Redcap

by Philip McCutchan

  He said in a deep, carrying voice: “I never did like having that article aboard, Commander. And then when that signal came in from London, saying you were joining . . .” He gave a friendly, rolling laugh. “That’s not meant to sound unwelcoming, of course.” He looked directly at Shaw as he sat down. “Well? All I know so far is what’s in that crate, and that you’ve got some connexion with it. Now, how much farther can you put me in the picture?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can, sir, but you’ll have to excuse me if there are a few omissions.” Shaw told Sir Donald and Gresham about Lubin and the vague threat which Latymer believed existed to the ship as a result. He also mentioned the rumours about the Chinese troop movements, but said nothing about Donovan or the other sources. When the Captain had listened, attentively, to Shaw’s story he took a mouthful of gin, swallowed it. He took another, thoughtfully, draining the glass this time, then set it down rather hard on a small table beside his chair.

  Smacking a heavy hand on the arm, he said: “You know —I don’t think they had any business to put that damned thing aboard a ship like this.” He added, “It’s been a queer voyage even this far.”

  “In what way, sir?”

  Sir Donald pushed out his lower lip and frowned. His eyebrows, drawn together, made a thick white line which stood out in contrast to his leathery face. He said slowly, “It’s hard to say, really. Oh—nothing concrete’s gone wrong, I don’t mean that. It’s just a feeling. You learn to sense these things after a few decades spent carting the rich around the world!” He laughed. “This time, they don’t seem to be enjoying themselves as much as they should when they’re surrounded by all the glamour of a maiden voyage.” He frowned again and shook his head. “They’re pernickety— much more so than usual. The Purser’s had a hell of a time.”

  “D’you think anything’s spread, sir?” Shaw asked.

  “Don’t think it’s that. Do you, Colonel?”

  Gresham replied jerkily, “No. Certain there’s been no leak. Think the old spirit’ll come soon, Captain. Early days yet.” Sir Donald ran a hand over his jaw. “Possibly.” He pushed cigarettes across, said briefly: “Help yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Shaw took a cigarette, lit it, blew a cloud of smoke. He said, “It’s hard to know where to begin on this job. I know that doesn’t sound very professional, but there it is.”

  “I suppose you can’t do much more than look and listen,” Sir Donald remarked. “However, you can count on any help you want from me. I’ll do all you think necessary to safeguard this confounded machine, shoft of hazarding my ship or endangering my passengers. I’ll be delighted to get rid of it, I can tell you,” he added with feeling. “Shaw, can you put this—er—threat into more concrete form?”

  “I wish I could. It’d be easier to meet if we knew what it was. It’s all so vague. Largely, we’re working on conjecture, on sheer guesswork, but my chief seems convinced the ship’s in danger.”

  Sir Donald asked sharply, “If he’s so certain, why don’t they off-load the thing en route? Why in heaven’s name go on possibly risking the lives of my passengers?”

  Shaw lifted his shoulders. “Just because it’s so vague. Certain people in England aren’t taking it as seriously as they might. Come to that, we have to admit that our information could be wrong—but I’d swear it isn’t.” He took a deep breath, glanced at the Captain. “Personally, I think we have to face the fact that the threat could be one of two things— either some one’s planning to seize REDCAP, or they’re planning to do away with it altogether. Blow it up.”

  “Blow it up aboard, d’you mean?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but I think that could be the case. We can’t rule it out, anyway.”

  “But it’s—it’s fantastic!” Sir Donald’s square, red-brown face was hard and angry. “Are they all dimwits at the Admiralty and the Ministry? Don’t those fellers at home realize what an explosion aboard this ship would be like? With that nuclear reactor down below—and the ship full of unsuspecting passengers—why, it’d be a holocaust!”

  Shaw said grimly, “I’m certain my chief realizes all right, sir, and I know I do. But as I said, no one’ll believe us, or rather they won’t believe in our sources of information. It’s my job, partly, to convince them.”

  “But who’d want to blow it up—where would that get them?” Sir Donald swung heavily round on Gresham. ‘What d’you think, Colonel? Think there’s anything behind this?” Gresham gnawed at his straggly moustache, then spoke in a clipped, abrupt voice. “Sounds awfully melodramatic, doesn’t it——”

  Sir Donald rapped, “It certainly does!”

  “Ah—one moment.” Gresham wagged a finger. “Didn’t mean to suggest we shouldn’t take it seriously. Think we should. Shaw spoke of the Chinese. Can’t afford to take a single chance with those blighters, y’know.” He drew in air and moustache in about equal quantities. “If Lubin’s gone over to them—well, one just can’t say, what?” Gresham fumbled in his pocket, brought out a pipe and pouch. He raised an eyebrow at the Captain, who nodded. Gresham took his time filling the pipe, then he looked up and said: “Always thought this REDCAP arrangement was too wide open. MAPIACCIND, of course, that’s a tremendous thing, but REDCAP’s far too vulnerable, d’you follow? Too much depends on it, too. It’s—er—too much in one place, if you see what I mean.”

  Shaw murmured, “Too centralized?”

  The Colonel’s eyes brightened and he waved his pipe eagerly. “That’s it exactly. Just my point. Everything’s centred on REDCAP. REDCAP goes—everything goes.” He lit the pipe, sucked noisily for a moment. “Let’s assume Shaw’s right and it is China that’s behind this. So happens I know the Chinese pretty well, their mental processes an’ all that. Brought up out there, actually. Lived in Shanghai as a child, went back there often before the war—my father was in business out there. Shipping agency.” The moustache was sucked in, blown out again. “It was obvious even then they’d try for world power one day. And now, d’you see, they’re a long way down the road on the nuclear tack. . . He broke off, shrugged expressively.

  Sir Donald said, “But dammit, Colonel, they did join MAPIACCIND. They needn’t have done that.”

  “Oh, quite. Yes. But if China had refused to join, it’d have put her in a difficult position from the propaganda viewpoint for one thing, and in the second place I believe they really only joined it when they found they couldn’t stop it being formed.” Gresham puffed a cloud of smoke into the air, thoughtfully, settled back in his chair as the smoke filtered into a bar of sunlight and wreathed like fog. “I look at it this way. The Chinese simply aren’t the sort of people who ever willingly join anything—unless there’s something very tangible in it for themselves alone. Remember, they never even went fully into the Russian camp, even when they were on friendly terms, even during the honeymoon period when the revolution first got properly under way after the War. They always held back, never wanted to be hobbled. And now, d’you see, after years and years of domination by the ‘foreign devils’ in one form or another—trade, Treaty Ports, Japan, what you like—they’ve begun to feel their own power and their own weight properly. Once John Chinaman’s ready and feels himself to be ready, he goes into action. Until then, he’ll wait, because he’s patient by nature. But when he is ready. . . Gresham made an expressive gesture with his pipe-stem. “See?”

  Shaw asked, “You think he’s ready now?”

  Gresham nodded. “Very possibly. More I think about it, more I think there’s probably quite a lot behind all this. They could easily be thinking along the lines of . . . well, as you suggested, mucking up REDCAP in some way.”

  The Captain said doggedly, “I still don’t see where it would get them.”

  Gresham’s bright eyes held a brief twinkle. He said jerkily, “Wishful thinking, Captain! Trying to persuade yourself against your better judgment. Look at it this way. China’s a nuclear Power and a big one. Probably the biggest of us all. You know they had a lot
of Russian help before the split came—why, the Russians built their first heavy-water reactor for plutonium production in Pekin, just for research —that’s the one that started up in September 1958, and it’s just as big as some of the Harwell jobs. And we know for a fact that when the MAPIACCIND Agreement was signed, China had an enormous stockpile of H-bombs, long-range ballistic missiles, the lot. The whole lot.” He jabbed his pipe-stem at Shaw and Sir Donald. “Well now. All that’s tied up in MAPIACCIND, adapted to REDCAP. So the Chinese can’t use any of their new weapons.”

  “Neither can anybody else,” Sir Donald pointed out.

  “Ah, but there’s a difference. Just when the Chinese are feeling ready for the first time, they’re frustrated by this world agreement. My guess would be, they’ve got hold of Lubin, either willingly or unwillingly, to find out all they can about the backroom secrets of the organization and about REDCAP too—”

  Shaw interrupted, “Lubin actually worked on the Russian end of fixing up REDCAP. I expect you knew that?”

  Gresham nodded. “Yes, that’s quite true—he did. Well, d’you see, there it is. Lubin knows how REDCAP works. If they can get hold of it or put it out of action, just look at the world power they’ve got! At any rate, for a breathing-space. You see, all the other nations would still be hitched, as it were, to the REDCAP bandwagon. It takes a little time to re-adapt the stockpiles to individual and independent use, to throw-off the adaptors. If they get hold of REDCAP, MAPIACCIND’s done for. China would be left sitting pretty, all ready to blackmail the world, all ready to send the balloon up before anyone else is ready.”

  “Do you think they’re actually preparing for that now?” Gresham shrugged. “It’s very likely, in the light of what you tell me about Lubin and those troop movements. Remember, China’s a big country and a difficult one for our inspection teams to keep fully covered and report back on, and the reports from there have never been very comprehensive. It’s always been my opinion that the teams could be easily bamboozled—and they could even be liquidated when convenient, if the Chinese are up to anything.” He shook his head, glanced up with a quick, bird-like movement. “Mind you, I’m not posing as an expert with any very special inside knowledge, that a lot of other people who know China well can’t be presumed to have. I’m just putting two and two together. Hope to God I’m wrong.”

  There was a silence for some moments, and then Sir Donald asked: “Do you think the ship’s in danger?”

  “Anything may happen, if what Shaw says is a fact, and all I’m saying is that I think it could be.” Gresham gnawed at his moustache for a moment, and a faraway look came into his eyes. “You can rely on me for any help you want, y’know.” He went on rather naively, “I’m awfully keen on this MAPIACCIND thing. It’s really a great concept, Shaw, a great concept. It’s really rather a hobby of mine, all this, if you can speak of such a terribly important thing as being a hobby. Peace is so awfully worth working for, giving one’s best for and—and all that.”

  Obliquely Shaw studied the colonel’s face. There was a kind of inner light when he spoke of MAPIACCIND, and it was obvious it did lie very close to his heart. Perhaps, Shaw thought, the contrast between this and his previous life as a man of war had something to do with that. Anyway, he decided he liked the sandy little man; there was something immensely good and rather childlike about him, and Shaw rather liked the way he’d stopped suddenly and almost blushed when he thought he’d said too much about his private hopes and beliefs. Shaw said, “Well, let’s hope it won’t come to a complete destruction of MAPIACCIND, Colonel. It’s our job to prevent that anyway, if we can.” He turned to the Captain. “Now, sir. The ways and means. There’s not a lot I can do until some one shows himself, but there are one or two things I can get on with, with your permission.”

  Sir Donald stubbed out his cigarette. “Go ahead, Shaw.”

  “First, I’d like to go through all the passengers’ papers—

  I believe there’s some form that has to be completed, isn’t there, with all their details?”

  Sir Donald nodded. “There is. For Australian ports, there’s a damn great form called a P2, which has to be filled in with exhaustive details of every soul in the passenger list —including babies! There’s something similar for the en route disembarkations.”

  “And a list of the crew?”

  “Oh yes. Full details of all crew are required by the Australian immigration. I’ll see if the Purser’s got all the guif in yet, and I’ll let you know when it’s all ready.”

  “Thank you, sir. And would it be possible for me to have a look at REDCAP?”

  Sir Donald said, “Certainly, so far as I’m concerned. You’ll take him along, Colonel?”

  “Yes, of course. After dinner do, Shaw?”

  “That’s fine.”

  Sir Donald said heavily, “And now, what about my ship? You’ve talked a lot about the possibility that REDCAP might be blown up. I think a thorough search ought to be made of the ship, just in case there’s some gadget planted somewhere.” Shaw hesitated, looked doubtful. He said, “I’d rather not, sir. Not yet, anyhow. Suppose we did search now, and found nothing—it’s early days yet. What’s to stop some one planting something afterwards, when they know the coast’s clear? A search would give them the tip right away. You see, I’ve got to find Lubin if he’s aboard, and I don’t want to scare the birds too soon.”

  “By not doing so, you may lose a hell of a lot of lives, Shaw.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m aware of that.” Shaw had gone a little pale. “But believe me, it’s the only way. This thing’s so big . . . it’s vital we get hold of Lubin, sir, really vital. So long as Lubin’s about, there’ll always be a danger.” He sat forward in the chair, earnestly. “Some one will show up before long, I’m certain. Will you trust me, leave this to me a little longer, sir? If I don’t get a lead fairly soon, well, then we’ll have to think again and probably make a search. But I’d much rather it wasn’t yet.”

  Sir Donald paced up and down, frowning. Then he stopped, swung round and faced Shaw. He said abruptly, “Very well, Shaw. You’re in charge of that side of things. But I hope you won’t run my ship too close to the rocks, you know. I’ve a hell of a lot of lives on my hands—and that’s my responsibility.”

  Shaw said, “I know, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After dinner Colonel Gresham was waiting in the lounge on the veranda deck when Shaw strolled up casually, dropped into an armchair beside the sandy man. A steward brought coffee, and they struck up a desultory conversation through the strains of the ship’s orchestra tuning up for a dance in the Square, to all intents and purposes two strangers meeting. Away across the sumptuous lounge with its thick, fitted carpeting and comfortble chairs, Shaw caught sight of the man he’d seen earlier, glancing now through a magazine. He didn’t appear to have noticed Shaw. He was smoking a cigar, and he sipped now and again at a glass of brandy, looked bored until another man came up, a tall man with a pitted face and a bulbous nose. This man sat down beside him and put a pack of cards on a table between them.

  In a low voice Shaw said, “Don’t look now, Colonel, but there’s a man who I think recognized me this afternoon—and I’ve a faint idea I’ve seen him before somewhere too, but the penny hasn’t dropped. You may have seen him around.” He described the man. “Just take a look in a minute, would you, and tell me if you know who he is.”

  Gresham laughed. “I think I’ve guessed, but I’ll wait till I see.” Some moments later he glanced round quickly, said: “Yes, thought so. Our inveterate and intrepid card-player. Andersson. Not quite my cup of tea, y’know, but a decent enough feller. He’s a Swede.” He glanced sideways, seeming amused. “Why the cloak-and-dagger? Think he’s Lubin, what?”

  He laughed, a staccato bark.

  Shaw said, “Not Lubin. He doesn’t fit with a photo I saw just before I left London. . . He stopped then, very suddenly, felt a strange prickly sensation in his flesh. As he sp
oke of the photographs, his mind had gone back in a flash to Carberry’s office in the Admiralty, to Carberry saying they’d never had a photograph of—Karstad. Those eyes, those curious, penetrating eyes. Karstad had had eyes like that, Shaw remembered. He remembered so vividly now that he couldn’t think why he hadn’t cottoned on straight away. The eyes were just about all he recalled now of that brief glimpse he’d had years before of Karstad, but when he came to think of it the rest of the man did fit with the time-blurred mental image, the outline that remained . . . and he remembered too, as In a kind of flash-back, that the Karstad of years ago had been smoking a cigar—for what that was worth. He stiffened, felt himself going cold. Could that man be Karstad? In the circumstances the answer could very well be—yes. And if he had recognized Shaw that afternoon, that could have been from a photograph. Shaw didn’t doubt that his picture adorned many ‘rogues’ galleries throughout the intelligence services of the other side, and an agent might be expected to watch out for new faces boarding at Naples. But, if that man was Karstad and had recognized him, why hadn’t he come forward? The deduction stood out a mile—Karstad wasn’t on their side after all. Then why had he contacted Donovan? Shaw’s thoughts went round and round. . . .

  Gresham was going on, “Quite an interesting feller, y’know. Had a chat or two with him, but he spends a good deal of his time drinking—or playing cards!” He laughed again, spoke behind his hand in a harsh whisper. “Not sure he isn’t a bit of a card-sharper, matter of fact!”

  “What does he talk about that’s interesting?”

  “Oh, this and that, y’know . . . he was in a German concentration camp, that’s why he and I have things in common. I happened to spend some of the war in a P.O.W. camp, d’you see. We’ve yarned about things.”