Bloody Passage - Jack Higgins [43]
"I'm sure you'll think of something," I said. "Ten o'clock--and don't forget to let the customs authorities know we're here." I took the dinghy round and away, back toward Palmyra.
Everyone was in the saloon when I went down the companionway and Simone was pouring coffee. Nino and Angelo Carter seemed quite recovered and there was a reasonably cheerful atmosphere.
Barzini said, "He looks like a broken reed to me, that one. What do you think?"
"Langley put the fear of God into him," I said. "And I've just added a few coals to the fire. Let's hope it does the trick."
"And when do we have the dubious pleasure of his company again?" Langley inquired.
"Ten o'clock tomorrow," I said. "He's coming back with the truck to take me on a tour of inspection."
For once, there was no challenge in his voice. He was all business. "And who else?"
But I had already considered that question. "Angelo for one because he has to see the set-up at Zabia. One more, I think. You and Nino can argue about who."
He had a coin in his hand in a moment, nodded to Nino and tossed it. Nino called. Langley scooped up the coin with a grin. "All set then, old stick. You're stuck with me."
Which had a kind of inevitability about it, but I could worry about that later. "There's still one more chore to be done before knocking off for the night. I want those amphorae over the side."
"You expect visitors?" Barzini asked.
"I told Zingari to notify customs we're here when he gets back to Zabia. If they do turn up, I want the evidence that we're working away plain for all to see. First thing in the morning I'll go over the side and bring one back up in plain view of the beach. You or Nino can do the same later on in the morning when the rest of us are ashore. Go through the motions. Look busy."
The amphorae were in the forrard hold, great double-handled earthenware wine jars made to hold a good ten gallons each. Phoenician, Roman, Greek--they were found all over the eastern Mediterranean. The sort of thing which constantly came up in fishermen's nets, particularly when they were trawling.
We all went up on deck and got the hatch of the main hold open. Nino and Angelo dropped inside and passed each amphora up in turn. There were four all together and Langley and I manhandled them over the starboard rail.
There was a kind of hiatus afterward and I found myself alone in the prow, smoking a cigarette and looking toward the shore. There was music from the Bedouin camp beyond the olive grove, some sort of pipes and a drum, insistent, throbbing through the darkness.
Simone said, "There's always something new out of Africa, isn't that what the man said?"
"Something like that," I could smell woodsmoke on the air and it had stopped raining. I said, "What about a drink to celebrate?"
"Celebrate what?"
"The fact that you didn't tell Langley about the Stechkin."
She went very still. "What happened about the Uzi?"
"Now minus a vital portion of its firing pin."
"So you believe I'm on your side?"
I didn't answer, mainly because I didn't want to. For the moment there was no one else on deck, so I pulled in the dinghy and dropped over the rail. "Are you coming?"
I looked up at the face, pale in the subdued glow from the deck light. She said nothing, showed no emotion. Simply climbed over the rail and dropped down beside me. I started the motor and took the dinghy in toward the shore.
Izmir was open for business and welcomed us with delight for we were his only customers. He brought us a bottle of Verdicchio, nicely chilled by the waters of the cistern at the back of the house and put his wife to work cooking.
Due mainly to Italian influence, good, traditional Libyan cooking is hard to find these days and the tourist trade isn't helping, but she came up with some sort of fish soup that would have been hard to beat anywhere in the world and a superb dish of couscous.
It had stopped raining, the stars were out and a small, sad wind blew in from the sea and rattled the slats of the veranda blinds.
Simone said, "Can we go