GFU03 - The Golden Boats of Taradata Affair

by Simon Latter

  "You could try, but don't push it," said Mark. "Only the captain and his officers are supposed to talk with the passengers. There's almost more discipline aboard this tub than in many a naval ship."

  April switched subjects. "You were aboard when the ship took on cargo. Anything special about it? What sort of stuff is in the closed holds?"

  "Straight from the mainland warehouse stuff — all custom-checked. Bales of cloth, cases of canned goods, general shop merchandise — coffee, tea, rice, cigarettes. The islanders use their own cigars. All that was double-checked by our own contact men too. There isn't a thing on board that means anything more than what it is." He grinned. "Except us — and maybe one or two passengers!"

  "What did the Island Traveller take on at Palaga?"

  "Mainly liquor. They have a sweet racket in confiscating bottles from ships' bars, then flogging them back as exports, but they also do a legit trade in their own wines, brandy and rum. I was surprised the Palaganians have developed a boat-repairing industry, but I don't see any significance in that. It was probably one of the older crafts of the island before the Palagas became currency-conscious."

  "What sort of boats?"

  "Oh, tiny things. Like coracles."

  "Like what?"

  "Coracles — as in oracles. An English name, I believe. Or is it Irish? I dunno. Each island would have its own name for them. They weave wicker or reed strips into a tiny boat shape, then fix a skin on the inside. Use them for one-man fishing, training children to be boat-wise, and going out to tend nets or trap lines. Better than canoes. These don't capsize easily. There's stacks of them under plastic deck sheets in the stern and for'ard."

  "Going where?"

  "Taradata."

  "Why Taradata?"

  "Why not? Guess the islanders use a lot of them."

  "Then why don't they repair their own?"

  "Now listen, sweetie, they're just little old mini-boats — cockleshells. Around these parts they line the inside instead of the outside — using some sort of leaf stuff that doesn't grow in Palaga. For Pete's sake — we've got enough dead trails without dragging in a perfectly innocent local craft! Can you imagine THRUSH trying to invade the world in a million coracles? A couple of bursts of multi-rocket fire and there'd be none left."

  "Perhaps you're right." April smiled. "We'll just have to dig deeper, that's all. This project has cost a bomb already, and Kazan and Paru are still around someplace eating their expensive heads off." She glanced at her watch. "Give me three minutes to get clear." She winked. "Be good, lover-boy, and I'll let you escort me around one of the exotic isles!"

  Mark made a rude noise. He gave her five minutes to get well clear via a small hatchway beyond the galley into the passengers' section. He then reported to the mate, who believed Mark was doing work for Chas. As Chas believed him to be under the mate's orders, Mark was able to disappear for a short time without either knowing it.

  "I don't have to go up that blasted rigging again, do I, sir?" he growled.

  The mate hadn't thought about it, but immediately he knew one of these scum didn't want to do a particular job he delighted in making sure they did it.

  "Get up that mast when you're told!" he bellowed. "Clear the starboard lines, then grease all the pulleys"

  "Aye, aye, sir." Mark shinned up the mast and got himself well balanced against the fore and aft pitch — no easy feat, because at mast height the swing was nigh on seven yards when the Island Traveller was bucking a swell. This was one of the most uncomfortable, even dangerous, places Mark had ever used to make contact with H.Q., but it was also one of the finest for reception.

  "Ah! Mr. Slate!" Mr. Waverly boomed. "I trust you are well and truly nailed to the mast? A custom of the old pirates, I believe."

  "Ha-ha!" said Mark dutifully. "And a bottle of rum, or somesuch. Do you have information for me, sir?"

  "My own question precisely, Mr. Slate. May I remind you of the vast amount of time and considerable expenditure of money which so far has been put into this affair? We have in the past spent a great deal less and received far more. A soupcon of interest would not come amiss."

  "We know there is a strong organization at work in the area. We are close to THRUSH contacts. We can only pursue our present course in the hope of uncovering the THRUSH project."

  "But you are not, at this stage, any closer to a clarification?" Mr. Waverly insisted.

  "No, sir."

  "What is your next port of call?"

  "Providencia, then Taradata."

  "Let us hope Providencia will be providential for you, Mr. Slate — hum-hum!" said Mr. Waverly with joyous pomposity.

  Mark took it manfully. In silence.

  Then, gently: "You have a report for me, sir?"

  "Indeed we have. A most revealing one. I am sure you will find it helpful. Standby and I will put you on to emergency feed-back."

  E.F.B. made it crystal clear. Mark thought ruefully that if the whole file had been fed through the E.F.B. computer, they might well have discovered more field leads faster and easier. And the great advantage of E.F.B. was that by merely speaking the word "repeat", it spun itself back and gave you the gen all over again. You didn't have to apologize for not getting it the first time, nor miss a vital point because you didn't want to appear dumb, daft or dilatory.

  He repeated it a number of times while working on the ropes and laughed gaily at certain passages. The report was collated from many sources. It represented quite a few man hours of work, although some of these had been used by researchers during the normal field compilation of the dossier.

  At last he shinned down the mast and went to the fo'c's'le for his daily dish of fish skilly, very nourishing and utterly obnoxious in smell and taste. It had taken him four days to keep it down more than half an hour. His stomach's present acceptance of it was a triumph of mind over matter — aided by a pint of coarse wine so rough and sour that no grease could resist it. As a mouthwash it was excellent. Sealed in a spray can, TV projected, and sold for around fifteen dollars, it would have gone like a bomb.

  The trick was to suck a short length of Barbados sugarcane while taking in the wine from the other side of the mouth. Convicts from mainland prisons were accustomed to this fare. To refuse it, to be unable to consume it, or not to know the correct eating and drinking "drill", would have been a dead give-away. U.N.C.L.E. agents have a varied education. They learn that most big factors take care of themselves, it is the tiny ones which attract a bullet in the back or a knife in the ribs.

  Mark had to wait until that quiet hour after cocktails and before brandy when the bar trade was nil before he closed the bar and gave Chas the sign that talk was needed. They went to the liquor store, where Chas locked them in.

  "Clarence Harold Arthur Salisbury — I salute you!" Mark sat on a keg, feathering cigar smoke.

  The brown eyes puckered, surveyed him shrewdly, quizzically.

  "Been digging around?" said Chas cheerfully. "Using that little talkie-walkie of yours? Won't do you no good, mate. It ain't nice, either. I'm me — see? One word from me and over the side you go — shark-bait. Shame — nice young fella like you—see what I mean?"

  "My friends wouldn't like that, They'd do talkie-walkie themselves."

  Chas nodded. "I bet they would. If it wasn't all nice and tidy. Witnesses, terrible tragedy, all writ up in the log, captain, mate, bosun, me — nice honest fellas. You honest?"

  Mark nodded. "I'm honest."

  "You ain't no ex-con, neither."

  "That's where they hired me."

  "Nah!" Chas shook his head, making his quiff bob like a petunia. "That's where you let 'em hire you." He drummed fingers on his chest. "A thousand secrets — remember? Y'know something? I was on the islands when the Japs came." He pulled open his shirt to show livid weals of old wounds criss-crossing his chest. He spun around, baring shoulders and scars of horrible lacerations. "Secrets, they wanted. Nice fellas. Nice habits they had. Swords, whips, and fire-heated bamboo.
Before you came up, sonny. Long time ago. Keeper of a thousand secrets — that's me." He buttoned his shirt. "I don't scare," he said raspingly. "Get that. I don't scare. But I trade. You want to trade?"

  Mark shrugged. "In what?"

  "Your safety. I don't want to know why. Nor who. You tell me and it's secret. I don't care. I ain't no ally. We trade and I ain't no enemy."

  "I might convince you it was important. That I was important."

  "Nah! Nothing is, see? It's all a giggle. You spy, I spy, we spy the nice spy." His voice changed to a deep timbre. "Man, this is bigger than both of us!" He spat between Mark's feet. "Something like that, you are. That set I spied you using — it ain't on sale. So maybe you're government. Which? I don't care."

  "They might," said Mark grimly. "See what I mean?"

  Chas began to laugh. He had white, expensively tailored dentures. The laughter, the crinkled eyes, the flashing teeth, the dancing quiff gave him a buccaneering air. Real laughter. His eyes watered with it. At last he drew deep breaths and stopped laughing.

  "Ten thousand dollars. In used notes. There's a bank in Providencia. I ain't greedy. I'll fix shore leave for you. If your little talkie-walkie ain't any use to contact your cashier, I'll fix it for you to use a private radio. I can even hold up sailing for a day."

  Mark grinned. "Do I hear the voice of experience? It's all happened before, hasn't it, Chas?"

  "Aye, sonny — and will again."

  "And you're not even curious why, or who, or what?"

  "Not one little tittle."

  "Yet you could cause me to die without knowing or caring?"

  "S'right, mate."

  "Did they cut out your heart with those swords?"

  Chas puckered his lips in a soundless whistle, then grinned. "Shall we dance? Before you break me perishin' heart! Grow up, sonny! I never yet saw a general or an admiral cry over one poor devil cut to pieces. Expendable, they was - see? That's what they taught me. We're all expendable. Only some are more expendable than others — such as you right now."

  "Police?" said Mark. "Could be tricky for you."

  "Not around here. High seas, mate — or else island waters and local justice. I know it's hard, very hard, but you just got to face it, sonny. You ain't important at all, except to me." Chas lit a cigarette, puckered eyes through the smoke. "Ten thousand — or you'll never get off the island except in a canvas sheet. Like they used to tell me in my man's army — you might break your mother's heart but you won't break mine."

  Mark's hand moved casually. A small tube appeared in his hand. A faint click ejected a tiny barrel.

  "Something else you can't buy in shops, Chas. It can fire up to six capsules. Like little razor darts, they are. One will be enough. Doesn't matter what part of your flesh it hits." He spat between Chas's feet. "Kaput! Finis! Heart failure."

  Chas didn't move. He let the cigarette hang from his lower lip, the rising smoke veiling his eyes.

  "Nice firm you work for. Very clever these days, ain't they? You didn't hear me the first time, sonny. I don't scare. Call yourself Slater, don't you? Reckon it's not your name, but you're on the ship's books as Slater, and we have a little camera that took a pretty picture of you — and all the others — soon as you came aboard."

  Mark shrugged. "So does that save your life?"

  "It won't save yours, mate. This liquor store is bugged. So's every cabin. All we're saying right now is spinning around on a tape. Only one other person knows where that machine is hidden. Anything happens to me — he'll do the listening. Slater killed me. Get him." Chas smiled.

  Mark shrugged again. "C'est la guerre!" He carefully restored the dart gun to safety position, replaced it in his pocket. "That's how you heard me before."

  "C'est la flippin' common sense too," said Chas. "Bright boy, that's you. Ten thousand dollars."

  "So you married a Palaga. How is Mrs. Salisbury?" said Mark softly.

  "She ain't a widow yet."

  "And how is Mrs. de Witt — Mrs. Charles de Witt? And Mrs. Charles Gordon? And Mrs. Charles Sale? Charles equals Chas equals C.H.A. Salisbury, Esquire, equals bigamist extraordinaire, and the greatest of these is Mrs. Salisbury of Palaga. I don't know whether she was the second or the fourth — but we do know she wasn't the first — so she isn't. If you see what I mean?"

  Chas inhaled deeply, then held his cigarette in steady fingers as he let the smoke gently trickle out.

  "S'funny, y'know," he said quietly. "I never reckoned on it coming from a stranger."

  "You disappoint me, Chas. No bluff. No counter threats?"

  "Very smart — your lot. Must have been working on me a long time. Flattering, ain't it? Little me!"

  "Routine," said Mark. "We missed you the first time. Surface research was all we read. But all research is done at three levels. Two are not shown to people like me unless you are a principal. Suddenly, you become a principal. We almost know what baby food you ate. There won't be any ten thousand dollars. And we have photographs and tape equipment too."

  "You forgot something, sonny. My religion allows me all the wives I can keep. The law around these parts is kind of tolerant of my religion. So that'll still be ten thousand dollars."

  "Only two things wrong with that, has. You married the Palaga one under Palaga laws. Maybe you'd even get out of that. But you forgot to tell any of them about the others. We wouldn't bother the law with it. Wouldn't need to. We are already arranging a pleasant all-expenses-paid trip to Palaga for Mrs. de Witt, Mrs. Gordon and Mrs. Sale. We'll deliver them all to Mrs. Salisbury and let them sort it out. Or should I say — let them sort you out?"

  Chas ground the butt of 'his cigarette with his heel.

  "Diabolical," he said, still smiling. "Dia-bloomin-bolical! That's you, mate! It'd be a nice old howdedo, wouldn't it?"

  "I can imagine. Scared now, Chas?"

  "Nah! Not scared. A bit annoyed, like." He shrugged. "Okay — you win. No ten thousand dollars."

  "And no shark bait?"

  "You're safe, sonny. From me, anyway. You don't have very nice friends."

  "They could be real nice to you — the keeper of a thousand secrets. You wouldn't even miss a couple."

  "Such as?"

  "This ship is virtually under charter, isn't it?"

  "Could be."

  "Registered in Palaga by a Palaga company — making routine calls around the islands, carrying normal cargo and a few passengers. Why bother to charter? Why take on a strong-arm crew?"

  "Ask 'em yourself."

  "Who?"

  "The Padracks. It'll be the last question you ask. And I'll keep this tape just to prove I warned you."

  Mark frowned. "This puts me at risk again, Chas."

  "Well, you shouldn't be so damned nosey, should you? But don't worry, sonny. I'll give you a trade. You're trying to uncover something, aren't you? Something big. Same as the Swede, only they got on to him. You saved him. I reckon the girl's in with you too, One of them comical outfits — Auntie or Uncle, or somesuch, ain't you? No skin off my nose. I'm me. I've had enough of organizations — had a bellyful of 'em — so I just don't want to know. Money is all I want. You can have your ruddy glory." He rubbed the weals on his chest. "I've had mine. So I'll trade." He took out a bottle from the wine rack, reached his hand inside and clicked off a switch. He, turned to Mark and grinned. "Off the record. Watch the boats of Taradata." He raised his hand as Mark was about to speak. "That's all, sonny." He held out his hand. "You trade?"

  Mark gripped it. "I trade. We'll hold over arrangements to transport the ladies."

  "Right. I'll leave you long enough to use your little talkie-walkie. Make it quick. You're not bugged."

  Mark grinned. "Why bug the liquor store?"

  "Because locks can be forced, and keys pinched — but no one can be so silent they beat the bug. I switch it through an amplifier at night. Our seamen are bonza fellas, but if they get drink in 'em they go beserk."

  "You said all the cabins were bugged too."
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  Chas nodded. "By the Padracks. I should worry. At the price they're paying they can bug the ruddy sharks as well, for all I care."

  "Sounds like you cut a commission on the deal."

  Chas snorted disgustedly. "Commission? A nice pack of researchers your lot are! Cor stone the crows, don't you know I own the flamin' ship?" He unlocked the door and went out, muttering.

  CHAPTER FOUR: THY NAME IS WOMAN

  A TRIFLE peeved, that's me, April Dancer thought, as she lazed in glamorous indolence on the sun deck. Peeved because — aha! Don't let Mark or any U.N.C.L.E. colleagues read your thoughts, my lass. Peeved, you are, because no one seems aware of you. Near-nude or Paris-gowned, mod-geared or man-bait alluring, you make no dent — in anyone on this boat.

  Palaga went to your head. This is work. Okay, so that was work too. All the links were made there, the character built, the identity registered — little gay girl with a yen to express herself. No, thank you, not on a luxury cruiser — one gets so tired of luxury this and luxury that.

  That quaint boat with its rust and blistered paint, and assorted cargo of human needs — that's what I need to bring me close to real people. The real life of the islands. I'm going to put it all in a book — a real book of real people. It's not because my psychiatrist advised it to help release myself. I feel I've always had this talent, you see? And now I've got to fulfil myself. It'll be a best-seller, of course. Well, of course, I mean, who else in my position has ever got so close to life? People are tired of travelogues written by professional hacks. Dear Orlando, it's sweet of you to encourage me so much.

  The big build-up to impress the Padracks. "Why, aren't you Miss Dangerveldt, the heiress who is going to write about our islands? Well, books are our business — you must allow us to help you all we can." They knew. Of course they knew. The local field workers had seen to that. Yet, not a nibble! Not one teeny reaction.

  So she'd had to force it a bit. "Oh, Mr. Padrack, I hear you are in the book business. Now isn't that a coincidence! Of course, I'm not telling everybody, but, seeing we have so much in common — I mean, you and your charming wife knowing all about books and the islands and all these lovely people. .