“At any rate, given the nature of the work Zenopolis has been doing, it would be logical to assume he’s somewhere in this region.” He put a blunt, tobacco-stained finger on the lake.
“Don’t tell me I have to sail on that.”
“Not at all. As a matter of fact, if Zenopolis intends to come out in that area, we can’t have anything to do with him. Not there.”
“Why not?”
“Look at the location. In one direction a country as violently opposed to the Western nations as any in the world. Next to it Yugoslavia, cordial toward us these days, but still unquestionably allied with the other side. And Greece. An ally of ours, yes, but our relations under the present government are decidedly strained. And imagine how much those colonels who now rule it would love to get their hands on someone like Zenopolis.”
“I think I see. The only way to get him out fast, once he crosses the border, would be by air. And that would mean a long flight over either Albania or Greece, neither of which would be very anxious to let us get away with the prize.”
“And if the Greeks learn U.S. agents were involved in any way, there could be much worse trouble.”
“Exactly.”
“Which brings us back to the sailing lessons.”
Hawk ran his finger down to the western coast of Greece. “When we establish contact with Zenopolis again, we are going to insist that he break out through Albania as close to the sea as possible. It’s the only way we can afford to get involved with him at this point.”
“What if he does have some kind of vital information for us?”
“Then we may have to change our thinking. Meanwhile, you’re to be prepared to meet him somewhere in this area. You will then transport him across to Taranto, which is on the heel of Italy’s boot.”
“All right, but why me? Any agent could do this job, and I don’t imagine I’m the only one who can navigate a sailboat across... what?” I checked the scale of miles; the map showed a little piece of southeastern Italy. “Maybe seventy-five miles? A hundred at most?” I was beginning to get a little peeved, recalling my embarrassing flight across the sand with the nude Monica in tow.
“Oh, we have one or two agents who are better qualified in that respect than you are. But none of them knows Alex Zenopolis by sight.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. “But look,” I protested, “I haven’t laid eyes on the man in fifteen years. I could pass him on the street and not recognize him.”
“Let’s hope that’s not the case. I was looking at your personnel file earlier today, and in that time your appearance hasn’t changed to any noticeable degree.”
If the old man was trying to flatter me, he couldn’t have picked a better method. I’d been just a kid in my early twenties then, not long out of training, and pretty cocky about my looks and physical condition. In all the years since, I’d kept myself in shape, and as far as the looks were concerned I guess I have one of those faces that just don’t age much. My hair was still thick and dark, a little longer than in those earlier, straight-arrow, Eisenhower days. I weigh ten pounds more than I did then, but I put it on deliberately through a program of weight training, and there’s not an ounce on me I don’t want. If that sounds like bragging, so be it; a man who works hard to stay in condition ought to be a little proud of it.
“Okay,” I agreed with Hawk. “So maybe I will recognize Alex.”
“And even if you don’t, of course, you should be able to establish his identity by talking about old times.”
I wasn’t so sure of that; if the other side was throwing in a ringer, he was bound to be well briefed. But I wasn’t about to argue. “So what’s next, sir?”
Hawk walked back to his desk. “As soon as you pack some clothes you will fly by commercial airliner to Providence. Reservations have been made for you in the name of Daniel McKee. My secretary has the credit cards and other papers to back up the identity.”
“Providence?” My surprise must have been obvious.
Hawk chuckled and started guiding me to the door. “Your final destination is Newport. But in the city you loathe you’ll be met at the airport by a man named Nathaniel Frederick. He’ll brief you further.”
“Is he one of our agents?”
“Not at all. In fact, he’s exactly what he sounds like.”
“What’s that?” I didn’t trust the old man when he was smiling.
“Why, a retired New England schoolteacher, of course.”
Three
He was waiting for me when I walked into the terminal, a tall man with a ruddy complexion and tousled dark hair that had just a touch of gray in it. His handshake was cordially firm, but from the feel of his leathery palm, I got the impression he could squeeze a bar of silver into a roll of dimes. He had a merry, impish face, eyes dancing constantly, and his comfortably broad middle was no wider than his equally broad shoulders. Even before he spoke, I knew why he was working for AXE; Nathaniel Frederick was clearly a man who had been there and back, and had loved every minute of it.
“You’re lucky,” he was saying as we left the terminal and headed for his ancient station wagon parked just outside. “Your plane was on time. Usually the flights from Washington can be counted on to arrive at least an hour late.”
“Maybe you’re the lucky one,” I said. “You didn’t have to wait.”
“Oh, I don’t mind waiting.” He patted the black briefcase he held under one arm. “I always come prepared to while away idle moments.”
If that remark was supposed to make me curious, it worked. But I decided to hold back until I had a clearer picture of the man who looked like anything but a retired New England schoolteacher. As he started the noisy but smoothly-running engine, I studied his profile for a moment. No more than mid-fifties, I estimated, and that made me do some more thinking. Retired? He looked as though he could keep going until he was eighty, and probably then some.
He drove steadily, with casual skill, negotiating the streets and highways until we broke clear of the city. I knew almost nothing about this part of the country, except that once I’d been sent to Brown for a special course. It was the middle of winter, and winters in Providence can make a man long to be just about anywhere else. Once I’d been to Newport, cruising with some friends in a boat that could legitimately be called a yacht, but I never even made it ashore during our overnight stay.
“What’s the drill?” I asked as an opener.
Nathaniel glanced at me. He was definitely not the sort of man you would call Nat “Well, you’ll be staying at my house. I’m to take you out sailing every day until you’re as at home at the helm as I’m sure you are at the wheel of a car. Then there are various other things you’ll have to know...”
“Navigation,” I interrupted.
“Oh, that goes with the sailing, and if you need some brushing up on theory, I’ll help you with that, of course. But that’s the easy part.”
“Is that right?”
He grinned, his face lighted by the lights on the instrument panel. “You’ll have to memorize details — size, rigging, optional equipment, and especially prices — of virtually every sailing craft currently for sale in the United States and other parts of the world.”
“All that? What for?”
Nathaniel chuckled. “David told me he hadn’t had time to give you much of a briefing, but I didn’t realize he hadn’t told you anything.”
The man beside me was coming up with a surprise every time he opened his mouth. He was the only person I’d ever heard call the chief by his first name.
“He said you’d fill me in on the details.”
“Only of this part of the operation, of course. And that’s to turn you into a reasonable facsimile of a yacht broker, Mr. Daniel McKee. I don’t know why, and I never expect to find out, so whatever you’ve learned about your operation, please don’t tell me.”