Strutt shook his head. ‘No. Chopper landed on time. I came into the village with two of the crew. Later we separated. I’ve already covered the route from here to the main quay by the cold store. It’s okay.’
‘And the rest?’
‘All set.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Rockfish is surfacing about now. She’ll dive immediately she’s launched the skimmer. Then she’ll head for the RV, twenty-five miles north of Nordnes — that’s the most northerly point on Vrakoy. The skimmer will lay off the beach two miles east of the Ostnes Beacon from midnight waiting for our signal. We checked the layout coming in with the chopper.’
‘Fine. What’s the back-up?’
‘A Charleston support ship with three Belknap frigates one-fifty miles west of Vrakoy at midnight. Rockfish will RV with them round noon tomorrow. We’ll make the transfer by chopper.’
‘Sounds okay.’
Ferret turned to Plotz. ‘You better be getting along to the kafeteria in a few minutes, Jim. Be joining you soon.’ He looked at Strutt. ‘They usually stay on till the place closes at half eleven, then head back this way. Keep to themselves. They’re there to listen.’
‘And drink beer and look at the birds,’ added Plotz.
‘Talking of birds,’ said Strutt, ‘how’s Laillard’s Tern?’
‘It should get stuffed,’ said Plotz, putting a lot of feeling into what he said.
‘When these guys get up to leave I’ll push out ahead of them.’ Ferret bit a thumbnail with fierce concentration. ‘We’ll be sitting as close to the door as we can get. Jim’ll come right along after them. Okay Vince?’
Strutt nodded. ‘When they’ve been back here for about ten minutes I’ll knock on the door. Give Krasnov the message. He’ll follow me down. Maybe the other guy too. We’re organized to take care of both.’ He paused, examining the cigarette and his nicotine-stained fingers. ‘You boys’ll be waiting down behind the cold store by the main quay. As we pass you come out. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Ferret.
‘You ask me the time in English. I tell you in Russian, I don’t speak English. Right?’
‘Right,’ said Ferret.
‘Then we take him,’ said Strutt.
‘Or them,’ said Plotz.
‘Or them,’ repeated Strutt.
‘One thing, Vince.’ Ferret eyed him curiously. ‘Why did Stocken call this the Gemini Plan?’
‘Gemini — twins. Right?’
‘I get it. Because there are two of them.’
Strutt shook his head. ‘I guess not. If for any reason we don’t get one or other of these guys — if that fails — Rod Stocken has given me an alternative objective.’
Ferret said, ‘First I’ve heard of it.’
‘You and Jim are not involved, that’s why. And that’s the way it’s got to stay.’
‘Okay. Okay.’ Ferret waved a deprecatory hand. ‘Suits me. We’re not looking for hay.’
‘Anyway, that’s why he called it Gemini,’ said Strutt flatly. ‘Twin objectives. See?’
Plotz yawned noisily. ‘’Kay. Guess that’s all. I’ll get moving.’ He looked at the grip on the floor. ‘In there?’
Strutt nodded. ‘Yeah. But we don’t want it rough. Unless it has to be.’
Plotz opened the grip and took out three .38 calibre Colts in their shoulder-holsters. He took one, put the others on the bed. He strapped his on, slipped into his jacket, patted the gun where it snugged under his left armpit. He grinned. ‘Feel better dressed now.’ He put two spare clips of ammunition in a jacket pocket and went to the door. ‘Bye, fellas. See you.’
When Plotz had gone Strutt took two miniaturized radio transmitters from the grip, and the uniform of a leading-seaman of the Soviet Navy. The ribbon on the cap was lettered VOLGA in gold. It was the name of one of the two Nepa salvage ships off Knausnes.
While he and Ferret talked he changed into the uniform. Before pulling the blue jumper over his head he strapped on a shoulder-holster. ‘It’s difficult getting your hand to it in this rig,’ he explained. ‘They showed me how in Camp Peary. Look.’ He slipped his hand under the jumper and pulled out the Colt. ‘Jumper’s not strictly according to Soviet naval regulations. Got a concealed elastic pleat.’
They laughed. ‘You look great,’ said Ferret. ‘Kinda handsome in that rig.’
‘Get lost,’ said Vince. He was putting his own clothes back into the grip. ‘They’ve got your name on them, Ed.’
Ferret said, ‘’Kay. It’s a verbal message, huh?’
‘Yeah.’ Strutt broke into impeccable Russian. ‘Lieutenant Krasnov? I am leading-seaman Pliyev, coxswain of the Volga’s launch. I have been sent in to take you off to your ship. Captain Yenev’s orders. You are urgently required on board.’
‘That’s quite something,’ said Ferret. ‘Your Russian’s as good as mine.’
‘There’s plenty more,’ said Strutt. ‘Like what I say if he tries to check up, or if the other guy insists on coming along. I won’t bother you. It’s all taken care of.’
Ferret lit a cigarette, took two photos from his pocket, passed one to Strutt. ‘That’s Krasnov. This is Gerasov. Nice guys. Quite normal. Gerasov goes for the birds. Randy as hell right now. Just been telling Krasnov what he’d like to do to the Limey girl who crews for a yacht down in the harbour. She’s around the kafeteria most nights.’
Strutt studied the photos carefully. ‘Krasnov’s not a bad-looking guy.’ He returned the photos to Ferret.
‘He’s a small-time intellectual. Doesn’t like the navy.’ Ferret put them back into his wallet. ‘That makes two of us. It stank for me too.’
‘You’re no intellectual, Ed.’
‘You could be right. How’s Sara?’
‘She’s fine, Ed.’
‘And the kids?’
‘Marvellous. Sammy’s coming up six next week.’
‘You’re kidding. Seems a few months ago he was that high.’ Ferret held his hand against his knee, palm down. ‘Yeah. They certainly shoot up.’
‘’Kay. I’ll be getting along.’ Ferret stood up, strapped on the shoulder-holster, got into his jacket and raincoat. He slipped one of the transmitters into an inner pocket of the raincoat and fastened the zip. ‘Bye now, Vince,’ he said as he opened the door.
‘Bye, Ed. See you.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
More or less the usual crowd were in the kafeteria when Ferret got there. The media people, their numbers now down to six or seven, some Norwegian soldiers and sailors free from patrol duties for a few hours, with them a handful of local girls.
Petersen the harbourmaster was there with Dr Kroll and Lars Martinsen. Three of the Kestrel crew had taken a table at the far end of the room, near the juke-box. Krasnov and Gerasov were as usual at a table on their own. Gunnar Olufsen, the press and tourist agent from Bodo, was at the counter talking to the proprietor. They seemed to know each other well.
It was a noisy, cheerful night. Behind the babble of voices, the laughter, the shouts of mirth and protest, the juke-box wailed and beat its sobbing message like a twentieth-century tribal drum.
As he threaded his way towards the counter Ferret greeted those with whom he had a nodding acquaintance. As always he responded to the English girl’s cheerful smile. ‘Hi there, Julie. How’s the Kestrel?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘We’ve got the spare part at last.’
‘Leaving soon?’
‘Tonight I hope. If we can get the engine going. How are the Arctic Terns?’
Ferret shook his head. ‘Guess they’re way down south just now. In Africa mostly. We’ll be ringing them next season. Tell you more then.’