Free River of Death by Alistair MacLean Page B

that, Hamilton.’
    ‘Will you, now?’ Again the same indifferent, infuriating shrug. ‘I don’t think you’ve quite got the picture yet.’
    It was significant of Smith’s perturbation that he actually went to the bar and poured another drink for himself. Normally, indeed invariably, he would have summoned his butler to perform such menial tasks. He returned to Hamilton and said: ‘Another point. You got your own way about making the plans—but we haven’t yet decided who’s going to be in charge of our little expedition, have we?’
    ‘I have. I am.’
    Smith’s impassive air deserted him. He looked every inch the multi-billionaire he was reputed to be.
    ‘I repeat, Hamilton, I’m the paymaster.’
    ‘The ship-owner pays his captain. Who’s in charge at sea? Even more importantly, who’s in charge in the jungle? You wouldn’t last a day without me.’
    There was a sudden silence in the room. The tension between the two men was all too obvious. Heffner rose from the arm of the chair, lurched once and then crossed to where the two men were standing. The light of battle was in his truculent and bloodshot eyes.
    ‘But, boss! You don’t seem to understand.’ Heffner didn’t speak the words, he sneered them. ‘This is the intrepid explorer himself. The one and only Hamilton. Haven’t you heard? Hamilton is always in charge.’
    Hamilton glanced briefly at Heffner then at Smith. ‘This is the kind of irritant I mean. Born to give trouble, bound to give rise to friction. What function does he perform?’
    ‘My chief staff photographer.’
    ‘Looks the artistic type. He coming along?’
    ‘Of course he is.’ Smith’s tone was glacial. ‘Why on earth do you think Mr Tracy and I brought him down here?’
    ‘I thought maybe he had to leave some place in a hurry.’
    Heffner took a step closer. ‘What does that mean, Hamilton?’
    ‘Nothing, really. I just thought that maybe your friends in the New York police department were beginning to take too close an interest in you.’
    Heffner was momentarily taken aback, then he took another menacing step forward. ‘I don’t know what the hell you mean. You wouldn’t think of stopping me, would you, Hamilton?’
    ‘Stopping you from coming along, dear me, no.’
    Ramon looked at Navarro. Both men winced.
    ‘Amazing,’ Heffner said. ‘All you require is twenty pounds over a man to make him see it your way.’
    ‘Provided, of course, that you’re half-way sober by that time.’
    Heffner gazed at him in alcoholic disbelief then swung a roundhouse right at Hamilton’s head. Hamilton moved inside it and brought up his own right in a wicked jab as Heffner’s fist sweptharmlessly by his head. Grey-faced and doubled over, Heffner sank to his knees, his hands clutching his midriff.
    Ramon said thoughtfully: ‘I do believe, Senor Hamilton, that he’s half-way sober already.’
    ‘A short way with mutineers, eh?’ Smith was unmoved by the plight of his trusty chief photographer, and his irritation had given way to curiosity. ‘You seem to know something about Heffner?’
    ‘I read the occasional New York paper,’ Hamilton said. ‘Bit late when I get them, mind you, but that hardly matters as Heffner’s activities cover a fair period. What the Americans call a scofflaw. Suspected involvement in various crimes of violence, even gangland killings. He’s cleverer than he looks, which I don’t believe, or he has a clever lawyer. Anyway, he’s always beaten the rap so far. It is impossible, Mr Smith, that you had no inkling of this.’
    ‘I confess that there have been stories, rumours. I discount them. Two things. He knows his job and a man is innocent until proved guilty.’ Smith paused and went on: ‘You know anything to my detriment?’
    ‘Nothing. Everybody knows your life is an open book. A man in your position can’t afford to have it otherwise.’
    ‘Me?’ said Tracy.
    ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings but I never heard of you until