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He dropped to his knees. There was blood everywhere.
Elena felt faint, as if she was going to be sick. Part of her wanted to help him, even though, in her brain, she knew that it was too late. In minutes, he would be dead. It was irrevocable. It had been either his life or hers. He would probably have broken her neck, as one twists the neck of a rabbit. One crack and it’s done.
She looked at him. The light was gone from his eyes and he fell forward onto the blood-covered deck.
Panic washed over her like a wave. She had done it. She had struck first…and survived. But what was she going to tell the crew? She might be able to heave the body overboard, but she couldn’t get rid of the blood. The first daylight would show it clearly enough. She had not thought of this, before the immediacy of surviving.
Then with a horror that almost stopped her heart, she heard movement behind her and turned slowly, as if she could not feel her limbs. There was a crewman standing six feet away. He must have come up to the deck only moments before. She did not recognize him in the dark. What could she say? What would anyone believe? She tried to speak and nothing came.
The man took a step forward. “We’d better get rid of him,” he said in faultless English. “And then take the lifeboat. It’s ready to go, such as it is.”
She could not move; she could scarcely breathe.
“Elena!” he said sharply. “There’s no time to waste! Somebody else could come on deck any minute. Take his feet. We’ve got to get him over the side.” He moved forward and picked up Aiden by the shoulders and started to lift him. “Move!” he ordered again. “Time to think about it afterward.”
She stared at him, unable to respond. At last she moved, bending to pick up Aiden’s feet, using all the strength and balance she had, and together they lifted him over the rail and let him fall into the water. Within seconds, the white wake of the ship smothered him. When he reappeared twenty feet away, he was staining the water with blood.
The man’s hand on her shoulder was gentle, but only for a moment. “Come on,” he ordered. “It will take both of us to get the lifeboat launched. It’s heavy, and if we get it wrong, we’re finished.”
“Peter?” she said incredulously, feeling as if her mouth were half paralyzed. “What are you—”
“Long story, tell you later. Now move.” As he said it, he led the way back across the deck, toward where the single lifeboat was hanging on its davits. He started to work the winch that would swing the boat out over the side and let it down into the water.
She worked with him, with very little idea of what she was doing, only what seemed to make sense.
“It has to be simple,” he told her. “And quick. No, no, that one!” He pointed to a lever. “Now…down!”
It took them precious minutes before the boat touched the water. In a few more, they were in the boat and reaching for the oars. They sat side by side on the central bench, taking only two or three strokes to get into a steady rhythm.
There was still no sound from the ship.
“Elena,” he said loudly, above the creaking of the oarlocks, “we’ve got a little while before help comes. With luck. I gave the crew a quick shot of brandy from my own flask. It was laced with laudanum, just to make sure they don’t follow us.”
“How…how did you get here?” She gasped for breath between strokes.
“RAF flight,” Peter answered.
“But…how did you know?”
“Don’t talk,” he replied, “just row.” After a moment, he said, “I knew it was all going south. I have other contacts, a few people who owe me favors. It all fell into place, once I realized that Aiden was a loose card…on nobody’s side.”
“How did you know that? And when?” she asked, ignoring his order to keep quiet. She had to know.
“A little before you knew it, I think,” he replied. “I did a favor for a French agent…”
“What?” She was confused, her mind numb with fear and horror. Aiden’s death, the sea full of blood…
“Gabrielle Fournier,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“Gabrielle?” Elena was trying to make sense of this. “You…you knew he was going to kill me tonight? And you…” Further words escaped her.
“I thought it was likely. But I couldn’t catch up with you. The first port, where the ship unloaded, I took a crewman’s place. He’s sleeping it off in the street behind the café. I trusted you would look after yourself. I cut it fine, I know.”
“Is that an apology?” she asked in a shaking voice.
“No. I expect you to do your job well. But I do apologize for sending you to rescue a traitor. I believed him to be loyal, and for that I’m incompetent…and profoundly sorry.”
“It took me until yesterday,”
