Night Over Water - Ken Follett [90]
Luther recovered from the shock quickly. The stunned look left his face. He broke Eddie’s hold with a swift, powerful move and threw a punch. Eddie dodged it and hit him in the stomach twice. Luther expelled air like a cushion and doubled up. He was strong, but out of condition. Eddie grabbed him by the throat and started to squeeze.
Luther stared at him out of terrified eyes.
After a moment Eddie realized he was killing the man.
He eased his grip, then let go completely. Luther slumped against the wall, gasping for air, his hand on his bruised neck.
The Irish customs officer looked out of the shed. He must have heard the thump as Eddie threw Luther against the wall. “What happened?”
Luther stood upright with an effort. “I stumbled, but I’m okay,” he managed.
The customs man bent down and picked up Luther’s hat. He gave them a curious look as he handed it over, but he said no more and went back inside.
Eddie looked around. No one else had observed the scuffle. The passengers and crew had disappeared around the other side of the little railway station.
Luther put his hat on. In a hoarse voice he said: “If you mess this up we’ll both be killed as well as your damn wife, you imbecile.”
The reference to Carol-Ann maddened Eddie all over again, and he drew back his fist to hit Luther, but Luther raised a protective arm and said: “Calm down, will you? You won’t get her back that way! Don’t you understand that you need me?”
Eddie understood that perfectly well: he had simply lost his reason for a few moments. He took a step back and studied the man. Luther was well-spoken and expensively dressed. He had a bristly blond mustache and pale eyes full of hate. Eddie had no regrets about punching him. He had needed to hit something and Luther was an appropriate target. Now he said: “What do you want from me, you pile of shit?”
Luther put his hand inside his suit jacket. It crossed Eddie’s mind that there might be a gun in there, but Luther took out a postcard and handed it over.
Eddie looked at it. It was a picture of Bangor, Maine. “What the hell does this mean?”
Luther said: “Turn it over.”
On the other side was written:
44.70N, 67.OOW
“What are these numbers—map coordinates?” Eddie said.
“Yes. That’s where you have to bring the plane down.”
Eddie stared at him. “Bring the plane down?” he repeated stupidly.
“Yes.”
“That’s what you want from me—that’s what this is all about?”
“Bring the plane down right there.”
“But why?”
“Because you want your pretty wife back.”
“Where is this location?”
“Off the coast of Maine.”
People often assumed a seaplane could splash down anywhere, but in fact it needed very calm waters. For safety, Pan American would not allow a touchdown in waves more than three feet high. If the plane came down in a heavy sea, it would break up. Eddie said: “You can’t land a flying boat in the open sea—”
“We know that. This is a sheltered place.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Just check it out. You can come down there. I made sure of it.”
He sounded so confident that Eddie sensed he really had made sure. But there were other snags. “How am I supposed to bring the plane down? I’m not the captain.”
“I’ve looked into this very carefully. The captain could bring the plane down in theory, but what excuse would he have? You’re the engineer. You can make something go wrong.”
“You want me to crash the plane?”
“You’d better not—I’m going to be on board. Just have something go wrong so the captain is forced to make an unscheduled splashdown”—he touched the postcard with a manicured finger—“right there.”
The engineer could create a problem that would force the plane down, no doubt about that; but an emergency was difficult to control, and Eddie could not immediately see how to arrange an unscheduled splashdown at such a precise location. “It just ain’t that easy—”
“I know it’s not easy, Eddie. But I know it can be done. I checked.”
Who had he checked with? Who was he? “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Don’t ask.”
Eddie had started out threatening this man, but somehow the tables