Shortly after that Shaw was in the offices of the British Consul.
In the absence of his identity card and personal papers, the establishing of Shaw’s bona fides involved a scramble-line call to Washington via the British Embassy’s own exchange in the capital. Once his identity had been confirmed Shaw was given a private office where he could take over the call — which was to Admiral Clifford Pullman himself. Pullman had been hastily summoned from his bed and brought to the phone in his own office in the Pentagon. While he was making that call, a member of the Consulate staff was rustled up to deal with the microdots and blow them up large.
To Pullman Shaw said, ‘I’ll ask you just to listen now, sir. There’s quite a lot to tell you. Ready?’
‘Shoot.’
As concisely as he could Shaw told the American admiral what had happened since his arrival in New York the day before; he passed a full description of Fleck’s communication centre and headquarters, and a summary of what Myra Yarrow had been able to tell him. He added, ‘I’ll have more news for you soon, sir, when I’ve got those microdots blown up. May I call you back?’
‘Do that. Any news of Patricia O’Malley?’
Shaw said, ‘I don’t know where she is, but I believe she’s alive. That’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry, sir, believe me.’
There was an indistinct sound at the other end and Pullman said heavily, ‘All right, son. Call me back as soon as you’re ready. I’ll be here.’
The line went dead.
Shaw resumed his wait and at last a man came in with the first instalment of the blown-up film. Shaw started translating from the plain-language German. It was a laborious task; there was a lot of extraneous matter, domestic Nazi stuff that might all come in useful one day but wasn’t any good just now. As the minutes passed more and more of the blown-up film came in and it was among the third batch that Shaw found what he was looking for. Excitedly he scribbled some notes and then he got on the scramble line again. Pullman himself answered.
‘Shaw again, sir.’ There was suppressed excitement in his voice. ‘This is urgent, sir, and mighty interesting! One of those microdots has spilt the beans, all right!’
‘Let’s have it.’
‘Coming over, sir. I’ll précis my translation.’ He paused, looked down at his pencilled notes. ‘The message indicates that that floating dock of ours is involved in whatever Fleck’s up to, all right. We knew already that Gottlieb Hauser were sailing it from Hamburg to Luanda, of course, but what we didn’t know is this: The dock was to be taken over, before arrival in Angola, by the towing crews — and they were a bunch of extremist Nazis. Luanda was just a blind, it appears, though I gather it’s genuine enough Angola’s fitting out some small warships. Probably Gottlieb Hauser were taking advantage of a partially prepared position, as it were, just using that as cover. I’d say the crews must have panicked after hitting the Wrangles — if they hadn’t abandoned the dock, we’d never have got suspicious at all. I doubt if we’d ever have opened up those flooding chambers and found Rosemary Houston. Anyway, the plan was that once the dock had been taken over as arranged, it was to be sailed south and west, right across the Atlantic… for the Magellan Strait area!’
There was an explosive sound at the other end. ‘What?’
‘Magellan, sir.’
‘Magellan? why the hell Magellan?’
‘I don’t know why, sir, the film doesn’t go into that, and it’s vague as to exact destination — just says what I told you, Magellan Strait area. I dare say Fleck’s already had the details of why and where. So that’s what I’ve got to find out, and to do it I’m going south right away.’
Pullman snapped, ‘Where to?’
‘Why, Magellan, sir! I’ll make first for Punta Arenas and use the British Vice-Consul there as my contact.’
‘Okay, but don’t say too much. I don’t want a peep about you-know-what to come out yet.’ Pullman’s voice was strained, full of anxiety. ‘And I don’t want those films released… not on any account, Shaw. You stick ’em in the safe in your Consulate — wrap the box up, put my name on it, and tell ’em it’s my Sunday suspenders, anything you like. I’ll have it collected. Tell the man who blew ’em up to keep his mouth shut tight or else. Meanwhile I’ll have that underground set-up broken wide open and the girl removed — but all very discreet, get me? Fleck, wherever he is, won’t get to hear about it.’
‘What about the Frazer Harfield boys, sir?’
Pullman snapped, ‘Leave them to me. Anything else?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact there is…’ Shaw told him in a puzzled voice. He’d been scanning more film, brought in as Pullman was speaking. ‘There’s one phrase here, in a recent message — the newest time of origin, in fact. It says, “Shift communication Casa Pluma.” That’s all. Any idea what that could mean?’
There was a pause, then Pullman said slowly, ‘No idea at all, son. Probably, almost certainly in fact, a code name, but… look, just check with your Consulate. They may know of a place of that name in New York, maybe.’
‘I’ll do that, sir, but I doubt the proposition. They wouldn’t just shift across to Manhattan. I’ve an idea the Casa Pluma angle’ll come clearer the farther south I get.’
Pullman rang off. Shaw gathered the film together and packaged it himself. Then he checked with the Consulate staff, and the New York telephone and street directories, for anything called Casa Pluma, but, as he had expected, there was nothing. Neither was there anything when they made a check on the whole of New York State. As Pullman had said, it must be just a code name. A code name, apparently, for yet another communications centre.
But — where?
Shaw handed over Willoughby’s gun to the Consulate staff for eventual delivery to Pullman and in exchange he was given a Webley .38 similar to his own, which he had not been able to find in the Fleck hideaway. After that he took a cab to the Shamrock Hotel, where he changed into his own clothes and packed his grip. He had a long, long way to go yet before this business would clarify, and he knew that he couldn’t honestly be certain even now that either Fleck or the floating dock, however much they were involved in something nasty, were in fact connected in any way with Warmaster. It could still, all of it, be a mere coincidence of quite separate Nazi and Communist schemes. There had been no mention of the missile in any of those decoded messages. Rosemary Houston was the only real link, and even that was a tenuous one. They had never established what she had been doing aboard that dock. And why — as Pullman had said—why the hell Magellan? Captain Bennett back in England had talked about strengthening for ice, but whatever ice there might be farther to the south, Magellan didn’t ice up so far as Shaw was aware.
It still made no real sense.
He could be heading out on a wild-goose chase, but something at the back of his mind was telling him that in fact he wouldn’t be wasting his time in going south. Possibly, he thought, that could have to do with what Myra Yarrow had told him about South America having been a source of a number of recent radio messages. Or the fact that ‘Casa Pluma’ had a South American ring about it?