Fear is the Key by Alistair MacLean Read Free Book Online Page B

sunshine getting allclose and confidential with a pretty girl. Nothingin the world less calculated to arouse suspicion, isthere? Move over, lady.’
    â€˜I wish I had a gun in my hand,’ she said quietly.
    â€˜I don’t doubt it. Move over.’
    She moved. I felt the uncontrollable shudderof revulsion as her bare shoulder touched mine.I tried to imagine how I would feel if I were apretty young girl in the company of a murderer,but it was too difficult, I wasn’t a girl, I wasn’t evenparticularly young or good-looking, so I gave it up,showed her the gun under the coat lying over myknees, and sat back to enjoy the light on-shorebreeze that tempered the sunlight filtering throughthe fronds of the rustling palm trees. But it didn’tlook as if the sunlight would be with us too long,that sea breeze being pulled in by the sun-scorchedland was laden with moisture and already the tinywhite scraps of cloud that had been drifting acrossthe sky were building and thickening up into greycumulus. I didn’t like that much. I wanted tohave the excuse to keep wearing the bandannaon my head.
    Maybe ten minutes after we arrived a blackpolice car came along the highway, from the south.I watched in the rear-view mirror as it sloweddown and two policemen put their heads outto give the parking-lot a quick once-over. Buttheir scrutiny was as cursory as it was swift, youcould see they didn’t really expect to see anythinginteresting, and the car pulled away before itsspeed had dropped to walking pace.
    The hope in the girl’s eyes – they were grey andcool and clear, I could see now – died out like asnuffed candleflame, the rounding and droopingof her sunburned shoulders unmistakable.
    Half an hour later the hope was back. Twomotor-cycle cops, helmeted, gauntleted, verytough and very competent, swept in under thearchway in perfect unison, stopped in perfectunison and killed their motors on the same instant.For a few seconds they sat there, high gleamingboots astride on the ground, then they dismounted,kicked down the rests and started moving roundthe cars. One of them had his revolver in hishand.
    They started at the car nearest the entrance, withonly a quick glance for the car itself but a longpenetrating wordless stare for the occupants. Theyweren’t doing any explaining and they weren’tdoing any apologizing: they looked like cops mightlook if they had heard that another cop had beenshot. And was dying. Or dead.
    Suddenly they skipped two or three cars andcame straight at us. At least, that seemed to betheir intention, but they skirted us and headed fora Ford to the left and ahead of us. As they passedby, I felt the girl stiffening, saw her taking a quickdeep breath.
    â€˜Don’t do it!’ I flung an arm around her andgrabbed her tight. The breath she’d meant for thewarning shout was expelled in a gasp of pain. Thepoliceman nearest turned round and saw the girl’sface buried between my shoulder and neck andlooked away again. Having seen what he thoughthe’d seen he made a remark to his companionthat wasn’t as sotto voce as it might have been andmight have called for action in normal circumstances.But the circumstances weren’t normal. Ilet it go.
    When I released the girl her face was red practicallyall the way down to the sun-top. Pressed inagainst my neck she hadn’t been getting much airbut I think it was the policeman’s remark that wasresponsible for most of the colour. Her eyes werewild. For the first time she’d stopped being scaredand was fighting mad.
    â€˜I’m going to turn you in.’ Her voice was soft,implacable. ‘Give yourself up.’
    The policeman had checked the Ford. The driverhad been dressed in a green jacket the same colouras mine, with a panama hat jammed far downon his head: I’d seen him as he’d driven in, hishair was black and his tanned face moustachedand chubby. But the police hadn’t moved