The other three got on board, and Kemerinski went below and started the engine. The boat began to throb and Schaife shoved her nose off from the harbor wall.
Fenner said, “We’ll land on the village side and walk over. Maybe we’ll have to leave in a hurry.”
Kemerinski grunted. “This old tub ain’t too fast,” he said, nosing the boat carefully through the lights towards the open gulf.
Scalfoni came up and climbed into the cockpit. His greasy skin shone in the dim light. “I got the bombs,” he said. “Gee! I’m sure goin’ to get a kick when they go bang.”
Fenner took off his hat and scratched his head. “These other guys’ve got bombs too,” he said. “They threw one at me about an hour ago.”
Scalfoni’s jaw dropped. “Did it go off?” he asked.
Fenner looked at him and nodded. “Sure, it wrecked a house. I’m hoping you’ve made a good job with your home-made bangs. We might need them.”
Scalfoni said, “Jeeze!” and went away to have another look at his bag.
It didn’t take much longer than fifteen minutes before Fenner spotted distant lights. He pointed them out to Kemerinski, who nodded and said, “Black Caesar.”
Fenner stretched and climbed out of the cockpit. He walked over to the other three who were sitting on the foredeck, watching the lights. “Let’s get this right,” he said. “We’ve come here to put Carlos’s boats out of action. We’ve got to do this quick and with the least trouble. Scalfoni, you carry the bombs. Schaife and me will have the Thompsons, and Alex will cover us with his rod. Kemerinski will stay with the boat. Okay?”
They grunted.
As the boat ran into the small natural harbor, Schaife unslung the two Thompsons and passed one to Fenner. Scalfoni came up from the cabin, a black bag in his hand. “Don’t you guys crowd me,” he said. “These pineapples are touchy things.”
They all laughed.
Alex said, “Some guy’ll put a slug in that bag, sure thing. It’ll save you a burial, anyway.”
The boat swept in a half-circle, and came up to the side of the harbor wall as Kemerinski reached forward and cut the switch. The engine died with a little flurry.
Schaife, standing in the stern, jumped on to the wall and Alex tossed him the bowline. He held the boat steady until the others landed. Kemerinski handed up the bag of bombs tenderly to Scalfoni.
Fenner said, “Watch out. Soon as you hear the bombs, get the engine started. We might have to leave in a hurry.”
Kemerinski said, “Sure, that’ll be okay. Watch yourselves, you guys.”
They moved towards the village. The road leading from the harbor was rough and narrow. Big stones lay about and once Scalfoni tripped. The others swore at him uneasily.
“Careful, you punk,” Alex said; “watch how you walk.”
Scalfoni said, “I’m watchin’ okay. The way you’re goin’ on, you’d think these pills were dangerous. Maybe they won’t go off at all.”
Fenner said, “We’ll take the back streets. Two of you go first, and Scalfoni and I’ll follow you. We don’t want to attract attention.”
It was a hot night with a bright moon. Both Fenner and Schaife carried the Thompsons wrapped in a piece of sacking. They skirted the village and crossed the island through a series of small squares and dark alleys. The few fishermen they did meet glanced at them curiously, but could make out nothing except shadowy outlines.
After a steep climb they suddenly came to the sea again—sparkling several hundred feet below them.
Fenner said, “I guess this is it.”
Down the steep incline they could see a large wooden cabin, a long concrete jetty and six big motor-boats moored to rings set in the reinforced wall. Two lights gleamed through two windows of the cabin, and the door stood half open, sending a strip of light on the oily water.
They stood silently looking down. Fenner said, “Get the bombs out. Each of you take a couple. Scalfoni has the rest. We’ll attack the cabin first. When it looks safe enough tackle the boats. They’re all to be sunk.” .
Scalfoni opened the bag and took out two bombs. He handed them to Fenner. The bombs, were made of short sections of two-inch pipe. Fenner stood waiting until Scalfoni had given each man a couple of the stuffed pipes, then he said, “Schaife and I will look after the cabin. You, Scalfoni, get down to the boats. Alex, stay here and come down if we get into trouble.”
Scalfoni opened his shirt and piled bombs inside.
“You have a fall now, an’ you’ll certainly be in a mess,” Fenner said with a little grin.
Scalfoni nodded, “Yeah,” he said, “it makes me nervous to breathe.”
Fenner held the two bombs in his left hand and the Thompson in his right. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”
Moving slowly, Schaife and Fenner began to slide down the incline. Fenner said, “You go to the right and I’ll take the left. I don’t want any shootin’ unless it’s necessary.”
Schaife’s thin face sneered. “It’ll be necessary all right,” he said.
Halfway down, they both paused. A man had come out of the cabin and he walked along the wall.
Fenner said, “That complicates things.”
The man stood on the wall, looking out to sea. Fenner began sliding down again. “Stay where you are for a bit,” he said softly to Schaife. “He might hear two of us.”
Down Fenner went silently. The man stood, his back turned, motionless. Fenner reached the waterfront and stood up. He put the two bombs inside his shirt. He was so conscious of the man that he didn’t shrink at the coldness of the metal against his skin. Holding the Thompson at the ready, he walked softly down the wall. When he was thirty feet from the man, his foot touched a small stone which rolled into the water, making a loud splash. Fenner froze. Standing quite still, his finger curled round the trigger.
The man glanced over his shoulder, saw Fenner and jerked round. Fenner said, “Hold the pose,” jerking up the Thompson.
In the moonlight, Fenner could see that the man was a Cuban. He could see the whites of his eyes as they bolted out of his head. The Cuban shivered a little with shock, then he dropped on his knees, his hand going inside his coat. Fenner swore at him softly and squeezed on the trigger. He gave him a very short burst from the gun. The Cuban fell back, his hands clutching at his chest; then he rolled over into the water.
Fenner moved fast. Two big drums of petrol stood close by and he ducked behind them. He got there a split second before a machine gun opened up from the cabin. He heard the slugs rattle on the drum, and a strong smell of petrol told him the drum was pierced.
The machine gun kept grinding and there was such a hail of bullets that Fenner had to lie flat, his face pressed into the sand, expecting any second to feel the ripping slugs tear into his body. He put his hand in his pocket and took out the two bombs. He balanced one of them in his hand, then tossed it over the drum in the direction of the cabin. He heard it strike something and then drop to the ground.
He thought, “So much for Scalfoni’s home brew.”
The machine-gun had stopped and the silence that followed its vicious clatter was almost painful. He edged his way to the side of the drum and peered round cautiously. The lights of the cabin had been put out and the door had been shut. He groped for the other bomb, found it and threw it at the door. Even as his hand came up the machine-gun spluttered into life, and he ducked back just in time.
The bomb hit the door and a sheet of flame lit up the darkness, followed by a deafening noise. Brick splinters and wood whizzed overhead, and the force of the concussion made Fenner’s head reel. He revised his opinion of Scalfoni’s bombs after that. The machine-gun stopped. Again looking around the drum, Fenner saw that the door had been ripped so that it hung on one hinge. The woodwork and paint was smoke-blackened, and splintered. Even as he looked, two more violent explosions occurred front the back of the cabin. He guessed Schaife was doing his stuff.
Resting the Thompson on the top of the drum, he fired a long burst into the cabin and ducked down again. Someone replied from the wrecked cabin with a straggly burst from the machine gun and then Fenner gave him half the drum. After that there was a long lull.
Glancing up, Fenner could just make out Scalfoni crawling down the slope, clutching his chest with one hand. He looked very much exposed as he moved on down, but Fenner could imagine his triumphant grin. He must have been spotted coming down, because someone started firing at him with an automatic rifle. Scalfoni didn’t lose his
