Franz Albrecht Pedler sat in his office on the outskirts of Wiesbaden and scratched his snowy-white head. The telegram from Angeluzzi. e Bianco in Genoa, translated from the Italfan by Pedler's multilingual secretary, was perfectly plain and at the same time totally incomprehensible. It said: PLEASE ADVISE SOONEST OF NEW EXPECTED DELIVERY DATE OF YELLOWCAKE. As far as Pedler knew there was nothing wrong with the old expected delivery date, which was a couple of days away. Clearly Angeluzzi e Bianco knew something he did not. He had already wired the shippers: IS YELLOWCAKE DELAYED? He felt a little annoyed with them. Surely they should have informed him as well as the receiving company if there was a delay. But maybe the Italians had their wires crossed. Pedler had formed the opinion during the war that you could never trust Italians to do what they were told. He had thought they might be different nowadays, but perhaps they were the same. He stood at his window, watching the evening gather over his little cluster of factory buildings. He could almost wish he had not bought the uranium. The deal with the Israeli Army, all signed, sealed and delivered, would keep his company in profit for the rest of his life, and he no longer needed to speculate. . His secretary came in with the reply from the shippers, already translated: COPARELLI SOLD TO SAVILE SHIPPING OF ZURICH WHO NOW HAVE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR CARGO. WE ASSURE YOU OF COMPLETE RELIABILITY OF PURCHASERS. There followed the phone number of Savile Shipping and the words SPEAK TO PAPAGOPOLOUS. Pedler gave the telegram back to the secretary. "Would you can that number in Zurich and get this Papagopolous on the line please?" She came back a few minutes later. "PapagDpolous will call you back." Pedler looked at his watch. "I suppose I'd better wait for his call. I might as well get to the bottom of this now that I've started." Papagopolous came through ten minutes later. Pedler said to him, "Im told you are now responsible for my cargo on board the Coparelli. I've had a cable from the Italians asking for a new delivery date-is there some delay?"
"Yes, there is," Papagopolous said. "You should have been informed-I'm terribly sorry." The man spoke excellent German but it was stiff clear he was not a German. It was also clear he was not really terribly sorry. He went on, 'qbe Coparelli's oil pump broke down at sea and she is becalmed. We're making arrangements to have your cargo delivered as early as possible." "Well, what am I to say to Angeluzzi e Bianco?" "I have told them that I will let them know the new date just as soon as I know it myself," Papagopolous. said. "Please leave it to me. I will keep you both informed." "Very well. Goodbye." Odd, Pedler thought as he hung up the phone. Looking out of the window, he saw that all the workers had left. The staff car parking lot was empty. except for his Mercedes and his secretary's Volkswagen. What the hell, time to go home. He put on his coat The uranium was insured. If it was lost he would get his money back. He turned out the office lights and helped his secretary on with her coat, then he got into his car and drove home to his wife.
Stiza Ashford did not close her eyes all night Once again, Nat Dickstein's life was in danger. Once again, she was the only one who could warn him. And this time she could not deceive others into helping her. She had to do it alone. It was simple. She had to go to the Karld's radio room, get rid of Aleksandr, and call the Coparelli. ril never do it, she thought. The ship is full of KGB. Aleksandr is a big man. I want to go to sleep. Forever. It!8 impossible. I can't do it Oh, Nathaniel. At four A.M. she put on leans, a sweater, boots and an oilskin. The full bottle of vodka she had taken from the mess"to help me sleep'~-went in the inside pocket of the oilskhL She had to know the Karla!s position. She went up to the bridge. The first officer smiled at her. "Can't sleep?" he said in English, 'The suspense is too much," she told him. The BOAC Big Smile. Is your seat belt fastened, sir? Just a little turbulence, nothing to worry about. She asked the first officer, "Where are we?"
He showed her their position on the map, and the estimated position of the Copareffl. "What's that in numbersr, she said. He told her the coordinates, the course, and the speed of the Karla. She repeated the numbers once aloud and twice more in her head, trying to burn them into her brain. "It's fascinating," she said brightly. "Everyone on a ship has a special skill ... Will we reach the Coparell! on time, do you think?" "Oh, yes," he said. "Tben-boom." She looked outside. It was completely black-there were no stars and no ships' lights in sight. The weather was getting worse. "You're shivering," the lbst officer said. "Are you cold?" "Yes," she said, though it was not the weather making her shiver. "When is Colonel Rostov getting upr "He's to be called at 6." "I think I'll try to get another hour's sleep." She went down to the radio room. Aleksandr was there. "Couldn't you sleep, either?" she asked him. "No. I've sent my number two to bed." She looked over the radio equipment. "Aren't you listening to the Strvmberg anymorer, "rhe signal stopped. Either they found the beacon, or they sank the ship. We think they sank her." Suza sat down and took out the bottle of vodka. She unscrewed the cap. "Have a drink." She handed him the bottle. "Are you coldr, "A little." "Your hand is shaking." He took the bottle and put it to his lips, taking a long swallow. "Ah, thank you." He handed it back to her. Suza drank amouthful for courage. It was rough Russian vodka, and it burned her throat, but it had the desired effect. She screwed down the cap and waited for Aleksandr to turn his back to her. 'Tell me about life in England," he said conversationally. "Is it true that the poor starve while the rich get fat?" "Not ma y people starve," she said. Turn around, damn it, turn around. I can't do this facing you. "But there is great inequality." "Are there different laws for rich and poor?"