The Keys of Hell by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online

First we’ll call on a good friend of mine, the kind of friend you need for a job like this. Someone with no scruples, who knows the Albanian coast like the back of his hand and runs the fastest boat in the Adriatic.”
    At the door, she turned, looked up at him searchingly. Something glowed in her eyes and color flooded her cheeks. Quite suddenly, she seemed confident, sure of herself again.
    “It’s going to be all right, angel. I promise you.”
    He raised her hand briefly to his lips, opened the door and gently pushed her into the corridor.

FIVE
    T HE AIR IN THE ROOM WAS STILL HEAVILY tainted by cigarette smoke, but the card players had gone. In the light of the shaded lamp, a British Admiralty chart of the Drin Gulf area of the Albanian coast was unfolded across the table. Chavasse and Orsini leaned over it and Francesca sat beside them.
    “The Buene River runs down to the coast from Lake Scutari, or Shkoder, as they call it these days,” Orsini said.
    “What about these coastal marshes? Are they as bad as Francesca says?”
    Orsini nodded. “One hell of a place. A maze of narrow channels, saltwater lagoons and malaria-infested swamps. Unless you knew where to look, you could search for a year for that launch and never find it.”
    “Anyone living there?”
    “A few fishermen and wildfowlers, mainly geghs. The Reds haven’t done too well in those parts. The whole area’s always been a sort of refuge for people on the run.”
    “You know it well?”
    Orsini grinned. “I’d say I’ve made the run into those marshes at least half a dozen times this year. Penicillin, sulphonamide, guns, nylons. There’s a lot of money to be made and the Albanian navy can’t do much to stop it.”
    “Still a risky business, though.”
    “For amateurs, anything is risky.” Orsini turned to Francesca. “This man Ramiz, what did he do for a living?”
    “He was an artist. I believe he did most of his sailing at weekends.”
    Orsini looked at the ceiling and raised his hands helplessly. “My God, what a setup. That he got you back safely to Italy is a miracle, signorina.”
    The door opened and Carlo came in carrying cups on a tray. He handed them round and Chavasse sipped hot coffee. He frowned down at the map, following the main channel, then turned to Francesca.
    “You say you know where the launch went down. How can you be sure? These lagoons all look the same.”
    “Marco took a cross bearing just before we sank,” she said. “I memorized it.”
    Orsini pushed a piece of paper and a pencil across and she quickly wrote the figures down. He examined them with a slight frown and then calculated the position. He drew a circle round the central point.
    “X marks the spot.”
    Chavasse examined it quickly. “About five miles in. Another three or four to this place Tama. What’s it like there?”
    “Used to be quite a thriving little river port years ago, but it’s gone down the slot in a big way since the trouble started between Albania and the satellite countries.” Orsini traced a finger along the line of the river. “The Buene forms part of the boundary between Albania and Yugoslavia. Most of the main stream’s been allowed to silt up. That means you have to know the estuary and delta region well to get as far inland as Tama.”
    “But could you get us there?”
    Orsini turned to Carlo. “What do you think?”
    “We’ve never had any trouble before. Why should we now?”
    “The pitcher can go to the well too often,” Francesca observed softly.
    Orsini shrugged. “For all men, death makes the last appointment. He chooses his own time.”
    “That only leaves the question of the price to be settled,” Chavasse said.
    “No problem there,” Francesca put in quickly.
    “Signorina, please.” Orsini took her hand and touched it to his lips. “This thing I will do because I want to and for no other reason.”
    She seemed close to tears and Chavasse interrupted quickly. “One thing I’m not happy about