"Very well." Sweat beaded the younger man's face.
"No need to worry. You're perfectly capable of taking command."
"I hope that will not be necessary."
Gregor Suslev laughed. "So do I, my young friend. Please sit down." He poured two vodkas. "You deserve the promotion."
'Thank you." Boradinov hesitated. "What happened to Met-kin?"
"The first thing is he made a stupid and unnecessary mistake. Next, he was betrayed. Or he betrayed himself. Or the god-cursed SI tailed him and caught him. Or the CIA pegged him. Whatever happened, the poor fool should never have exceeded his authority and put himself into such danger. Stupid to risk himself, to say nothing of our whole security. Stupid!"
The first officer shifted nervously in his chair. "What's our plan?"
"To deny everything. And to do nothing for the moment. We're due to sail on Tuesday at midnight; we keep to that plan."
Boradinov looked out of the porthole at the carrier, his face tight. "Pity. That material could have jumped us forward a quantum."
"What material?" Suslev asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Didn't you know, sir? Before Dimitri left, the poor fellow whispered he'd heard that this time we were to get some incredible information—a copy of the guidance system and a copy of their armament manifest, including atomics—that's why he was going himself. It was too important to trust to an ordinary courier. I must tell you I volunteered to go in his place."
Suslev covered his shock that Metkin had confided in anyone. "Where did he hear that?"
The other man shrugged. "He didn't say. I presume the American sailor told him when Dimitri took the call at the phone box to arrange the drop." He wiped a bead of sweat away. "They'll break him, won't they?"
"Oh yes," Suslev said thinly, wanting his subordinate suitably indoctrinated. "They can break anyone. That's why we have to be prepared." He fingered the slight bulge of the poison capsule in the point of his lapel and Boradinov shuddered. "Better to have it quickly."
"Bastards! They must have been tipped to capture him before he did it. Terrible. They're all animals."
"Did... did Dimitri say anything else? Before he left?"
"No, just that he hoped we'd all get a few weeks' leave—he wanted to visit his family in his beloved Crimea."
Satisfied that he was covered, Suslev shrugged. "A great pity. I liked him very much."
"Yes. Such a shame when he was due to retire so soon. He was a good man even though he made such a mistake. What will they do to him?"
Suslev considered showing Boradinov one of the other decoded cables on his desk that said in part: "... Advise Arthur that, following his request for a Priority One on the traitor Metkin, an immediate intercept was ordered for Bombay." No need to give away that information, he thought. The less Boradinov knows the better. "He'll just vanish—until we catch a bigger fish of theirs to use as an exchange. The KGB looks after their own," he added piously, not believing it, knowing that the younger man did not believe it either, but the saying of it was obligatory and policy.
They'd have to exchange me, he thought, very satisfied. Yes, and very quickly. I know too many secrets. They're my only protection. If it wasn't for what I know they'd order a Priority One on me as fast as they did on Metkin. So would I if I was them. Would I have bit my lapel as that stupid turd should have done?
A shudder went through him. I don't know.
He sipped his vodka. It tasted very good to him. I don't want to die. This life is too good.
"You're going ashore again, Comrade Captain?"
"Yes." Suslev concentrated. He handed the younger man a note he had typed and signed. "You're in command now. Here's your authority—post it on the bridge."
"Thank you. Tomorr—" Boradinov stopped as the ship's intercom came on and the urgent voice said rapidly: "This's the bridge! There're two police cars converging on the main gangway filled with police..." Both Suslev and Boradinov blanched. "... about a dozen of them. What should we do? Stop them, repel them, what do we do?"
Suslev jerked the sending switch on. "Do nothing!" He hesitated then switched on the ship's intercom. "All hands: Emergency, Red One..." This order meant: "Hostile visitors are coming aboard. Radio and radar rooms: arm destructs on all secret equipment." He switched the sender off and hissed at Boradinov, "Go on deck, down the gangway, greet them, delay for five minutes then invite the leaders aboard, only them if you can. Go on!"
"Surely they daren't come aboard to sear—"
"Intercept them—now!"
Boradinov rushed out. Once alone Suslev armed the secret destruct on his safe. If anyone but him tried to open it now its incendiary napalm would obliterate everything.
He tried to put his panicked mind at ease. Think! Is everything covered against a sudden search? Yes. Yes we've done the Red One drill a dozen times. But God curse Roger Crosse and Arthur! Why the devil didn't we get a warning? Was Arthur caught? Or Roger? Kristos, let it not be Roger! What ab— His eyes caught the pile of coded and decoded cables. Frantically he scooped them into an ashtray, cursing himself for not doing it earlier, not knowing if there was enough time now. He found his lighter. His fingers were trembling. The lighter flamed as the intercom crackled on: "Two men're coming aboard with Boradinov, two men, the rest're staying below."
"All right, but delay them. I'll come on deck." Suslev doused the flame with a curse and stuffed the cables in his pocket. He grabbed a half-empty vodka bottle, took a deep breath, put a broad beam on his face and went on deck. "Ah, welcome aboard! What's the trouble, eh?" he said, a slight slur now in his voice, keeping up his well-known cover. "One of our sailors has himself in trouble, Superintendent Armstrong?"
"This is Mr. Sun. May we have a word with you?" Armstrong said.
"Of course, of course!" Suslev said with a forced joviality he did not feel. He had never seen the Chinese before. He examined the cold-eyed, sallow, hate-filled face. "Follow me please," he said, then added in Russian to Boradinov who spoke perfect English, "You too," then again to Armstrong with continuing forced good humour, "Who's going to win the fifth race, Superintendent?"
"I wish I knew, sir."
Suslev led the way to the small wardroom that adjoined his cabin. "Sit down, sit down. Can I offer you tea or vodka? Orderly, bring tea and vodka!"
They came quickly. Expansively Suslev poured vodka even though the two policemen refused politely. "Prosit," he said and laughed jovially. "Now what's the trouble?"
"It seems that one of your crew is engaged in espionage against Her Majesty's Government," Armstrong said politely.
"Impossible, tovarich! Why joke with me, eh?"
"We've caught one. Her Majesty's Government is really quite upset."
"This is a peaceful freighter, trading. You've known us for years. Your Superintendent Crosse has watched us for years. We don't deal in espionage."
"How many of your crew are ashore, sir?"
"Six. Now listen, I don't want any trouble. I've had enough cursed trouble this voyage already with one of my innocent seamen murdered by unkn—"
"Ah yes, the late Major Yuri Bakyan of the KGB. Very unfortunate."
Suslev pretended sullen anger. "His name was Voranski. I know nothing of this major you talk about. I know nothing about that, nothing."
"Of course. Now, sir, when are your sailors back from shore leave?"
"Tomorrow, at dusk."
"Where are they staying?"
Suslev laughed. "They're ashore, on leave. Where else should they be but with a girl or in a bar? With a girl, eh, happily, eh?"
"Not all of them are," Armstrong said coldly. "At least one is very miserable right now."
Suslev watched him, glad that he knew Metkin was gone forever and they could not bluff him. "Come now, Superintendent, I know nothing about any espionage."
Armstrong put the eight-by-ten photos on the table. They showed Metkin going into the restaurant, then under guard, then being hustled into the Black Maria, then a mug shot of him, terror in the face.
"Kristos!" Suslev gasped, a consummate actor. "Dimitri? It's impossible! It's another false arrest! I will have my gov—"
"It's already been reported to your government in London. Major Nicoli Leonov admitted espionage."
Now Suslev's shock was real. He had never expected Metkin to break so quickly. "Who? Who did you say?"
Armstrong sighed. "Major Nicoli Leonov of your KGB. That's his real name and rank. He was also political commissar on this ship."
"Yes... yes that is true but his... his name is Metkin, Dimitri Metkin."
"Oh? You have no objection if we search this ship?" Armstrong began to get up. Suslev was aghast, Boradinov equally.
"Oh yes I object," Suslev stuttered. "Yes, Superintendent, so sorry but I formally object, and I mu—"
"If your ship is not engaged in espionage and is a peaceful freighter why should you object?"
"We have international protections. Unless you have a formal search warrant th—" Armstrong's hand went into his pocket and Suslev's stomach turned over. He would have to comply with a formal warrant and then he would be ruined because they would find more evidence than even they could ever hope for. That god-cursed son of a whore bitch Metkin must've told them something vital. He wanted to shout in rage, the decoded and coded messages in his pocket suddenly lethal. His face had gone white. Boradinov was paralysed. Armstrong's hand came out of his pocket with only a pack of cigarettes. Suslev's heart began again though his nausea still almost overwhelmed him. "Matyeryebyetsf" he muttered.
"Sir?" Armstrong asked innocently. "Is anything the matter?"
"No, no, nothing."
"Would you care for an English cigarette?"
Suslev fought for control, wanting to smash the other man for tricking him. Sweat was on his back and on his face. He took the cigarette shakily. "These things are... are terrible, eh? Espionage and searches and threats of searches."
"Yes. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to leave tomorrow, not Tuesday."
"Impossible! Are we being hounded like rats?" Suslev blustered, not knowing how far he dare go. "I will have to inform my government and th—"
"Please do. Please tell them we have intercepted Major Leonov of the KGB, caught him in an espionage act, and that he has been charged under the Official Secrets Act."
Suslev wiped the sweat off his face, trying to stay calm. Only the knowledge that Metkin was probably dead now kept him in one piece. But what else did he tell them, he was shrieking in his head, what else? He looked at Boradinov who was standing beside him, white-faced.
"Who're you?" Armstrong asked sharply, following his glance.
"First Officer Boradinov," the younger man said, his voice strangled.
"Who's the new commissar, Captain Suslev? Who took over from your Mr. Leonov? Who's the senior Party man aboard?"
Boradinov went ashen and Suslev was thankful that some of the pressure was turned off him.
"Well?"
Suslev said, "He is. First Officer Boradinov."
At once Armstrong put his icy eyes on the younger man. "Your full name please?"
"Vassili Boradinov, first officer," the man stuttered.
"Very well, Mr. Boradinov, you're responsible for getting this ship under way by midnight Sunday at the latest. You are formally warned we have reason to believe there might be an attack on you by triads—by Chinese bandits. The rumour is the attack's planned for the early hours of Monday—just after midnight Sunday. It's a very strong rumour. Very. There are lots of Chinese bandits in Hong Kong, and Russians have stolen lots of Chinese land. We are concerned for your safety and health. I suggest it politic... eh?"
Boradinov was ashen. "Yes, yes, I understand."
"But my... my repairs," Suslev began, "if my repai—"
"Please see they're completed, Captain. If you need extra help or a tow outside Hong Kong waters, just ask. Oh yes, and would you be kind enough to appear at police headquarters at 10:00 A.M. Sunday—sorry about the weekend."
Suslev blanched. "Eh?"
"Here's your formal invitation." Armstrong handed him an official letter. Suslev accepted it, began to read as Armstrong took out a second copy, wrote in Boradinov's name. "Here's yours, Commissar Boradinov." He shoved it into his hand. "I suggest you confine the rest of your crew aboard—with the exception of yourselves of course—and bring your shore party back right smartly. I'm sure you'll have lots to do. Good night!" he added with startling suddenness, got up and went out of the wardroom, closing the door behind him.
There was a stunned silence. Suslev saw Malcolm Sun get up and leisurely head for the door. He got up to follow but stopped as the Chinese whirled on them.
"We'll get you, all of you!" Sun said malevolently.
"For what? We've done nothing," Boradinov gasped. "We've d—"
"Espionage. Spying? You KGB think you're so clever, matyerye-byetsl"
"You get to hell off my ship," Suslev snarled.
"We'll get you all—I don't mean us police..." Abruptly Malcolm Sun switched to fluent Russian. "Get out of our lands, hegemonists! China's on the march! We can lose fifty million soldiers, a hundred and still have double that left. Get out while you've time!"
"We'll blast you off the earth!" Suslev bellowed. "We'll atomize all China. We'll ta—" He stopped. Malcolm Sun was laughing at him.
"Your mother's tit in your atomics! We've our own atomics now! You start we finish. Atomics, fists, ploughshares!" Malcolm Sun's voice dropped. "Get out of China while you've the chance. We're coming out of the East like Genghis Khan, all of us, Mao Tse-tung, Chiang Kai-shek, me, my grandsons, their grandsons, we're coming and we'll clean you off the earth and take back all our lands, all of them!"
"Getoffmyship!" Suslev felt his chest hurting. Almost blind with rage, he readied to hurl himself at his tormentor, Boradinov as well.
Unafraid, Malcolm Sun came back a pace. "Yeb tvoyu mat' Turd-head!" Then in English, "Hit me and I'll arrest you for assault and impound your ship!"
With a great effort the two men stopped. Choked with rage, Suslev stuffed his fists into his pockets. "Please, you will... you will leave. Please."
"Dew neh loh moh on you, your mother, your father and the whole of your turd-eating Soviet hegemonists!"
"You—will—leave—now."
Equally enraged, Sun cursed them in Russian and shouted back, "We're coming out of the East like locusts...." Then there was a sudden noisy altercation outside on deck and a slight dull boom. At once he turned and went for the door, the other two rushing after him.
Appalled, Suslev saw that now Armstrong was standing at the doorway of the radio room which was next to his cabin. The door was burst open, the two frightened operators staring at the Englishman, aghast, paralysed deckhand guards nearby. Already the beginning of smoke was welling from the innards of the radio equipment. Red One ordered the senior radio man to trigger the destruct on the secret scrambling device the instant a hostile opened the door or tried to break the lock.
Armstrong turned to face Suslev. "Ah, Captain, so sorry, I stumbled. So sorry," he said innocently. "I thought this was the loo."
"What?"
"The toilet. I stumbled and the door burst open. So sorry." The policeman glanced back into the radio room. "Good God! It seems there's a fire.
I'll call the fire brigade at once. Malcolm, get th—"
"No... no!" Suslev said, then snarled in Russian to Boradinov and the deck crew, "Get the fire out!" He jerked a fist out of his pocket and shoved Boradinov into motion. Unnoticed by him his cuff caught one of his decoded cables and it fell onto the deck. Smoke was pouring out from behind one of the complex radio panels. Already one of the deckhands had a fire extinguisher.
"Dear oh dear! What could have happened? You're sure you don't want assistance?" Armstrong asked.
"No, no thank you." Suslev said, his face mottled with rage, "thank you, Superintendent. I'll... I'll see you Sunday."
"Good night, sir. Come along, Malcolm." In the growing confusion Armstrong headed for the gangway but stooped and before Suslev realised what was happening picked up the piece of paper and was halfway down the gangway, Malcolm Sun following him.
Appalled, Suslev's hand went to his pocket. Forgetting the fire he rushed into his cabin to check which cable was missing.
Below on the wharf, uniformed police had long since fanned out, covering both gangways. Armstrong was getting into the back of the car beside Sinders. The eyes of the chief of MI-6 were dark-rimmed and his suit a little rumpled but he was icily alert. "Well done, you two! Yes. I imagine that'll interrupt their communications for a day or so."
"Yes sir." Armstrong began rummaging in his pocket for his lighter, his heart pounding. Sinders watched Malcolm Sun get into the driver's seat.
"What's the matter?" he asked thoughtfully, seeing his face.
"Nothing, nothing really, sir." Malcolm Sun craned around, the sweat on his back, his heart hurting and the sick-sweet excitement rage-fear taste still in his mouth. "When... when I was conducting delaying tactics for the superintendent I... they got me going, those two bastards."
"Oh? How?"
"Just... they started cursing, so I... I just cursed them back." Sun faced the front, settled himself, not wanting Sinders's penetrating eyes on his. "Just cursing," he added, trying to sound light.
"Pity one of them didn't hit you."
"Yes, yes I was ready." '
Sinders glanced at Armstrong briefly as the big man clicked the lighter on, lit a cigarette and, under the light of the flame, peered at the paper. Sinders glanced up at the ship above. Once more Suslev was standing at the head of the gangway staring down at them. "He looks very angry indeed. Good." The flicker of a smile went over him. "Very good." With Sir Geoffrey's approval he had ordered the sudden arrival and attempt to disrupt the Ivanov's communications—and complacency—to put pressure on Arthur and the Sevrin moles, hoping to flush them out. "And our police mole," Sir Geoffrey had added grimly. "It's impossible that Brian Kwok's the spy mentioned in the AMG papers. Eh?"
"I agree," he had said.
Armstrong clicked the lighter off. In the semidarkness of the car he hesitated. "You'd better get the detail organised, Malcolm. No need to waste any more time here. All right, Mr. Sinders?"
"Yes. Yes we can go now."
Obediently Malcolm Sun left. Armstrong was watching Suslev on the deck. "You, er, you read Russian, don't you sir?"
"Yes, yes I do. Why?"
Carefully Armstrong passed over the paper, holding it by the edges.
"This fell out of Suslev's pocket."
Equally carefully Sinders took the paper but his eyes never left Armstrong's. "You don't trust senior agent, Sun?" he asked softly.
"Yes. Oh yes. But Chinese are Chinese and it's in Russian. I don't read Russian."
Sinders frowned. After a moment he nodded. Armstrong lit the flame for him. The older man scanned the paper twice and sighed. "It's a weather report, Robert. Sorry. Unless it's in code, it's just a meteorological report." Carefully he folded the paper in its original creases. "The fingerprints might be valuable. Perhaps it's code. Just for safety I'll pass it on to our cipher fellows."
Sinders settled back more comfortably in the car. The paper had read: "Advise Arthur that, following his request for a Priority One on the traitor Metkin, an immediate intercept was ordered for Bombay. Second, the meeting with the American is brought forward to Sunday. Third and final, the AMG files continue to be Priority One. Maximum effort must be made by Sevrin to achieve success. Center.@
Now which American! Sinders asked himself patiently, and is it Arthur's meeting or whose? Captain Suslev? Is he as innocent as he appears? Which American? Bartlett, Tcholok, Banastasio or who? Peter Marlowe—Anglo-American-Know-all writer with his curious theories?
Did Bartlett or Tcholok make contact with Centre in June in Moscow when they were there, with or without Peter Marlowe, who also happened to be there when a highly secret meeting of foreign agents was taking place?
Or is the American not a visitor at all but someone who lives here in Hong Kong?
Is it Rosemont? Or Langan? Both would be perfect.
So much to wonder about.
Like who's the fourth man? Who's the VVIP above Philby? Where will those threads lead? Into Burke's Peerage? Perhaps to some castle, or even a palace?
Who's this mysterious Mrs. Gresserhoff who took Kiernan's second call and then vanished like a smoke ring?
And what about those bloody files? What about bloody AMG and bloody Dunross trying to be so bloody clever....
It was getting toward midnight and Dunross and Casey were sitting happily side-by-side in the glassed-in forward section of one of the Golden Ferries, which swerved confidently toward its berth Kowloon side. It was a good night though the clouds still scudded low. Canvas storm panels still closed in and protected the open part of the decks, but here where they were, the view was good and a fine sea-salt breeze came through one of the open windows.
"It is going to rain again?" she asked, breaking their comfortable silence.
"Oh yes. But I certainly hope the heavy stuff stays away till late tomorrow afternoon."
"You and your races! Are they that important?"
"To all Hong Kong yan, oh yes. To me, yes and no."
"I'll put my entire fortune on your Noble Star."
"I wouldn't do that," he said. "You should always hedge a bet." Casey glanced across at him. "Some bets you don't hedge."
"Some bets you can't hedge," he said, correcting her with a smile. Casually he lifted her arm and linked his with hers and settled his hand back in his lap. The contact pleased both of them. It was their first real touch. All during their stroll from the Mandarin Hotel to the ferry Casey had wanted to take his arm. But she had fought back the impulse and now she pretended not to notice their interlinking though, instinctively, she had moved a fraction closer.
"Casey, you never finished your story of George Toffer—did you fire him?"
"No, no I never did, not as I thought I would. When we'd won control I went to his boardroom. Of course he was fit to be tied but by that time I'd found out he wasn't the hero he claimed to be and a few other things. He just waved one of my letters about the money he owed me in my face and shouted that I'd never get that back, never." She shrugged. "I never did, but I got his company."
"What happened to him?"
"He's still around, still cheating someone. Say, can we stop talking about him, it gives me indigestion."
He laughed. "Perish that thought! Terrific night, isn't it?"
"Yes." They had dined impeccably in the Dragon Room atop the skyscraper hotel. Chateaubriand, a few thread-thin French fries, salad and creme brulee. The wine was Chateau Lafite.
"Celebration?" she had asked.
"Just a thank you for the First Central New York."
"Oh, Ian! They agreed?"
"Murtagh agreed to try."
It had taken just a few seconds to fix the terms based on the bank's ' agreeing to the financing that Casey had laid out as possible: 120 percent of the cost of both ships, a 50 million revolving fund.
"Everything covered by your personal guarantee?" Murtagh had asked.
"Yes," he had said, committing his future and his family's future.
"We, er, I figure with Struan's great management you'll make a profit so our money's secure and... but Mr. Dunross, sir, we gotta keep this secret as hell. Meanwhile, I'll give it the old college try." Murtagh was trying to hide his nervousness.
"Please do, Mr. Murtagh. The very best old college try you can. How about joining me for the races tomorrow? Sorry, I can't invite you to lunch, I'm crammed to the gills and overbooked, but here, here's a pass if you're free to join us from 2:30 on."
"Oh Jesus, tai-pan, you mean it?"
Dunross smiled to himself. In Hong Kong an invitation to a steward's box was like being presented at court, and just as useful.
"Why the smile, tai-pan?" Casey asked, shifting slightly, feeling his warmth.
"Because all's well, at the moment, in the world. At least all the various problems are in their compartments." Going ashore and out of the ferry terminal he explained his theory that the only way to deal with problems was the Asian way: to put them into individual compartments and take them up only when ready for them.
"That's good, if you can do it," she said, walking close beside him but not touching now.
"If you can't you'll go under—ulcers, heart attack, old before your time, your health broken."
"A woman cries, that's her safety valve. She cries and then she feels better...." Casey had wept earlier, before leaving the V and A to meet him. Because of Linc Bartlett. Part rage, part frustration, part longing, and part need—physical need. It was six months since she had had one of her rare, very casual and very short affairs. When the need became too strong she would go away for a few days, skiing or sunning and she would choose whom she would allow into her bed. Then, as quickly, she would forget him.
"But oh, isn't it very bad, Ciran-chek," her mother had once said, "to be so callous?"
"Oh no, Mama darling," she had told her. "It's a fair exchange. I enjoy sex—I mean I enjoy it when I'm in the mood, though I try to keep the mood as infrequent as possible. I love Linc and no one else. But I th—"
"How can you love him and go to bed with someone else?"
"It's, it's not easy, in fact, it's awful. But Mama, I work hard for Linc all hours, weekends and Sundays, I work hard for all of us, for you and Uncle Tashjian and Marian and the kids, I'm the wage earner now that Marian's on her own and I love it, truly I enjoy it, you know I do. But sometimes it all gets too much so I just go away. And that's when I choose a partner. Honestly, Mama, it's just biological, there's no difference that way between us and men, and now that we've the God-blessed pill we can choose. It's not like in your day, thank God, my darling..."
Casey stepped aside to avoid a phalanx of oncoming pedestrians and bumped Dunross slightly. Automatically she took his arm. He did not withdraw.
Since she had asked him for equality this afternoon and had been turned down... No, that's not fair, Casey, she told herself. Ian didn't turn me down, he just gave me the truth from his point of view. From mine? I don't know. I'm not sure. But the one thing I'm not is a fool and so tonight I dressed carefully, a little differently, and put on perfume and made my makeup more definite and tonight 1 bit my tongue three to thirty times and held back, not giving measure for measure, playing it more conventionally, saying sweetly, "That's interesting!"
And most times it was. He was attentive, entertaining and receptive and I felt marvellous. Ian's certainly one helluva man. Dangerous and oh so tempting.
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