Forever and a Death Read online

  “Oh, my God! I hadn’t even thought.”

  “I can’t waste a lot of time,” he said. “I’ve got to get hold of some friends, start fighting back. There; we’ll stop there.”

  It was a bridge. Just beyond the next curve in the river, the William Jolly, at a quieter place than that fairground back there. Manville cautiously steered them in toward the shallower water, tied the launch to a stanchion where he could get ashore and up to the roadway, and said, “You’ll be all right here for a while. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  “If the river police come by, tell them your boyfriend went for beer.”

  She smiled at that, and shook her head. “I’ll tell them you went for sunblock. Because that I could use.”

  “I’ll bring some,” he promised, and said, “See you soon,” and left her there.

  For how long? It seemed like hours. The sun was much higher in the clear sky, the humidity was moving from soft toward oppressive, and the constant river traffic kept the little launch bobbing at its tether. George Manville must have realized by now that he was much better off from here on doing things on his own. He’d even said that she’d be all right, better off than him, because she had Planetwatch to look out for her, and that he didn’t have any time to waste. So this would be the easiest way to get rid of her, wouldn’t it? He’d done the right thing up till now, he’d done wonderful things, rescuing her, saving her from being murdered, facing down those thugs. He even shot one of them, as startling to Kim as it was to the men who’d grabbed her. But now he was finished, she was safe, and he had his own life to worry about. So why would he come back?

  So he isn’t coming back, she decided at last, and was depressed but not surprised at the idea. And now the question was, what should she do on her own? She had no money, no identification, knew nobody in Australia, and had probably been declared dead by the people of Planetwatch. She had a story no one would believe, and no other story to put in its place because it was true.

  Should she try running the boat somewhere, farther inland? Should she leave the boat and walk to that railroad station and try to find a policeman to surrender to? That was probably best, though she couldn’t help a strong reluctance to leave the known world of this launch for the unknown world ashore.

  Still, it was the thing to do, and she knew it, and she actually had one leg over the side of the boat when she looked up and saw him, coming down toward her from the bridge approach. Manville, solid and serious, arms loaded down with supplies, concentrating on his movements.

  She felt such relief at the sight of him that she made a surprised cry, a “Hah!” that made him look up and call, “Wait. I’ll be right there.”

  She stepped back aboard, and watched him come down. When she’d believed he wasn’t coming back, she’d done her best to hide from herself how deep was the disappointment she felt, but now she let it all come to the surface, how much she needed him right now, how frightened she was of being alone, in this place, at this time.

  He clambered onto the boat, put down the bags he was carrying, and took a tube from his pocket. “Sunblock. Better put it on while we talk.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” She took the tube and started spreading the white lotion on her forehead and nose and the back of her neck.

  He said, “I’ve tried calling friends in San Francisco and in Houston, left messages for them both, I want to find out what’s going on with Curtis. But for now, what we should do is leave this boat right here, and take off.”

  “Where?”

  “The Gold Coast,” he told her. “Just south of the city, it’s the Australian version of Miami Beach, full of tourists. Very crowded. Nobody will find us there.” He lifted a shopping bag, held it out in her direction. “And you’d probably like a change of clothes,” he said.

  2

  Richard Curtis was supposed to be in Singapore right now. He was not supposed to be in this suite atop the Heritage, with its views out over the gaudy Botanic Gardens and Town Reach of the river, a fine hotel, a fine view, everything perfectly fine, except that Richard Curtis was not supposed to be here now, and the fact that it had become necessary was making him furious.

  Morgan Pallifer was as furious as Curtis, and embarrassed and ashamed as well, which made him pace the sitting room like a wolf, punching his knuckles together, staring out past the terrace at the river as though magically he would see George Manville and the girl out there. He’d gone out last night with three men to do what should have been a simple task, getting rid of an already-injured girl and an engineer, and he’d come back with two men dead and the job not done. “He isn’t what you said he is,” he insisted, so angry and discomfited he was even daring to take out his feelings on Curtis.

  All right. Curtis would permit that, just this once, for a little while. He understood and sympathized, up to a point. Pallifer had always been reliable and discreet, a good man for bad work, and Curtis could cut him a little slack. “Manville always used to be who I said he was,” he answered. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe he has some kind of Green Beret background I don’t know anything about.”

  “I think your Chink captain told him we were coming,” Pallifer said.

  “I don’t much care, one way or another,” Curtis said, and shrugged. “It’s over, and the only question is, what next.”

  He had still been up north in Townsville when Pallifer made that second call last night, being so damn circumspect over the telephone that Curtis finally realized he was going to have to fly down to Brisbane and meet the man face to face this morning just to find out what in hell had gone wrong, even though he was supposed to fly to Singapore today, the three thousand miles over the land mass of Australia and the thousand islands of Indonesia to his new home at the tip of Malaysia. He had business there, other details of his construction deals around the world, but clearly it would have to wait.

  Coming down here, he hadn’t believed it possible that both Manville and the girl could have escaped from Pallifer, both still be alive. He’d thought something had screwed up involving the crew of the Mallory, or maybe one of Pallifer’s team had turned out to be untrustworthy.

  But, no. It was Manville, and he’d got clean away, and killed two of Pallifer’s people en passant.

  Would Manville and the girl have come on to Brisbane? Yes. Manville wouldn’t want to keep her jouncing around on the water any longer than necessary, so they would certainly have come here, probably arriving an hour or two ago.

  And then what? Do they go straight to the authorities? What do they say, and how much can they prove? And is there a way to head them off?

  Possibly. Pallifer had been waiting here in the suite, pacing and raging, when Curtis had arrived. He’d told his story, in gruff monosyllables, and even before he was finished Curtis was making his first phone call, to Geneva. Nine hours earlier there, or fifteen hours later; in any case, around midnight. Bendix was not an early riser, Curtis knew. He left a message with Bendix’s secretary at the estate, then listened to the rest of Pallifer’s story, and now he was simply waiting.

  Robert Bendix was a competitor of Curtis’s, in construction and finance. At their level, being competitors meant they were mostly partners, rarely fighting for an entire pie, usually content to share slices of the very large pies that came their way. Bendix was not one of the people he’d approached about the Kanowit Island deal, because Bendix was far too shrewd, far too skeptical; he’d have seen through Curtis’s Ponzi scheme in a minute. But there were other ways in which Robert Bendix could be of use to Curtis, just as, once or twice, Curtis had been of use to Bendix.

  Now there was nothing to do but wait for Bendix to return the call, and in the meantime see if there was any way that Pallifer could still be useful, could make up for last night’s failure, God knows the man was willing. Glaring out the glass doors of the terrace, showing his teeth, Pallifer said, “They’re around here somewhere. The girl’s as weak as a kitten, they won’t
travel a lot.”

  “How would you find them?”

  Pallifer said, “If they go to the law, the law’s gonna come to you, and that puts me on their tail. In a big city like this, automobile accidents happen all the time.”

  “What if Manville doesn’t go to the law? He doesn’t have a very good hand to play with them right now, no proof, no witnesses. What if he’s smart enough to hide out for a while, until he and the girl can go somewhere else?”

  Pallifer nodded, considering that. “You say the girl came off another ship. No documents on her?”

  “Identification? None. No passport, no driver’s license, nothing.”

  “If I was them,” Pallifer said, “and I didn’t want to bother with the law just yet, I’d hole up in one of the tourist sections around here, up or down the coast.”

  “And how would you find them?” Curtis asked. “Drive up and down the beach?”

  “Well, he has to pay his way, doesn’t he?” Pallifer said. “He’ll use credit cards, won’t he?” Pallifer turned his head to look at Curtis, and he was almost smiling. He said, “How hard is it to get a look at a man’s credit card history?”

  “Not hard,” Curtis said, “if you want to wait two weeks or a month, to find out where they used to be.”

  “He’s an American,” Pallifer pointed out. “Lots of tourists around here, but damn few of them American. He’s got to use his own name, because that’s what’s on the card. The transactions go through one of the banks here in Brisbane, don’t they?”

  “I’m not sure how that works,” Curtis said, “but I have people who know. We’re looking for an American credit card being used somewhere around here today.”

  “When I find ’em,” Pallifer said, “is it the same as before?”

  “The girl should disappear,” Curtis told him. “No body, no questions, she doesn’t get to tell anything to Diedrich. If you can hold onto Manville, do, and let me know. He’s the engineer, he could still be valuable.”

  “He could be trouble,” Pallifer said, and the phone rang.

  “If he’s trouble, of course, you kill him.” Curtis picked up the phone: “Curtis.”

  “Richard. It’s Robert here.” Bendix, though American, had been living in Switzerland for so long, avoiding U.S. Federal tax indictments, that he was beginning to develop a faint German accent.

  Curtis said, “Robert, I have to admit I’m a little disappointed in you.”

  Surprised, Bendix said, “What? Have I done something?”

  “I have an engineer that works for me,” Curtis told him, “a brilliant man, George Manville.”

  “I’ve heard the name.”

  “Of course you have. I just now learned that he’s been betraying me.”

  “I’m shocked to hear that,” Bendix said, sounding calm.

  “He offered several of my business secrets for sale,” Curtis said. “Bids on projects, sourcings of materiel, things like that.”

  “These grubby little people,” Bendix said. “Tsk, tsk.” He said it that way: tsk, tsk.

  “He offered this information to you,” Curtis said.

  “Why, the swine,” Bendix said. “I hope I threw him out on his ear.”

  “I’m afraid,” Curtis said, “you gave him a hearing. I believe you even looked at some of the documents he’d stolen from me.”

  “Perhaps I was drunk.”

  “I’m here in Brisbane now,” Curtis went on, “where I just discovered this thievery, and I’m sorry, Robert, but I have no choice but to go to the police.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Bendix assured him. “Unfortunate, of course, but I quite see where you have no alternative.”

  “None. It will probably mean, as well, that I’ll be forced to say some unpleasant things about you in the press.”

  “Speaking of swine,” Bendix said. “Well, I’ve been spoken of unkindly before.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Now, you know, Richard,” Bendix said, “I’m certainly not going to admit to having encouraged this fellow.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “However,” Bendix said, “I suppose I could manage not to deny it very forcefully either. I’m rather good, in fact, at being coy.”

  Curtis laughed. “I’m sure you are. I’d like to watch some time.”

  “Never. How’s Brisbane?”

  “Warm. How’s Geneva?”

  “Cold. Nice talking to you.”

  “And you, Robert.” Curtis broke the connection, then dialed the hotel operator: “Police headquarters, please.”

  3

  Luther walked into their cabin and Jerry was still seated there, crosslegged on his bunk, gazing moodily at nothing at all.

  “We’re there, Jerry,” he said. “Come outside and watch.”

  Jerry came back from far away, and gave Luther a bleak look. Sighing, he said, “I’m dreading this, Luther.”

  “The parents, you mean.”

  “Of course the parents.”

  “Well,” Luther said, “brooding in here isn’t going to get it over with any faster. Come out on deck, look at the world.”

  “The world,” Jerry said, as though repelled by the idea, but he did obediently get up from his bunk and follow Luther out of the cabin. The two went single file down the narrow corridor and up the ladder to the foredeck.

  Planetwatch III had already rounded South Head and was well into the harbor waters called Port Jackson, surrounded by the hugely sprawling city of Sydney. Ahead soared the perfect arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge, uniting the two halves of the city, while just this side of it and to its left sat poised the Opera House, that great gleaming white bird with folded wings.

  Usually Jerry both enjoyed this view and was appalled by it, the great spread of massive buildings up the hillslopes from gleaming beaches both beautiful in themselves and horrible in their implications of massive environmental damage. He could dwell endlessly on the contradictions as their little ship steamed slowly westward into the harbor.

  But not today. Today, Jerry saw nothing, because out there in front of him, somewhere in all that muscular teeming space, were Kim Baldur’s mother and father.

  Of course they’d been told, as soon as possible. Two days ago Kim had gone over the side and disappeared, most certainly dead. As soon as Planetwatch III had gotten out of range of those deadly waves, Jerry had radioed to the Planetwatch office here in Sydney to report what had happened, and they in turn had notified the main Planetwatch headquarters in Seattle, who had informed Mr. and Mrs. Baldur in Chicago. Who had immediately flown here, and had been waiting for the slow-moving Planetwatch III since last night.

  It was Jerry’s responsibility. It was his responsibility that Kim had done that rash thing, that foolish thing, thinking he would want her to do it, and so it was his responsibility to face the parents, answer their questions, accept whatever blame they wanted to put on him.

  Today. Now. In that city, closing around him as the ship turned to port to enter Woolloomooloo Bay, closing around him like the gleaming white teeth in the jaws of the world’s most massive shark.

  * * *

  Planetwatch maintained a storefront office on George Street in The Rocks, a lesser tourist and shopping area overlooking Sydney Cove. Amid the restraint of the restored 19th-century buildings of the neighborhood, Planetwatch’s shop window of color photographs of ecological horrors blown up to gargantuan scale struck a strident note that only Planetwatch’s supporters couldn’t see.

  It was in the conference room behind the store area that Jerry and Captain Cousseran, along with three local Planetwatch volunteers, met the parents, all of them seated on the uncomfortable green vinyl chairs around the free-form cream-colored Formica coffee table under the fluorescent ceiling lights, in the conversation area away from the main long rectangular conference table. Michael Baldur was a large man in his mid-fifties, with large jowls and black-framed eyeglasses and thinning gray hair; he was dressed in the same discreet
ly expensive dark blue pinstripe suit and white shirt and dark figured tie he would wear to his executive’s office in a large merchant bank in Chicago’s Loop. Kristin Baldur was a tiny woman who tried not to look as though she were in her late forties. Her medium-length ash blonde hair was carefully informal, her makeup insistently discreet, her Hermès scarf casually but perfectly draped over her padded shoulders. She had clearly been a beauty in her youth, of a delicate and more powerful sort than her healthily attractive daughter.

  After awkward introductions, after a general refusal of an offer of coffee from one of the volunteers, after an uncomfortable pause, Jerry blurted out, “I want you to know, I feel horrible.”

  They looked at him mildly, as though they didn’t know it was his fault, as though they thought he were just being conventionally sympathetic. Kristin Baldur even managed a polite smile as she said, “It must have been a terrible shock for you. All of you, on the ship.”

  “It was,” Captain Cousseran said.

  “We’ve been told,” Michael Baldur said, “she was volunteering in some way. I don’t entirely understand it.”

  Jerry closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. This was the moment. Opening his eyes, he said, “She did it because she thought I wanted her to.”

  Now they looked at him more closely. The father said. “Did you want her to?”

  “No!”

  Captain Cousseran, in the chair to Jerry’s right, said, “There was no warning. She told no one, asked no questions, merely leaped into the sea.”

  Jerry wasn’t about to let himself be let off the hook that easily. Turning to the captain, he said, “But she heard me say there had to be a fail-safe. You know she did. She heard me say it was going to be safe, that’s why she went ahead.”