"Details," Dickstein said. "Open an account for Savile Shipping at your bank here. The Embassy will put funds in as they are required. You report to me simply by leaving a written message at the bank. The note will be picked up by someone from the Embassy. If we need to meet and talk, we use the usual phone numbers." "Agreed.,' "I'm glad we're doing business together again." Papagopolous was thoughtful. "Ship No. 2 is a sister ship of the Coparelk" he mused. "I think I can guess what you're up to. Theres one thing I'd like to know, although I'm sure you wont tell me. What the hell kind of cargo will the Coparelli be carrying-uranium?"
Pyotr Tyrin looked gloomily at the CoparelY and said, "She's a grubby old ship." Rostov did not reply. Thev were sitting in a rented Ford on a quay at Cardiff docks. The squirrels at Moscow Center had informed them that the Coparelli would make port there today, and they were now watching her tie up. She was to unload a cargo of Swedish timber and take on a mixture of small machinery and cotton goods: it would take her some days. "At least the mess decks aren't in the fo'c'sle," Tyrin muttered, more or less to himself. "She's not that old," Rostov said. Tyrin was surprised Rostov knew what he was talking about. Rostov continually' surprised him with odd bits of knowledge. From the rear seat of the car Nik Bunin said, "Is that the front or the back of the boat?" Rostov and Tyrin looked at one another and grinned at Nik's ignorance. "Me back," Tyrin said. "We call it the stem" It was raining. The Welsh rain was even more persistent and monotonous than the English, and colder. Pyotr Tyrin was unhappy. It so happened that he had done two years in the Soviet Navy. Tbat, plus the fact that he was the radio and electronics expert, made him the obvious choice as the man to be planted aboard the Copareffl. He did not want to go back to sea. In truth, the main reason he had applied to Join the KOB was to get out of the navy. He hated the damp and the cold and the food and the discipline. Besides, he had a warm comfortable wife in an apartment in Moscow, and he missed her. Of course, there was no question of his saying no to Rostov. "WeT get you on as radio operator, but you must take your own equipment as a fallback," Rostov said. Tyrin wondered how this was to be managed. His approach would have been to find the shio radio man, kriock him on the head, throw him in the water, and board the ship to say, "I hear you need a new radio operator." No doubt Rostov would be able to come up with something a little more subtle: that was why he was a colonel. The activity on deck had died down, and the Coparelli's engines wen quiet Five or six sailors came across the gangplank in a bunch, laughing and shouting, and headed for the town. Rostov said, "See which pub they go to, Nik." Bunin got out of the car and foHowed the sailors. Tyrin watched him go. He was depressed by the scene: the figures crossing the wet concrete quay with their ramcoat collars turned up; the sounds of tap hooting and men shouting nautical instructions and chains winding and unwinding; the stacks of pallets; the bare cranes Like sentries; the smell of engine oil and the ship's ropes and salt spray. It all made him think of the Moscow flat, the chair in front of the paraffin beater, salt fish and black bread, beer and vodka in the refrigerator, and an evening of television. He was unable to share RostoVs impressible cheerfulness about the way the operation was going. Once again they had no idea where Dickstein was--even though they had not exactly lost him, they had deliberately let,him go. It had been Rostov's decision: he was afraid of getting too close to Dickstein, of - scaring the man off. "WeT follow the Copareffl, and Dickstein will come to us," Rostov had said. Yasif Hassan had argued with him, but Rostov had won. Tyrh who had no contribution to make to such strategic discussions, thought Rostov was correct, but also thought he had no reason to be so confident. "Your first job is to befriend the crew," Rostov said, interrupting Tyrin's thoughts. "Yoxtre a radio operator. You suffered a minor accident aboard your last ship, the Chr&mw Rose-you broke your arm-and you were discharged here in Cardiff to convalesce. You got an excellent compensation payment from the owners. You are spending the money and having a good time while it lasts. You say vaguely that youll look for another job when your money runs out. You must discover two things: the identity of the radio man, and the anticipated date and time of departure of the ship." "Fine," said Tyrin, though it was far from fine. Just how was he to "befriend" these people? He was not much of an actor, in his view. Would he, have to play the part of a hearty hail-fellow-well-met? Suppose the crew of this ship thought him a bore, a lonely man trying to attach himself to a jolly group? What if they just plain did not like him? Unconsciously he squared his broad shoulders. Either he would do it, or there would be some reason why it could not be done. All he could promise was to try his best. Bunin came back across the quay. Rostov said, "Get in the back, let Nik drive." Tyrin got out and held the door for Nik. The young man's face was streaming with rain. He started the car. Tyrin got in. As the car pulled away Rostov turned around to speak to Tyrin in the back seat. "Here's a hundred pounds," he said, and handed over a roll of banknotes. "Don't spend it too carefully. Bunin stopped the car opposite a small dockland pub on a comer. A sign outside, flapping gently in the wind, read, "Brains Beers." A smoky yellow light glowed behind the frosted-glass windows. There were worse places to be on a day like this, Tyrin thought. "What nationality are the crew?" he said suddenly. "Swedish," Bunin said. Tyrin's false papers made him out to be Austrian. "What language should I use with them?" "All Swedes speak English," Rostov told him. There was a moment of silence. Rostov said, "Any more questions? I want to back to Hassan before he gets up to any mischief." "No more questions." Tyrin opened the car door. Rostov said, "Speak to me when you get back to the hotel tonight-no matter how late." "Sure." "Good luck." Tyrin slammed the car door and crossed the road to the Pub. As he reached the entrance someone came out, and the warm smell of beer and tobacco engulfed Tyrin for a moment. He went mside. It was a poky little place, with hard wooden benches around the walls and plastic tables nailed to the floor. Four of the sailors were playing darts in the comer and a fifth was" at the bar calling out encouragement to them. The barman nodded to Tyrin. "Good morning," Tyrin said. "A pint of lager, a large whiskey and a ham sandwich." The sailor at the bar turned around and nodded pleasantly. Tyrin smiled. "Have you just made portT' "Ye& The Coparefll," the sailor replied. "Christmar Rose," Tyrin said. "She left me behind." "You're lucky." "I broke my arm." "So?" said the Swedish sailor with a grin. "You can drink with the other one." "I like that," Tyrin said. "Let-me buy you a drink. What will it be?"