With Pepe leading, they crossed to the starboard side of the ship, where two men were gingerly extracting a cigar-shaped missile from a fibreglass cylinder. This time Jonathan had no need of Langbourne's expertise. He had seen the demonstration films. He had heard the tales.
The tour continued. Light anti-tank guns. Field radios. Medical gear. Uniforms. Ammunition. Meals Ready to Eat. British Star-streaks. Boxes made in Birmingham. Steel canisters made in Manchester. Not everything could be examined. There was too much stuff, too little time.
"Likee?" Roper asked Jonathan quietly.
Their faces were very close. The expression on Roper's was intense and strangely victorious, as if his point were somehow proved.
"It's good stuff," Jonathan said, not knowing what else he was supposed to say.
"Bit of everything in each shipment. That's the trick. Boat goes astray, you lose a bit of everything, not all of something. Common sense."
"I suppose it is."
Roper wasn't hearing him. He was in the presence of his own accomplishment. He was in a state of grace.
"Thomas?" It was Langbourne, calling from the aft end of the hold. "Over here. Signing time."
Roper went with him. On a military clipboard, Langbourne had a typed receipt for turbines, tractor parts and heavy machinery as per attached schedule, inspected and certified to be in good order by Derek S. Thomas, managing director for and on behalf of Tradepaths Limited. Jonathan signed the receipt, then initialled the schedule. He gave the clipboard to Roper, who showed it to Moranti, then passed it back to Langbourne, who handed it to Pepe. A cellular telephone lay on a shelf beside the door. Pepe picked it up and dialled a number from the piece of paper that Roper was holding out to him. Moranti stood a little distance from them, with his hands curled to his sides and stomach out, like a Russian at a cenotaph. Pepe passed the phone to Roper. They heard the banker's voice saying hullo.
"Piet?" said Roper. "Friend of mine wants to give you an important message."
Roper handed the phone to Jonathan, together with a second piece of paper from his pocket.
Jonathan glanced at the paper, then read aloud. "This is your friend George speaking to you," he said. "Thank you for staying awake tonight."
"Put Pepe on the line, please, Derek," said the banker's voice. "I would like to confirm some nice news for him."
Jonathan handed the receiver to Pepe, who listened, laughed, rang off and clapped a hand on Jonathan's shoulder.
"You're a generous fellow!"
His laughter stopped as Langbourne drew a typed sheet of paper from his briefcase. "Receipt," he said curtly.
Pepe grabbed Jonathan's pen and, watched by all of them, signed a receipt to Tradepaths Limited for the sum of twenty-five million U. S. dollars, being the third and penultimate payment for the agreed consignment of turbines, tractor parts and heavy machinery delivered to Curaçao as per contract for onward transit on the SS
* * *
It was four in the morning when she rang.
"We're leaving for the
Jonathan said nothing at all.
"He says I'm to bolt. Forget the cruise, bolt while there's still a chance."
"He's right," Jonathan murmured.
"It's no use bolting, Jonathan. It doesn't work. We both know that. You just meet yourself again in the next place."
"Just get out. Go anywhere. Please."
They lay still again, side by side on their separate beds, listening to each other's breathing.
"
Everything had been going swimmingly with Operation Limpet. Burr, from his grim grey desk in Miami, said so. So did Strelski, next door along from him. Goodhew, telephoning twice a day on the secure line from London, had no doubt of it. "The powers that be are coming round, Leonard. All we need now is the summation."
"Which powers?" said Burr, suspicious as ever.
"My master for one."
"Your
"He's turning, Leonard. He says so, and I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. How can I go over his head if he's offering me his full support? He took me to his heart yesterday."
"I'm glad to hear he's got one."
