‘Ya got ‘im!’ the captain yelled down. ‘Get ‘im close enough to the stern so we can knock the fucker out. It’s gonna take all three of us to get him aboard.’
The fish sounded one last time, leaping high from the water, his tail thrashing angrily. Then he dove deep. O’Hara kept the pressure on. The marlin’s beaked head appeared a few feet from the stern. The fight was gone out of him.
‘You did fine there, Sailor. What a beauty! Well,’ Falmouth said, ‘too bad’ — and he bent over and pulled an old, rusty machete free of the rail where it was sticking out, and he reared back and the blade whistled past O’Hara’s head and hit the stern with a chock. The line was cut. The marlin speared the surface one last time, snapped its head and plunged into the wake of the boat. It was gone.
The captain screamed, ‘What in hell are ye doin’? That was a goddamn three-hundred-pound marlin, yuh crazy bastard!’ Cap’n K. continued to rave from the bridge, screaming obscenities at the wind, the gulls, the sea, at everything.
Falmouth looked down at the stunned O’Hara, who had sagged back in the fighting chair and was shaking the pain from his arms. ‘Wouldn’t do, would it now, us coming into Freeport with a record marlin on board. There’d be pictures and God knows what all, right? That’s all the papers have to write about there.’
O’Hara nodded very slowly. ‘Tony,’ he said, ‘I’m beginning to believe you. Now, who’s going after Lavander?’
Falmouth leaned over and smiled proudly. ‘Why, Hinge, of course. He knows Lavander. Besides, it’s got to be Hinge. If they think I’m running, they’ll send Gazinsky or Lavanieux after me.’
‘Why not Daniov?’
‘Because, Sailor, he’s the runner.’
‘Mr Howe, please.’
‘Mr Charles Gordon Howe?’ the secretary asked.
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Howe is in conference and can’t be disturbed.’
‘Tell him O’Hara’s on the phone.’
‘I have explicit instructions not to disturb him,’ the secretary said sternly.
‘Just tell him it’s me, I’m sure he’ll take this call.’
There was a momentary pause, then an annoyed: ‘Just a moment, please.’
He was on hold for hardly a breath before he heard Howe’s crusty, laced-with-Irish brogue. ‘Where are you, Lieutenant?’
‘Down in the islands, but that’s not important. I need to do a little traveling. Is your Lear jet still available?’
‘Where d’you want it and when?’ Howe asked immediately. There was excitement in his voice.
‘As soon as possible. Fort Lauderdale airport.’
‘Can I assume we have a story, then?’
‘I’ll need a couple more days before I can commit for sure.’
‘You’re a cautious one, I’ll say that.’
‘It’s your money, Mr Howe.’
‘Fair enough. I assume you’ve met this Falmouth feller already.’
‘Yes.’
There was silence on the line as if Howe were waiting for O’Hara to go on. Finally the publisher said, ‘Well?’
‘I’m not ready to talk about it just yet. I can tell you I’ve paid him a hundred and twenty-five. He gets the rest if his information is good.’
‘I assume from what you’ve just said that you feel you’re on to something.’
‘I wouldn’t have parted company with all that money if I didn’t think he had something. Putting it all together may be a problem.’
‘I have the best libel lawyers in the business, Lieutenant. I want to be accurate, not cautious.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind. Usually it’s the other way around — the publisher tells me to be cautious.’
Howe chuckled. ‘My feelin’ about you, Lieutenant, is that if we have anything, it will be big.’
‘Thanks.’
A pause.
‘Are you in any danger, Lieutenant?’
