Redcap

by Philip McCutchan

  As Shaw banged down the phone, he heard the deep roar of powerful engines revving up outside the office window.

  The reaction didn’t come until he was in the plane and roaring south and east for Sydney’s Kingsford Smith airport; and then it hit him suddenly and nearly knocked him sideways for a while. His stomach seemed a bath of acid that tore and bit at his guts, made him sick and giddy. The action temporarily suspended, he was a prey to all his nervous selfdoubts. He hadn’t really got very far ahead; he didn’t know where to start looking for Karstad, or for Lubin and that radio set of his, and the MAPIACCIND powers, he knew for certain, would react badly to the idea of any of their associates throwing-off the stockpile adaptors. As Latymer had so rightly said, they were a suspicious lot of bastards. There was still the whole game yet to play, and it had to be played in secrecy even now, for the world’s confidence in MAPIACCIND was all-important to the Agreement’s future.

  Shaw’s eyes were stinging, sore and bloodshot as, in the dawn, the plane circled out of a cloudless sky to touch down at Kingsford Smith. As Shaw fastened the clip of his safety-belt his nerve-endings tingled with the thought of what yet lay ahead . . . this was one of the bad moments again, but it would pass all right. It would pass and he would come through, and all would be well, his mind would be alert and cool again.

  It had better be.

  The plane touched gently. A few moments later Shaw got out, feeling stiff and cold in spite of the climbing morning sun as he walked towards the barrier. Beyond, he saw a tall, angular figure in the blue uniform of the Women’s Royal Australian Naval Service.

  The girl, who was no beauty but looked deadly efficient, watched his approach, asked impersonally as he came up: “Commander Shaw?”

  He smiled tiredly. “That’s me.”

  She said, “Captain James sent me. There’s a car outside. I’m Second Officer Harris. You’ll want to get to the office quickly, so let’s get moving, shall we?”

  She about-turned and strode away ahead of him. They got into the back of a naval car and as they drove off Shaw glanced sideways at the young woman, asked: “Miss Harris, are you in Captain James’s department?”

  She said, “Why yes, I am. Temporarily I’m his Number Two.” She hesitated, then went on: “There’s something I have to tell you. About Commander Foster. He’s—dead.”

  She looked at him as he gave a sudden exclamation and twisted in his seat, and she said concernedly: “He was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

  He was shocked by this sudden news. He said dazedly, “Dead . . . but—my God. Tommy Foster . . . when did this happen—how, why?”

  “We don’t know why, but—well, it happened last night as far as we can tell.”

  “Go on, please, Miss Harris.”

  She said quietly, “He was found in a sack in the harbour. Tied up. They reckon he was dead before he went in. Fetched up by Woolloomooloo, that’s where they got him out.” She added, “London’s been informed by signal.”

  He fought down the sick feeling. You had to get used to losing friends . . . he asked after a moment, “Did you know Tommy Foster well, Miss Harris?”

  She said, “Well, of course we worked together, there were just the three of us, but I didn’t know him really well. He was a funny bloke, that way. Liked to be by himself, you know what I mean?” Shaw nodded. That was Tommy all right. “Worked a lot on his own, didn’t always say what he was on to, not till he’d got something definite to report. He had some queer friends, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, I don’t know how you’d put it, really.” She wrinkled up her nose, and the sun, coming through the car’s windows, glinted on her spectacles, showed up the almost man-like structure of her face. “New Australians, some of them, real odd mid-European nationalities. And quite a few down-and-outs, real bums. I suppose he found things out from them, got to know what was going on.”

  He asked, “Were there any Chinese among his friends?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  They didn’t talk much after that. They ran under a clear blue sky as the sun came up over the suburbs; ran into Sydney and through Woolloomooloo, and then turned into the naval area, crossing the head of the Captain Cook graving dock into Garden Island and the Naval Yard. The car pulled up outside an office block and Miss Harris led the way past a sentry and a porter and into Captain James’s office, where a small, leathery-faced man in plain clothes, a man who looked more like a jockey than a naval officer, got up to grasp Shaw’s hand. By the look of him, Shaw thought, he’d been up all night and continuously on the go, but his rather sharp features split into a wide grin as he said heartily,

  “Glad to meet you at last, Commander!” He added soberly, “Sorry you had to be met with bad news.”

  “Yes, sir. Tommy was a good friend of mine.”

  “Same here. He was a right bloke, Tommy was. None better.” James broke off abruptly. “Well now, don’t let’s waste any time at all. I reckon you’d better tell me the whole thing for a start, eh? Sit down.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Shaw sat on a hard upright chair, mentally contrasted his bare, functional room with Latymer’s sumptuous apartment in the Admiralty. He took a rather crushed cigarette from a paper packet which the Australian chucked over, and then he told James the whole story, particularly mentioning his suspicions about the note concerning Ling’s restaurant. James, who knew the place well, seemed sceptical of this—Ling, he said, was a right bloke, came from a family that had been in Australia for two generations—but apart from this he listened intently, his perky head tilted slightly to one side.

  When he had finished, Shaw asked: “What about Mirskov, sir? We should be able to get something out of him when he’s arrested, and then get on Karstad’s track?”

  James said, “I’m afraid that avenue’s closed, boy. After your phone call from the airfield, I took it on myself to ring the Station Commander back and ask him to send in an armed party to talk to Commandant Mirskov. I didn’t ask Canberra first, because it was odds on they wouldn’t agree, but I didn’t tell him that . . . anyway, when they got there, Mirskov already had a bullet in his head.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yep, too right! Station Commander himself saw the body. They were in too much of a panic up there to make any difficulties—in the circumstances. I’d say he either killed himself when he saw the game might be up soon, or one of his pals got him before we did. Anyway—that’s that.”

  Shaw said, “Well, there’s something else we can try. There’s a man called Markham aboard the liner. He’s the man who provided Karstad’s alibi the night he killed Gresham. If we haul him in at Melbourne, he may know something. I doubt if he’d have been given much information, but it’s worth following up.”

  James nodded and made a note. “I’ll have that done. Sounds as though he’ll have to be charged as an accessory anyhow.” He looked up sharply. “Now—there’s something really bad, I’m afraid. I’ve passed on your message about

  throwing-off the adaptors, I did that right away—”

  Shaw interrupted bitterly. “Don’t tell me, I know. They didn’t believe it, did they?”

  James said shortly, “They’re shaken, but they’re dithering, specially Canberra. That MAPIACCIND territory up at Bandagong, why, it’s a flaming sacred cow to them. They’re terrified of upsetting Geneva. Well, they rang me back a bit later on and I gather they’re mad at what you’ve done—the Bandagong people are trying to say you did the Commandant in, for one thing. I’m sorry about it, but I have an idea your name’s mud up in Canberra. And by that time they’d heard about my armed party from the R.A.A.F., so I stink too.” James grinned briefly. “They’ve practically apologized to the Acting Commandant on behalf of both of us!”

  Shaw snapped, “They must be crazy.”

  “I agree, but there it is. Reckon it’s just a question of time, but we haven’t got much of that. Anyway, I’ve not done with ’em yet. As for Latymer, well
, I know he’s doing his best. He said there’s already been high-level talks on scramble lines between the various Governments concerned, but not one of them will listen to any suggestion—yet—of negativing the safeguard unless all the others, including China mark you, and Russia, agree too. Which so far they haven’t.”

  “Can you beat it!” Shaw’s mouth was hard, bitter.

  James shrugged. “I reckon there’s going to be precious little more we can do to change their minds in time, so it’s up to us to find this flaming transmitter and put it out of action. . . He frowned, added: “You know—it’s hard to argue with ’em. Look, Mirskov’s not being taken too black by some of the other Governments, let alone Canberra. They don’t know what to think, but they do know Mirskov was bloody carefully screened before he landed that job.”

  “And there's the doubts about our original sources,” Shaw groaned. “Yes, I know! It’s just what my chief had to put up with . . . so we’re back right where we started.”

  James said, “Not quite. They are taking notice now. Besides, we do know one thing for sure now, and we’d better start thinking what we’re going to do about it. You said Lubin’s set has to be pretty close to REDCAP. Well now— that’s something. It narrows the field quite a lot.”

  Shaw nodded. “I suppose it narrows it down to the route from Sydney to Bandagong—”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but at least we don’t have to go chasing all over Australia.”

  “Yes, but Karstad said it wouldn’t be used in a town, so that cuts out Sydney and Melbourne—”

  “There’s other things than towns. The ships keep fairly near the coast in places, coming up to Sydney.” James got up and walked over to a wall map. He studied it for a while, then he said: “Look here.” Shaw went across. James tapped the map and said, “Wilson’s Promontory, on the southern tip of Victoria. The liners out of Melbourne come in pretty close there, not more than a couple of miles off. That’s where they turn up for Sydney.”

  “Yes, I get you,” Shaw murmured, studying the map. “You think Lubin could transmit from there?”

  “Well, I don’t see why not. And I don’t think we can rule out Sydney or Melbourne either, whatever your pal Karstad said about towns.” James tapped the map. “Anyhow, I’ll put the security people on to it and we’ll go through Sydney and Melbourne with a toothcomb. We can have monitoring vans standing by to pick up any test transmissions as soon as they’re made. If we don’t find the set we’ll reinforce the route up to Bandagong from here with everything I can persuade the services and the police to let me have. Let’s put this in a nutshell. In my opinion, so far as we can see at the moment, we’ve got to consider Sydney and Melbourne as well as the road to Bandagong—and possibly an attempt to transmit from Wilson’s Promontory, which I admit is a biggish area to cover. The Prom’s not just a little hand-land—you can see that on the map. Anyway, I’d say it’s the only point where the job could be done while the ship’s actually at sea.”

  Shaw said, “I think it might be a good idea to off-load REDCAP in Melbourne.”

  James shook his head. “The authorities won’t play ball, Shaw, not on that. It’d take too long now to do a full-scale rerouting job, with all that that involves. Anyway, I’ll guarantee to have Melbourne gone through very thoroughly and a check made all the way along the port approaches till the ship’s clear of Port Phillip Bay. And I’ll have some blokes down at Wilson’s Prom, too. Right?”

  Shaw nodded. “Now, what about the crowds along the harbour here when the liner enters? I’ve heard about these Sydney welcomes, sir.”

  “There’ll be a big crowd all right. Sydney’s going mad over the New South Wales.” James cocked an eye at him. “No danger to them, though?”

  “No—I didn’t mean that. I was wondering, if we kept ’em away, wouldn’t it help the security men? Any suspicious character would stand out more without a crowd.”

  James pursed his lips. “I don’t think that’d help, no. Anyone who tried to keep the harbour clear on Thursday would be mighty unpopular, and there’d be such a stink that it’d blow a lot of the security—bound to. And this Lubin, I’d say he wouldn’t risk actually trotting about with his set. There’s plenty of houses an’ that, believe me, within two or three miles of the harbour, and he could be using any one of them. Same applies to Melbourne, which is why I don’t take Karstad’s word as gospel.”

  “He seemed pretty certain of his facts, sir,” Shaw murmured. He studied the map again. “I believe you could be right on the beam about Wilson’s Promontory, you know.”

  “Could be-—if we believe Karstad.” James turned away and sat down again. Shaw followed, asked:

  “Look, sir—does this business of Tommy Foster link in anywhere, d’you think?”

  “That,” James said, “is what I don’t know yet. Course, he was working on this scare after we were alerted by London.”

  “Did he get anywhere?”

  “No. Not that he told us.”

  “Have you had a look round his rooms yet?”

  James nodded. “Went along with the police, said I wanted to keep a watching brief for the Navy, you know what I mean? Tommy had a flat out Cremorne way. I’ve brought all his papers and so on along here. Nothing in ’em. You can have a look if you want to, of course.”

  “Yes, I’d like to do that.”

  James nodded across at Miss Harris. “Dig ’em out, Mary.” She went over to a safe in the wall, swung it open and brought out a small pile of papers. Like the contents of Shaw’s own pockets, it consisted mainly of personal stuff, money and photographs and a few odd private notes of no consequence. There was nothing of any interest whatever. Shaw put the pile together again after he’d gone through it, handed it back to Mary Harris. He said thoughtfully, “I wonder. . . . Do you think I could have a look at the body, sir?”

  “Don’t see why not, but what good’ll that do?”

  “I’d just like to see if Karstad’s been up to his games again. If the body’s marked like Gresham’s, we’ll know Tommy’s death is directly to do with this REDCAP thing. Karstad would have had plenty of time to get down here by last night, and anything which might lead me back to him again would be a big help.”

  “If it saves time, I can get the pathologist’s report.”

  “I’d rather see him myself, sir, thanks all the same. I can make a closer comparison that way.”

  James nodded briskly. “Right you are, I’ll fix it for you. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Could I get into Tommy’s flat? It might help if I could just have a look round.”

  James said, “That’s all right, though we had a good checkup and we didn’t find anything, as you saw. But I’ll have a car take you along.”

  “No, sir, I’ll go on my own, if you don’t mind. It’d be less conspicuous . . . there’s just a chance other people might be interested in the flat. I suppose the police aren’t watching it or anything like that?”

  “Not now they’ve done their routines on it. They’re satisfied Tommy wasn’t killed there, and I’m afraid I haven’t let on about his security work yet. He’s just a plain naval officer to them and their theory is that he may have been done in in a boozer, you know what I mean?” He added, “As I told you, I only went along to keep an eye on things for the Navy, officially. Our methods aren’t always the same as theirs, and I didn’t want too much police interference, not till you got here anyway.”

  “That’s the way I’d like it to stay for a while, sir. Particularly if Bandagong’s out for my blood!” Shaw looked at his watch. “I’ll get right on to the flat now, if you’ll give me the address and the keys.”

  “Sixteen, Hawks Street, Cremorne . . . here.” James reached into a drawer and brought out a street guide. He spread it out and Shaw got up and went round the desk. James traced with his finger. “Over the bridge, and along there . . . see?”

  “Yes.” Shaw memorized the area. James handed him a key from a drawer and said quiet
ly,

  “Now, Shaw. The New South Wales is due here at noon on Thursday. Unless the MAPIACCIND Governments change their minds, and that we can’t guarantee, whatever’s going to happen is going to happen pretty soon.” He got to his feet, clapped Shaw on the shoulder. “I’m just doing the routine stuff. You’re the boy who’s going to bring this thing off. I’m leaving it largely to you, because you’ve had far more contact with these blokes and also far more experience than any of us. But call on me for any help you want—and keep in touch. Report back when you’ve seen Tommy’s flat and then I’ll tell you when you can see the body in the mortuary.”

  Shaw was very conscious of the fact, as he left James’s office and walked back past the graving dock into Woolloomooloo, that he had nothing to go on; but Tommy Foster had died for some good reason and it was up to him to find out what that reason was. He felt certain it must tie in somewhere.

  Shortly after Shaw had left James’s office, a telephone rang in a house in Clontarf and was answered by an elderly Chinese.

  The telephone inquired politely, “Dr Tien?”

  “Speaking.” Tien’s voice was cultured, urbane.

  “This is the unworthy Ling, honoured Dr Tien.” There was an implied obeisance in the tone which was not altogether the automatic obsequiousness of the restaurateur. “I have a message from your brother in Pekin.”

  “Please give it.”

  There was a pause. “Your brother expresses his devoted and honoured duty and sends you ten thousand blessings . . . for the anniversary of Chung-Hua Jen-Min Kung-Ho Kuo.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dr Tien rang off, glanced at a calendar in confirmation of what he already knew. The anniversary of the People’s Republic of China was—to-morrow. He felt a quickening of his pulses but his lined face was mask-like as he lifted the receiver again.