Alex said, “Some guy’ll put a slug in that bag, sure thing. It’ll save you a burial, anyway.”
The boat swept in a half-circle, and came up to the side of the harbor wall as Kemerinski reached forward and cut the switch. The engine died with a little flurry.
Schaife, standing in the stern, jumped on to the wall and Alex tossed him the bowline. He held the boat steady until the others landed. Kemerinski handed up the bag of bombs tenderly to Scalfoni.
Fenner said, “Watch out. Soon as you hear the bombs, get the engine started. We might have to leave in a hurry.”
Kemerinski said, “Sure, that’ll be okay. Watch yourselves, you guys.”
They moved towards the village. The road leading from the harbor was rough and narrow. Big stones lay about and once Scalfoni tripped. The others swore at him uneasily.
“Careful, you punk,” Alex said; “watch how you walk.”
Scalfoni said, “I’m watchin’ okay. The way you’re goin’ on, you’d think these pills were dangerous. Maybe they won’t go off at all.”
Fenner said, “We’ll take the back streets. Two of you go first, and Scalfoni and I’ll follow you. We don’t want to attract attention.”
It was a hot night with a bright moon. Both Fenner and Schaife carried the Thompsons wrapped in a piece of sacking. They skirted the village and crossed the island through a series of small squares and dark alleys. The few fishermen they did meet glanced at them curiously, but could make out nothing except shadowy outlines.