“How much?” Robby asked.
“Twenty-one thousand dollars. We planned to use the rest for our retirement.” Miss Rushby leaned forward again, saying, “You do understand now why we chose this method, don’t you? We couldn’t very well rob a bank or anything of a violent nature like that, we just aren’t of a sort to bring that kind of thing off. And our normal methods, though they have kept us solvent over the years, are hardly useful for raising a lot of cash in a hurry. Also, Percy has been kidnapped, in a way, and is being held for ransom, so we decided to fight fire with fire.”
“It’s too bad we were both reaching for the same match,” said Robby. “How long before we reach this island of the Major’s?”
Miss Rushby looked out to sea, then said, “Oh, it shouldn’t be long now. It’s really quite lovely, too, and on a clear day like this sometimes you can actually see Cuba, miles and miles away.”
“The reason I asked,” Robby said, “is they’ve got to know Sassi’s gone by now.”
“Hours ago, I should think.”
“They might decide,” Robby said, “to use helicopters.”
Miss Rushby gave a quick apprehensive look at the empty sky, then laughed and said, “Oh, no. Not this soon.”
“Why not?”
“In the first place,” she said, “there has never till now been a kidnapping on the island of Jamaica. Isn’t that interesting? Kidnapping is almost exclusively an American idea. Kidnapping for ransom, I mean.”
“What about during the Crusades? Knights were always being held for ransom.”
“That’s perfectly true,” said Miss Rushby, “but in the twentieth century the practice is almost entirely American. So the local authorities won’t really be equipped to handle it. And the first outside authorities they’ll bring in will be British, who won’t know that much more than they. They’ll search around Montego Bay for a while, then look in other areas of the island, and then at last they’ll think of the sea.”
“If I lived on an island,” Robby said, “the first place I’d think of would be the sea.”
“I know a number of New Yorkers,” Miss Rushby said, “and they live on an island but they never think of the sea.”
“That isn’t the same thing,” Robby said.
“They won’t think of the sea at all today,” Miss Rushby said. “I’m convinced of it. But in any event we’ll be at the island very soon now and safely out of sight.”
“Don’t people ever stop on this island?”
“Oh, no, not at all. It’s privately owned, and the fishermen know they aren’t permitted to land. But we happen to know the owners are in Switzerland right now and won’t be back in this part of the world for another three months. We were their house guests a few years ago. But the place is absolutely deserted now.”
“It won’t be for long,” Robby said.
The cabin door opened and the Major put his head in to say, “We’re here.”
“Good,” said Frank. He’d found his first taste of prison less than promising.
The Major nodded and went away, leaving the door open. Frank turned to Sassi Manoon, sitting on the bed over there with her legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from one hand. He said, “You coming?”
She looked at him. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I see. Come on along.”
It was the first time Frank had ever been this close to a sex symbol, and he was finding the experience strangely like novocaine. He knew she was there, he knew she had to be having some sort of effect on his nerves, but he couldn’t feel a thing.
He’d been pondering that, during their long silent imprisonment together, and he’d finally decided it was because she wasn’t real. Oh, she was real enough in the ordinary sense, she was flesh and blood and all that, but between the fact of her and his perception of her there hung a mist of fantasy, a veil of make-believe, in Technicolor and wide-screen. He couldn’t get himself to think of her as constructed of anything but plastic, and it was hard to get horny over plastic.
Now, as he was about to leave the cabin and follow the Major up on deck, he was surprised to see her hanging back a little, a pale look around her eyes. He said, “What’s the matter?”
“What happens?” she said. “What happens now?”
“We’re at the island,” Frank said.
“What happens?” she said.
He couldn’t believe she was afraid. Plastic has no fears. He said, “Nothing happens. We keep you till they pay the ransom, then we let you go.”
“That’s all?”
She was afraid. Frank moved toward her, meaning to be reassuring, and was startled when she backed away from him. He stopped where he was. “That’s all,” he said. “Honest, lady. You won’t get hurt or anything.”
He watched her getting a grip on herself. How could he have known it was a false face when he’d first come in here and she’d been so snappy and self-assured? Or maybe it was real then, but the silent traveling since had worn down her confidence. Anyway, right now she wasn’t a plastic make-believe doll at all, she was a nervous worried person. And he was partially responsible.
Frank didn’t like that, it embarrassed him and made him penitent. He never wanted to cause anybody unease. “Look,” he said, wanting to make amends, “it won’t be so bad. You’ll just lie around and rest a couple days, that’s all. And there’s two other women here to keep you company. It won’t be bad.”
She smiled, and the expression was a very complex thing. In it he could read relief and irony and appreciation and cynicism and reality and facade all combined together, no attitude yet having control of the situation. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go see the accommodations.”
“Right this way,” he said, smiling back, motioning for her to precede him, making a cheerful joke out of it, pleased that he’d made her feel better. She went first, and going up the steep steps behind her he at last did become aware of the fact that she was real. Very real.
“Um,” said Frank.
Part Two
People
(1)
To the Manor Borne
Kelly finished his tour of the manor on a third-floor balcony. The sun, far away across the endless violet water, was just settling below the horizon. The sky was too beautiful to be anything but a creation of Walt Disney Studios, and in its light the tiny island was ornately green and darkly luxurious.
It was a good island, really, ideal for its present use. A tiny green button on the blue vest of the Caribbean, it was mostly jungle, with only this one cleared area around the manor on the eastern shore. The only building on the island, the manor was three stories high and widely rambling, with twenty-three rooms and seven baths. Porches, patios, terraces, and balconies afforded panoramic views in all directions. The furniture tended heavily to wicker and bamboo, but some of the bedrooms were elaborately appointed and the basements were fully supplied with canned foods and excellent wines. The two bars were kept well-stocked, the ham radio set on the top floor was in fine working order, and the cove in front featured a magnificent crescent-shaped white sand beach. Just the place for a hideout.
The only lack was a dock, which was why the boats were now anchored in the cove; they’d come ashore in the dinghys. But it was a minor omission, compared to the assets of the place.
Kelly had delayed touring the house until his work of the day was done. To complete the first phase of the caper he had still to inform the authorities of the amount and disposition of the ransom, and that’s what he’d done as soon as they’d come ashore. While the ham equipment had warmed up he and the Major had used the old L. C. Smith typewriter in the radio room to prepare their message, so they would be sure to present it clearly when they got themselves a listener. Then Kelly had sat at the mike, repeating, “CQ, CQ, CQ,” until at last they’d roused a pharmacist in San Juan, who had come on expecting the sort of chat about tubes and frequencies that ham radio operators never tire of, and who had refused to believe for the longest time that Kelly wasn’t pulling his leg. But when finally he had accepted the thought that Kelly was serious, he said, “Is it okay if I tape what you say? I wouldn’t want to get it wrong.”