Free Jack Higgins by Night Judgement at Sinos Page A

mast.
    â€œYou see, Jack?” Ciasim said. “You see what I mean? You come in with me?”
    I shook my head. “I’d think again if I were you. I thought the whole damned lot was going to come in on me down there.”
    He frowned. “I didn’t notice anything to worry about.”
    Which I didn’t like because of the implication, but I took a deep breath and tried sweet reason. “You were right about one thing. It’s a hundred and thirty feet deep. Now that means that for every forty-five minutes worked in a helmet suit, you’ll have to decompress four minutes at thirty-five feet, twenty-six minutes at twenty-feet and twenty-six minutes at ten feet. A decompression time of fifty-six minutes for every forty-five worked and you can only get away with going down twice a day.”
    He was scowling now. “Why must you always talk in this way like a woman who fears every shadow? Always this decompression nonsense. Always these diving tables of yours.”
    â€œCiasim, you’ll kill yourself, it’s as certain as that,” I told him. “You need a team of divers down there. Half-a-dozen at the very least to get anything worthwhile and at that, it could well be a waste of time.”
    He was good and angry by now, eyes touched with fire. “Talk, my friend, lots of talk and clever language, but when it comes down to it, I think you are afraid. Yes, you are afraid to go down there again.”
    He didn’t mean it, not for a moment and when I cracked, I gave him the shock of his life. “Afraid?” I laughed wildly. “I’m scared to bloody death. I couldn’t even hold my bowels down there. How’s that for a laugh.”
    His eyes went wide and calm and very, very dark. It was as if in one single moment of revelation he saw everything. Really understood.
    â€œJack.” He reached out to me quickly. “I’m sorry—truly sorry.”
    I went over the rail fast. Morgan was already casting off as I ran into the wheelhouse and pressed the self-starter. Those magnificent Penta engines roared into life instantly and I swung the wheel hard over and took the Gentle Jane away in a great sweeping curve.
    I ran her hard for a couple of miles before slowing down. When I glanced over my shoulder, Morgan stood in the doorway.
    â€œFeel any better?”
    â€œSome,” I said.
    â€œWell don’t get too happy. You left those sponges, the good ones, on board the Seytan .”
    Â 
    We came into Kyros in the late afternoon. It was a spectacular little island, six or seven miles long by three across, and a single double-peaked mountain towered three thousand feet high into the sky at its centre.
    A single-masted caicque , sails bellying, slipped out through the narrow harbour entrance and turned towards Crete, passing so close that I could see the eyes painted on each side of the prow. The man at the tiller waved. I waved back and took the Gentle Jane into harbour.
    There was one new arrival since the morning, a ninety-foot diesel motor yacht with gleaming white hull and scarlet trim. The kind of craft that must have set someone back all of fifty thousand pounds. She was anchored a hundred yards out from the main jetty and carried the Greek flag.
    I passed her well to the other side of the harbour and made for my usual mooring beside the old stone jetty where there were no dues. Brightly painted caicques were beached on the white curve of sand and fishermen sat beside them mending their nets while children ran through the shallows, their voices clear over the water.
    I killed the engines, we drifted in and Morgan jumped for the jetty and tied up. I stepped over the rail and joined him.
    â€œYou going someplace, Jack?” he asked.
    â€œI’ll buy a few tins of something or other,” I said. “I feel like stretching my legs anyway.”
    He didn’t try to argue and I walked away quickly in case he did. There was more to