Night Over Water - Ken Follett [205]
Nancy was horrified. Why were they kidnapping Diana? She had a dreadful feeling she knew the answer.
Joe poked the barrel of the gun into Diana’s soft breast, prodding her hard, and she gasped with pain.
“Wait a minute,” Mervyn said.
They all looked at him.
“All right, I’ll fly you out of here, but there’s a condition.”
Vincini said: “Shut up and move. You can’t make no fuckin’ conditions.”
Mervyn spread his arms wide. “So shoot me,” he said.
Nancy let out a cry of fear. These were the kind of men who would shoot someone who dared them; didn’t Mervyn understand that?
There was a moment of silence, then Luther said: “What condition?”
Mervyn pointed at Diana. “She stays.”
Joe, the little man, gave Mervyn a killing look.
Vincini said: “We don’t need you, shithead. There’s a whole bunch of Pan American pilots up front—any one of them can fly that seaplane as well as you.”
“And any one of them will make the same condition,” Mervyn said. “Ask them—if you’ve got time.”
Nancy realized that the gangsters did not know there was another pilot in the Goose. Not that it made much difference.
Luther said to Joe: “Leave her behind.”
The little man went red with anger. “Hell, why—”
“Leave her behind!” Luther shouted. “I paid you to help me kidnap Hartmann, not rape women!”
Vincini intervened. “He’s right, Joe. You can pick up another cunt later.”
“Okay, okay,” Joe said.
Diana began to cry with relief.
Vincini said: “We’re running out of time. Let’s get out of here!”
Nancy wondered whether she would ever see Mervyn again.
From outside came the sound of a Klaxon. The skipper of the launch was trying to get their attention.
The one they called Kid spoke up from the next room. “Holy shit, boss, look out the fuckin’ window!”
Harry Marks was knocked out when the Clipper splashed down. On the first bounce he fell headlong across the piled suitcases; then, just as he was getting to his hands and knees, the plane flopped into the sea and he was flung against the forward wall. He banged his head and was out cold.
When he came round, he wondered what the hell was going on.
He knew they had not arrived at Port Washington: they were only about two hours into a five-hour flight. This was an unscheduled stop, then; and it had seemed like an emergency splashdown.
He sat upright, feeling his injuries. Now he knew why planes had seat belts. His nose was bleeding, his head hurt like hell, and he was bruised just about everywhere; but nothing was actually broken. He wiped his nose with his handkerchief and considered himself lucky.
There were no windows in the baggage hold, of course, so he had no way of finding out what was going on. He sat still for a while and listened for clues. The engines were shut down, and there was a long period of quiet.
Then he heard a shot.
Firearms meant gangsters, and if there were gangsters on board they were probably after Frankie Gordino. More important, gunplay meant confusion and panic, and in those circumstances Harry might be able to get away.
He had to take a look outside.
He opened the door a crack. He saw no one.
He stepped out into the corridor and went forward to the door that led to the flight deck. He stood behind it, listening hard. He heard nothing.
Gently and silently, he eased the door open and peeped through.
The flight deck was deserted.
He stepped over the high threshold, treading softly, and went to the top of the staircase. He could hear men’s voices raised in argument, but he could not make out the words.
The cockpit hatch was open. Looking through it, he could see daylight in the bow compartment. He went closer and saw that the bow door was open.
He stood up and looked through the window, and saw a motor launch tied up to the nose of the aircraft. There was a man on deck in rubber boots and a cap.
Harry realized he could be very close to escape.
Here was a fast boat that could take him to a lonely spot on the coast. There appeared to be only one man on board. There had to be a way Harry could get rid of him and take the boat.
He heard a footstep