No. Olufsen had not seen him. There had been no one in the lavatory while he was there except Nunn. Nunn told the same story. Sorry. No one there except Olufsen.
Gerasov looked round the room again. But the kafeteria was a comparatively small place, there were not many tables and Krasnov was nowhere to be seen.
The sub-lieutenant went back to Martinsen’s table. ‘Mr Olufsen and Mr Nunn say he wasn’t in the lavatory.’ His voice was tremulous. He looked utterly defeated.
Odd Dahl, the lensman, said, ‘There’s a fire-door at the back. Maybe he went out that way.’
‘No,’ said Gerasov. ‘It’s bolted on the inside. I checked.’ He turned to Martinsen. ‘What should I do, sir?’ It was a cri de coeur. Martinsen was thinking of Freddie Lewis’s… a great power… something special by way of intelligence gathering. Was this it? He kept his thoughts to himself. ‘I suggest you run across to the hospits,’ he said. ‘He may be there. If not come back to us. It’ll only take you a few minutes.’
Gerasov said, ‘I can’t go alone, sir. My orders are never to be alone.’ He paused, his face drawn. ‘That’s my problem. I should never have let Krasnov go to the lavatory alone.’ Martinsen wanted to laugh at that but he controlled himself. ‘I see your point, Sub-Lieutenant. Very well. We’ll accompany you.’ He looked at Odd Dahl, ‘You come along, too, Bailiff. After all, it’s your problem.’
‘Of course, Major.’
The three men left the kafeteria together.
When they’d gone Kroll said, ‘If Krasnov has disappeared we must report at once to the Ordforer. The consequences could be serious.’
‘He’s probably with a girl,’ said the harbourmaster. ‘Doesn’t want the sub-lieutenant to know. Let’s have some more beer.’
Kroll’s plump face, bright with perspiration, gathered itself into a smile. ‘Why not? Maybe you are right.’
Ferret and Plotz hadn’t missed much. They’d seen Krasnov leave the table and go through the swing-door, followed by Olufsen and Nunn who’d returned later. They’d seen, too, how Gerasov had gone off in search of his companion, his agitation when he came back. It was then that Ferret had bought two more bottles of lager and gone back to the table by the door. ‘Jesus!’ he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. ‘I think Krasnov’s beat it.’
Plotz said, ‘He’s not come back through that door. Never had my eyes off it. But his uniform cap is still on the table over there.’
‘I’m going to check the lavatory, Jim. Watch things while I’m away.’
Ferret was soon back. ‘He’s not there. That’s for sure. There’s a fire-door at the back. It’s bolted on the inside. It’s the only way he could have gone.’
‘How come if it’s bolted on the inside, Ed?’
‘Because Krasnov wasn’t there alone. Somebody let him out and bolted the door after he’d gone.’
‘Or pushed him out,’ suggested Plotz.
‘Yeah. Could be. And that might mean Olufsen and Nunn. They went in after him.’
‘There’s another possibility,’ Plotz leant over the table, lowering his voice. ‘Krasnov could have defected. Maybe he planned this thing. Norwegian accomplice. Right? Remember the girl. She came out soon after Olufsen and Nunn went in. Maybe she was around by the fire-door. She lets Krasnov out, bolts it and comes back in.’
Ferret picked at a broken finger nail, then tried biting it. He was deep in thought. ‘Wouldn’t Olufsen and Nunn have seen her?’
‘Unlikely, Ed. If you check the time intervals. I guess they must have been in the men’s for at least a minute when she came out that door.’
Plotz laughed, a sudden explosive laugh, a combination of nerves and discovery. ‘We’re hypersensitive, Ed. It’s an occupational hazard. Know what I think?’
‘What’s that?’
‘It was that girl we saw come out the loo. I guess Krasnov’s laying her right now. Maybe over at the hospits. Maybe some place else.’
‘You could be right.’ Ferret abandoned the broken nail. ‘But it could also be he’s defected. You know the way he talks with Gerasov. He doesn’t dig the navy or the Party.’
‘And so,’ said Plotz. ‘What do we do now?’
Ferret’s frown seemed to draw his small eyes closer together and the line of his mouth hardened. ‘If we can’t take K, we take G. That’s what Gemini says. So now we keep right on G’s tail. Okay?’
At that moment Gerasov, Martinsen and Odd Dahl got up, walked their way through the tables and out of the kafeteria’s front door.
‘Jesus!’ Plotz’s face froze. ‘What d’you know?’
‘For Chrissake,’ said Ferret. ‘Why do they have to lay on a king’s escort for that little bastard?’ He stood up. ‘Tail them, Jim. I must see Vince. We’re short of time.’
By midnight the hue and cry, if it could be called that, had been raised, but in a minor key It wasn’t Kroll’s fault. If he’d had his way it would have been very different. But the Ordforer who’d made no attempt to conceal his displeasure at being called by his deputy from deep sleep had other ideas. It was absurd, he said, to assume as Kroll had done, that Krasnov had been abducted. There were other, more likely possibilities. A woman probably. Or Krasnov had defected and was hiding somewhere in Kolhamn. If so, political asylum was involved and that was a matter for Oslo. Martinsen supported the Ordforer.
Kroll made the point that Oslo had instructed that the Russians be given every assistance. The disappearance of one of their officers was surely an emergency justifying special steps.
‘That,’ said the Ordforer in a manner which brooked no opposition, ‘is a matter for Major Martinsen. He’s responsible for security while the submarine’s aground on Vrakoy.’
Martinsen agreed. He would, he said, do certain things at once. The few soldiers and sailors presently in Kolhamn on leave from patrol duties — mostly billeted with local families — would be mustered as soon as possible. They would conduct a house-to-house inquiry in the village, and search its environs. He would also alert the minesweeper off Knausnes and order the fast gunboat to carry out a sweep round the island to challenge, and if necessary search, any strange craft encountered. Finally, he would arrange for a radio message to be sent to the Zhukov, informing its commander that Lieutenant Krasnov had disappeared and that a search for him was in progress.
Kroll then blurted out his suspicions: Olufsen had arranged the charter of the Kestrel for the English tourists, he emphasized the word. A day or so ago he had seen Olufsen go on board the yacht in the early hours of the morning.
What had Kroll had been doing down there at that hour? challenged the Ordforer, ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said the doctor. ‘So I took a walk. Sometimes I do this.’
He explained how in the kafeteria that evening Olufsen and Nunn had gone through the swing-door to the lavatory soon after Krasnov. They’d returned a few minutes later. Krasnov had not. Indeed, since that moment he’d not been seen again. With a touch of dramatic emphasis Kroll pointed a podgy finger in the direction of the harbour. ‘I am certain Krasnov is a prisoner in the Kestrel.’
The Ordforer was not impressed. He was a strong, stolid man, not one to jump to conclusions and he didn’t like his deputy overmuch. In his opinion the doctor’s air of geniality and goodwill masked a lazy, inquisitive character. But Kroll was popular locally and the herredstyre had elected him Vise-Ordforer, Nordsen had accepted the decision with misgiving.