The Spoilers / Juggernaut

by Desmond Bagley

  Parker smiled. ‘It equalized the turbulence. I’m ready to begin loadin’ if you’ve got the stuff.’

  ‘The boss is a bit worried about that,’ said Eastman. ‘She wants to do it herself—just to make sure.’

  ‘Well, she can’t—an’ that’s flat,’ said Parker abruptly. ‘It’s a tricky job. I have to see that the centre o’ gravity comes in the right place because if it doesn’t I can’t guarantee how the fish will behave. They have to be balanced just right.’

  To have someone prying into the warheads was the last thing he wanted. ‘She can stand over me an’ watch while I do it,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t mind that.’

  Abbot said, ‘Dan was telling me that if the balance isn’t right the torpedo might dive to the bottom.’

  ‘It would affect the steering, too,’ said Parker. ‘They’d be bloody erratic.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Eastman, holding up his hands. ‘You’ve convinced me—as usual. Jeanette will be here pretty soon with the load for one fish. See if you can convince her.’

  Jeanette took a lot of convincing but at last she agreed, bowing to the superior weight of technical know-how which Parker dazzlingly deployed. ‘As long as I’m here when you do it and the warhead is sealed,’ she said.

  Abbot grinned. ‘You don’t trust us very much.’

  ‘Correct,’ she said coolly. ‘Help Jack to get the stuff in here.’

  Abbot helped Eastman to haul a big cardboard box into the shed and down the stairs, and then they went back for another. Jeanette delicately tapped the box with a neatly shod foot. ‘Open it.’

  Parker took a knife and ripped open the top of the box. It was full of polyethylene bags, all holding a white powder. ‘Those bags hold half a kilogram each,’ she said. ‘There are five hundred of them—one torpedo load.’

  Parker straightened. ‘That’s not on. I said five hundred pounds—not two hundred and fifty kilos. I don’t know if I can do it—it’s fifty pounds over the odds.’

  ‘Just put it in,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he said exasperatedly. ‘I’ve balanced these torpedoes for a five hundred pound load. If you stick an extra ten per cent right at the nose it’s goin’ to alter the leverage arm—alter the centre o’ balance.’ He rubbed the side of his nose. ‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ he said doubtfully.

  ‘For another hundred thousand dollars?’ she asked. ‘Just for you. I won’t tell Abbot.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll give it a go.’ He did not want to leave any heroin behind if he could help it, and it did not really matter a damn about the balance as far as he was concerned. He would make a song and dance about it and go through the motions, baffling her with science, just to avoid suspicion. ‘For another hundred thou’, you’re on.’

  ‘I thought you could do it,’ she said, and smiled.

  He thought she was getting it cheaply. A further two hundred pounds of heroin worth $10,000,000 for a mere $100,000—if he was ever paid at all. God, the profits to be made in this business!

  Eastman and Abbot came back bearing another load, and Parker began to stow the packets into the warhead very carefully. ‘It’s a matter o’ density, too,’ he said. ‘This stuff isn’t as solid as TNT. It takes up more room, especially in these plastic packets.’

  ‘You’re sure the warhead is waterproof?’ demanded Jeanette.

  ‘You needn’t worry about that,’ he assured her. ‘It’s as tight as a duck’s arse.’

  She looked mystified and Eastman chuckled. He began to poke about on the bench which was littered with tools and bits of metal. He picked up something and began to examine it, and Abbot froze as he saw it was one of the detonators Parker had been making up. ‘What’s this?’

  Parker looked at it, and said casually, ‘Contact breaker for the “B” circuit. That one wasn’t working very well, so I made up another.’

  Eastman tossed it in the air, caught it, and replaced it on the bench. ‘You’re pretty good with your hands, Dan. I think I could find you a good job over in the States.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind that,’ said Parker. ‘Not if it pays as well as this one.’ He worked in silence for a long time with Jeanette hovering over him and peering over his shoulder. At last he said, ‘That’s the last packet. I’m surprised—I really am. I didn’t think we’d get ‘em all in. I’ll screw it down tight an’ you can put your seal on if you want to.’

  He checked the heavily greased gasket and clamped the small hatch down, then said, ‘Get the block an’ tackle ready, Mike. We’ll couple it to the torpedo body an’ then it’ll be ready to go to the Orestes.’

  The warhead was swayed up on the block and tackle and run across to the body where Parker bolted it down firmly. ‘There, miss,’ he said. ‘Are you happy wi’ that? I feel I ought to ask for a receipt, but I doubt I’d get it.’

  ‘I’m satisfied,’ she said. ‘Have it taken to the Orestes tonight, Jack. There’ll be another load tomorrow, Parker. The Orestes sails the morning after.’ She smiled at Abbot. ‘A nice sea cruise for all of us.’

  III

  Warren felt dispirited when they met in Hellier’s suite to compare notes. He had had an unproductive day. ‘The pickle factory is closed up tight as a drum. There’s a sign outside saying it’s closed for alterations.’

  ‘How do you know that’s what it said?’ asked Metcalfe. ‘Wasn’t the sign in Arabic script?’

  ‘I found someone to translate it into French,’ said Warren tiredly. ‘There was a bit of a vinegary smell, but not much. I didn’t see anyone go in or come out. It was a wasted day.’

  ‘I saw somebody go in,’ said Follet unexpectedly. ‘I followed the Delorme dame and she went in the back way. There was a guy with her—an American, I think—they spent about an hour there.’

  ‘It’s all linking up nicely,’ said Hellier, regarding Follet with approval. ‘This definitely ties up Delorme with Fuad. What about the shipyard?’

  ‘It’s not very big,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Impossible to get into, if you want to be unobtrusive about it. I didn’t see Jeanette at all. I hired a boat and had a look at the yard from the sea. Fuad’s yacht is anchored there, and there’s a scrubby old coaster flying the Panamanian flag—the Orestes, she’s called. That’s all. The yard itself looks run down; not many working types about, but plenty of toughs at the main gate.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s closed for alterations, too,’ said Tozier ironically. ‘If they’re ferrying millions of dollars’ worth of heroin about Beirut they’re going to be damned sure there’ll be no prying eyes at the staging points. It’s quite possible the Orestes is the ship we’re looking for. Could she make the Atlantic crossing?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Metcalfe. ‘She’s about three thousand tons. But there’s more. This afternoon a truck pitched up hauling a very long trailer. I couldn’t see what the trailer carried because it was covered with a tarpaulin, but it could very well have been a torpedo.’

  ‘I’m not so sure of this torpedo bit,’ said Warren. ‘Parker told me a torpedo can only carry about five hundred pounds, and we know there’s a ton to be smuggled.’ He frowned. ‘Even if Abbot and Parker scupper the first consignment that still leaves another three-quarters of a ton of heroin around. If the torpedo is sabotaged Delorme and her gang will go to ground and we’ll be worse off than we are now.’

  ‘If Jeanette can get one torpedo—which she can—then she can get four,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I know Jeanette—she’s a go-for-broke type, and if she’s convinced that a torpedo will do the trick she’ll go for it wholeheartedly.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Warren. ‘But we don’t even know if Parker sold her on the idea.’

  ‘Ah, but I have more,’ said Metcalfe. ‘When the truck and trailer came out of the shipyard I followed it. It went to another place on the coast which was also locked up tight and the very devil to observe. But I paid a lot of money for the use of an attic from which I could see about a quarter of
what’s on the other side of the wall. There was an Arab who is apparently some kind of caretaker; there’s a shortish man with broad shoulders—very muscular—and who walks with a slight limp…’

  ‘Parker!’ said Warren.

  ‘…and there’s a tall young chap with fair hair. Would that be Abbot?’

  Warren nodded. ‘It matches him.’

  ‘A car came in once, stayed a few minutes and drove away again. It brought a tall man with a beaky nose and hair receding at the temples.’

  ‘That sounds like the guy who was with the Delorme dame,’ said Follet. ‘Was it a black Mercedes?’

  Metcalfe nodded, and Hellier said, ‘I think it’s quite clear we’re all moving in the right direction. The point is—what do we do now?’

  ‘I think Parker and Abbot are in a very dangerous position,’ said Warren.

  ‘And that’s an understatement.’ Metcalfe snorted. ‘Suppose the ship sails and the torpedoes don’t work because Parker has sabotaged them. Jeanette is going to be as mad as a hornet. Nobody loses that much money and stays civilized, and she’s a touchy girl at the best of times. Parker and Abbot will get the chop—they’ll go over the side of the Orestes and no one will ever hear of them again.’ He brooded. ‘Come to that, they might get the chop even if the torpedoes are successful. Jeanette has a passion for covering up her tracks.’

  Tozier said, ‘Nick, I’m very much afraid you’ve boobed. This torpedo trick is all right as far as it goes, but you didn’t think it through. It’s all very well being in a position to dump the heroin, but what about Abbot and Parker?’

  ‘I think the point at issue here is very simple,’ said Hellier. ‘Do we attack the pickle factory or the ship?’

  ‘Not the pickle factory,’ said Warren instantly. ‘Supposing they’ve moved some of the heroin out already? Even if we attack the factory there’ll still be some of the stuff on the loose. I favour the ship where we’ll have a chance of scooping the pool and getting the lot.’

  ‘And of rescuing Parker and Abbot,’ pointed out Hellier.

  ‘That means attacking just before she sails,’ said Tozier meditatively. ‘And we don’t know when that will be.’

  ‘Or whether she’ll be carrying the whole consignment,’ said Metcalfe. ‘We still don’t know enough.’

  ‘If only I could talk to Abbot for just five minutes,’ said Warren.

  Metcalfe snapped his fingers. ‘You say Parker was in the Navy. Is there any chance he’d understand Morse?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Warren. ‘It may even be probable.’

  ‘That attic I was in faces the setting sun,’ said Metcalfe, ‘I had the devil of a job because the sun got in my eyes. But it opens up possibilities and all I need is a mirror. I could heliograph.’

  Warren’s lips tightened. ‘Unobtrusively, I hope.’

  ‘I’ll watch it,’ said Metcalfe seriously.

  The conference broke up. Warren was to back up Metcalfe, and Tozier and Follet were to concentrate on the shipyard, looking for a weak spot. Hellier stayed behind to coordinate.

  Warren discussed the plan with Metcalfe, then said, ‘I’d like to ask you a personal question.’

  ‘That’s all right, as long as you don’t expect an honest answer.’

  ‘You puzzle me, Metcalfe. You don’t believe much in law and order, do you? And yet you’re dead against dope. Why?’

  Metcalfe stopped smiling. ‘That’s none of your business,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Under the present circumstances I think it is,’ said Warren carefully.

  ‘Maybe you have a point,’ conceded Metcalfe. ‘You’re afraid I might run off with the loot and diddle you all.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I would, too, if it wasn’t dope; there’s a hell of a lot of money involved. Let’s just say that I once had a younger brother and leave it at that, shall we?’

  ‘I see,’ said Warren slowly.

  ‘Maybe you do—you’re in the business yourself, so Andy tells me. As for law and order, I believe in it as much as the next man, but if the poor bloody Kurds want to fight for the right to live like men then I’m prepared to transport their guns.’

  ‘You seem to have the same point of view as Andy Tozier.’

  ‘Andy and I get along with each other very well,’ said Metcalfe. ‘But let me give you a bit of advice, Nick; don’t go about asking people personal questions—not anywhere east of Marseilles. It’s an easy way to get seriously—and permanently—damaged.’

  IV

  Dan Parker sat on the stool by the bench and contemplated the one remaining torpedo. The late afternoon sun flooded the shed and his work was nearly done. Two torpedoes had been filled and taken away that morning, and this last one was to leave in a very few hours. He felt tired and a little depressed and he was acutely worried about the next stage of the adventure.

  Back in London he had left his wife and his sons and he wondered if he would ever see them again. He had no illusions about what would happen on the other side of the Atlantic when four torpedoes exploded on a quiet shore and a major fortune went to destruction. He would, quite simply, be killed and he could see no way of avoiding it. His life had been at risk before, but in the random way of war; never in the cold-blooded manner which he now faced.

  He blinked as a stray beam of light flickered across the bench, and pondered on possible ways out of the gruesome situation he and Abbot found themselves in. They could not attempt to escape in Beirut because that would be an immediate tip-off that there was something wrong with the torpedoes and the whole dangerous operation would have gone for nothing. Delorme would cut her losses and revert to whatever plans she had originally conceived. So there was nothing for it but to board the Orestes next day and hope for the best.

  Something niggled at the back of his mind, something which was striving to express itself—something to do with himself, with his own…name? He frowned and tried to pin it down. What was it? What was it about the name of Parker that should be so important? He tensed as the light flickered again across the bench because he was suddenly aware that it was spelling his name out—over and over again.

  He got up casually and walked over to Ali who was squatting at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hey, Ali, you bloody scoundrel; go to the office an’ get me some cigarettes. Got that? Cigarettes.’ He mimed the action of lighting a cigarette and pointed up the stairs.

  Abbot said, ‘I’ve got some here, Dan.’

  Without turning, Parker said briefly, ‘They’re not my brand. Get crackin’, you damned heathen!’

  Ali nodded and went up the stairs. As soon as he had left the shed Parker whirled around. ‘Get up there an’ stop him comin’ back—I don’t care how you do it but keep him out o’ this shed. Have an attack o’ bellyache in the yard—anythin’!’ Abbot nodded and ran up the stairs, prodded into unquestioning action by the authoritative rasp in Parker’s voice. He did not know why Parker wanted this but the tone of urgency was unmistakable. Parker returned to the bench Where the light still flickered and studied it for a moment. Then he traced an imaginary line to the window through which it struck. He bent down and the light struck him full in the face and steadied so that he was blinded. He brought up his hand before his face in the thumbs-up sign and then stepped aside.

  The light remained steady on the bench for a moment and then began to flicker again and to spell out words in Morse rather slowly. Warren here…questions coming…flash light one for yes…two for no…got that…

  Parker took the trouble-shooting lamp which was on a long lead and set it up facing the window. He flashed it once. The reflected light from outside steadied momentarily on the bench and began again…is torpedo working…

  Parker paused. He took that to mean: Is the method of smuggling to be by torpedo? He flashed once.

  …how many…one…

  Two flashes.

  …four…

  One flash.

  …by Orestes…

  One flash.

  …when…next we
ek…

  Two flashes.

  …tomorrow…

  One flash.

  Metcalfe, up in the attic, checked his prepared question list into which he had put a great deal of thought. He had used Warren’s name because he himself was unknown to Parker, and he had to get the maximum information in the minimum time for Parker’s safety. It was rather like playing the game of Twenty Questions. He flashed the next question which was all important.

  …is all dope going…repeat…all…

  One flash.

  …are you and Abbot going…

  One flash.

  …do you want rescue…

  The faint light in the shed flickered wildly and Metcalfe guessed that Parker was trying to send Morse. It was unreadable because the light was so faint and the sun in his eyes so strong. He let his light remain steady until Parker stopped, then hesitated as he saw the Arab come into view from the office. He was relieved to see Abbot step forward and waylay the Arab. Abbot pointed away from the shed and the two men went back into the office.

  Metcalfe steadied the mirror again.

  …check where I am…can you flash Morse up here at night…

  One flash.

  …will be here all night…good luck…

  The light steadied on the bench once more and then abruptly vanished. Parker took his hand from the switch and sighed. He walked to the window and looked up at the faraway building from which the signals had come; the setting sun gleamed redly on a single pane of glass set in the roof. His depression was gone—he and Abbot were no longer alone.

  He climbed the stairs and went to the door of the shed. ‘Where are those bloody cigarettes?’ he roared.

  V

  Hellier had chartered a fast cruiser which lay in the yacht harbour and they gathered there early in the morning for a conference. Follet helped Metcalfe lift aboard the heavy suitcase he carried, then they all sat around the table in the saloon. Tozier said, ‘Are you sure the Orestes is due to sail at nine, Tom?’

  ‘That’s what Parker signalled. We had quite a long chat.’