A uniformed crew member of Mandrake saluted from the deck, and Manny waved at him in a gesture of airy dismissal.

The whaleboat left Mandrake's side and moved in towards the crash boat. As Manny, his lady friend, bodyguards and luggage were disembarked on to the deck of the crash boat, Mandrake weighed anchor, turned for the entrance of the bay, and set out in a determined fashion for the deep-water channel.

"She's leaving," muttered Chubby. "Why is she doing -,that?"

"Yes, she's leaving," I agreed. "Manny Resnick has finished with her. He's got a new ally now, and he doesn't need his vwn ship. She's probably costing him a thousand nicker a day, - and Manny always was a shy man with a buck."

I turned my gla.s.ses on to the crash boat again and saw -Manny and his entourage enter the cabin.

"There is probably another reason," I muttered. "What's that, Harry?"

"Manny Resnick and Suleiman Dada will want as few witnesses as possible to what they intend doing now."

"Yeah, I see what you mean,"grunted Chubby.

"I think, my friend, that we are about to be treated to the kind of nastiness that will make what they did to Angelo seem kind, by comparison."

"We've got to get Miss. Sherry off that boat, Harry." Chubby was coming out of the daze of grief into which Angelo's killing had thrown him. "We've got to do something, Harry." "It's a nice thought, Chubby, I agree. But we aren't going to help her much by getting ourselves killed. My guess is that she will be safe until they get their hands on the treasure."

His huge face creased up like that of a worried bulldog. "What we going to do, Harry?"

"Right now we are going to run again."

"What do you mean?" "Listen," I told him, and he c.o.c.ked his head. There was the shrill of the whistle again and then faintly we heard voices carried up to us on the wind.

"Looks like their first effort will be brute strength. They've landed the entire goon squad, and they are going to drive the island and put us up like a brace of c.o.c.k pheasant."

"Let's go down and have a go," Chubby growled, and c.o.c.ked the FN- "I got a message for them from Angelo."

"Don't be a fool, Chubby," I snapped at him angrily.

"Now listen to me. I want to count how many men they have. Then, if we get a good chance, I want to try and get one of them alone and take his piece off him. Watch for an opportunity, Chubby, but don't have a go yet. Play it very cautious, hear!" I didn't want to refer to his markmanship in derogatory tones.

"Okay," Chubby nodded.

"You stay this side of the ridge. Count how many of them come down this side of the island. I'll cross over and do the same on the other side." He nodded. "I'll meet you at the spot where the crash boat sh.e.l.led us in two hours."

"What about you, Harry?" He made a gesture of handing me the FN - but I didn't have the heart to deprive him.

"I'll be okay," I told him. "Off you go, man."

It was a simple task to keep ahead of the line of beaters for they called to each other loudly to keep their spirits up, and they made no pretence at concealment or stealth, but advanced slowly and cautiously in an extended line.

There were nine of them on my side of the ridge, seven of them were blacks in naval uniform, armed with AK47, a.s.sault rifles and two of them were Manny Resnick's men. They were dressed in casual tropical gear and carried sidearms. One of them I recognized as the driver of the Rover that night so long ago, and the pa.s.senger in the twin-engined Cessna that had spotted Sherry and me on the beach.

Once I had made my head count, I turned my back on them and ran ahead to the curve of the salt marsh. I knew that when the line of beaters ran into this obstacle, it would lose its cohesion and that it was likely that some Of its thembers would become isolated.

I found an advanced neck of swampland with stands of Voting mangrove and coa.r.s.e swamp gra.s.s in dense shades of fever green. I followed the edge of this thicket and came upon a spot where a fallen palm tree lay across the neck like a bridge - offering escape in two directions. It had collected a dense covering of blown palm fronds and swamp grin which provided a good hide from which to mount an ambush.

. I lay in the back of this s.h.a.ggy mound of dead vegetation and I had the heavy bait-knife in my right hand ready to throw.

The line of the beaters came on steadily, their voices growing louder as they approached the swamp. Soon I could hear the rustle and sc.r.a.pe of branches as one of them came directly down to where I lay.

He paused and called when he was about twenty feet from me, and I pressed my face close to the damp earth and peered under the pile of dead branches. There was an opening there and I saw his feet and his legs below the knees. His trousers were thick blue serge and he wore grubby white sneakers without socks. At each step his naked ankles showed very black African skin.

It was one of the sailors from the crash boat then, and I was pleased. He would be carrying an automatic weapon. I preferred that to a pistol, which was what Manny's boys were armed with.

Slowly I rolled on to my side and cleared my knife arm. The sailor called again so close and so loud that my nerves jumped and I felt the tingling flush of adrenalin in my blood. His call was answered from farther off, and the sailor came on.

I could hear his soft footfalls on the sand, padding towards me.

Suddenly he came into full view, as he rounded the fall of brushwood. He was ten paces from me.

He was in naval uniform, a blue cap on his head with its gay little red pom-pom on the top, but he carried the vicious and brutal-looking machine-gun on his hip. He was a tall lean youngster in his early twenties, smooth faced and sweating nervously so there was a purple black sheen on his skin, against which his eyes were very white.

He saw me and tried to swing the machine-gun on to me, but it was on his right hip and he blocked himself awkwardly in the turn. I aimed for the notch where the two collarbones meet, that was framed by the opening of his uniform. at the base of his throat. I threw overhand, snapping my wrist into it at the moment of release so the knife leapt in a silvery blur and thudded precisely into the mark I had chosen. The blade was completely buried and only the dark walnut handle protruded from his throat.

He tried to cry out, but no sound came, for the blade had severed all his vocal chords as I intended. He sank slowly to his knees facing me in a prayerful att.i.tude with his hands dangling at his sides and the machine-gun hanging on its strap.

We stared at each other for a moment that seemed to last for ever.

Then he shuddered violently and a thick burst of bubbling blood poured from his mouth and nose, and he pitched face forward to the ground.

Crouched low, I flipped him on to his back and withdrew the knife against the clinging drag of wet flesh, and I cleaned the blade on his sleeve.

Working swiftly I stripped him of his weapon and the spare magazines in the bandolier on his webbing belt, then, still crouching low, I dragged him by his heels into the gluey mud of the creek and knelt on his chest to force him below the surface. The mud flowed over his face as slowly and thickly as molten chocolate, and when he was totally submerged I buckled the webbing belt around my waist, picked up the machine-gun and slipped back quietly through the breach that I had made in the line of beaters.

As I ran doubled over and using all the cover there was, I checked the load on the AK47. I was familiar with the weapon. I had used it in Biafra and I made sure that the magazine was full and that the breech was loaded before I slipped the strap over my right shoulder and held it ready on my hip.

When I had moved back about five hundred yards I paused and took shelter against the trunk of a palm while I listened. Behind me, the line of beaters seemed to have run into trouble against the swamp, and they were trying to sort themselves out. I listened to the shouts and the angry shrill of the whistle. It sounded like a cup final, I thought, and grinned queasily, for the memory of the man I had killed was still nauseatingly fresh.

Now that I had broken through their line I turned and struck directly across the island towards my rendezvous with Chubby on the south peak. Once I was out of the palm groves on to the lower slopes, the vegetation was thicker, and I moved more swiftly through the better cover.

Halfway to the crest I was startled by a fresh burst of gunfire.

This time it was the distinctive whipcracking lash of the FN, a sharper slowerbeat than the storm of AK47 machine-gun fire that answered it immediately.

I judged by the volume and duration of the outburst that all the weapons involved had emptied magazines in a continuous burst. A heavy silence followed.

Chubby was having a go, after all my warnings. Although I was bitterly angry, I was also thoroughly alarmed by what trouble he had got himself into. One thing was certain Chubby had missed whatever he had aimed at.

I broke from a trot into a run, and angled upwards towards the crest, aiming to reach the area from which the gunfire had sounded.

I burst out of a patch of goose-bush into a narrow overgrown path that followed the direction I wanted, and I turned into it and went into a full run.

I topped the rise and almost ran into the arms of one of the uniformed seamen coming in the opposite direction, also at a headlong run.

There were six of his comrades with him in Indian file, all making the best possible speed on his heels. Thirty yards farther back was another who had lost his weapon and whose uniform jacket was sodden with fresh blood.

On all their faces were expressions of abandoned terror, and they ran with the single-minded determination of men pursued closely by all the legions of h.e.l.l.

I knew instantly that this rabble were the survivors of an encounter with Chubby Andrews, and that it had been too much for their nerves. They were h.e.l.l-bent and homeward-bound - Chubby's shooting must have improved miraculously, and I made him a silent apology.

So much were the seamen involved with the devil behind them that they seemed not to notice me for the fleeting instant which it took for me to slip the safety-catch on the machine-gun on my hip, brace myself with knees bent and feet spread.

I swung the weapon in a short kicking traverse aimed low at their knees. With a rate of fire like that of an AK47, you must go for the legs, and rely on another three or four hits in the body as the man drops through the sheet of fire. It also defeats the efforts of the short barrel to ride up under the thrust of the recoil.

They went downward in a sprawling shrieking ma.s.s, punched backwards into each other by the savage strike of the soft heavy-calibre slugs.

I held the trigger down for the count of four, and then I turned and plunged off the path into the thick wall of goose-bush. It hid me instantly and I doubled over as I jinked and dodged under the branches.

Behind me, a machine-gun was firing, and the bullets tore and snapped through the thick foliage. None came near me and I settled back into a quick trot.

I guessed that my sudden and completely unexpected attack would have permanently acounted for two or three of the seamen, and may have wounded one or two others.

However, the effect on their morale would be disastrous - especially coming so soon after Chubby's onslaught. Once they reached the safety of the crash boat, I guessed that the forces of evil would debate long and hard before setting foot on the island again. We had won the second round decisively, but they still had Sherry North. That was the major trump in their hands. As long as they held her they could dictate the course of the game.

Chubby was waiting for me amongst the rocks on the saddle of the peak. The man was indestructible.

"Jesus, Harry, where the h.e.l.l you been?"he growled. "I've been waiting here all morning."

I saw that he had retrieved my haversack. from the cleft in the rocks where I had left it. It lay with two captured AK47 rifles and bandoliers of ammunition at his feet.

He handed me the water bottle, and only then did I realize how thirsty I was. The heavily chlorinated water tasted like Veuve Clicquot, but I rationed myself to three swallows.

"I got to apologize to you, Harry. I had a go. just couldn't help it, man. They were bunched up and standing out in the open like a Sunday-school picnic. just couldn't help myself, gave them a good old squirt. Dropped two of them and the others run like hens, shooting their pieces straight up in the air as they go."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I met them as they crossed the ridge."

"Heard the shooting. just about to come and look for you.) I sat down on the rock beside him, and found my cheroots in the haversack. We each lit one and smoked in grateful silence for a moment which Chubby spoiled.

"Well, we lit a fire under their tails - don't reckon they'll come back for more. But they have still got Miss. Sherry, man. Long as they got her, they are winning."

"How many were there, Chubby?"

"Ten." He spat out a sc.r.a.p of tobacco and inspected the glowing tip of the cheroot. "But I took out two - and I think I winged another."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I met seven on the ridge. I had a go at them also. Aren't more than four left now - and there are eight more out of my bunch. Say a dozen, plus those left on board - another six or seven. About twenty guns still against us, Chubby."

"Pretty odds, Harry."

"Let's work on it, Chubby."

"Let's do that, Harry."

I selected the newest and least abused of the three machine-guns and there were five full magazines of ammunition for it. I cached the discarded weapons under a slab of flat rock and loaded and checked the other.

We each had another short drink from the water bottle and then I led the way cautiously -along the ridge, keeping off the skyline, back towards the deserted camp.

From the spot at which I had first spotted the approach of the Mandrake we surveyed the whole northern end of the island.

As we guessed they would, Manny and Suleiman Dada had taken all their men off the island. Both the whaleboat and the smaller motor-boat were moored alongside the crash boat. There was much confused and meaningless activity on board, and as I watched the scurrying figures I imagined the scenes of terrible wrath and retribution which were taking place in the main cabin.

Suleiman Dada and his new protege were certainly wreaking a fearful vengeance on their already badly beaten and demoralized troops, "I want to go down to the camp, Chubby. See what they left for us," I said at last, and handed him the binoculars. "Keep watch for me. Three quick shots as a warning signal."

"Okay, Harry," he agreed, but as I stood up there was a renewed outbreak of feverish activity on board the crash boat. I took the gla.s.ses back from Chubby and watched Suleiman Dada emerge from the cabin and make a laborious ascent to the open bridge. In his white uniform, bedecked with medals that glittered in the sunlight and attended by a host of helpers he reminded me of a fat white queen termite being moved from its royal cell by swarming worker ants.

The transfer was effected at last and as I watched through the binoculars I saw an electronic bullhorn handed to Suleiman. He faced the sh.o.r.e, lifted the hailer to his mouth and through the powerful lens I saw his lips moving. Seconds later the sound reached us clearly, magnified by the instrument and carried by the wind.

"Harry Fletcher. I hope you can hear me." The deep wellmodulated voice was given a harsher sound by the amplifier. "I plan to put on a demonstration this evening which will convince you of the necessity of co-operating with me. Please be in a position where you can watch. You will find it fascinating. Nine o'clock this evening on the afterdeck of this ship. It's a date, Harry. Don't miss it."

He handed the bullhorn to one of his officers and went below.

. "They're going to do something to Sherry," murtered Chubby and fiddled disconsolately with the rifle in his lap. "We'll know at nine," I said, and watched the officer with the bullhorn climb from the deck into the motor-boat. They set off on a slow circuit of the island, stopping every half mile to shout a repet.i.tion of Suleiman Dada's invitation to me at the silent tree-lined sh.o.r.e. He was very anxious for me to attend.

"All right, Chubby," I glanced at my watch. "We have hours yet.

I'm going down to the camp. Watch out for me." The camp had been ransacked and plundered of most items of value, equipment and stores had been smashed and scattered about the caves - but still some of it had been overlooked.

I found five cans of fuel and hid them along with much other equipment that might be of value. Then I crept cautiously down into the grove, and learned with relief that the hiding-place of the chest and the golden tigers head and the other stores was undisturbed.

Carrying a fivegallon can of drinking water and three cans of corned beef and mixed vegetables I climbed again to the ridge where Chubby waited. We ate and drank and I said to Chubby: "Get some sleep if you can. It's going to be a long hard night."

He grunted and curled up in the gra.s.s like a great brown bear.

Soon he was snoring softly and regularly.

I smoked three cheroots slowly and thoughtfully, but it was only as the sun was setting that I had my first real stroke of genius. It was so clear and simple, and so delightfully apt that it was immediately suspect and I reexamined it carefully.

The wind had dropped and it was completely dark by the time I was certain of my idea and I sat smiling and nodding contentedly as I thought about it.

The crash boat was brightly lit, all her ports glowed and a pair of floods glared whitely down upon the afterdeck, so it looked like an empty stage.

I woke Chubby and we ate and drank again.

"Let's go down to the beach," I said. "We'll have a better view from there."

"It might be a trap," Chubby warned me morosely.

"I don't think so. They are all on board, and they are playing from strength. They've still got Sherry. They don't have to try any fancy tricks."

"Man, if they do anything to that girl!" he stopped himself, and stood up. "All right, let's go."

We moved silently and cautiously down through the grove with our weapons c.o.c.ked and our fingers on the triggers, but the night was still and the grove deserted.

We halted amongst the trees at the top of the beach. The crash boat was only two hundred yards away and I leaned my shoulder against the trunk of a palm and focused my gla.s.ses on her. It was so clear and close that I could read the writing on the lid of a packet from which one of the sentries took and lit a cigarette.

We had a front row seat for whatever entertainment Suleiman Dada was planning, and I felt the stir of apprehension and knowledge of coming horror blow like a cold breeze across my skin.