savage, his intentions blazed in his dark eyes as he lifted the canvas bag and poised himself to deliver a blow at Benedict’s head, but he had not reckoned with the extraordinary reflexes of the natural athlete he was facing.
As Sergio launched the blow, Benedict rolled his shoulders and head away from it, lifting the butt of the shotgun as a guard.
Sergio’s wrist struck the seasoned walnut, and he grunted with the pain. His fingers opened nervelessly and the canvas bag flew from his grip, glanced off Benedict’s temple and flew on down the deck, sliding to stop against one of the compressed air tanks thirty feet away.
Benedict danced back, dropping the barrels of the shotgun until
Sergio looked into the muzzles.
“Hold it, you bastard, Benedict snarled at him. “You’ve made your choice. Now let’s see what your guts look like.” Sergio was hugging his injured wrist to his belly, crouching over it. Benedict was backing away to where the bag lay against the tank. His face was flushed and hectic with anger, but he kept darting side glances at the canvas bag.
At that moment Kingfisher took another wave over her bows, and the water came swooshin down the deck, picking up the bag and washing it towards the scuppers.
“Look out!” Sergio shouted. “The bag! It’s going.” Benedict lunged for it, sprawling full length. With his free hand he grabbed the sodden canvas as it was disappearing over the side. But he was thirty feet away from Sergio, and he still held the shotgun in his other fist. Sergio could not hope to reach him without getting both charges of buckshot in his belly.
Instead Sergio spun round and sprinted back along the deck towards the bridge.
Benedict was on his knees frantically stuffing the bag of diamonds into the side pocket of his jacket and shouting after Sergio.
“Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!”
“ Sergio did not look back nor check his run, and Benedict had the bag in his pocket and now both hands were free.
He lifted the shotgun, and tried to balance himself against
Kingfisher’s wallowing motion as he aimed.
At the shot, Sergio stumbled slightly but kept on running. He reached the ladder and went up it.
Again Benedict aimed, and the shotgun clapped dully in the wind.
This time a spasm of pain shuddered through Sergio’s big body, and he froze on the ladder.
Benedict fumbled in his pocket for fresh shells, but before he could reload Sergio had begun climbing again. Benedict broke the gun and thrust the shells into the breech. He snapped the gun closed and looked up just as Sergio disappeared through the storm doors - and the two shots that Benedict loosed after him merely pockmarked the paintwork and starred the glass of the wheelhouse.
The stupid bastard.” Hugo watched from the wheelhouse of Wild
Goose. “He’s gone berserk.” Hugo had heard the explosion and seen the shooting.
“Fifteen years is enough - but not the rope as well.” He swung the wheel and Wild Goose sheered in towards Kingfisher’s side. Peering through the spray and salt, smattered windows, he saw Benedict drag himself to his feet and start after Sergio along the deck.
Hugo snatched the electric loudhailer from its bracket and pulled open the side window of the wheelhouse, holding the hailer to his lips.
“Hey! You stupid bastard, have you gone mad? What the hell you doing?” Benedict glanced down at the trawler, then ignored it to give all his attention to reloading the gun. He kept going back along the deck, following Sergio to finish him off.
“You’ll get us all strung up, you fool,” Hugo called through the loudhailer. “Leave him. Let’s get out of here.” Benedict kept scrambling and slipping towards Kingfisher’s bridge.
“I’m leaving - now! Do you hear me? You can stew in your own pot. I’m getting out.” Benedict checked and looked down at the trawler. He shouted and pointed at the bridge. Hugo caught one word:
“Diamonds.”
“All right, friend! Do what you like - I’ll see you around,” Hugo hailed, and hit the trawler’s throttle wide open. The roar of the diesels and the churning of her propeller convinced
Benedict.
“Hugo! Wait! Wait for me, I’m coming.” He scampered back to the ladder and started down it.
Hugo throttled back and brought Wild Goose in neatly under the ladder.
Jump!” he shouted through the hailer, and obediently Benedict jumped to hit the foredeck heavily. The shotgun flew from his hands to fall into the water alongside. Benedict cast one longing glance after the gun, then crawled to his feet and limped back to the wheelhouse.
Already Wild Goose was plunging away into the wind, but as
Benedict entered the wheelhouse Hugo turned on him with his pink albino face set in a snarl of rage.
“What the hell have you done, you bastard? You lied to me. What was that explosion?”
“Explosion - I don’t know. What explosion?” Hugo hit him a stinging open-handed blow across the cheek.
“We agreed no killing - and you put us all on the spot.” Hugo’s attention was focused completely on Benedict who had backed into the furthest corner of the wheelhouse. He massaged the dark red finger marks that stained his cheek.
“You set scuttling charges in Kingfisher - didn’t you, you dirty son of a bitch. God, I hate to think what you’ve done with Lance and the girl.” Outside the storm was nearing its climax. A rain squall swept down on Wild Goose - a sure sign that the wind must soon drop.
Automatically Hugo switched on the rotating wipers to clear the rain from the screen, as he continued to harangue Benedict.
“I saw you trying to murder the Italian. Christ! What for?
He’s one of us! Am I next on Your list?”
“He had the diamonds,” mumbled Benedict. “I was trying to get them from him.” And Hugo’s expression changed; he turned away from the wheel and stared at
Benedict.
“You haven’t got the diamonds? Is that what you’re saying?” His tone was almost hurt.
“I tried - he wouldn’t-” And Hugo left the wheel and was across the wheelhouse like a white leopard. He grabbed the front of
Benedict’s coat, and screamed into his face.
“You left the diamonds! You stick my head in a noose and I get nothing out of it.” He was trembling with rage and his pale eyes bulged from their sockets.
Looking into those eyes Benedict realized his own danger. In the time it had taken him to leave Kingfisher’s deck and reach the wheelhouse of the trawler he had decided to let Hugo think that Sergio still had the diamonds. Squeamish as Hugo appeared to be about drowning Johnny and Tracey, despite his repeated demands for
“No killing’, Benedict knew intuitively that Hugo had no intention of splitting a million pounds” worth of diamonds with him.
Once Hugo was certain that Benedict had the stones on board, Benedict knew there was no chance that he would reach South America alive.
The crossing might take weeks, the crew of the trawler were in
Hugo’s pay and loyal only to him. Benedict must sleep, and they would take him in the night.
On the other hand, of course, Benedict had no intention of splitting a million pounds” worth of diamonds with Hugo Kramer. He let his voice whine as he cringed in Hugo’s grip.
“I tried. Sergio had them. He wouldn’t - that’s why I shot him.”
Hugo drew back his hand to slap Benedict again.
Benedict twisted slightly, and drove his knee into Hugo’s crutch, sending him staggering back across the wheelhouse, clutching himself between the legs and whimpering with the pain.
“Right, Kramer,” Benedict spoke softly. “That’s a little lesson for you. Behave yourself, and you’ll get your fifty grand on the other side of the Atlantic.” They stared at each other. Hugo Kramer weak and pale with agony, Benedict standing tall and arrogant again.
