carbines, pistols, revolvers, and automatic weapons that had passed through his hands. He had learned its care and maintenance when he was seventeen years old, and he had not forgotten. Magazine, bolt, safety catch were all working well. The barrel, all the rifle parts were clean, bright, and slightly oiled, the way the manual said they should be. It seemed that Allen loved a weapon as much as he loved his cruiser.
Craig waited, knowing that this time it wouldn't be for long, while the Spanish navy flogged the sea with their searchlights, then came at them again. Craig snuggled down, the rifle steady against his shoulder. The leading pursuer came up from behind, and its searchlights pointed an accusing finger of light. He fired down its beam, and the light went out. Allen swung the cruiser as he had seen
Craig do, across the bows of the other boat. They made it with yards only to spare, but the other searchlight found them, two machine guns chattered, arid Allen watched in horror as lumps of varnished decking flew past his head. Craig fired again, but the cruiser veered too much and the light clung on to him, pitiless. He had to hit it with his next shot: his eyes would be blinded soon.
'Hold her steady,' he yelled to Allen, and worked the bolt of the Lee-Enfield. The cruiser settled down on the easy sea, and Craig fired again. Again the light went out; again there were no screams—and, he hoped to God, no casualties. An act of war wouldn't exactly fill Loomis with joy: a wounded Spaniard would drive him demented. Craig looked at Allen by the wheel, then took off the Lee-Enfield magazine. The smell of cordite increased, whipped past him by the cruiser's slipstream, as his fingers fumbled the bullets free and dropped them into his pocket. He took the wheel from Allen again, and held course for Gibraltar.
Allen said, 'They got bloody close.'
'Good radar,' said Craig.
'Think they'll find us again?'
Craig said nothing. There was no way of knowing. When he did know he would act. Until then, his whole being was concentrated on coaxing one extra knot—half a knot—out of the cruiser. As dawn came up they were doing twenty-eight and a half knots, and Allen was ashen. The sun grew brighter, kinder, and two miles away they could see their pursuers, hull down. Ahead of them lay Gibraltar. Craig reckoned that they could just about do it.
'Congratulations,' he said to Allen. 'We just defeated the armada again.'
Allen was looking at what two Vickers machine guns had done to his deck.
'This'll cost a fortune,' he said.
'Send us the bill,' said Craig.
Allen prowled past him, examining the damage, working his way back to the bows. Craig sighed. He was pathetic. Allen picked up the Lee-Enfield.
'I think you should pay me now,' he said. 'You've got the money.' Craig said nothing. 'Or, better still, take me over to Tangier.' Craig held his course, and above the engines' whine came the crisp smack of the bolt being worked. 'I mean it,' said Allen. The boat held course.
'Look,' Allen said, 'I'm desperate. Those Spanish bastards saw me. I can't go back to Marbella. I need money. You've got it. Damn it, man—all you really want is Calvet.'
Craig held his course.
'I'll kill you,' said Allen.
Craig said, 'The gun isn't loaded.' Allen laughed. 'Try it.' Allen squeezed the trigger.
'You see?' said Craig.
He risked a look at Allen then. He was sidling toward him, holding the Lee-Enfield by stock and barrel, a foolish, inefficient way to turn it into a club.
'You're stupid,' said Craig, 'but you're not that stupid. You start something now and I'll put you overboard.' Allen halted. 'That means you'll either drown or the Spanish navy will get you. Put that thing down.'
Allen let it fall, and it banged on to the deck.
'Now take the wheel,' said Craig, and again Allen obeyed.
Craig went down into the cabin. Calvet lay there, wriggling in a furious burst of energy to reach the ropes that tied his feet.
'It's too late,' said Craig.
Calvet froze, and rolled over to look at him. His eyes were brown, melancholy, Slavic, and they were bright with hate.
'You lost,' said Craig. 'You were bound to lose eventually. Now lie still. I don't want to hurt you again.' Calvet stayed rigid. 'You want a cigarette?' Calvet gave no sign that he had heard. Craig left him and went back up top, then risked a look round. Once more Calvet was trying to bend his legs and arch his back, to reach the knots that tied his feet. The Russian, Craig thought, had qualities that made him infinitely preferable to Allen, but he didn't like his taste in girls.
Allen was very close to tears when Craig took the wheel from him again. He could see the great streak of concrete now that flowed out to sea, the runway that opened up Gibraltar to the Viscounts and Vikings and the tourists on their way to Tangier and the Costa del Sol. And behind was the boredom of Gibraltar, the correct little bars and gloomy hotels, which the magic words 'duty-free' alone rendered habitable. And behind it all was the Rock, symbol of empire and insurance companies, and the wild yet formal gallantry of eighteenth-century sieges. Now all it held was the apes.
Craig eased back the throttle, and the revs diminished. A white naval patrol boat shot toward them, and a voice on the Tannoy yelled: 'Mr. Jameson?' Craig nodded vigorously, and the patrol boat shot ahead of them, piloted them past the liner in the bay, the long line of tramp steamers, into the inner harbor of launches, tugs, and motor- boats, to a quay between two moles patrolled by marine sentries. The patrol boat swung in, and Craig responded to a leading seaman's signal, stopped the starboard engine, revved up the port, and eased broadside up to the quay, while the leading hand hooked on and another sailor flung ropes to Allen, and they were tied up at last. Craig stopped the engines, and waited. A commander, R.N., and a surgeon commander left the patrol boat and dropped into the cruiser. The commander's eyes flicked from the rifle to the bullet-torn deck.
'You're a bit conspicuous, Mr. Jameson,' he said. 'Your people promised the admiral that you wouldn't be.'
'Sorry about the rifle,' said Craig. 'We thought we might have a pop at a dolphin. Unfortunately,' his eyes flicked to the damage on deck, 'it started to fire back.' He kicked the Lee-Enfield down the companionway out of sight.
'Where's my patient?' said the doctor.
Craig jerked his thumb toward the cabin.
'He's violent,' said Craig, and the commander, R.N., sighed and followed the doctor. Craig took out cigarettes and offered one to Allen. They smoked in silence, then Allen said: 'I'm sorry.'
Craig drew on his cigarette. If the doctor got a move on they could catch the morning plane, be in London by teatime. He might even have time for a bath, do something about his shoulder where Calvet had hit him. He knew how to hit. That was inevitable. The KGB Executive trained its members with absolute thoroughness.
Allen said: 'I was told I'd be paid when we finished the job.'
'Oh yeah,' said Craig. 'You want money.'
He took a check out of his pocket. It was already signed. He dated it.
'Five hundred for the job, five hundred for the boat. All right?'
'That's fine,' said Allen.
Craig wrote in words and figures. 'One thousand pounds,' and gave him the check.
Allen took it, folded it in three, and put it carefully in his wallet.
'I suppose I can cash it in Gib?' he said.
'Of course,' said Craig.
'That's fine then,' said Allen as he stood up and climbed onto the quay. 'I think I'll trot along now. Have some breakfast.'
'Do that,' said Craig.
'Then I thought I'd pop into the bank.'
'Good idea.'
'You don't mind if I leave you for a bit?' 'You're leaving us forever,' said Craig. 'We don't need you any more.'
