riley dodged across the deck, went over the rail, hung there for a moment, then eased into the water. It was surprisingly warm and he swam under the stern of a fishing boat, turned and watched the lights of the boat move out of the harbor entrance.
“Good luck, Dillon, you’re going to need it,” he said softly, turned and swam to some steps, then hurried along the jetty. He had the money and the passport. Palermo next stop and a plane to Paris and from there to Ireland and safe amongst his own people again. He couldn’t get there fast enough.
As the boat moved out to sea, Carter went down the companionway and found Dillon still in place on the bench seat. He frowned. “Where’s Riley?”
“Long gone,” Dillon told him. “After hearing how you dealt with Hakim and company, it occurred to him that you might just find him as disposable.”
“Oh, you persuaded him? I’m surprised, Mr. Dillon, after the way he betrayed you.”
“Come off it, old son, he didn’t have much choice. I’d have done the same faced with that kind of prison sentence, and Dermot and I go back a long way.”
Carter called in English, “Arnold, get down here.”
He opened a drawer and found a leather case, removed a hypodermic, and filled it from a small bottle.
“What do I call you?” Dillon asked.
Carter smiled. “Why not? It’s Aaron, Mr. Dillon, and this is Arnold,” he added, as the other man entered. “Turn Mr. Dillon over, Arnold.”
Arnold did as he was told. Dillon felt a hard finger tap on the back of his right hand, then the needle.
“I hope this one isn’t as experimental as Calsane.”
“A derivative of Pethidine, but it lasts longer.”
“No sense in asking where we’re going?”
“None at all.” Aaron nodded to Arnold. “Take him to the cabin and lock him in.”
Dillon managed to make it along the corridor, was aware of the door being opened, the bunk bed, but after that, nothing.