‘Had a good trip?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I expect you’re glad to be at home.’
‘Home?’
‘I mean here having a holiday from the dagoes. Back in British territory.’ Wormold thought of the huts he had seen along the harbour and a hopeless old man asleep in a patch of shade and a ragged child nursing a piece of driftwood. He said, ‘Havana’s not so bad.’
‘Have a planter’s punch. They are good here.’
‘Thanks.’
Hawthorne said, ‘I asked you to come over because there’s a spot of trouble.’
‘Yes?’ He supposed that the truth was coming out. Could he be arrested now that he was on British territory? What would the charge be? Obtaining money on false pretences perhaps or some obscurer charge heard in camera under the Official Secrets Act.
‘About these constructions.’
He wanted to explain that Beatrice knew nothing of all this; he had no accomplice except the credulity of other men.
‘What about them?’ he asked.
‘I wish you’d been able to get photographs.’
‘I tried. You know what happened.’
‘Yes. The drawings are a bit confusing.’
‘They are not by a skilled draughtsman.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, old man. You’ve done wonders, but, you know, there was a time when I was almost suspicious.’
‘What of?’
‘Well, some of them sort of reminded me to be frank, they reminded me of parts of a vacuum cleaner.’
‘Yes, that struck me too.’
‘And then, you see, I remembered all the thingummies in your shop.’
‘You thought I’d pulled the leg of the Secret Service?’ ‘Of course it sounds fantastic now, I know. All the same, in a way I was relieved when I found that the others have made up their minds to murder you.’ ‘Murder me?’
‘You see, that really proves the drawings are genuine.’
‘What others?’
‘The other side. Of course I’d luckily kept these absurd suspicions to myself.’
‘How are they going to murder me?’
‘Oh, we’ll come to that a matter of poisoning. What I mean is that next to having photographs one can’t have better confirmation of your reports. We had been rather sitting on them, but we’ve circulated them now to all the Service Departments. We sent them to Atomic Research as well. They weren’t helpful. Said they had no connection with nuclear fission. The trouble is we’ve been bemused by the atom-boys and have quite forgotten that there may be other forms of scientific warfare just as dangerous.’
‘How are they going to poison me?’
‘First things first, old man. One mustn’t forget the economics of warfare. Cuba can’t afford to start making H-bombs, but have they found something equally effective at short range and cheap? That’s the important word cheap.’
‘Please would you mind telling me how they are going to murder me? You see, it interests me personally.’
‘Of course I’m going to tell you. I just wanted to give you the background first and to tell you how pleased we all are -at the confirmation of your reports, I mean. They plan to poison you at some sort of business lunch.’ ‘The European Traders’ Association?’
‘I think that’s the name.’
‘How do you know?’
‘We’ve penetrated their organization here. You’d be surprised how much we know of what goes on in your territory. I can tell you for instance that the death of stroke four was an accident. They just wanted to scare him as they scared stroke three by shooting at him. You are the first one they’ve really decided to murder.’
‘That’s comforting.’
‘In a way, you know, it’s a compliment. You are dangerous now.’ Hawthorne made a long sucking noise, draining up the last liquid between the layers of ice and orange and pineapple and the cherry on top. ‘I suppose,’ Wormold said, ‘I’d better not go.’ He felt a surprising disappointment. ‘It will be the first lunch I’ve missed in ten years. They’d even asked me to speak. The firm always expects me to attend. Like showing the flag.’
‘But of course you’ve got to go.’
‘And be poisoned?’
‘You needn’t eat anything, need you?’
‘Have you ever tried going to a public lunch and not eating anything?
There’s also the question of drink.’
‘They can’t very well poison a bottle of wine. You could give the impression of being an alcoholic, somebody who doesn’t eat but only drinks.’ ‘Thank you. That would certainly be good for business.’ ‘People have a soft spot in their hearts for alcoholics,’ Hawthorne said. ‘Besides, if you don’t go they’ll suspect something. It puts my source in danger. We have to protect our sources.’
‘That’s the drill, I suppose.’
‘Exactly, old man. Another point: we know the plot, but we don’t know the plotters, except their symbols. If we discover who they are, we can insist on having them locked up. We’ll disrupt the organization.’ ‘Yes, there aren’t any perfect murders, are there? I dare say there’ll be a clue at the post mortem on which you can persuade Segura to act.’ ‘You aren’t afraid, are you? This is a dangerous job. You shouldn’t have taken it unless you were prepared…’
‘You’re like a Spartan mother, Hawthorne. Come back victorious or stay beneath the table.’
‘That’s quite an idea, you know. You could slip under the table at the right moment. The murderers would think you were dead and the others would just think you were drunk.’
‘This is not a meeting of the Big Four at Moscow. The European Traders don’t fall under the table.’
‘Never?’
‘Never. You think I’m unduly concerned, don’t you?’
‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to worry yet. They don’t serve you, after all. You help yourself.’
‘Of course. Except that there’s always a Morro crab to start with at the Nacional. That’s prepared in advance.’
‘You mustn’t eat that. Lots of people don’t eat crab. When they serve the other courses never take the portion next to you. It’s like a conjuror forcing a card on you. You just have to reject it.’
‘But the conjuror usually manages to force the card just the same.’
‘I tell you what did you say the lunch was at the Nacional?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why can’t you use stroke seven?’
‘Who’s stroke seven?’
‘Don’t you remember your own agents? Surely he’s the head waiter at the Nacional? He can help to see your plate isn’t tampered with. It’s time he did something for his money. I don’t remember you sending a single report from him.’ ‘Can’t you give me any idea who the man at the lunch will be? I mean the man who plans to .’ he boggled at the word ‘kill’… ‘to do it.’ ‘Not a clue, old man. Just be careful of everyone. Have another planter’s punch.’
The plane back to Cuba had few passengers: a Spanish woman with a pack of children some of them screamed and some of them were airsick as soon as they left the ground; a Negress with a live cock wrapped in her shawl; a Cuban cigar-exporter with whom Wormold had a nodding acquaintance, and an Englishman in a tweed jacket who smoked a pipe until the air-hostess told him to put it out. Then he sucked the empty pipe ostentatiously for the rest of the journey and sweated heavily into the tweed. He had the ill-humoured face of a man who is always in the right.
When lunch was served he moved back several places and sat down beside Wormold. He said, ‘Can’t stand those screaming brats. Do you mind?’ He looked at the papers on Wormold’s knee. ‘You with Phastkleaners?’ he said. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m with Nucleaners. The name’s Carter.’
‘Oh.’