Part 25 (2/2)
Santiago waved for the waiter to pour more champagne. ”I thought you might be sensible, but I see not. I don't need you, Brigadier, or you, Mr. Carney. I have my own divers.”
”Finding it is not enough,” Carney said. ”You've got to get into that tin can and that requires expertise.”
”I have divers, Mr. Carney, an ample supply of C4, is that the name of the explosive? I only employ people who know what they are doing.” He smiled. ”But this is not getting us anywhere.” He stood up. ”At least we can eat like civilized men. Please, gentlemen, join me.”
The Ford station wagon slowed to a halt at the side of the air strip, Algaro sitting in the rear behind Joseph Jackson. ”Is this where you wanted, mister?”
”I guess so,” Algaro said. ”Those people you brought in from the plane, what were they like?”
”Nice gentlemen,” Jackson said.
”No, what I mean is, were they curious? Did they ask questions?”
Jackson began to feel uncomfortable. ”What kind of questions you mean, mister?”
”Let's put it this way,” Algaro told him. ”They talked and you talked. Now what about?”
”Well the English gentleman, he was interested in the old days. I told him how I was caretaker here in the Herbert place during the big War with my wife.”
”And what else did you tell him?”
”Nothing, mister, I swear.” Jackson was frightened now.
Algaro put a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed. ”Tell me, d.a.m.n you!”
”It was nothing much, mister.” Jackson struggled to get away. ”About the Pamers.”
”The Pamers?”
”Yes, Lady Pamer and how she came here at the end of the War.”
”Tell me,” Algaro said. ”Tell me everything.” He patted him on the side of the face. ”It's all right, just tell the truth.”
Which Jackson did and when he was finished, Algaro said, ”There, that wasn't too bad, was it?”
He slid an arm across Jackson's throat, put his other hand on top of his head and twisted, breaking the neck so cleanly that the old man was dead in a second. He went round, opened the door and pulled the body out. He positioned it with the head just under the car by the rear wheel, took out a flick knife, sprung it and stabbed the point into the rear offside tire so that it deflated. He got the tool kit out, raised the car on the hydraulic jack, whistling as he pumped it up.
Very quickly, he undid the bolts and removed the tire. He stood back and kicked at the jack and the rear of the station wagon lurched to one side and descended on Jackson. He took out the spare tire and laid it beside the other one, then walked across to the Cessna and stood looking at it for quite some time.
The meal was excellent. West Indian chicken wings with blue cheese, conch chowder followed by baked red snapper. No one opted for dessert and Santiago said, ”Coffee?”
”I'd prefer tea,” Dillon told him.
”How very Irish of you.”
”All I could afford as a boy.”
”I'll join you,” Ferguson said and at that moment Algaro appeared in the doorway.
”You must excuse me, gentlemen.” Santiago got up and went and joined Algaro. ”What is it?”
”I found out who the Jackson man was, the old fool driving that Ford taxi.”
”So what happened?”
Algaro told him briefly and Santiago listened intently, watching as the waiter took tea and coffee to the table.
”But it means our friends now know that Sir Francis is involved in this business.”
”It doesn't make any difference, Senor. We know the girl is returning tomorrow, we know she thinks she knows where the U-boat is. Who needs these people any more?”
”Algaro,” Santiago said. ”What have you done?”
As Santiago returned to the table, Ferguson finished his tea and stood up. ”Excellent dinner, Santiago, but we really must be going.”
”What a pity. It's been quite an experience.”
”Hasn't it? By the way, a couple of presents for you.” Ferguson took the two tracking bugs from his pocket and put them on the table. ”Yours, I think. Give my regards to Sir Francis next time you're in touch, or I could give your regards to him.”
”How well you put it,” Santiago said and sat down.
They reached the front entrance to find Prieto standing at the top of the steps looking fl.u.s.tered. ”I'm so sorry, gentlemen, but I've no idea what's happened to the taxi.”
”It's of no consequence,” Ferguson said. ”We can walk there in five or six minutes. Good night to you. Excellent meal,” and he went down the steps.
It was Carney who noticed the station wagon just as they reached the airstrip. ”What's he doing over there?” he said and called, ”Jackson?”
There was no reply. They walked across and saw the body at once. Dillon got down on his knees and got as close as he could. He stood up, brus.h.i.+ng his clothes. ”He's been dead for some time.”
”The poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Carney said. ”The jack must have toppled over.”
”A remarkable coincidence,” Ferguson said.
”Exactly.” Dillon nodded. ”He tells us all about Francis Pamer and bingo, he's dead.”
”Just a minute,” Carney put in. ”I mean, if Santiago knew about the old boy's existence, why leave it till now? I'd have thought he'd have got rid of him a lot earlier than this.”
”But not if he didn't realize he existed,” Ferguson said.
Dillon nodded. ”Until somebody told him, somebody who's been feeding all the other information he needed.”
”You mean, this guy Pamer?” Carney asked.
”Yes, isn't it perfectly dreadful,” Ferguson said. ”Just shows you you can't trust anyone these days. Now let's get out of here.”
He and Carney got in the rear seats and strapped themselves in. Dillon got a torch from the map compartment and did an external inspection. He came back, climbed into the pilot's seat and closed the door. ”Everything looks all right.”
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