He turned to Miriam and Kaplan, motioned them to the prow of the boat. From there Omar was clearly visible, but he couldn't hear them.
"Why Cyprus?" Miriam asked.
Craig said, "I know a man there who'll help me."
"All we have to do is find Force Three," said Miriam.
"And how do you propose to do that?"
"They told me how."
He saw the obstinate set of her mouth, and smiled.
"And you promised you wouldn't tell, is that it? All right. I don't want to know. To tell you the truth, I don't want to go near them."
"But they'll help you," she said.
"No," said Craig. "They'll help you, love. They'll give me back to a man called Loomis."
"The one Royce said had condemned you to death?"
"That's right," said Craig. "But he can't, now that I've got him." He looked at Kaplan appraisingly.
"You'd be amazed how popular you are," he said. "Everybody wants you—and I've got you."
"That's not strictly true," Miriam said. "We've got him."
"You forget so easily," said Craig. "Don't you remember when you told Royce and Benson we were all on the same side?"
"But you wouldn't hand him back to the Russians?" "He's up for auction," said Craig. "Let's see what I'm bid."
"But you've got no right to do this."
Craig said, "Force Three told you to use me. Right?" She nodded. "And that's exactly what you did. But there's something you don't realize. When you use somebody— you get what that person has to offer, and nothing else. I can only do this my way, love. If I did it your way, I'd lose."
"You used me too," said the girl.
"We used each other. It was the only good thing in the whole business." "And now it's over?"
Craig shrugged. "We can't make decisions any more. We're lumbered." He nodded at Kaplan. "With him. The solid-gold leg iron."
Kaplan felt Craig's eyes on him and looked away. Craig spoke in Russian again, and he nodded.
"I've told him you're going to interrogate him," said Craig. "Come here."
He led her to the side of the boat, away from Kaplan. Utterly weary, she went with him.
"Don't try to explain who you are," he said. "Just ask questions. He's the one who has to answer. Talk in English —and if you think he's lying, switch languages on him. Try him in Hebrew—or Yiddish. Br you still think he's lying, send for me."
"Can't I even tell him about Marcus?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"Why not?"
"Because that would make him a person—give him an identity. At the moment he's nothing. So long as he stays nothing, we'll get the truth." She wanted to argue, and he went on, "Look. All he understands is fear. It's the only emotion that makes him react. Why do you think I speak Russian to him? For him, Russian's the language of fear."
Suddenly Kaplan moved, scrambling toward the far side of the ship. Craig leaped from her and his hands grabbed for Kaplan as he went over the side, one gripping his shirt, the other holding his thick, white hair. Craig stood straddle-legged, and lifted Kaplan back aboard the boat as Kaplan screamed with pain. He released his grip on the shirt and tugged on the hair, lifting Kaplan to his toes, then the hand moved down, forcing him to his knees, and all the time he spoke to him in Russian. The fingers twisted, and Kaplan screamed again.
"You pig," Craig said. "You stupid, lying pig. Don't you ever learn? Don't you know you can't even die till we say so? You're still in Volochanka, Kaplan. You'll always be there."
He pushed him sprawling, then picked up an end of rope, knotted his hands behind his back and tied the other end of the rope to the mast, then turned to Miriam.
"Ask your questions," he said. "He's ready."
He went aft then, took the tiller, and sent Omar into the cabin to prepare a meal. Omar scuttled away and Craig lazed back against the strakes, giving his body ease and rest. He could hear the sound of Miriam's voice and Kaplan's responses, but not the words. It didn't matter. Miriam's interrogation was only a warm-up, anyway; the truth would come when he had Kaplan on shore, alone, when Royce and Benson were out of the way. He supposed that eventually he'd have to kill Royce. Maybe Benson too. But she'd let him escape; that made it harder to kill her. Why did she do it? Craig wondered. What was she trying to gain? He leaned forward and looked down into the cabin. Omar was old, but he was determined, and money acted on him as fear did on Kaplan. Omar had sliced bread and cheese and peeled fruit. The knife he had used was long and sharp, and he held it in his hand, looked at it with love.
"No," said Craig.
Omar sighed and put down the knife, then fetched up the food and four bottles of water, gave some to Kaplan and Miriam, then came back to Craig, sat cross-legged beside him as they ate, and took the tiller.
"Effendi," said Omar, "you must be very rich."
"Sometimes," said Craig.
"One day you might need a partner."
"Why?"
"A very small partner. One who could keep his eyes and ears open. Tell you things." "What things?"
"What the Americans and the Russians are doing. For money I could find out."
"Why should I want to do that?"
"You are a spy," Omar said. "Just as Royce and Miss Benson are spies." There was neither shock nor surprise in Omar's voice. He might have said: "You're a grocer."
"Who do you think I spy for?"
"Not the Russians or Americans. Not the British, either. You spy for yourself. For money. I could help you. Truly, I could."
"You're still afraid 111 kill you," said Craig.
"I'll always be afraid of that," Omar said. "But I want to show you I'll be more useful if you let me live."
Craig ate bread and cheese left-handed. The bread was dry, the cheese old and tough, but he chewed on it stolidly. It was fuel.
"Always the left hand," said Omar. "You take care of yourself."
"That's right," said Craig. "Show me how you can be useful."
"That shepherd there. He was in hiding."
"I found him," said Craig. "There's nothing for you in that." He ate some grapes. "Did you know Royce and Benson were looking for him?"
"No," said Omar. "The bastards didn't trust me." Craig chuckled. "But I guessed it."
"How?"
"The Russians were looking for him too." Somehow Craig went on chuckling. "I know that," he said. Omar's face fell.
"You know who they are?" he asked. "No," said Craig. "I don't know that." "I do," Omar said. "How much is it worth?" "A thousand dollars," Craig said.
"It should be worth much more," said Omar. "This is big news."
"A thousand dollars," Craig said again. "You're lucky I feel lazy today. I could get it for nothing."
"That isn't very nice," said Omar. "We're not in a nice business."
"They call themselves Israelis," Omar said. "They came to Kutsk three weeks ago. They are Jews, I think, and they had Jewish names—Lindemann, Stein—but really they were Russians. I heard them speak."
"You speak Russian?"
"I know how it sounds," said Omar. "All Turks do if they've got any sense." "Go on."
"First they tried to find the shepherd themselves. He was too well hidden. Then they asked me. I said there wasn't any such man. I should explain," he continued, "that the shepherd paid us money to say he wasn't there."
"You'd have sold him out to me—or Royce and Benson."
"You would have offered more money than the shepherd. The Russians wanted him for nodiing." "Describe them," said Craig.
"Lindemann is tall—about your height—heavy-shouldered, brown eyes, black hair. He is the younger. Stein is a head shorter than you, but a big body. Like a bear. A very strong man. His eyes are almost black. His hair was once black, now it is gray."
"Their age?"
"Hard to say. They look older than they are, I think. The way you do, effendi." He hesitated. "What I mean is they look good at their job. Like you."