15

After lunch, Curtis went riding for an hour with Albert Farrelly. Albert showed him the new swales that had been bulldozed since he’d been here last.

“It’s terrific work, Albert,” Curtis said. “First-rate work.”

They rode on, and Curtis said, “Albert, you know that George Manville is staying here for a week or two.”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Albert said. “We’ll take care of him, make him feel at home.”

“Do that. But the truth is, Albert,” Curtis said, as they rode side by side, quartering westward now, looping toward home, “he’s not actually a guest here so much as a prisoner—though he doesn’t know it. Or I hope he doesn’t know it.”

Surprised, Albert said, “Prisoner? I thought he was a friend of yours. Isn’t he who you were talking about, on the TV?”

“He is. I had to give him that, Albert,” Curtis explained, “because he’s in a position where he could make a lot of trouble for me, over the next few weeks, if he really wanted to. And I think he may want to.”

“Good heavens, Mr. Curtis, why?”

“It’s hard to know why a man turns against you,” Curtis said. “I thought we worked well together. It may be he thought I was taking too much credit, or not paying him well enough, or who knows what. He knows my plans, a big construction job coming up, and he could make a great deal of trouble for me if he decided to. That’s why I want him to stay here. He agreed, all right, but I have to tell you I don’t entirely trust him.”

Solemnly, Albert said, “Mr. Curtis, what do you want me to do?”

“Keep an eye on him. Don’t let him have any of the vehicles, for any reason at all. It would be better not to let him near a phone; remove them all, except in your office and bedroom, and keep those doors locked.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you think he’s planning something he shouldn’t,” Curtis went on, “those three fellows that brought him here, that are over in the spare barracks, they’ll take care of things for you. Just talk to Morgan Pallifer. But not unless there’s something you don’t think you can handle by yourself.”

“Those fellas,” Albert said, and he couldn’t entirely keep a tinge of distaste from his voice, “aren’t the sort I’m used to, Mr. Curtis.”

“I feel the same way about them,” Curtis assured him. “But sometimes we have to use the tools at hand. One or more of them may leave for a while early next week, but most of the time they’ll be here, and we’ll make sure Manville knows it. Oh, and if Morgan wants to use the phone, let him use the one in the office.”

“Yes, sir.” Albert managed a shaky laugh. “Even in a paradise like this,” he said, “life can get complex can’t it?”

“It surely can,” Curtis said.

* * *

Leaving the horses with Albert, Curtis walked over to the building they called the spare barracks, a long low adobe shoebox of a structure, with a verandah on one long side. Entering the building, Curtis heard the sound of the TV, followed it, and found the three men sprawled on sofas, watching an old MGM musical, the bright colors looking bruised on the screen. “Morgan,” Curtis said, and gestured, and Pallifer got to his feet, glanced one last time at the girls dancing in white crinoline, and came out of the room with him.

“We’re off in a few minutes,” Curtis told him, as they walked together down the hall. “Now, I’ve got my agreement with Manville, and I think he’s the kind will stick to it, but in case he does try to leave, you’ll stop him.”

As they went out the wide door to the verandah, Pallifer said, “How hard do I stop him?”

They stood under the verandah roof. Curtis squinted across at the adobe main house, dun-colored, disappearing into the landscape despite its two-story height. “You don’t kill him,” he said, “unless you absolutely have to. But if he makes trouble… let me put it this way. I don’t need him to be able to walk, I just need him to be able to think.”

“For two weeks maximum, you say.”

Curtis looked at Pallifer, the leathery face, the cold sharp eyes, the bony brow. What a nasty son of a bitch, Curtis thought. I’m glad I own him, and nobody else. “When I’m finished what I’m doing,” he said, “you and Manville can work out whatever problems you two might have, makes no difference to me.”

Pallifer smiled his mean little smile. Those small white teeth weren’t his own, but they gave him the right carnivore look. He said, “How will I know when you’re finished?”

Curtis laughed. He was so full of his secret that it kept bubbling out of him, he couldn’t help it. “You’ll know,” he promised, and patted Pallifer’s rock-hard shoulder. “Don’t worry, Morgan, you’ll know.”

“If you say so,” Pallifer agreed.

Curtis looked at the main house again. Manville was in there somewhere. Fixed in place? Time would tell. “About the girl,” he said.

“No change, I take it.”

“No change. Monday or Tuesday, you should know where she is. As far as the world’s concerned, she’s already dead, somewhere else, so you shouldn’t leave any bodies lying around, to confuse things.”

“I got that.”

Curtis nodded at the main house. “And he shouldn’t know,” he said. “It could make the agreement come unstuck.”

“I’ll play Manville like a guitar,” Pallifer promised. “The way those old rock stars used to. Play it and play it, and at the end you smash it up.”

* * *

The shower connected to the master bedroom was almost a room in itself, a large square space with two tiled walls and two clear lucite walls. Washing off the trail dust from his ride with Albert, Curtis felt good, better than he’d felt in months, maybe years. Revenge was coming, and profit was coming. When he was finished, he’d be the richest man he knew, one of the richest men in the world. And safe as houses. Even if there were people who suspected he’d had something to do with the disaster, nobody would be able to prove it. The evidence would be gone, destroyed, buried like the Japanese barracks on Kanowit Island. Washed clean away, like the orangey-tan dust of Kennison, swirling away down the shower drain.

Cindy was in the main room, packing her overnight bag when he came out. “Call one of the boys to take our things to the chopper,” he told her, crossing the room to the closets. “I just have to say a word to George, and we’re off.”

He found Manville in the library, reading a history of the early days in Australia, when it was being settled by convicts from Britain. Brisbane, Curtis remembered, was settled exclusively by convicts who’d committed fresh crimes after arriving in Australia; what a beginning.

“We’re off, George.”

Manville closed his book and rose from his low leather chair. “I guess you’ll be phoning me,” he said.

Curtis noticed that, from where Manville had been sitting, he’d had a clear view out a window to the spare barracks and the verandah. Had he watched Curtis and Morgan talk together over there? Did he guess any of what they’d been saying to one another? Curtis said, “If you need anything while you’re here, ask Morgan, he’ll be traveling back and forth.”

“And keeping an eye on me,” Manville said.

Curtis’s smile was easy, relaxed. “I trust you, George,” he said. “You’re a man of your word, and so am I.”

“It does take two,” Manville agreed.

Curtis stuck out his hand. “We’ll talk.”

Why did Manville always seem so surprised, every time Curtis offered to shake hands? I’m accepting you as an equal, you damn fool, Curtis said inside his head, be grateful for it.

Manville did consent to the handshake, grasping Curtis’s hand briefly, then letting go. “Have a good trip,” he said.

* * *

Curtis was almost out of the house, following Cindy, when Helen Farrelly called to him from down the hall. “You go ahead,” he told the girl, “I’ll catch up.”

Helen bustled up to him, but not, as he’d expected, merely to say goodbye. “We’ve had a phone call just a few minutes ago,” she said. “Some sad news.”

“Oh?”

“The captain of your yacht. Captain Zhang?”

What now? Curtis thought, and knew at once that this was fresh trouble. “Yes? Captain Zhang?”

“He’s killed himself, Mr. Curtis,” she said. “And no one knows why.”