hotels half hidden by the trees. Stepping closer to the railings, he looked down at the dock. Several porters and men in overalls stood around, sheltered by the roof of the railway terminal. A faint cloud of drizzle hung over the rail tracks in the light which came out under the roof. Two men appeared from a doorway and walked hurriedly to the end of the platform.
He thought about the lifeboats or storage, but they'd search them. The ship's engine droned up through his feet. Maybe the car decks, there might be a car open. Or a truck. They'd want to isolate him in a set-up like this. Dump the gun and brazen it out with the Canadian passport: the playwright… Trust in no one. Well, father, what would you do?
'Here come on. Is the job done?' he heard behind him. The older navvy stood at the door.
'In a while,' he managed to say. Turning around again, he noticed a movement behind the navvy. The navvy made to step aside and let the person pass. The tanned man called out:
'Come on over for a second, would you?'
The navvy stepped over the jamb, scratching the back of his neck. As he began walking, the tanned man realised he might not have the time to put the silencer on.
'I'm a bit groggy,' he said.
The navvy came over reluctantly. Whoever had been about to come out the door had not appeared.
With the navvy between him and the door, the tanned man turned back to looking at the town and reached into his jacket. He felt, rather than heard, the navvy's footsteps approaching him reluctantly across the deck.
'What's the story?' the navvy began.
The tanned man turned and brought the gun away from his chest.
'We're getting off the boat. Don't say anything, just listen to me.'
Quigley saw the older man freeze, with his arm out a little from his sides. He heard Gibbons breathing close to his ear. Quigley's finger pushed out at the trigger guard, the muzzle touching the side of his knee. His arm felt heavy as if the gun were hanging from it.
'He has a gun on him,' whispered Gibbons,
'He'll probably bring him down on the stairs outside as much as he can. There's no one on deck,' Quigley murmured. Quigley tried to guess the distance from the door to the railing. Probably the best part of fifty feet. The door opened out and there was a jamb to jump over too. The Yank was right-handed. Quigley watched the Yank's hand come down on the navvy's shoulder, the navvy's arms go up almost horizontal. Must be an instinct, to raise your hands like that, he thought. Anything could happen here. This was what they had feared, a hostage. For a second he remembered the stoicism on O'Rourke's face, well in control of the skepticism. Even in broad daylight you couldn't shoot accurately at fifty feet with only one chance. So: the Yank had copped on when he had walked into the bar. Quigley leaned back against the wall, flattening his back.
'Which deck is the ramp on again?'
'For passengers on and off, sir?' Gibbons asked. Quigley nodded.
'Two decks down. If he's going to try and get off the boat, he'll have to take at least one stairs inside the boat, sir. The deck right below us is the last one with a promenade outside…'
Would he jump to the dock? Quigley wondered. Fifteen… eighteen feet; bad light… hardly.
'Fuck it, fuck it!' Quigley hissed. 'Go down one deck you, Gibbons. Wait by the door there. That's where he'll make his move to come inside if he's really headed off the boat.'
'Right.'
'Now listen, man. I'm going to get behind him from here, so's I can take him at that door if I have any safe angle at all, I'll call out to him. You see him turn around, grab the oul lad he has with him. Through the door, if you can. By the hair if you have to. Just get him to the deck as fast as you can, I don't care. We'll have a clear take- down on the gunman if it works.'
'Lookit, you have the wrong man. Where's the cameras? Is this 'Kojak?'' the older navvy said.
'Shut up. Walk slowly. You'll know it's for real if I have to use it.'
The navvy turned and began walking slowly to the pier side of the boat. The tanned man stared at the door and then to the stairs ahead. Had he been mistaken?
When the navvy reached the stairs, he grasped the rail and stopped.
'Look, mister, it's none of my…'
The tanned man nudged him with the gun and stepped down after him.
'Slow down.' The navvy stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
'We have to go inside now,' the navvy said quietly. 'It's the only way off without breaking your neck. If me mates see me, what'm I going to say to them?'
'Tell them you're looking after me.'
The two men stood four steps from the door. The tanned man looked around and listened. He looked toward the stairs they had come down.
'The door opens out, so no funny stuff,' he said to the navvy. As the navvy grasped the handle, the tanned man hid his gunhand under the left side of his jacket. The navvy yanked the door open with ease and lifted his leg over the jamb. The smell of cigarettes and the opep-opep of a video game came through the door. And something else: the tanned man turned and looked back up the stairs. He knew instinctively that he had to hold out his hand to stay the closing door, but it would have to be his left hand. The sound from inside drowned out the voice from the top of the stairs.
Someone had knocked the navvy over inside. The heavy door had snapped almost shut. It was hissing slightly in the closing gap. The tanned man stepped back from the door and fired up the stairs. More shouting inside, the door clicking shut and the huge daanng as the bullet hit off a rail, whining off into the dark. The figure at the top of the stairs stayed flattened against the wall. The tanned man began backing away on his toes. A face appeared in a window next to him and reflexively he squeezed off a shot. The glass webbed instantly. Someone screamed. He watched the door where the navvy had been swallowed up. Overhead he heard footsteps running along the upper deck. Things were happening too fast, at least three men. Turning, he ran.
Quigley waved O'Rourke on toward the stairway forward of the ship. He heard O'Rourke's crepe soles squeak softly as he began running down the wet promenade. Quigley started down the stairway slowly. Three steps down he saw the two men at the doorway below. Quigley shouted as the navvy opened the door. The Yank turned toward the stairway as the door closed abruptly ahead of him. Quigley heard muffled shouting from indoors. He saw the flash as his back pressed into the plate which formed a wall section to the upper stairway. The second shot was from further away, Quigley guessed.
He eased himself down one step, then another and took aim at the doorway. Outside the door at the bottom of the stairway, the promenade deck was empty. Drizzle had gathered into droplets at the rims of the overhang, and they fell off slowly onto the railing beside him. Quigley strained to listen: the hush of sea, a breeze, drizzle. His arms were hurting. Images of passengers walking into a line of fire flashed on and off in his mind. He crouched near the railings, still pointing the gun at the doorway.
'Gibbons?' he called out, still pointing.
'Sir!'
'You got your man in?' he shouted.
'I have him here!' Gibbons shouted back.
'Where's the target?' Quigley didn't care that the edge of panic in his voice was quite plain now. He looked down the promenade. He thought he saw a flicker of movement, a shadow in the dimness beyond the lifeboats. Running? Gibbons' head appeared in the doorway. Quigley looked in at the navvy still sprawled on the floor, pale.
'Looks like he's headed for the stairs up ahead. Go inside, now and quick. O'Rourke's up there, maybe ahead of him, up above. Don't let the Yank inside!'
Quigley went forward in a crouch, his left hand on top of his right to keep the barrel down when he fired. He felt the beginnings of a cramp grasp the palm of his right hand. As he passed a window, a glance showed him some passengers on their knees, others running for doors from the lounge. The ship swayed very slightly from side to side. Faintly, a siren, two. Quigley swore aloud.
The tanned man stopped abruptly. Ahead of him was the other stairway descending from the deck above. It ran against him. A perfect spot to command entry to the doorway at the foot of the stairs. He strained to hear footsteps above him. Nothing. He looked behind. There was someone or something moving quickly around the
