Roper laughed loudly and clapped a hand on Jonathan's back. "Don't trust the dog, that's why, old boy. Any of my dogs. You, Corky, Sandy ― wouldn't trust any of you in an empty henhouse. Nothing personal. Way I am."
* * *
Two cars were waiting among the lighted hibiscus of the hotel forecourt. The first was a Volvo, driven by Gus. Langbourne took the front seat. Roper and Jonathan the back. Tabby and Frisky followed in a Toyota. Langbourne had a briefcase.
They crossed a high bridge and saw the lights of the town below them, and the black Dutch waterways cutting through the lights. They descended a steep ramp. The old houses gave way to shanties. Suddenly the dark felt dangerous. They were driving on a flat road, water to their right, floodlit containers piled four high to their left, marked with names like Sealand, Nedlloyd and Tiphook. They turned left, and Jonathan saw a low white roof and blue posts and guessed it was a custom-house. The paving changed and made the wheels sing.
"Stop at the gates and put your lights out," Langbourne ordered. "All of them."
Gus stopped at the gates and doused the car's lights. Close behind them, Frisky in the Toyota did the same. A barred white gateway stood before them, with warning notices in Dutch and English. Then the lights around the gate went out too, and with the darkness came silence. In the distance, Jonathan saw a surreal landscape of cranes and forklift trucks cross-lit by arc lamps, and the pale outlines of big ships.
"Let 'em see your hands. No one move," Langbourne ordered.
His voice had acquired authority. This was his show, whatever the show was. He opened his door an inch and worked it, making the courtesy light wink twice inside the car. He closed the door, and again they sat in darkness. He lowered his window. Jonathan saw an outstretched hand reach in. It was white and male and powerful. It was attached to a bare forearm and the short sleeve of a white shirt.
"One hour," Langbourne said, upward into the darkness.
"That's too long," a gruff, accented voice objected.
"We agreed one hour," Langbourne said implacably. "One hour or nothing."
"Okay, okay."
Only then did Langbourne pass an envelope through the open window. A pinlight torch went on; the contents were swiftly counted. The white gates swung back. Still without headlights, they drove forward, closely followed by the Toyota. They passed an ancient anchor embedded in concrete and entered an alley of many-coloured containers, each marked with a letter combination and seven digits.
"Left here," Langbourne said. They swung left, the Toyota after them. Jonathan ducked his head as the arm of an orange crane swooped down on them out of the sky.
"Now right.
They swung right, and the black hull of a tanker rose out of the sea toward them. Right again, and they were skirting a row of half a dozen moored ships. Two were grand and newly painted. The rest were scruffy feeder ships. Each had a lighted gangway to the waterfront.
"Stop," Langbourne ordered.
They stopped, still in darkness, the Toyota on their tail. This time they waited only a few seconds, before another pinlight appeared in the windscreen: first red, then white, then back to red again.
"Open all the windows," Langbourne told Gus. He was worried about hands again. "On the dash where they can see them. Chief, shove 'em on the seat in front of you. You too, Thomas."
With unaccustomed meekness Roper did as he was told. The air was cool. The smell of oil mingled with the smells of sea and metal. Jonathan was in Ireland. Then he was in Pugwash docks, stowed aboard the filthy freighter, waiting to steal ashore by darkness. Two white flashlights appeared either side of the car. Their beams scanned the hands and faces, then the car floor.
"Mr. Thomas and party," Langbourne announced. "Come to inspect some tractors, pay the other half."
"Which is Thomas?" said a man's voice.
"Me."
A pause.
"Okay."
"Everybody get out slowly," Langbourne ordered. "Thomas, behind me. Single file."
Their guide was lank and tall and seemed too young to be carrying the Heckler that swung at his right side. The gangway was short. Reaching the deck, Jonathan saw across the black water to the lights of the town again, and the flare stacks of the refinery.
