The Innocent Bystanders

'Omar,' Craig interrupted, 'your family are all asleep, aren't they? And you're trying to wake them. But ask yourself one question first: Is it wise?'

'I don't understand,' said Omar.

'Then put it this way,' said Craig. 'If anybody else comes in, I'll blow your head off.'

Omar looked again into the Smith and Wesson's barrel.

'Do you believe me?'

'Yes,' said Omar. 'Jesus, yes.'

'Let's take care of your family,' said Craig.

Omar's son and his wife snored happily on top of a bed. Craig locked them in their room. Two old women snored happily in the kitchen. He locked them in too. In the guest bedroom he picked up the valise, his and Miriam's clothes. That left the money. Back in the coffeeshop, Omar disgorged it, reluctantly, from his person. It smelled a little more than it had done, but it was all there.

'You see?' Omar said. 'You got it all back. You don't have to shoot me, mister.'

'Maybe,' said Craig. 'How many boats have you got?'

'Three,' said Omar, then stopped, angry. 'I'm not all that rich, mister.'

'I don't want your money,' said Craig. 'I'm not even going to touch the money you got from the other two for helping them. I'm going to be nice to you, Omar.'

The old man looked wary.

'You take me for a cruise and I'll let you live. Isn't that nice of me?'

'Where d'you want to go, mister?'

'Cyprus,' said Craig. 'Now.' He raised the gun, tapped the old man's forehead with the barrel.

'Think about it,' he said. The old man sighed.

'You're the boss, mister,' he said.

'Remember that,' said Craig.

Before they left he drained the gas tank of the Fiat, tore out its wires, unscrewed its steering wheel. Royce and Benson needed the exercise, he thought, and Craig needed time. They walked down to the quay then, and Craig's luck held. The three old men had finished mending their nets. The place was deserted. They walked in pairs, Omar and Kaplan leading. Kaplan, still groggy from the beating and tying up, seemed the older of the two. Behind them Craig and Miriam, he with a hand in his coat pocket, she limping along, carrying the rifle wrapped in sacking.

Two of Omar's boats were out on charter, fishing, but the third, the pride of his fleet, lay tied up at the quayside. It was a big and beamy craft with a diesel engine and a lateen sail, very like the caiques Craig remembered from twenty years ago. He helped Omar cast off and made him go out under sail, moving easily before a following wind until they were out of the harbor. Only then would he let him fire the engine, and then they moved off at a steady, pop-popping six knots, watching the land diminish behind them from a toy village to a picture postcard to a gray smudge against the intense blue of the sea. At last, even the smudge disappeared, and Craig lay back, content. Omar heard the sigh, and risked speech.

'It's not good for a Turk in Cyprus, mister,' he said.

'It's not good for a Turk in Kutsk. Not when he robs me and nearly gets me killed,' said Craig.

He turned to Miriam and Kaplan, motioned them to the prow of the boat. From there Omar was clearly visible, but he couldn't hear them.

'Why Cyprus?' Miriam asked.

Craig said, 'I know a man there who'll help me.'

'All we have to do is find Force Three,' said Miriam.

'And how do you propose to do that?'

'They told me how.'

He saw the obstinate set of her mouth, and smiled.

'And you promised you wouldn't tell, is that it? All right. I don't want to know. To tell you the truth, I don't want to go near them.'

'But they'll help you,' she said.

'No,' said Craig. 'They'll help you, love. They'll give me back to a man called Loomis.'

'The one Royce said had condemned you to death?'

'That's right,' said Craig. 'But he can't, now that I've got him.' He looked at Kaplan appraisingly.

'You'd be amazed how popular you are,' he said. 'Everybody wants you—and I've got you.'

'That's not strictly true,' Miriam said. 'We've got him.'

'You forget so easily,' said Craig. 'Don't you remember when you told Royce and Benson we were all on the same side?'

'But you wouldn't hand him back to the Russians?' 'He's up for auction,' said Craig. 'Let's see what I'm bid.'

'But you've got no right to do this.'

Craig said, 'Force Three told you to use me. Right?' She nodded. 'And that's exactly what you did. But there's something you don't realize. When you use somebody— you get what that person has to offer, and nothing else. I can only do this my way, love. If I did it your way, I'd lose.'

'You used me too,' said the girl.

'We used each other. It was the only good thing in the whole business.' 'And now it's over?'

Craig shrugged. 'We can't make decisions any more. We're lumbered.' He nodded at Kaplan. 'With him. The solid-gold leg iron.'

Kaplan felt Craig's eyes on him and looked away. Craig spoke in Russian again, and he nodded.

'I've told him you're going to interrogate him,' said Craig. 'Come here.'

He led her to the side of the boat, away from Kaplan. Utterly weary, she went with him.

'Don't try to explain who you are,' he said. 'Just ask questions. He's the one who has to answer. Talk in English —and if you think he's lying, switch languages on him. Try him in Hebrew—or Yiddish. Br you still think he's lying, send for me.'

'Can't I even tell him about Marcus?' she asked, and he shook his head.

'Why not?'

'Because that would make him a person—give him an identity. At the moment he's nothing. So long as he stays nothing, we'll get the truth.' She wanted to argue, and he went on, 'Look. All he understands is fear. It's the only emotion that makes him react. Why do you think I speak Russian to him? For him, Russian's the language of fear.'

Suddenly Kaplan moved, scrambling toward the far side of the ship. Craig leaped from her and his hands grabbed for Kaplan as he went over the side, one gripping his shirt, the other holding his thick, white hair. Craig stood straddle-legged, and lifted Kaplan back aboard the boat as Kaplan screamed with pain. He released his grip on the shirt and tugged on the hair, lifting Kaplan to his toes, then the hand moved down, forcing him to his knees, and all the time he spoke to him in Russian. The fingers twisted, and Kaplan screamed again.

'You pig,' Craig said. 'You stupid, lying pig. Don't you ever learn? Don't you know you can't even die till we say so? You're still in Volochanka, Kaplan. You'll always be there.'

He pushed him sprawling, then picked up an end of rope, knotted his hands behind his back and tied the other end of the rope to the mast, then turned to Miriam.

'Ask your questions,' he said. 'He's ready.'

He went aft then, took the tiller, and sent Omar into the cabin to prepare a meal. Omar scuttled away and Craig lazed back against the strakes, giving his body ease and rest. He could hear the sound of Miriam's voice and Kaplan's responses, but not the words. It didn't matter. Miriam's interrogation was only a warm-up, anyway; the truth would come when he had Kaplan on shore, alone, when Royce and Benson were out of the way. He supposed that eventually he'd have to kill Royce. Maybe Benson too. But she'd let him escape; that made it harder to kill her. Why did she do it? Craig wondered. What was she trying to gain? He leaned forward and looked down into the cabin. Omar was old, but he was determined, and money acted on him as fear did on Kaplan. Omar had sliced bread and cheese and peeled fruit. The knife he had used was long and sharp, and he held it in his hand, looked at it with love.

'No,' said Craig.