'Yeah, I know. And so do the police. I assume you two got wind of the scheme just at its completion and stepped in to take delivery of the boat from Danny Murdock, right? The fact that the boat owner's wife was one of the parties claiming the vessel no doubt convinced Murdock that Kincaid hadn't been betrayed.'
'You've got it, almost exactly. Laura overheard a snatch of phone conversation between Walter and Murdock one afternoon as she went to his study to ask him about some bills. Before she knocked on his study door she heard his voice on the phone. The four words that stuck in her memory were: Why don't you tell Adams what they were, Laura?'
'Keep your mouth shut,' she replied.
'So you intercepted your husband's plan to disappear just at the right time. His own game plan insured your success.'
'That's true,' said the big man, 'but you must keep in mind what a thorough son of a bitch Walter Kincaid really was… and what ungodly hell he put us, and all his employees,. through.'
I sensed I had one hole card left. I had to play it exactly right or I'd cash in my chips-involuntarily-and wind up as crab bait at the bottom of that big, dark hole.
'Laura, I'm going on a long shot here, but I'm assuming that Walter didn't exactly leave you sitting pretty. Did he leave you the house? Is that all?'
She looked at me for almost ten seconds, the hate in her eyes growing all the time.
'Not even that. Just the furniture. The company got the house. Can you believe it?'
'I can believe it, Laura. I can also believe your late husband was a pretty smart operator. Perhaps he sensed your hatred, your infidelity?'
'Infidelity!'
She brought the butt of the rifle around sharply into my jaw. Had it been solid wood it would have done real damage. As it was the nylon stock threw my head back and made the right side of my. jaw ache. It wasn't that bad. I knew I was in for much worse.
'Listen to me now,' I said. 'I happen to know that your crackpot husband struck it rich, big. He finally found that treasure trove he'd devoted his life to. I intercepted mail to an elite commodities trader that proves it. I know where the treasure is. You don't. I don't know how much you're expecting to make off these hauls, Schilling, but I can promise you it won't even touch what the late Walter Kincaid has laid up in his secret hidey-hole.'
'Oh bullshit,' said Schilling.
'No. He was headed for the Bahamas. You knew that of course, didn't you?'
'No. How did you find that out?' he asked.
'Kincaid had a post office box in Boston under the name Wallace Kinchloe-the same name he used for the Penelope's papers. I got access to the box through the police. He had bought a condominium on St. Thomas for three hundred thousand, and had also arranged for the deposit of a large quantity of gold bullion-tax-free-on the island of Grand Cayman. Kincaid was not only going to lose himself, he was going in style.'
'And where's the gold now?'
I stayed quiet. Schilling looked over at John.
'Now Adams, see that fellow who escorted you in here? He's a former member of the Provisional Wing of the IRA. He betrayed them, and now has their death sentence on his head. He knows a good deal about interrogation, don't you, John?'
The stocky man with the blue watery eyes nodded quickly. His expression didn't change.
'He knows things like how to scrape your shinbone with a knife blade, and how to smash your knees and shoulders with a mechanic's hammer… don't you, John?'
I didn't like the sound of any of this. And I knew that once they had the information they needed I was done for. I looked at my watch again. It was ten to four. Pray to God DeGroot would awaken.
Laura Kincaid approached me. Her face and eyes showed absolutely no emotion.
'Where is it?' she asked. Her tone was polite, clipped.
'No,' I said, and that was all.
Then I felt my entire lower half go red with searing pain. Laura Kincaid drew her canvas-clad foot back again to deliver another full kick to my crotch, but I had crossed my legs. I bit through my tongue in the pain, and half rolled over. I watched the spit and blood run out of my mouth through clenched teeth. I think I was whining or screaming with my mouth shut. The yellow concrete floor rolled back and forth. I felt another kick in the small of my back, and my head sank down onto my arms.
'Where is it, you shit! Where is it!'
I felt another kick, and another… and another… and another.
Things went dark and swirly for a while, then I heard Schilling's voice right above my ear.
'I really think she'll kick you to death, you know, if you don't tell us.'
'Get away, you oaf. Let me handle it-'
'Laura, please-'
The last thing I remembered before passing out again was that Big Jim Schilling didn't call the shots. Tiny, pert, trim Laura Kincaid had him by the short hairs. I didn't blame Walter Kincaid for trying to lose himself one little bit. When I woke up they had propped me up against the crates. They commenced to get very nasty. What they did to me almost mined what little faith I have in the human race. I can't talk much about it, even now, because it makes me want to get a job in a munitions factory. John shot a grim and determined glance at me now and then, but did nothing more. It was only after I finally admitted that the gold-a fortune in bullion-lay sealed in the Rose's hull that they dragged me over to the edge of the pit. I was kneeling down in front of it. I couldn't see into. the empty blackness, but I heard the sloshing of water, the gurgle of slime and cold wet.
'Poor Doctor Adams, and such a handsome devil too. Your wife's going to miss you-'
And it was at that point that the horror and indignity of the situation hit me with full force. Until then I was immersed in fear or pain, or both. But now, I heard the words with an indescribable mixture of hatred and outrage. Outrage at what would happen to Mary and the boys.
'Hold on. It's not wise, I think, to do this now.'
It was John. He was standing next to me.
Then he began to move casually toward Laura. He moved in an awkward shuffle, but moved nonetheless. He had replaced the Walther in his coat. He approached Laura Kincaid, who had again picked up the Colt Armalite Commando. She cradled the short-version assault rifle in her arms rather clumsily now, tired from her exertion. Still there would be no arguing with the clip of high-velocity rounds she could send forth at the twitch of her finger.
'Nobody can hear it. I want him out.'
John was moving toward her. He shambled, but moved with a certain ominous stealth and deliberation that she picked up.
'Hey, did you search him?' asked Schilling.
John hesitated half a second, then shook his head. It was the half-second wait that did him in. I think he remembered that I'd had a gun before, and if he answered no and they found one on me, it was all over for him.
'Forgot. I thought Hartzos searched him.'
Schilling patted me down quickly and recovered the Buck folding hunter knife. It was long but trim; it was no wonder Hartzos hadn't seen a bulge in my hip pocket.
Laura Kincaid backed up two steps warily, eyeing John.
'Get back from him, Jim. Get back from both of them.'
'But I've got the knife-'
'Get back! John's not the kind to forget to search somebody they've found upstairs. What about it? Better speak up.'
'I have naw idea what you mean, mum-'
'Look. Jim and I have wondered about you for some time now. You disappear nights-'
'Just to go down the boozer, mum. Get a drop.'
'Now look. This is the last haul; by noon we'll be out of the country. Either you'll be with the rest of us aboard the Coquette, or else you'll be joining the nosy doctor here, swinging around the bottom with a bad case of the crabs.'
'Mrs. Kincaid, I dawn't-'
