Fortune of Fear Read online

  I looked back. I had covered my trail.

  The sky above Istanbul was orange with continuing flames.

  I was on my way!

  There is nothing quite like Apparatus training to help you when you are in peril.

  But I was not safe yet!

  PART FORTY-ONE

  Chapter 1

  Down through the Sea of Marmara, down through the Dardanelles, twenty-one hours of retching, twenty-one hours of Hells.

  I sat in the fish-stink cabin of a mate and puked my guts out into an evil-smelling bucket. The Sanci was well named! But no stomachache could compare with what I was experiencing. A bad head sea was being pushed along by a wind which originated in the Aegean and got worse-tempered every mile.

  More was against me than the wind. At first I had kept watch across the waters as the lights of Istanbul receded into a distant blur: it seemed inevitable that the Turkish navy would come roaring out to seize me, and I had made up my mind to sell my life at the highest possible cost. But then the pitching began to get me. In danger of going overboard as I vomited at the rail, I was pushed by the captain into the mate’s cabin and given a bucket: the captain said he did not want to lose the balance of the payment.

  At first I was so sick that I was afraid I was going to die. Then I became so much sicker that I was afraid I wouldn’t.

  Gradually, between retches, I began to ponder, as a man will, how I had gotten into this. Was there not some other way of life which would avoid wildly running spacecraft and madly pitching fish boats? Was it not possible that some sedentary vocation existed which steered wide of these things? I was simply not constitutionally adjusted to this lifestyle.

  Hour by tortured hour I began to sort it out to certainty. A dented, rusty bucket in which fish scales were sloshing around with vomit makes a remarkably good crystal ball. One can see quite clearly that much future of this kind was definitely hazardous to one’s future health.

  So I began to wonder what had placed me in such a state. The threads of Fate, somewhere in the past, must have begun to weave this horrible lot.

  As the gray day wore on and the gray wind whipped gray whitecaps out of the gray polluted sea, the grayness of my mood condensed upon and added to a pure black certainty.

  HELLER! If he had not undertaken the original survey of this planet, I would not be here. I would not be in this terrible plight—pursued by demon women, blown upon by malign and sneering winds, rocked and jolted about until my stomach no longer added anything to the bucket but noise.

  HELLER! If it were not for his sense of duty as a combat engineer, the Widow Tayl would never have come back into my life. Nurse Bildirjin would not be now posing the menace of shotgun charges and marriage.

  HELLER! If he had never appeared upon the scene, that fatal call from Lombar, so long ago, would not have interrupted my hunting trip and right now, instead of watching anxiously for blood to spew into the bucket, I would be pleasantly shooting songbirds to my heart’s delight in the Blike Mountains of Voltar.

  HELLER! He had turned them all against me: Meeley, Ske, Bawtch, Faht Bey. He had plotted, plotted, plotted to get me into trouble. Prahd, Krak, Ahmed, Ters and all this Hellish crew of screaming demons would not be haunting me and sneering at me and standing with the Prophet in the clouds egging the women on to stone me to death.

  HELLER! Oh, how very clearly I understood at last that it was all his fault!

  HELLER! I vowed a holy vow upon the bail of the fish bucket that if it took the rest of my life, short though it might be, I would wreak vengeance upon him for all the suffering he was inflicting upon me with such sadistic glee.

  When it became totally clear to me what had gone wrong with my life, I knew exactly what I must do.

  I must go to New York. Regardless of any personal danger, regardless of any travail, I must end Heller once and for all. For the good of the Confederacy, for the good of Earth, for the good of all life everywhere, I must handle this menace to all the universe: HELLER!

  Having come to that firm and dedicated conclusion, I felt easier.

  It was a sign of Fate that at that moment the captain came in and told me we had arrived.

  It totally confirmed my conclusion. The ship had ceased to pitch and I was no longer ill. It shows one what a completely right answer can do!

  PART FORTY-ONE

  Chapter 2

  We lay in the lee of the land. The black mass of a hill loomed in the luminescent dark of midnight. By a thin cold sliver of a moon, a thin line of whitish beach showed about a mile away.

  “Greece,” the huge captain said, pointing. “When you pay, we put you ashore.”

  I knew what I had to do. Cover my trail.

  I went into the cabin. I boosted my grip up on the bunk. Covering what I was doing by turning my back to the door, I got out a very flat stun gun. I strapped my grip back up.

  Using a dirty pillowcase, I stuffed in the Turkish lira. I put the stun gun in the impromptu bag.

  Turning to the door, I saw that the captain was still at the rail outside.

  “I will pay you,” I said, “when you have a boat in the water and have given orders for me to be rowed to the beach. Then you can have this.” I hefted the pillowcase of money and then, with a handful, showed him what it contained.

  The fool barked his orders. A rubber inflatable with an outboard was put over the side. Two crewmen got into it.

  I beckoned the captain into the cabin. This captain and crew knew what I looked like. They would probably call the nearest Greek police. Even if there was no extradition treaty for adultery between Greece and Turkey, I could take no chances. This captain and crew might tell the women when they came to question them. I had to cover my trail. Besides, there was no use in throwing away money that could be converted back to dollars.

  I edged around to the door so that I was closer to it than the captain. I closed it behind me as I held out the sack.

  “There is something extra in it,” I said. I reached in as though to take it out and show him.

  He smiled broadly.

  My hand closed around the stun gun butt.

  I shot him through the pillowcase.

  The dull thud of the stun gun was followed by the slap of the charge and then by the clatter as he fell into the bunk, knocked out.

  My hands expertly went through his pockets. I found the thirty thousand under his belt. I put it back where it belonged: under mine.

  I emptied the pillowcase and stuffed the rest of the money into the inside pockets of my cloak.

  I set a half-hour delay on the plunger of a time bomb, put it under the mattress and pushed the thumb plate.

  I picked up my grip. There was nothing here that I wanted now. I certainly did not want that awful fish bucket!

  Stepping on deck, I closed the door behind me.

  Two crewmen were in the inflatable. Others were standing at the rail. I went over to them.

  I said, “He’s counting the money. You men probably won’t see much of it, and I so appreciate your trip that here’s a gift.”

  I tossed a handful of lira into the group.

  Madly, they batted at the floating bills, trying to get them down.

  The stun gun was on broad beam. I fired rapidly.

  They fell.

  The two men in the boat tried to spring up. I shot them. They fell into the water.

  From the deck, I picked up the bills I had thrown and put them under my belt.

  I put my suitcase in the inflatable. I stepped down into it. I cast it off.

  The outboard motor was some kind of a Balkan comedy of levers and corroded bars. I tried to start it. I pulled the cord and pulled the cord and pulled the cord again. Nothing happened! It would not even cough!

  The inflatable was drifting away from the dark bulk of the ship.

  Suddenly, there was a bustle aboard.

  The engineers! I had forgotten there would be engineers below!

  Swearing, Turkish and lurid, came f
rom the ship.

  Silhouetted in the moonlight, I saw a man with a rifle at the rail!

  A bullet knifed a phosphorescent path in the water to my right. The explosion of the fired gun buffeted me.

  I drew the stun gun. I shot. It was on broad beam. It would not reach that range!

  Another shot from the ship!

  No phosphorescent path!

  A sigh of escaping air!

  The inflatable had been hit!

  I threw the stun gun lever to narrow beam. I aimed.

  The rifle went off again!

  I fired.

  The man on the deck dropped.

  Another one was trying to grab the rifle.

  I aimed and fired again!

  The other one dropped.

  The inflatable was sinking!

  I looked wildly for a paddle. None!

  Hastily, I flung myself down in the bow of the collapsing craft. I dog-paddled in the water madly, getting back to the ship.

  I caught a trailing line.

  I started to get aboard the ship. I remembered my suitcase, stumbled back and grabbed it. I lost the line. I sprang with all my might and caught it again. I climbed up onto the deck. I looked back. The inflatable completed its sinking.

  The bomb! I had to get off this ship fast!

  There was a rowboat in the waist of the ship. I cut its lashings and began to inch it to the rail. I got it there.

  I looked about for oars. All I could find was the rifle.

  I pushed the boat over the rail. I dropped the suitcase and the rifle in. I got in. I shoved myself away. That ship was going to explode!

  Using the rifle stock for a paddle, I headed toward the beach. So slow, so slow! The boat behaved like a crazed thing. It went to the right and it went to the left. I had to switch paddling sides continually.

  Foot by floundering foot, the rifle splashing wet and cold, I crawled at far too slow a pace toward the beach.

  Each time I looked at it, the beach seemed to be no nearer. A crosscurrent seemed to be taking me parallel to the shore.

  I valiantly redoubled my efforts. At last, progress! The beach was coming nearer.

  Suddenly the whole sky behind me went orange!

  Flame shot up a hundred feet in the black night!

  BOOM!

  The concussion hit me.

  I thought I was all right.

  Then the rowboat began to rise in the air!

  A tidal wave!

  The crest was breaking!

  On the shoreward side of it, the rowboat and I plummeted toward the beach!

  What speed!

  Fast as a racing car rushing through the foam-white night!

  Rocks were ahead! They came like speeding blobs of black straight at me!

  Over the tops of them I went.

  The rushing roar of water ended suddenly with a splintering crash!

  I was stunned by the impact.

  I did not know what had happened.

  The water was going away but the rowboat and I weren’t.

  I was high up on a strip of beach. I was sitting in the shattered wreck of a rowboat which no longer had a bottom and only splinters for sides.

  I looked back at the inky sea. I was through with it. No more sea for me! One more black mark against Heller!

  A voice said, “Are you from that exploded boat out there?”

  PART FORTY-ONE

  Chapter 3

  He was a very old man. He had two dogs with him. He was peering at me in the thin moonlight.

  Tragedy. My landing had been observed. My trail was not covered.

  But I masked it. I said, “Where am I?”

  “The island,” he said.

  Oh, treachery. I knew I never should have trusted that villainous captain. He had not landed me on the mainland as agreed, but upon an island.

  Then a new horror hit me. The old man had spoken in Turkish! I do not speak Greek!

  Oh, Gods, the women would find me yet. And the Prophet still must be sitting in the clouds above, ready to stone the Hells out of me.

  I’d better make the best of this and find out which way to run. “What island?” I said.

  “Limnos,” said the old man.

  I was too shaky on geography to be sure, but I had never heard of such an island as being part of Turkey. It didn’t sound Turkish. My hope was dim but I asked, “What country?”

  “Greece,” he said.

  “Then why are you talking Turkish?” I snapped at him.

  He picked up a piece of the rowboat. Despite the paleness of the moon, one could clearly read Sanci. “This and your clothing.” He pointed east. “Turkey is over there only twenty-five miles and my wife came from there.”

  He didn’t fool me. He was just trying to detain me until he could call the police. If his wife was Turkish, she would know all about it. Women stick close together. And they are very treacherous.

  “You better come up to my hut,” he said. “Then I can call somebody to get you.”

  I played it very cunning.

  He saw my grip and picked it up and started to walk up the beach, beckoning me to follow. He was, of course, going to lead me into a trap. I followed him, knowing what I would do.

  The two dogs kept sniffing at me. I knew that they had spotted who I was. I had to include them in my plans.

  The hut was a very mean hut. There were some other buildings around. They all seemed deserted.

  He sat me down at the table and got out a bottle of ouzo. That confirmed my suspicions. He was going to get me drunk so they could pick me up without a fight.

  I, however, continued to remember my careful Apparatus training: Be clever and cunning when you are not safe, and as no one can ever be safe, be clever and cunning always.

  “Where is your wife?” I asked.

  “Dead for years,” he said.

  “And these other buildings? The people?”

  “All moved to the cities. Gone now.”

  “How far to the nearest town?”

  He pointed south. “Moudhros. Quite a ways.”

  “Nobody else around?”

  “Just me. I retired years ago. I fish some. Drink your drink. You must be chilled to the bone. I’ll have to walk over to the road and make a call.”

  I had everything I needed to know. And he was not going to detain me, drunk, while he brought the police. As he stepped out the door, I shot him with the stun gun. It was on full power, narrow beam. It blew his head half off.

  The dogs objected.

  I shot them.

  I dragged all three bodies down to the beach. I pushed the remains of the rowboat down into the water. I put the bodies in it. I buried the fragment that had the ship’s name on it.

  People, if anyone ever came this way, would think they had been blown up by the exploding ship. And then cast ashore by the tidal wave.

  I had covered my trail.

  I went back to the hut. There wasn’t much blood and what specks there were I obliterated.

  The old man had had another suit of clothes. His Sunday clothes, I guessed. The Greeks wear Western things and white shirts without a tie, most usually.

  I stripped. I dried out my clothes over the fire. And while they were drying I ate some biscuit I found and drank some water.

  I opened my grip and packed my Arab things. I put on the old man’s clothes. They did not fit very well so they looked very Greek.

  It occurred to me that I would have trouble, not speaking the language. So I put a wad of cotton in my jaw and tied a rag under my chin and over my head. I could pretend I couldn’t talk because I had a toothache.

  Ready at last, I hefted my bag. It was quite heavy. But there was nothing I could spare from it.

  I was on my way again, with vengeance in my heart for Heller!

  Stumbling through the dark night, I made my way up a long path and came at last to a deserted road.

  I walked south.

  I walked and walked and walked.

  It
was very arduous but I had incentive. Whatever it took, I was going to get the man who had caused my having to do this. And nothing was going to stop me!

  In the dawn I came into a straggling town. It was not much.

  Sitting at the end of a long pier was a small ship. A plume of smoke was coming out of the funnel. It was an inter-island ferry such as ply the Aegean.

  I flinched. Not more sea!

  But what could I do? I had to get to the mainland. Unlike some they say once existed on this planet, I could not walk on water.

  Only the sacred mission of final destruction on which I was engaged gave me the fortitude to set foot on that gangplank.

  I went up it. Someone came out of a passageway and glanced down the gangway at the dock.

  I looked behind me. A chill went through me. Several people were now walking up the dock. Some of them were women!

  I tensed myself to run.

  The man said something to me in Greek. He must be asking for money. Tight spot! I had no Greek money! I could not display Turkish money! It would open up the trail!

  With great presence of mind, I reached to a pocket and fished out a US thousand-dollar bill.

  His eyes popped!

  He grabbed the money and ran off. My hand tightened on the gun in my pocket.

  More people were coming up the dock.

  The first man came back with another one!

  I was penned in!

  There were too many! I did not have a machine cannon.

  My lips formed a soundless prayer.

  The new man had a box. He was chattering. It must be what they kept their electric cuffs in. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. He was opening it up. My hand felt hot and sticky on the gun butt in my pocket.

  They had the box open. They were pointing at it. The first man waved the thousand-dollar bill. He pointed at the box again, chattering insanely all the while.

  The word piraiévs kept occurring in his speech. Suddenly, I knew the word. Piraiévs was the entry port of Athens, its seaport.

  My knees almost buckled with relief. He was telling me, evidently, that he did not have enough change and would give it to me in Piraiévs.

  I nodded weakly.

  The first man pushed a ticket in my hand.

  I tottered into a lounge bar and unpried my sticky hand from the gun butt in my pocket. I looked at my palm, thinking it had never been that sweaty before. It was not sweat. It was blood from broken blisters formed in packing that (bleeped) grip. So I wasn’t as nervous as I had thought.