Wyatt’s Hurricane / Bahama Crisis. Desmond Bagley
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and I’ve never carried a gun – I owe my life to that fact.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Wyatt slowly. He looked at the Greek standing by the bar. ‘Are you carrying a gun, Eumenides?’
Papegaikos touched his breast and nodded. He said, ‘I keep it.’
‘Then you’re not coming with us,’ said Wyatt deliberately. ‘You can make your own way – on foot.’
The Greek put his hand inside his jacket and produced the gun, a stubby revolver. ‘You t’ink you are boss?’ he asked with a smile, balancing the gun in his hand.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Wyatt firmly. ‘You don’t know a damn’ thing about what a hurricane can do. You don’t know the best place to shelter nor how to go about finding it. I do – I’m the expert – and that makes me boss.’
Papegaikos came to a fast decision. He put the gun down gently on the bar counter and walked away from it, and Wyatt blew out his cheeks with a sigh of relief. Causton chuckled. ‘You’ll do, Wyatt,’ he said. ‘You’re really the boss now – if you don’t let that Warmington woman get on top of you. I hope you don’t regret taking on the job.’
Presently Julie came from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches. ‘This will do for a start. There’s more coming.’ She jerked her head. ‘We’re going to have trouble with that one,’ she said darkly.
Wyatt suppressed a groan. ‘What’s the matter now?’
‘She’s an organizer – you know, the type who gives the orders. She’s been running me ragged in there, and she hasn’t done a damned thing herself.’
‘Just ignore her,’ advised Causton. ‘She’ll give up if no one takes notice of her.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Julie. She vanished from the bar again.
‘Let’s organize the water,’ said Wyatt.
He walked towards the bar but stopped when Causton said, ‘Wait! Listen!’ He strained his ears and heard a whirring sound. ‘Someone’s trying to start your car,’ said Causton.
‘I’ll check on that,’ said Wyatt and strode into the foyer. He went through the revolving door and saw a dim figure in the driving seat of his car and heard the whine of the starter. When he peered through the window he saw it was Dawson. He jerked the door open and said, ‘What the devil are you doing?’
Dawson started and turned his head with a jerk. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said in relief. ‘I thought it was that other guy.’
‘Who was that?’
‘One of those cops. He was trying to start the car, but gave up and went away. I thought I’d check it, so I came out. It still won’t start.’
‘You’d better get out and come back into the hotel,’ said Wyatt. ‘I thought that might happen so I put the rotor-arm in my pocket.’
He stood aside and let Dawson step out. Dawson said, ‘Pretty smart, aren’t you, Wyatt?’
‘No sense in losing the car,’ said Wyatt. He looked past Dawson and stiffened. ‘Take it easy,’ he said in a low voice. ‘That copper is coming back – with reinforcements.’
‘We’d better get into the hotel pretty damn’ fast,’ said Dawson.
‘Stay where you are and keep your mouth shut,’ said Wyatt quickly. ‘They might think we’re on the run and follow us in – we don’t want to involve the others in anything.’
Dawson tensed and then relaxed, and Wyatt watched the four policemen coming towards them. They did not seem in too much of a hurry and momentarily he wondered about that. They drew abreast and one of them turned. ‘Blanc, what are you doing?’
‘I thought a thief was stealing my car.’
The policeman gestured. ‘This man?’
Wyatt shook his head. ‘No, another man. This is my friend.’
‘Where do you live?’
Wyatt nodded towards the hotel. ‘The Imperiale.’
‘A rich man,’ the policeman commented. ‘And your friend?’
‘Also in the hotel.’
Dawson tugged at Wyatt’s sleeve. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘What does your friend say?’ asked the policeman.
‘He does not understand this language,’ said Wyatt. ‘He was asking me what you were saying.’
The policeman laughed. ‘We ask the same things, then.’ He stared at them. ‘It is not a good time to be on the streets, blanc. You would do well to stay in your rich hotel.’
He turned away and Wyatt breathed softly in relief, but one of the other men muttered something and he turned back. ‘What is your country?’ he asked.
‘You would call me English,’ said Wyatt. ‘But I come from Grenada. My friend is American.’
‘An American!’ The policeman spat on the ground. ‘But you are English – do you know an Englishman called Manning?’
Wyatt shook his head. ‘No.’ The name rang a faint bell but he could not connect it.
‘Or Fuller?’
Something clicked. Wyatt said, ‘I think I’ve heard of them. Don’t they live on the North Coast?’
‘Have you ever met them?’
‘I’ve never seen them in my life,’ said Wyatt truthfully.
One of the other policemen stepped forward and pointed at Wyatt. ‘This man works for the Americans at Cap Sarrat.’
‘Ah, Englishman; you told me you lived in the hotel. Why did you lie?’
‘I didn’t lie,’ said Wyatt. ‘I moved in there tonight; it’s impossible to get to Cap Sarrat – you know that.’
The man seemed unconvinced. ‘And you still say you do not know the men, Fuller and Manning?’
‘I don’t know them,’ said Wyatt patiently.
The policeman said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry, blanc, but I must search you.’ He gestured to his colleagues who stepped forward quickly.
‘Hey!’ said Dawson in alarm. ‘What are these idiots doing?’
‘Just keep still,’ said Wyatt through his teeth. ‘They want to search us. Let them do it – the sooner it’s over the better.’
For the second time that day he suffered the indignity of a rough search, but this time it was more thorough. The palace guards had been looking for weapons but these men were interested in more than that. All Wyatt’s pockets were stripped and the contents handed to the senior policeman.
He looked with interest through Wyatt’s wallet, checking very thoroughly. ‘It is true you work at Cap Sarrat,’ he said. ‘You have an American pass. What military work do you do there?’
‘None,’ said Wyatt. ‘I’m a civilian scientist sent by the British Government. My work is with the weather.’
The policeman smiled. ‘Or perhaps you are an American spy?’
‘Nonsense!’
‘Your friend is American. We must search him, too.’
Hands were laid on Dawson and he struggled. ‘Take your filthy hands off me, you goddam black bastard,’ he shouted. The words meant nothing to the man searching him, but the tone of voice certainly did. A revolver jumped into his hand as though by magic and Dawson found himself staring into