Die Rich Die Happy

Her father had something to sell, something which, so he understood, all the Franks would wish to buy. He had also, in his country, an English adviser who had seen this thing and told her father how valuable it was. And yet, Craig thought, whatever the thing was, she hated and feared it. She had been chosen to negotiate the sale, because her brothers could not be spared, and in any case buying and selling were not a man's business.

'What is this thing?' asked Craig.

She said at once: 'I'm awfully sorry. I promised my father I wouldn't tell anybody—anybody except the purchasers, I mean.'

'And why are you coming into Europe like a thief?'

She flushed then, and her skin darkened to copper.

'My father lives in the old way,' she said. 'It isn't as if he had a country. The Haram is his—his private estate. I mean we don't have passports or Customs or anything like that. It would be jolly difficult for me trying to travel without a passport. Anyway that's what Bernard says.'

'Bernard?'

'The Englishman.'

'Bernard who?'

'I'm awfully sorry. I'm afraid I can't tell you.' 'You promised your father?' 'No. It was Bernard actually.' 'Go on,' said Craig.

Bernard had arranged everything. She had traveled by horseback, jeep, and helicopter, a winding secret journey across Asia Minor, ending at last in the Lebanon, and her first sight of the sea. She had gone aboard a big ship then— so big that she could find no way of conveying any idea of its size—and from there she had transferred to the cabin cruiser. It was the first time in her life that she had traveled in, or even seen, a jeep, a car or a helicopter, and the second that she had worn Western clothes.

'The men on the ship—what nationality were they?' asked Craig.

'They were Franks of course.'

'But what land—English?'

'Oh no. I didn't know their language. They spoke to me in Arabic.'

'And who paid them?'

'Bernard took care of everything. Of course my father paid.'

'Of course. And where were you going next?'

'Menos,' the girl said. The old bastard was supposed to take us there.'

Craig noted that sometimes Bernard's English slipped. 'And you'd be met?'

She nodded.

'Who by?' She shrugged. Her silence was grave and beautiful.

'You would have to pay, of course.' 'Bernard arranged that,' said the girl. 'And anyway—'

'You have money with you,' said Craig. She sat very still.

'I won't take it,' Craig said, and spoke rapidly in Greek to Serafin, who accepted it all as a matter of course. His son Craig always made things happen.

'Do we go to Menos?' he asked.

Craig shrugged. 'Maybe.'

He lowered a bucket over the side and threw water on the man with the gun. As he choked and gulped, Craig said to the girl: 'You will be silent.' He spoke in Arabic, and his voice was harsh.

'But these men are my servants,' said the girl. 'I cannot permit you to harm them.'

'They harmed me,' said Craig, 'and you have no choice.'

The gunman tried to sit up, struggling with the ropes that bound him, not knowing what they were.

Slowly, in Greek, Craig said: 'Your name?'

The man was silent, and Craig picked up the knife and let it move slowly, slowly to the man's throat, let it rest on the skin, a touch feather-soft, the merest hint of what a movement of his wrist could do.

'Gruber,' said the gunman. 'Heinrich Gruber.'

'German?' asked Craig, and the gunman whispered,

'Yes.'

Behind him, Craig heard Serafin sigh softly. He spoke quickly in German.

'The old man hates Germans. Your friend hit him. He's a very proud old man. He remembers what the Germans did in Andraki during the war—'

'I wasn't in the Wehrmacht,' the gunman said. 'I was thirteen when the war ended.'

'Tell Serafin that,' said Craig. 'He won't listen.'

He bent and hauled him up so that Gruber faced the old man. Serafin's face was iron-hard, pitiless; the old hands on the wheel like claws.

'Where were you taking the girl?'

'Menos,' said the German. 'We were to take her to the harbor—' 'Go on.'

'We'd be met there.' 'Who by?'

The gunman was silent, and Craig let the weight of the knife rest on his throat.

'I will count three,' he said, 'then I'll give you to the old man.'

'An Englishman,' said the German. 'Mr. Dyton-Blease. A big man, a very big man. He owns the island. He will come up to us in the Cafe Aphrodite and ask us to drink wine. We say we prefer cognac and he brings out a bottle from his pocket. Courvoisier.'

'And the girl?'

'I don't know anything about her. All we had to do was to hand her over.'

'Two of you? He's expecting two?'

Gruber shrugged. 'One of us watches the other. In our business—'

'Wine and then brandy,' said Craig. 'And he offers—'

'Courvoisier. His own bottle.'

'Dummkopf!'

The word was like a scream, and Craig turned to look at the knifeman.

'Another German?' he asked. There was a silence.

'I owe you something,' said Craig, and touched his

side.

Serafin said: 'Take the wheel my son.'

Craig said: 'He wants me to take the wheel. If I do the old man will hurt you. Hurting Germans is something he knows all about.'

'Bauer,' said the man. 'Franz Bauer—from Germany. Yes. All right. A messenger, that's all. We deliver parcels.'

'You know a man called Bernard?'

'No.'

'A man called Dvton-Blease?' 'No.'

Each 'nein' came out as if Bauer already felt pain. 'We don't want to know. All we do is deliver—and we're paid. You'll be paid too. I promise.' 'How much?'

'Five hundred pounds, British currency.' 'You have it with you?'

'In my pocket,' said Bauer, and it was true. Five hundred pounds, a packet of Chesterfields and a lighter. Nothing else. No tabs on the clothes, no other currency, no letters, no papers. Just five hundred pounds.

Craig put it in the tin box and went aft to Serafin.

'Let's have a look at the chart,' he said. 'We'll make for Menos.'

'What about the two Germans?'

Craig said, 'We'll find some of your people on the way. They can take them to Andraki.'

Serafin said, 'It's a pity you let the German cut you. If you sleep with the girl you'll start to bleed again. She looks good to sleep with.' Craig grunted and opened out the chart to the dim chart lamp, working out the course.

'Two points to starboard,' he said, 'and steer small.'

'Very good, I should think,' said Serafin, and took the new course.