'Seventy so far,' he said.
'Huh?' the King said.
'It's B Day.'
'Goddam,' the King said. 'I'd forgotten all about it.'
'Just as well I didn't, ain't it? I'll butcher another ten in a few days. No need in feeding the males. There's five or six that're big enough!'
The King felt sick, but he said, 'All right. Ill tell Timsen.'
When Kurt had gone Peter Marlowe said, 'I don't think I'll come around for a day or so.'
'Huh?'
'I think it's better. We can't hide the wireless any more. We've decided, the three of us, to stay around the room.'
'You want to commit suicide? Get rid of the goddam thing if you figure you're spotted. Then if you're questioned — deny it.'
'We thought about that, but ours is the only wireless left — so we want to keep it going as long as we can. With a little luck we won't be caught.'
'You better look after number one, buddy.'
Peter Marlowe smiled. 'Yes, I know. That's why I'm not coming here for a while. Don't want to drag you into anything.'
'What're you going to do if Yoshima starts heading your way?'
'Make a run for it.'
'Run where, for God's sake?'
'Better that than just sit.'
Dino, the guard of the moment, stuck his head through the doorway.
'Excuse me, but Timsen's heading this way.'
'Okay,' the King said. 'I'll see him.' He turned back to Peter Marlowe. 'It's your neck, Peter. My advice is dump it.'
'Wish we could, but we can't.'
The King knew that there was nothing he could do.
'Hi, cobber,' Timsen said as he came in, his face taut with anger, 'Heard you had a bad bit of luck, right?'
'I need a new set of watchdogs, that's for sure.'
'You and me both,' Timsen said furiously. 'The bushwhackers dumped your black box under my bloody hut. My hut!'
'What?'
'That's right. It's there, under my hut, clean as a whistle. Bloody bastards, that's the truth. No Aussie'd steal it and dump it under my hut. No sir. Got to be a Pommy or a Yank.'
'Like who?'
'I don't know. All I know is they weren't none of mine. You got my ruddy oath on that.'
'I'll believe you. But you can spread the word — there's a thousand bucks reward for the proof as to who hijacked my box.' The King reached under his pillow and deliberately pulled out the pile of notes that Cheng San had given him for the completion of the sale. He peeled off three hundred dollars and offered them to Timsen, who was staring wide-eyed at the vastness of the pile. 'I need some sugar and coffee and oil — maybe a coconut or two. You fix it?'
Timsen took the money, unable to tear his eyes from the remaining pile of notes. 'You completed the sale, right? My ruddy oath, never thought you'd do it. But you have, right?'
'Sure,' the King said nonchalantly. 'I got enough to last a month or two.'
'A bloody year, mate,' Timsen said, overwhelmed. He turned and walked slowly to the door, then looked back with a sudden laugh. 'A thousand, eh?
I'd say that'd produce results, right?'
'Yeah,' the King said. 'Just a question of time.'
Within the hour the news of the reward had spread the camp. Eyes began to watch with renewed interest. Ears were tuned to catch the whispers on the wind. Memories were searched and re-searched. It was only a question of time before the thousand would be claimed.
That night when the King walked the camp he felt, as never before, the hate and the envy and the strength of the eyes. It made him feel good and better than good, for he knew that they all knew he had a vast pile of notes where they had none — that he, of all of them, truly had it made.
Samson sought him out, and Brant — and many others — and though he sickened at their fawning, it pleased him enormously that for the first time they did it in public. He passed the MP hut, and even Grey, standing outside, merely returned his neat salute and did not call him in to be searched. The King smiled to himself, knowing that even Grey was thinking about the stack of notes and the reward. Nothing could touch the King now. The stack of notes were safety and life and power. And they were his alone.
