Back from the Dead by Peter Leonard Read Free Book Online Page B

apples into the crowd. Any Jew hit was pulled out and beaten to death or shot. It was high drama. The Jews were terrified and the SS guards were having a wonderful time. Whenever a Jew was hit the guards erupted with laughter. The game went on all afternoon and continued at the train station. The dead bodies were then loaded into freight cars with the prisoners going to Treblinka.
    Brank came out with a bottle of Blue Nun and three stemmed glasses, wet hair combed back, beach towel wrapped around his waist, no shirt. “You’re going to love this. Famous som-al-yer in Boca turned me on to it.”
    He set a glass at each of their places and poured the wine. Hess was familiar with it, a mediocre Liebfraumilch he would have refused to drink in any other situation.
    “Tony tells me you’re an actress,” Hess said to Denise, trying to shift the conversation into gear.
    “And a good one,” Brank said. “Still is.” He winked at her.
    “I quit when Tony proposed.”
    “How long have you two been married?”
    “Seven years,” Brank said. He raised his wine glass. “To seven more.”
    They clinked glasses, sipped their wine and ate the shrimp salad that Hess had to admit was delicious. When they were finished Denise cleared the table. Brank and Hess smoked cigarettes and finished their wine.
    “Where is Florida from here?”
    “You kidding? That way.” Brank pointed at the horizon. “Due west about sixty miles. Latitude twenty-six degrees north, longitude eighty degrees west.”
    Of course, Hess was thinking, follow the angle of the sun. Easy to do on a nice clear day like this. “Don’t you use the Loran?”
    “Yeah, but you still have to chart your course. I thought you were a sailor.”
    At one time Hess had an Italian yacht he kept in Nice. “I have a captain.”
    “A captain? You pussy.” Brank grinned. “Kidding you, partner. Say, I never asked. What’re you doing in Freeport?”
    Hess didn’t answer because Denise came back on deck in the orange bikini, breasts bouncing in the skimpy top, long legs, flat stomach, barefoot, carrying a striped towel.
    “Ready?” Denise said.
    “We’re going to explore the island,” Brank said.
    “Come with us,” Denise said, throwing her towel on the chair next to Hess.
    “No, I’ll stay here and relax, if you don’t mind. Maybe take a nap.”
    “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Brank said.
    Denise climbed the stairs to the top of the transom and jumped. Hess heard the splash when she hit, got up and stood on the port side of the Hatteras, watching Denise floating on her back in the turquoise water. Brank removed his towel skirt, ran to the stern and dove over the transom, swam to Denise and the two of them held onto each other, treading water before swimming for the island. They made it to the beach, got out and started walking, stopping occasionally to pick up shells. When they were out of sight, Hess went to the bow, raised the anchor and felt the yacht start to drift.
    He climbed the ladder to the flying bridge, glanced in the direction of the island. From this higher vantage point he could see Brank and Denise strolling, holding hands like young lovers, coming back toward the stretch of beach closest to the boat. Hess sat at the controls, started the engines, heard the rumble of the exhaust, looked back, saw Brank running, Denise trailing behind him.
    Brank was in the water halfway to the yacht when Hess opened up the twin throttles and took off, the Hatteras picking up speed, and within a few minutes the island was fading in the distance. Hess went below and punched new coordinates into the Loran, and put the yacht on autopilot. His chest itched from the gunshot wound. He rubbed it and tried to relax.
    Three hours later he passed a freighter creeping along the horizon, and a couple of fishing boats before he saw the Florida coastline, Hess using a telescope in the salon to identify the twin spires of the Breakers Hotel, confirming it was Palm