“Well, no,” the captain admitted, wishing he had been more alert to that trap, and then realizing he had set it himself. “But you still haven’t given me the slightest proof that this man stole anything.” He stared at Jamison’s bruised eye. “Did you see him? Did anyone see him? All I have is your word on the thing.”
Jamison sighed. The captain was almost as bad as his superior.
“Look, Captain,” he said with a patience he was far from feeling, “if you insist, I can go through channels by radiotelephone and have my Department request permission for these searches from your company. This ship is, after all, still United States territory. Of course, asking in that manner will take time and probably interrupt a lot of your top company people in their more important duties, but I’m sure you’ll be able to explain to them why you didn’t let us make the search without any fuss.”
“I still think that searching—”
“For example,” Jamison went on, completely ignoring the captain’s weak interruption, “today is Saturday, but our Department works seven days a week. I can reach my superior by radio-telephone, and I’m sure he can locate the president of your line, probably out on the golf course—”
It had been a direct hit, and Jamison, seeing the expression on the captain’s face, knew he had been right. Outside of the Department, men simply weren’t trained to face crises.
The captain sighed deeply. He took off his cap, ran his fingers through his stubby gray hair, studied the insignia on the cap’s front as if seeing it for the first time, and then jammed it back on his head, tugging it straight. This horse-faced idiot across from him was right. After all, when one considered it from all angles, which was worse: approving a search by a Treasury man, under the eagle eye of his own trusted security officer, or facing the wrath of men to whom Saturday at the country club was sacrosanct? The truth was there was no choice. With the time he would lose in explanations — because in his company any questions at all instantly took on the form of an official inquiry that might have been instigated by the shipping board — he’d be lucky to get out to the farm at all on his short leave. And who would worry about his green peppers and tomatoes then? None of the principals involved, that was certain.
“All right.” He conceded defeat. He glanced at Jamison’s bruised face and a note of hope entered his voice. “However, if either this Huuygens or this Martins happens to come down to his cabin in the course of your search, don’t expect my security officer to leap to your rescue. You shall be on your own. I shall instruct my man to manage whatever excuse he can come up with, and then get to hell out of there, leaving you to your own devices. Is that clear?”
Jamison’s smile widened. His third finger bent down to join the other two.
“That’s the best part of the scheme,” he said smugly, and wondered why he had never thought of applying to the CIA, which obviously needed men of his caliber. “I know a very sure way to be positive both men are out of the way during the searches.” He reviewed his scheme and his face fell a bit as he suddenly remembered the young red-haired youth. “Of, course,” he added, “I shall need your good offices, but I’m sure we can rely on them, can’t we?”
13
Young Billy Standish sat at the table for two he had arranged in the dining room and glowered. It was not simply that the captain, at the last moment and without even a written invitation, had invited Anita to be his guest and dine in his quarters, thus depriving Billy of a meal he was positive might lead to something, but what on earth had ever induced the man to ask that Jamison along, too? And nobody else? Billy knew, because he had stood sulking outside the door to the captain’s quarters for fifteen minutes, divided between a desire to break in and demand the truth, and plain hunger. Hunger had won, but Billy still didn’t like the setup. He chewed moodily, scarcely aware of the quantities, wondering what on earth they could be talking about in the captain’s cabin.
The trio he was thinking of so glumly had finished their dessert; the captain’s orderly had cleared away the dishes and was bringing out the coffee when the captain cleared his throat in a manner that indicated that unfortunately the time had come to get on with the silly business to be discussed.
“Miss—”
Anita smiled brightly. “Call me Anita, Captain.”
“Thank you. With pleasure.” The captain beamed, pleased by the interruption. It seemed to him a rather shoddy business to involve a lovely young lady like this in Jamison’s scheme, but it was either that or the strong possibility of a few days on the carpet in New York. He sighed and motioned the orderly to bring cigars and brandy, and then turned back to the girl. Best to get on with it and get it over with. “Well, Anita, the fact is this gentleman here, Mr. Jamison, is with the United States Government. He... well, he would like your help.”
Anita looked at Jamison curiously. Throughout the dinner she had felt there was something faintly familiar about the man, and now it came to her. This was the man in the perfectly awful clothes who had been sitting with Kek in the 66 Roof when Billy Standish, for reasons never disclosed either at the time or since, had walked over and hustled the man around a corner, to return a few moments later dusting his hands. This could be very interesting. She looked at the captain.
“The government? My help?”
“Yes,” said the captain, pleased that the first step in the nasty business was over with. He poured himself a brandy and then suddenly remembered his manners, offering it to Anita. She shook her head and waited. The captain didn’t bother to offer anything to Jamison, but drank his drink. “Well,” he said, “you see—” He paused, sighed, and turned to his left. “Possibly you’d better explain...”
“I think it would be best,” Jamison said coldly, and looked at Anita in his most official manner. In his evening clothes he knew he cut a distinguished figure, and he wanted his voice to be equally impressive. “Anita, I am with the Treasury Department of the United States Government. There is, on this ship, a man who is an international smuggler—”
“No!” Anita’s eyes widened in alarm; her hand automatically went to her throat, as if to protect the small, heart-shaped locket there. Had Billy Standish seen the gesture, it is almost sure he would have instantly abandoned his charcoal-broiled sirloin, medium, with mashed potatoes and peas on the side, to go to her rescue, but fortunately for his appetite he was unable to.
Jamison smiled a fatherly smile; had Billy seen it he would have called it wolfish
“No, no! There’s nothing to worry about. It’s simply that you can be useful to us in helping to trap him. And/or his accomplice.”
Anita sounded more horrified than ever. “He has an accomplice?”
“We’re not positive, but we’re fairly sure.” Jamison made it sound as if there were files upon files of proof merely awaiting someone’s inspection. “However, with your help—”
“My help?” Anita repeated. She had never looked or sounded so helpless in her life.
“Yes,” Jamison said firmly, and got down to business. “This man — his name is Huuygens, by the way — and a second man who boarded here at Barbados just this morning — his name is André Martins — are the two we are talking about. They stole a valuable carving — a Chang Tzu — but never mind — from the National Gallery on the island of Ile Rocheux the night before last, and they intend, one or the other, to take it past Customs in the United States when we dock.” Jamison’s jaw tightened in manly determination; his eyes became as steely as he could make them, challenging John Wayne at his best. “Or, rather, they intend to try. I intend to stop them.” He added, a bit weakly, “With your help, of course.”