Bagley, Desmond - The Golden Keel Page 8

  We took our leave of Aristide, and when we got outside, I said furiously, "What made you do a stupid .thing like that?"

  "Like what?" asked Walker innocently.

  "You know very well what I mean. We agreed not to mention gold."

  "We've got to say something about it sometime," he said. "We can't sell gold to anyone without saying anything about it. I just thought it was a good time to find out something about it, to. test Aristide's attitude towards gold of unknown origin. I thought I worked up to it rather well."

  I had to give him credit for that. I said, "And another thing: let's have less of the silly ass routine. You nearly gave me a fit when you started to pull Aristide's leg about the ghosts. There are more important things at stake than fooling about."

  "I know," he said soberly. "I realised that when we were in the vault. I had forgotten what gold felt like."

  So it had hit him too. I calmed down and said, "O.K. But don't forget it. And for God's sake don't act the fool in front of Coertze. I have enough trouble keeping the peace as it is."

  IV

  When we met Coertze for lunch, I said, "We saw a hell of a lot of gold this morning."

  He straightened. "Where?"

  Walker said, "In a bloody big safe at Aristide's bank."

  "I thought . . ." Coertze began.

  "No harm done," I said. "It went very smoothly. We saw a lot of ingots. There are two standard sizes readily acceptable here in Tangier. One is 400 ounces, the other is one kilogram." Coertze frowned, and I said, "That's nearly two and a quarter pounds."

  He grunted and drank his Scotch. I said, "Walker and I have been discussing this and we think that Aristide will buy the gold under the counter, even after the gold market closes -- but we'll probably have to approach him before that so he can make his arrangements."

  "I think we should do it now," said Walker.

  I shook my head. "No! Aristide is a friend of Metcalfe; that's too much like asking a tiger to come to dinner. We mustn't tell him until we come back and then we'll have to take the chance."

  Walker was silent so I went on. "The point is that it's unlikely that Aristide will relish taking a four-ton lump of gold into stock, so we'll probably have to melt the keel down into ingots, anyway. In all probability Aristide will fiddle his stock sheets somehow so that he can account for the four extra tons, but it means that he must be told before the gold market closes -- which means that we must be back before April 19."

  Coertze said, "Not much time."

  I said, "I've worked out all the probable times for each stage of the operation and we have a month in hand. But there'll be snags and we'll need all of that. But that isn't what's worrying me now -- I've got other things on my mind."

  "Such as?"

  "Look. When -- and if -- we get the gold here and we start to melt it down, we're going to have a hell of a lot of ingots lying around. I don't want to dribble them to Aristide as g.k. 65 c they're cast -- that's bad policy, too much chance of an outsider catching on. I want to let him have the lot all at once, get paid with a cast-iron draft on a Swiss bank and then clear out. But it does mean that we'll have a hell of a lot of ingots lying around loose in the Casa Saeta and that's bad."

  I sighed. "Where do we keep the damn' things? Stacked up in the living-room? And how many of these goddammed ingots will there be?" I added irritably.

  Walker looked at Coertze. "You said there was about four tons, didn't you?"

  "Ja," said Coertze. "But that was only an estimate."

  I said, "You've worked with bullion since. How close is that estimate?"

  He thought about it, sending his mind back fifteen years and comparing what he saw then with what he had learned since. The human mind is a marvellous machine. At last he said slowly, "I think it is a close estimate, very close."

  "All right," I said. "So it's four tons. That's 9000 pounds as near as dammit. There's sixteen ounces to the pound and ..."

  "No," said Coertze suddenly. "Gold is measured in troy ounces. There's 14.58333 recurring ounces troy to the English pound."

  He had the figures so pat that I was certain he knew what he was talking about. After all, it was his job. I said, "Let's not go into complications; let's call it fourteen and a half ounces to the pound. That's good enough."

  I started to calculate, making many mistakes although it should have been a simple calculation. The mathematics of yacht design don't have the same emotional impact.

  At last I had it. "As near as I can make out, in round figures we'll have about 330 bars of 400 ounces each.

  "What's that at five thousand quid a bar?" asked Walker.

  I scribbled on the paper again and looked at the answer unbelievingly. It was the first time I had worked this out in terms of money. Up to this time I had been too busy to think about it, and four tons of gold seemed to be a good round figure to hold in one's mind.

  I said hesitantly, "I work it out as £1,650,000!"

  Coertze nodded in satisfaction. "That is the figure I got. And there's the jewels on top of that."

  I had my own ideas about the jewels. Aristide had been right when he said that gold is anonymous -- but jewels aren't. Jewels have a personality of their own and can be traced too easily. If I had my way the jewels would stay in the tunnel. But that I had to lead up to easily.

  Walker said, "That's over half a million each."

  I said, "Call it half a million each, net. The odd £150,000 can go to expenses. By the time this is through we'll have spent more than we've put in the kitty."

  I returned to the point at issue. "All right, we have 330 bars of gold. What do we do with them?"

  Walker said meditatively. "There's a cellar in the house."

  "That's a start, anyway."

  He said, "You know the fantastic thought I had in that vault? I thought it looked just like a builder's yard with a lot of bricks lying all over the place. Why couldn't we build a wall in the cellar?"

  I looked at Coertze and he looked at me, and we both burst out laughing.

  "What's funny about that?" asked Walker plaintively.

  "Nothing," I said, still spluttering. "It's perfect, that's all."

  Coertze said, grinning, "I'm a fine bricklayer when the rates of pay are good."

  A voice started to bleat in my ear and I turned round. It was an itinerant lottery-ticket seller poking a sheaf of tickets at me. I waved him away, but Coertze, in a good mood for once, said tolerantly, "No, man, let's have one. No harm in taking out insurance."

  The ticket was a hundred pesetas, so we scraped it together from the change lying on the table, and then we went back to the flat.

  V

  The next day we started work in earnest. I stayed with Sanford, getting her ready for sea by dint of much bullying of the chandler and the sailmaker. By the end of the week I was satisfied that she was ready and was able to leave for anywhere in the world.

  Coertze and Walker worked up at the house, rehabilitating the boat-shed and the slip and supervising the local labour they had found through Metcalfe's kind offices. Coertze said, "You have no trouble if you treat these wogs just the same as the Kaffirs back home." I wasn't so sure of that, but everything seemed to go all right.

  By the time Metcalfe came back from whatever nefarious enterprise he had been on, we were pretty well finished and ready to leave. I said nothing to Metcalfe about this, feeling that the less he knew, the better.

  When I'd got Sanford ship-shape I went over to Metcalfe's Fairmile to pay my promised visit. A fair-haired man who was flushing the decks with a hose said, "I guess you must be Halloran. I'm Krupke, Metcalfe's side-kick."

  "Is he around?"

  Krupke shook his head. "He went off with that friend of yours -- Walker. He said I was to show you around if you came aboard."

  I said, "You're an American, aren't you?"

  He grinned. "Yep, I'm from Milwaukee. Didn't fancy going back to the States after the war, so I stayed on here. Hell, I was only a kid then, not
more'n twenty, so I thought that since Uncle Sam paid my fare out here, I might as well take advantage of it."

  I thought he was probably a deserter and couldn't go back to the States, although there might have been an amnesty for deserters. I didn't know how the civil statute limitations worked in military law. I didn't say anything about that, though -- renegades are touchy and sometimes unaccountably patriotic.

  The wheelhouse -- which Krupke called the "deckhouse " -- was well fitted. There were two echo sounders, one with a recording pen. Engine control was directly under the helmsman's hand and the windows in front were fitted with Kent screens for bad weather. There was a big marine radio transceiver -- and there was radar.

  I put my hand on the radar display and said, "What range does this have?"

  "It's got several ranges," he said. "You pick the one that's best at the time. I'll show you."

  He snapped a switch and turned a knob. After a few seconds the screen lit up and I could see a tiny plan of the harbour as the scanner rev olved. Even Sanford was visible as one splotch among many.

  "That's for close work," said Krupke, and turned a knob with a click. "This is maximum range -- fifteen miles, but you won't see much while we're in harbour."

  The landward side of the screen was now too cluttered to be of any use, but to seaward, I saw a tiny speck. "What's that?"

  He looked at his watch. "That must be the ferry from Gibraltar. It's ten miles away -- you can see the mileage marked on the grid."

  It said, "This gadget must be handy for making a landfall at night."

  "Sure," he said. "All you have to do is to match the screen profile with the chart. Doesn't matter if there's no moon or if there's a fog."

  I wished I could have a set like that on Sanford but it's difficult installing radar on a sailing vessel -- there are too many lines to catch in the antenna. Anyway, we wouldn't have the power to run it.

  I looked around the wheelhouse. "With all this gear you can't need much of a crew, even though she is a biggish boat," I said. "What crew do you have?"

  "Me and Metcalfe can run it ourselves," said Krupke. "Our trips aren't too long. But usually we have another man with us -- that Moroccan you've got on Sanford.

  I stayed aboard the Fairmile for a long time, but Metcalfe and Walker didn't show up, so after a while I went back to Metcalfe's flat. Coertze was already there, but there was no sign of the others, so we went to have dinner as a twosome.

  Over dinner I said, "We ought to be getting away soon. Everything is fixed at this end and we'd be wasting time if we stayed any longer."

  "Ja," Coertze agreed. "This isn't a pleasure trip."

  We went back to the flat and found it empty, apart from the servants. Coertze went to his room and I read desultorily from a magazine. About ten o'clock I heard someone coming in and looked up.

  I was immediately boiling with fury.

  Walker was drunk -- blind, paralytic drunk. He was clutching on to Metcalfe and sagging at the knees, his face slack and his bleared eyes wavering unseeingly about him. Metcalfe was a little under the weather himself., but not too drunk. He gave Walker a hitch to prevent him from falling, and said cheerily, "We went to have a night on the town, but friend Walker couldn't take it. You'd better help me dump him on his bed."

  I helped Metcalfe support Walker to his room and we laid him on his bed. Coertze, dozing in the other bed, woke up and said, "What's happening?"

  Metcalfe said, "Your pal's got no head for liquor. He passed out on me."

  Coertze looked at Walker, then at me, his black eyebrows drawing angrily over his eyes. I made a sign for him to keep quiet.

  Metcalfe stretched and said, "Well, I think I'll turn in myself." He looked at Walker and there was an edge of contempt to his voice. "He'll be all right in the morning, barring a hell of a hangover. I'll tell Ismail to make him a prairie oyster for breakfast." He turned to Coertze. "What do you call it in Afrikaans?"

  "'n Regmaker," Coertze growled.

  Metcalfe laughed. "That's right. A regmaker. That was the first word I ever learned in Afrikaans," He went to the door. "See you in the morning," he said, and was gone.

  I closed the door. "The damn' fool," I said feelingly.

  Coertze got out of bed and grabbed hold of Walker, shaking him. "Walker," he shouted. "Did you tell him Anything?"

  Walker's head flapped sideways and he began to snore. I took Coertze's shoulder. "Be quiet; you'll tell the whole household," I said. "It's no use, anyway; you won't get any sense out of him to-night -- he's unconscious. Leave it till morning."

  Coertze shook off my hand and turned. He had a black anger in him. "I told you," he said in a suppressed voice. "I told you he was no good. Who knows what the dronkie said?"

  I took off Walker's shoes and covered him with a blanket. "We'll find out to-morrow," I said. "And I mean we. Don't you go off pop at him, you'll scare the liver out of him and he'll close up tight."

  "I'll donner him up," said Coertze grimly. "That's God's truth."

  "You'll leave him alone," I said sharply. "We may be in enough trouble without fighting among ourselves. We need Walker."

  Coertze snorted.

  I said, "Walker has done a job here that neither of us could have done. He has a talent for acting the damn' fool in a believable manner." I looked down at him, then said bitterly, "It's a pity he can be a damn' fool without the acting. Anyway, we may need him again, so you leave him alone. We'll both talk to him to-morrow, together."

  Coertze grudgingly gave his assent and I went to my room.

  VI

  I was up early next morning, but not as early as Metcalfe, who had already gone out. I went in to see Walker and found that Coertze was up and half dressed. Walker lay on his bed, snoring. I took a glass of water and poured it over his head. I was in no mood to consider Walker's feelings.

  He stirred and moaned and opened his eyes just as Coertze seized the carafe and emptied it over him. He sat up spluttering, then sagged back. "My head," he said, and put his hands to his temples.

  Coertze seized him by the front of the shirt. "Jou gogga-mannetjie, what did you say to Metcalfe?" He shook Walker violently. "What did you tell him?"

  This treatment was doing Walker's aching head no good, so I said, "Take it easy; I'll talk to him."

  Coertze let go and I stood over Walker, waiting until he had recovered his wits. Then I said, "You got drunk last night, you stupid fool, and of all people to get drunk with you had to pick Metcalfe."

  Walker looked up, the pain of his monumental hangover filming his eyes. I sat on the bed. "Now, did you tell him anything about the gold?"

  "No," cried Walker. "No, I didn't"

  I said evenly, "Don't tell us any lies, because if we catch you out in a lie you know what we'll do to you."

  He shot a frightened glance at Coertze who was glowering in the background and closed his eyes. "I can't remember," he said. "It's a blank; I can't remember."

  That was better; he was probably telling the truth now. The total blackout is a symptom of alcoholism. I thought about it for a while and came to the conclusion that even if Walker hadn't told Metcalfe about the gold he had probably blown his cover sky high. Under the influence, the character he had built up would have been irrevocably smashed and he would have reverted to his alcoholic and unpleasant self.

  Metcalfe was sharp -- he wouldn't have survived in his nefarious career otherwise. The change in character of Walker would be the tip-off that there was something odd about old pal Halloran and his crew. That would be enough for Metcalfe to check further. We would have to work on the assumption that Metcalfe would consider us worthy of further study.

  I said, "What's done is done," and looked at Walker. His eyes were downcast and his fingers were nervously scrabbling at the edge of the blanket.

  "Look at me," I said, and his eyes rose slowly to meet mine. "I think you're telling the truth," I said coldly. "But if I catch you in a lie it will be the worse for you. And if you take anot
her drink on this trip I'll break your back. You think you're scared of Coertze here; but you'll have more reason to be scared of me if you take just one more drink. Understand?"

  He nodded.

  "I don't care how much you drink once this thing is finished. You'll probably drink yourself to death in six months, but that's got nothing to do with me. But just one more drink on this trip and you're a dead man."

  He flinched and I turned to Coertze. "Now, leave him alone; he'll behave."

  Coertze said, "Just let me get at him. Just once," he pleaded.

  "It's finished," I said impatiently. "We have to decide what to do next. Get your things packed -- we're moving out."

  "What about Metcalfe?"

  "I'll tell him we want to see some festival in Spain."

  "What festival?"

  "How do I know which festival? There's always some goddam festival going on in Spain; I'll pick the most convenient. We sail this afternoon as- soon as I can get harbour clearance."

  "I still think I could do something about Metcalfe," said Coertze meditatively.

  "Leave Metcalfe alone," I said. "He may not suspect anything at all, but if you try to beat him up then he'll know there's something fishy. We don't want to tangle with Metcalfe if we can avoid it. He's bigger than we are."

  We packed our bags and went to the boat, Walker very quiet and trailing in the rear. Moulay Idriss was squatting on the foredeck smoking a kif cigarette. We went below and started to stow our gear.

  I had just pulled out the chart which covered the Straits of Gibraltar in preparation for planning our course when Coertze came aft and said in a low voice, "I think someone's been searching the boat."

  "What the hell!" I said. Metcalfe had left very early that morning -- he would have had plenty of time to give Sanford a good going over. "The furnaces?" I said.

  We had disguised the three furnaces as well as we could. The carbon clamps had been taken off and scattered in tool boxes in the forecastle where they would look just like any other junk that accumulates over a period. The main boxes with the heavy transformers were distributed about Sanford, one cemented under the cabin sole, another disguised as a receiving set complete with the appropriate knobs and dials, and the third built into a marine battery in the engine space.