“Shut up, Lionel.” Mitzi looked back at Max. “A few months ago, maybe more. January, I think.”
Max nodded his thanks, and she turned and wandered back to the bedroom. Lionel wasn’t done with him yet, though.
“You’re a bloody disgrace to your service!”
“Am I,
He saw a satisfying flicker of alarm in Lionel’s eyes. “I know about you and Mary Farrugia, and I’m guessing you also brushed with Loreta Saliba and Carmela Cassar.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. They’re all dead. Murdered.”
“Murdered?”
“Don’t worry. I know it wasn’t you.”
He turned and hobbled off down the stairs.
He had never given his service revolver much thought—he strapped it on each morning, removed it before bed—but now he felt naked without it. Finding a replacement wasn’t going to be easy at five o’clock in the morning. There was an obvious place to start, though. It was also on his route.
He was surprised to find the boys at the Bofors gun site near his flat already up and about. They were peering down over the bastion wall into the dark abyss of Grand Harbour. It was another half hour till sunrise, but way to the east, beyond the harbor mouth, the sky was already brightening.
“There!” said one of them, pointing.
It was just possible to make out the dark form of a ship sliding through the gloom toward them.
“It’s the
There were cheers and slaps on the back, and that’s when they noticed they had company.
“It’s only me,” said Max.
“You see that, sir, the
“Cigarette, sir?”
“Cup of tea, sir?”
“Foot rub, sir?”
The joker got his laugh. Max was in favor with the Manchester men since their heroics had been reported in the
“Just a quick word in private with Sergeant Deakin, if he’s around.”
“Right here, sir,” came a voice from the darkness.
Max led Deakin a little way off. “I don’t have time to explain. I need to borrow your gun.”
“My gun?”
“Your service revolver. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“You know I can’t, sir. It’s against regulations.”
“It’s a matter of life or death.”
“That’s the truth. The CO’d ’ave my guts for garters if he found out.”
“What if I took it off you by force?”
“You’re welcome to give it a go, sir, but if you don’t mind me saying, you’re not moving too good.”
“Okay,” said Max, “here it is. My friend, my best friend, is probably a German agent. He’s also planning to kill a girl I care very much about. For all I know, she’s dead already. So you see, I’m going to have to give it a go whatever.”
“Holy mackerel,” said Deakin softly. “Are you sure you’re all right in the head?”
“Never better. Actually, that’s a lie. But what I’ve just told you is the truth. You have my word on it.”
After a few moments, Deakin handed over his revolver.
“You’re a good man, Sergeant.”
“Yeah, well, just remember to bring that up at my court-martial.”
The road to the naval hospital at Bighi skirted Grand Harbour on its southern side, taking him through the Three Cities, right past the dockyards. He thought about stopping off and enlisting the support of the military police, but procedures would have to be followed, phone calls made, authority sought. Precious minutes, hours even, would tick by. Besides, the situation might call for the kind of behavior not exactly endorsed by the rule book. He had no problem with that, but officialdom would see things differently.
No, this was a personal matter now—or rather, it had been all along. Only his self-absorption had kept him from grasping that fact earlier. It had been right there in front of him, not just staring him in the face but prodding him in the chest, kicking him in the shins.
The notion that the coincidence had been anything more than just that—the capricious hands of chance at work—had never even occurred to him: a killer on the loose, a crew member from the
