“When I was very young,” she explained, “we lived near the border of Northern Ireland. It was very hard at that time to find work or get food in our country, so many of the villagers engaged in some smalltime smuggling across the border. There was a constant competition between the English border guards and the local smugglers. My father used to tell me the story of an Irish farmer, Paddy, who crossed the border every day to work on a farm in Northern Ireland. He was paid in potatoes, and every evening he would return with a wheelbarrow half filled with potatoes. This went on for a couple of months until the border guards were notified that Paddy was suspected of smuggling. From that day on, every time he returned home, the guards searched him thoroughly, even emptying the wheelbarrow on the ground and going through the potatoes one by one, but they could never find anything he might be smuggling. After a couple of weeks of this, the head of the border guards admitted defeat, and after a particularly thorough search, he said to Paddy, ‘We know you’re smuggling something across the border, and I could have you thrown in jail just on suspicion, but if you tell me what you’ve been smuggling, I’ll let you go.’
“ ‘Wheelbarrows’ was Paddy’s answer.”
“When I heard the story,” Maxim grinned, “it was Polish smugglers and Russian border guards. But what—”
“It just struck me,” Lila said. “We’ve been concentrating on the potatoes and ignoring the wheelbarrow.”
“You’ll have to explain that in a little more detail.”
“I’d better make sure I’m right before I say any more. Eventually they’ll finish the unloading operation, and then they’ll start moving cargo from the pier to the ship. At that time we should be able to walk around the pier a little.”
When the shiploading operation began, Maxim and Lila got permission from the first mate to stretch their legs on the dock. Lila guided Maxim to the area where the pallets marked with blue squares were stacked.
“I’ve noticed that the cargo marked with blue squares not only has colored labels but that those pallets are also marked.”
“You think those containers have been opened?”
“No, not the containers — the pallets themselves.”
“But they’re just flat boards.”
“Not really. If they were really flat, the forklifts couldn’t get underneath the cargo to lift it. Take a close look at how they’re made. There are four ‘stringers,’ that is, four pieces of lumber, four inches square and four feet long. Then there are one-inch-thick strips of wood nailed across the top and bottom of the stringers. The tines of the forklifts fit between the stringers to lift the cargo.” As she was talking, Lila had maneuvered them so they were concealed from the ship by the stacked cargo. She took a small penknife from her purse and scraped away at the blue paint that had been applied to the end of one of the stringers as an identifying marker. After a few scrapes, she peered closely at the wood that had been exposed. “I was right.”
“What do you see?” asked the still bewildered Maxim.
“A change in the wood grain. Take a look. You see, Maxim, I realized that it’s possible to drill a hole at least two inches in diameter down the center of these stringers. That would give you a hole two inches square and four feet long. That’s a lot of volume. You could then wrap narcotics in plastic tubes, insert them in the hole, and plug up the ends. The dab of paint, supposedly used as a marker, neatly conceals the difference in the wood grain of the plug. If you do that to only one center stringer of the four, you won’t appreciably weaken the pallet, and you can use them over and over again.”
“And there are dozens of pallets going in every week,” added Maxim with a touch of awe in his voice. “So this load is suspect, too.”
“We will still have to notify Fernet—”
“Not so fast, Lila.” Maxim scratched the side of his face for a moment. “There is another part to our assignment, you know. A couple of disconnected ideas have been bouncing around in my head for a while now. It may be a big stretch of logic, but I’d like to talk to you about some thoughts before we call Fernet.”
In their cabin, Maxim made sure the door was locked, then seated himself on his bed near the porthole and as far away from the door as possible so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. Lila sat down opposite him and leaned forward attentively.
“That business about the word ‘lighthouse’ has been bothering me since I heard it,” began Maxim. “The fact that Interpol could turn up nothing... and that it meant nothing to Alex’s contacts there... But when you said what you did on the pier—”
Lila looked confused. “What was that?”
“You said let’s call Fernet.”
“So?”
“Don’t you see? If Alex was indeed murdered, it probably was because he had discovered something about the smuggling operation — probably in much the same way you did. He would have had the same reaction as you, but without the knowledge that there was someone on board the ship who was connected to the smugglers. He would have gone immediately to the radio room to send a cable to Fernet explaining what he had found.”
“But Interpol received no cable.”
“That’s right. And that’s why I think my theory is right, because the radioman’s name is Mark.”
“So?”
“So, in the Cyrillic alphabet that the Russians use, except for the letter R being written in reverse, mayuk, the Russian word for lighthouse, is spelled ‘mark.’ The reversed R would have meant as little to the cook as it would to you if you had seen a reversed S written by a child. Alex actually wrote the name of his murderer — ‘Mark.’ ”
Maxim watched as a whole parade of expressions raced across Lila’s face. Doubt, surprise, shock, anger, and finally, sadness. “You might be right, Maxim,” she said slowly, “but there’s no way we can prove it.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. When the authorities receive the information we can give them about the pallets, they’ll break up the smuggling ring all right, and they might even implicate Mark, but only as a minor cog in the ring, not as a murderer. Still, there might be something we can do about it.” Lila looked hopefully at him. “I’ve tried to figure out what the function of a member of a smuggling gang would be on board a ship,” continued Maxim. “After all, the contraband was safely stored away, so there was nothing he would have to do about it while the ship was in transit.”
“Maybe his job was to see that the loading and unloading of the marked pallets took place smoothly.”
“Maybe — but a more important job has to be done. You’ve figured out how the narcotics were being transported into the countries, but how were the payments for the narcotics getting out?”
“Oh,” said Lila. “So he must be the conduit.”
“If he is, well, I have a suggestion. It might mean bending the rules a little, but the result could take care of Mark to your satisfaction.”
During the trip from Con-stanza to Odessa, it was more difficult for Maxim to play the part of the carefree, older newlywed. He felt himself tense up every time Lila and Mark met at mealtime, or casually on deck, but Lila was a pro. She even let the tour of the galley go by without a word to the unsmiling Feador. Her feelings never surfaced. Maxim felt sure that as far as Mark was concerned Lila was just another lady passenger enjoying her second chance at married life.
In line with their plan, they did not go immediately into Odessa to sightsee with the other passengers. Instead, they spent their time enjoying the cool breezes on the passenger deck while taking turns watching the loading operations on the dock below.