Free The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter by Desmond Bagley Page A

and if he’s a good boy he’ll be out in three and a half.’
    He rubbed his finger against the side of his nose. ‘I liked Jean,’ he said. ‘What’s the bludger’s name? I’ve got friends in South Africa who can see to him when he comes out.’
    ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘That won’t bring Jean back.’
    He nodded, then slapped his hands together. ‘Now you’re all staying with me at my place; I’ve got room enough for an army.’
    I said hesitantly, ‘What about the boat?’
    He smiled. ‘I see you’ve heard stories about the Tangier dock thieves. Well, let me tell you they’re all true. But that doesn’t matter; I’ll put one of my men on board. Nobody steals from my men—or me.’
    He rowed back across the harbour and presently returned with a scar-faced Moroccan, to whom he spoke in quick and guttural Arabic. Then he said, ‘That’s all fixed. I’ll have the word passed round the docks that you’re friends of mine. Your boat’s safe enough, as safe as though it lay in your own yard.’
    I believed him. I could believe he had a lot of pull in a place like Tangier.
    ‘Let’s go ashore,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry.’
    ‘So am I,’ said Coertze.
    ‘It’ll be a relief not to do any more cooking for a while, won’t it?’ I said.
    ‘Man,’ said Coertze, ‘I wouldn’t mind if I never saw a frypan again.’
    ‘That’s a pity,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I was looking forward to you making me some koeksusters; I always liked South African grub.’ He roared with laughter and slapped Coertze on the back.
    Metcalfe had a big apartment on the Avenida de España, and he gave me a room to myself while Coertze and Walker shared a room. He stayed and chatted while I unpacked my bag.
    ‘South Africa too quiet for you?’ he asked.
    I went into my carefully prepared standard talk on the reasons I had left. I had no reason to trust Metcalfe more than anyone else—probably less—judging by the kind of man he was. I don’t know whether he believed me or not, but he agreed that there was scope in the Mediterranean for a good boatyard.
    ‘You may not get as many commissions to build,’ he said. ‘But there certainly is room for a good servicing andmaintenance yard. I’d go east, towards Greece, if I were you. The yards in the islands cater mostly for the local fishermen; there’s room for someone who understands yachts and yachtsmen.’
    ‘What have you got a boat for?’ I asked banteringly. ‘Hiring it out for charter cruises?’
    He grinned. ‘Aw, you know me. I carry all sorts of cargoes; anything except narcotics.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’m a bad bastard, I know, but I draw the line at drugs. Anything else I’m game for.’
    ‘Including guns to Algeria,’ I hazarded.
    He laughed. ‘The French in Algiers hate my guts—they tried to do me down a couple of months ago. I’d unloaded a cargo into some fishing boats and then I ran into Algiers to refuel. I was clean, see! they couldn’t touch me—my papers were in order and everything.’
    ‘I let the crew go ashore for a drink and I turned in and had a zizz. Then something woke me up—I heard a thump and then a queer noise that seemed to come from underneath the boat. So I got up and had a look around. When I got on deck I saw a boat pulling away and there seemed to be a man in the water, swimming alongside it.’
    He grinned. ‘Well, I’m a careful and cautious man, so I got my snorkel and my swim-fins and went over the side to have a look-see. What do you think those French Security bastards had done to me?’
    I shook my head. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
    ‘They’d put a limpet mine on my stern gear. They must have reckoned that if they couldn’t nail me down legally they’d do it illegally. If that thing went off it would blow the bottom out of my stern. Well, I got it off the boat and did a bit of heavy thinking. I knew they wouldn’t have timed it to blow up in harbour—it wouldn’t have looked nice—so I reckoned it was set