spurs, Gija kept the boat close inshore on the Czech side, working in and out among the jutting piers to avoid the patrols that moved ceaselessly up and down the shipping channel.
The barge Luliga turned out to be comparatively new, a steel box over two hundred feet in length, powered by two semi-diesel engines. It was painted black, with huge gaping hatches that even now were receiving the last of the cargo in nets that carried numerous wooden crates into the holds. Like all barges, the Luliga had a comfortable housing aft for the crew, although most of the men aboard her now were dockworkers who began to leave as hatch after hatch was sealed down tightly.
A whistle blew as Gija waved Durell’s oars in and started the launch motor. They idled in the deep shadow of the next pier, holding their position against the thrust of the current with only an occasional revving of the engine. The noise didn’t matter now, since it was drowned by the clamor and chugging of donkey engines and screeching winches on the dock. When the dockworkers were all ashore, there came a deep, throbbing burst of power as the Luliga’s engines were started. Gija said: “We’ll go aboard now. It will be up to Captain Galucz to decide what to do about you. He will expect his son Anton to be with us.”
“Is the captain one of the underground?” Durell asked. Gija shrugged. “Half and half. He does what he does for money, or for the hope of money. You have some?”
“I’m only substituting for Hammett. I didn’t get much.”
“That will not go down well with Galucz.”
“I can promise him a reward,” Durell suggested. “Promises can’t be eaten. Well, we’ll see. Here we go,” Gija said.
A few moments later the launch was up against the massive, blunt stern of the barge. A rope ladder came snaking down and Gija gestured with the gun. They were hidden from the docks by the bulk of the barge, as first Mara, then Durell climbed up to the crew housing.
They were greeted by a stout bearded man in a thick turtleneck sweater, his head covered by a captain’s cap with a cracked and misshapen visor. This was Captain Galucz. The man’s thick brows came down in a scowl as he considered Durell and Mara; then he muttered something to Gija. Gija shrugged, and Galucz turned to Durell and spoke in roughly accented English.
“My son, Anton—where is he?”
“Safe in Vienna, captain.”
“Why did he not return to you?”
“There was an accident. He is well, I assure you. He is at the American Embassy.”
“Was there trouble?”
“No, no,” Durell said. “Otherwise, why should I be here?”
“You are not the one who was sent originally, Gija tells me. There was a killing.”
“Yes. And a kidnapping.”
“And this woman? Gija says she is a spy.”
“I do not know,” Durell said.
A cloud of steam floated from the dock across the tiny afterdeck of the barge. The captain looked uncertain. He touched his hard, round belly and wet his lips that seemed bloodless between his gray beard and moustache. A whistle sounded piercingly on the dock. A man shouted, and the captain waved a gloved hand at Gija’s gun.
“Hold them here a minute.”
Durell said suddenly: “I want to go ashore, captain.” “Eh? What’s that?” Galucz turned, scowling, his hands on his hips. “What for?”
“I told you, they kidnapped a girl. I want to go after her. I can catch up to you farther downstream.”
The captain grinned. “Are you insane? We cast off this minute. And if you returned, it would be with a boatload of security police! You must think I’m a fool! I knew I should never have agreed to this scheme, but Gija talked me into it.” He swung around to the young barge pilot. “Are you satisfied now, hey? What should we do with these people? Throw them to the carp in the Danube? Or turn them over to the police on the docks?”
Gija said: “I think the man is all right—a friend of Harry Hammett’s, the man who was
The barge Luliga turned out to be comparatively new, a steel box over two hundred feet in length, powered by two semi-diesel engines. It was painted black, with huge gaping hatches that even now were receiving the last of the cargo in nets that carried numerous wooden crates into the holds. Like all barges, the Luliga had a comfortable housing aft for the crew, although most of the men aboard her now were dockworkers who began to leave as hatch after hatch was sealed down tightly.
A whistle blew as Gija waved Durell’s oars in and started the launch motor. They idled in the deep shadow of the next pier, holding their position against the thrust of the current with only an occasional revving of the engine. The noise didn’t matter now, since it was drowned by the clamor and chugging of donkey engines and screeching winches on the dock. When the dockworkers were all ashore, there came a deep, throbbing burst of power as the Luliga’s engines were started. Gija said: “We’ll go aboard now. It will be up to Captain Galucz to decide what to do about you. He will expect his son Anton to be with us.”
“Is the captain one of the underground?” Durell asked. Gija shrugged. “Half and half. He does what he does for money, or for the hope of money. You have some?”
“I’m only substituting for Hammett. I didn’t get much.”
“That will not go down well with Galucz.”
“I can promise him a reward,” Durell suggested. “Promises can’t be eaten. Well, we’ll see. Here we go,” Gija said.
A few moments later the launch was up against the massive, blunt stern of the barge. A rope ladder came snaking down and Gija gestured with the gun. They were hidden from the docks by the bulk of the barge, as first Mara, then Durell climbed up to the crew housing.
They were greeted by a stout bearded man in a thick turtleneck sweater, his head covered by a captain’s cap with a cracked and misshapen visor. This was Captain Galucz. The man’s thick brows came down in a scowl as he considered Durell and Mara; then he muttered something to Gija. Gija shrugged, and Galucz turned to Durell and spoke in roughly accented English.
“My son, Anton—where is he?”
“Safe in Vienna, captain.”
“Why did he not return to you?”
“There was an accident. He is well, I assure you. He is at the American Embassy.”
“Was there trouble?”
“No, no,” Durell said. “Otherwise, why should I be here?”
“You are not the one who was sent originally, Gija tells me. There was a killing.”
“Yes. And a kidnapping.”
“And this woman? Gija says she is a spy.”
“I do not know,” Durell said.
A cloud of steam floated from the dock across the tiny afterdeck of the barge. The captain looked uncertain. He touched his hard, round belly and wet his lips that seemed bloodless between his gray beard and moustache. A whistle sounded piercingly on the dock. A man shouted, and the captain waved a gloved hand at Gija’s gun.
“Hold them here a minute.”
Durell said suddenly: “I want to go ashore, captain.” “Eh? What’s that?” Galucz turned, scowling, his hands on his hips. “What for?”
“I told you, they kidnapped a girl. I want to go after her. I can catch up to you farther downstream.”
The captain grinned. “Are you insane? We cast off this minute. And if you returned, it would be with a boatload of security police! You must think I’m a fool! I knew I should never have agreed to this scheme, but Gija talked me into it.” He swung around to the young barge pilot. “Are you satisfied now, hey? What should we do with these people? Throw them to the carp in the Danube? Or turn them over to the police on the docks?”
Gija said: “I think the man is all right—a friend of Harry Hammett’s, the man who was
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