Partisans by Alistair MacLean Page B

see.’
    â€˜What’s locked can be unlocked.’
    â€˜Not in this case. We apologize for having taken liberties with an Italian naval vessel but we thought it prudent to weld the door to the bulkhead.’
    â€˜Ah, so.’ For the first time Carlos looked at Petersen his expression registering, if anything, no more than a polite interest. ‘Welded? Unusual.’
    â€˜I doubt whether you’ll find an oxyacetylene lance in Ploe.’
    â€˜I doubt it.’
    â€˜You might have to go all the way back to Ancona to have them freed. One would hope you are not sunk before you get there. It would be a terrible thing if Alessandro and his friends were to go to a watery grave.’
    â€˜Terrible.’
    â€˜We’ve taken another liberty. You did have an oxyacetylene flame. It’s at the bottom of the Adriatic.’
    Although he could see no gleam of white teeth, Petersen could have sworn that he was smiling.

FOUR
    As the seas had remained rough throughout the crossing and had hardly moderated when they reached what should have been the comparative shelter of the Neretva Channel between the island of PeljeÅ¡ac and the Yugoslav mainland, the seven passengers who were in a position to sit down to have breakfast did not in fact do so until they had actually tied up to the quay in Ploe. True to Carlos’ prediction, because they had arrived after dawn and were flying a ludicrously large Italian flag, the harbour garrison had refrained from firing at them as they made their approach towards the port that not even the most uninhibited of travel brochure writers would have described as the gem of the Adriatic.
    Breakfast was unquestionably the handiwork of Giovanni, the engineer: the indescribable mush of eggs and cheese seemed to have been cooked in diesel oil, and the coffee made of it, but the bread was palatable and the sea air lent an edge to the appetite, more especially for those who had suffered during the passage.
    Giacomo pushed his half-finished plate to one side. He was freshly shaven and, despite the ghastly meal, as cheerful as ever. ‘Where are Alessandro and his cut-throats? They don’t know what they’re missing.’
    â€˜Maybe they’ve had breakfast aboard the Colombo before,’ Petersen said. ‘Or already gone ashore.’
    â€˜Nobody’s gone ashore. I’ve been on deck.’
    â€˜Prefer their own company, then. A secretive lot.’
    Giacomo smiled. ‘You have no secrets?’
    â€˜Having secrets and being secretive are two different things. But no, no secrets. Too much trouble trying to remember who you are supposed to be and what you are supposed to be saying. Especially, if like me, you have difficulty in remembering. Start a life of deception and you end up by being trapped in it. I believe in the simple, direct fife.’
    â€˜I could believe that,’ Giacomo said. ‘Especially if last night’s performance was anything to go by.’
    â€˜Last night’s performance?’ Sarina, her face still pale from what had obviously been an unpleasant night, looked at him in puzzlement. ‘What does that mean?’
    â€˜Didn’t you hear the shot last night?’
    Sarina nodded towards the other girl. ‘Lorraine and I both heard a shot.’ She smiled faintly.
    â€˜When two people think they are dying they don’t pay much attention to a trifle like a shot. What happened?’
    â€˜Petersen shot one of Alessandro’s men. An unfortunate lad by the name of Cola.’
    Sarina looked at Petersen in astonishment. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’
    â€˜Credit where credit is due. Alex shot him – with, of course, my full approval. Why? He was being secretive, that’s why.’
    She didn’t seem to have heard. ‘Is he – is he dead?’
    â€˜Goodness me no. Alex doesn’t kill people.’ Quite a number of ghosts would have testified to the contrary.