“If they were decent, upright people, no,” Anita said, and looked him evenly in the eye. “But what you are suggesting is not nice. You have already told me these are hardened criminals.”
Jamison bit his lip. “They are not hardened criminals! They are—” A thought came. “Well, actually you know one of them. He’s the man whom you stumbled against the second day out, remember? The day we were passing Cape Hatteras? The one who bought you a drink.”
Anita’s finely chiseled nostrils flared with contempt. “That one! The things he said!”
“Then all the more reason for helping us put the man in prison, where he belongs,” Jamison said reasonably, pleased with his argument and already phrasing it in his mind for his final report together with his other acts of brilliance.
The captain felt he ought to say something; he wanted to get the whole silly matter finished and done with. “It’s for the government,” he added simply. He had a sudden feeling that if he explained to Anita about the green peppers and the tomatoes, she would understand and be only too willing to help, but it was doubtful if Jamison would have considered the argument consistent with governmental dignity.
Anita considered the matter carefully, a slight frown on her face.
“But you see,” she said, “I slapped him. Very, very hard. And with good reason. How could I now explain to him why I would allow him to buy me a drink?” She suddenly smiled and clapped her hands. “I know! I will tell him I am very sorry I lost my temper. I will tell him a pleasure cruise is no place to carry a grudge.” Her newly acquired animation faded; she looked at Jamison anxiously. “Do you think he’ll believe me?”
“He’ll believe you,” Jamison said confidently, and poured himself a carefully measured brandy.
The captain remained silent, his large hand twisting his empty brandy glass against the smoothness of the table linen. He was not overly pleased that a lovely young lady such as this should be involved in the first place, but once this objection was overcome, he had to admit that Jamison’s choice of a decoy was excellent. Anyone refusing to spend time with Anita had to be very sick, indeed.
“And this other one,” Anita went on brightly. “This—”
“Martins. André Martins.”
“If you point him out to me I will stumble into him, too. But this time on purpose.” Anita suddenly giggled. Jamison was pleased to see her getting into the spirit of the adventure. Suddenly the girl looked anxious again. “But wouldn’t it be better if I handled them one at a time? After all, two men.…” She smiled modestly. “One of them might feel chivalrous and leave.…”
“True,” Jamison admitted. This girl had brains as well as beauty; it was a pity that whoever hired the Department’s personnel in Washington never seemed to hire anyone like her. “On the other hand,” he went on, considering the matter from every angle, “if the two men are confederates, as I feel sure they are, one might come visiting the other’s cabin while we were searching it. No, I think it best that you keep the two of them hors de combat at the same time.” His French pronunciation was terrible. “Can you do it?”
Anita looked at him earnestly. “I can try.”
“Good!” Jamison said heartily. He had no doubt of success. “Shall we say just before lunch tomorrow? Eleven o’clock? You see”—he dropped his voice conspiratorially, although the orderly had long since gone down to watch the movie—“I’ve made a study of my cabin to detect the possible hiding places for an object the size of the one our man stole. There are remarkably few, so that I should say thirty minutes per cabin should be ample.” He glanced at his watch; for a moment Anita thought he was going to ask her to synchronize hers with his. “I shall take the Martins cabin first; say, from eleven to eleven thirty; then this Huuygens’ from eleven thirty until noon. If you can keep them occupied for that hour?”
“I’ll do my best,” Anita promised.
“I’m sure your best will be more than ample. Well, we’re all set, then. Captain, thank you for your cooperation. I’ll be in touch with your security officer in the morning.” He glanced at his watch again. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go down and study my cabin once more. In my line of work, one leaves nothing to chance.” He smiled at them both paternally, and rose to his feet.
André Martins was far from unfamiliar with cruise ships and their general characteristics; he had carried thousands of pieces of luggage aboard, delivering them to hundreds of staterooms, in his days as a porter on the Barcelona and Lisbon docks. Nor was he unfamiliar with the other niceties of shipboard life. True, this was the first time he had been on the stool side of a shipboard bar, and the night before had been the first time he had pulled down a bedspread for the end purpose of climbing between the sheets and going to sleep in all that luxury. But in his day he had made enough of those beds and served enough of those drinks. And as for tips, that ever-present bugaboo of the traveler, André could have taught the most experienced. He had received the smallest and the largest in his time, and was prepared to outstare any shipboard employee who doubted his judgment.
His large fingers dwarfing the glass in his hand, he sat swiveled about, looking out at an extraordinarily calm sea, glistening peacefully beneath an azure and cloudless sky. Beneath his feet the steady faint vibrations of the engines driving them steadily forward felt comfortable and familiar. He smiled to himself, pleased with life, and raised his glass to his lips; then choked as someone bumped into him, dashing brandy up his nose. He sneezed mightily and then turned, prepared to deal with this rudeness in the only way, he felt, some people understood. And found himself facing an extremely apologetic young lady.
“I’m terribly sorry!” Anita said, and picked up a napkin, dabbing it at the damp red face before her. André took it away from her and completed the job of drying himself. The girl looked at him solicitously. “You must let me buy you another drink to take its place.”
André merely stared at her. She knew very well she shouldn’t be speaking to him, and Anita usually knew what she was doing. Bumping into him like that on a day as calm as this one certainly was no accident. Anita accepted his silence as agreement, and nodded to the waiting bar steward.
“Another one for the gentleman, whatever he was drinking. And an orange juice with vodka for me.” She smiled apologetically at the speechless André. “I’m going to take my drink at a table. Perhaps you would like to join me there?”
“Now, look—” André began in a low growl intended to avoid the steward’s hearing, but Anita had already moved to a table far from the bar and seated herself. There was nothing to do but follow. He climbed down, walked over, and sat across from her. “This is very foolish. Kek said—”
“Oh,” Anita said brightly, “speaking of that, do you know where he is?”
“He was out by the pool a few minutes ago, but I wouldn’t—”
“Hold my seat, will you? And don’t go away.” It was said with a touch of demureness, but André, looking into those steady eyes, read the message. He sighed and watched her get up and head for the outside area.
The poolside was crowded with bathers, either paddling as best they could in the restricted space of the pool, or draped about the deck soaking up as much sun as possible, almost as if New York in July had no sun. Kek was lounging easily at the railing, watching several men with shotguns trying to bring down clay pigeons being mechanically ejected from a lower deck, a sport he was sure all of them would consider childish on land. At an entrance to the main saloon, Anita caught a glimpse of Jamison, looking rather worried; beside him a large, uniformed man gazed stolidly out to sea. Jamison relaxed at the sight of Anita and tapped his companion on the arm; the officer swung about and also watched the girl’s progress through the crowd. Anita stopped before Kek and looked up at him with an enticing smile, speaking under the noise about them.
“Hello.”
The slightly questioning frown that appeared on Kek’s face disappeared in almost the same instant. “Hello. Wha
t are you doing here?”
“I’m apologizing for having slapped you—when was it? Last week? And in return for my apology you can take me into the bar and have a drink with André and me. I bumped into him, too, but he didn’t say anything improper, so I didn’t slap him.” She took his arm. “Come along quietly, darling. We’ve already ordered.”
Kek forced himself to remain calm, although at the moment there was nothing he would have liked to do as much as turn Anita over his knee and spank her. He walked beside her quite casually. Anita noticed that Jamison and his uniformed companion had disappeared. The two came into the bar, appearing to be chatting about inconsequential matters, and then were seated at the table where André had been waiting. Kek ordered a drink and went through the fiction of introducing himself to the other man while it was being prepared. Then, with a small brandy glass in hand, he raised it. To anyone watching it would appear he was offering a toast, but his words and tone would have dispelled that notion quickly.
“Just which one of you two is responsible for this ridiculous meeting?” he asked, his smiled fixed, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Not me—” André began hastily.
Anita touched her glass to his. “I am, darling. I’m merely following orders. You see, I’ve become a government agent.”
Despite his iron control, Kek could not help but stare. “A what?”
“Keep smiling, darling. Drink your drink. I said, I’ve become a government agent. A spy of sorts, you might say. Of course I don’t get paid for this job, but in the future I imagine I could ask for a fee. This is more or less training, I suppose—”
“Will you please tell me—”
“Right now. You see”—Anita became serious—“last night I had dinner in the captain’s quarters, and there was a man there named Jamison who is—a G-man, I think they call him. Anyway, he told me there was a dangerous smuggler on board, with another man he was sure was the smuggler’s confederate, and he wanted to search their cabins, but in order to do so without being unpleasantly interrupted, he needed some way to keep them occupied while he went through their luggage and drawers and things like that.” She smiled. “My job is to occupy you from now until noon.”
André’s face had hardened. He threw his drink down his throat and started to rise, his huge hands opening and closing, but Kek put a hand on the large man’s massive arm and urged him back into his seat.
“Relax,” he said, and sipped his drink. He put it down and looked at Anita, his eyes twinkling. “Go on.”
“That’s it, darling. I thought you’d want to know. I’m supposed to keep you here drinking until noon, and time is passing, so if either one or both of you would like to get down to your cabins before he musses up all your clothes—”
“And be responsible for your failing on your very first assignment?” Kek sounded shocked. “They’d drum you out of the corps, and you wouldn’t get that raise, either. Besides,” Kek added, “what would Max say if he heard you couldn’t keep the attention of two men for a mere hour? He’d think your attraction was only a flash in the pan, and then what of all your hopes when Rose and I go off with the grandchildren?”
André was looking confused by the entire exchange. Anita was also frowning in surprise at Kek’s attitude. She went on slowly.
“Jamison also said he’s made a complete study of possible hiding places in shipboard cabins—he looks the type—and he’s sure he can do a complete search of each cabin in half an hour. André is scheduled first and then you’re next, from eleven thirty until noon.” She looked at Kek anxiously. “Are you sure neither one of you has anything you don’t want him to find?”
“‘My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure,’” Kek quoted a bit sententiously. “Tennyson.” He winked at Anita and sipped.
“I’m going down and show this character my strength!” André said fiercely.
“There’s a security officer with him,” Anita warned.
“Good! I’m in the mood—”
“Sit down, André,” Kek said, and pushed the other back. He smiled. “Let the boys have their fun. After all, if a man’s profession is searching, he has to take his practice wherever he can find it. Besides, you don’t have anything to hide, do you?” He thought a moment. “Except those shirts you bought yesterday?”
“But—”
“Besides,” Kek went on, “the poor man has been manhandled so often on the case so far, I’m beginning to feel sorry for him. And he’s only been manhandled by amateurs so far. Let the poor soul alone.”
André sank back, confused. Anita looked at Kek ruefully.
“And I thought I was being so clever about the whole thing.”
“You were, sweet, you were. And deserve another drink for your successful efforts. The one thing I hate to see,” Kek admitted sadly, “is a thirsty spy. And, of course, the thirsty victims of a thirsty spy. So why don’t we all have another round of drinks and wait calmly for noon to come around, when we can have lunch? Just in case Mr. Jamison isn’t quite as rapid as he thinks he is?”
He raised an arm for the waiter.
14
With the door to André’s stateroom closed and locked behind them, Jamison and the security officer—whose name was L. James Rafferty—stood and looked about themselves a moment in the gloom; then Jamison walked swiftly to the porthole, throwing back the heavy drapes. The schedule did not permit of daydreaming. Brilliant sunlight streamed in, brightening the already-made-up twin beds, the warmly upholstered furniture, and the colorful pictures on the paneled walls. Jamison nodded, satisfied with the arena, and turned to Rafferty.
“Let’s go!” He might have been a Marine drill sergeant from his tone, but Rafferty was no recruit. The security officer bit back a yawn and looked at Jamison curiously. “You take the dresser and the vanity,” Jamison ordered. “Don’t forget to take out the drawers completely and look behind them. I’ll cover the closets and the bathroom first. Then we’ll look under the chairs and get to the luggage last. We’ll do that together.”
Rafferty shrugged and bent down to the dresser. His instructions from the captain had been to follow Jamison’s orders within reason, and to see to it that Jamison didn’t break anything. Jamison disappeared into the bathroom to reappear a moment later, nodding his head at confirmation of his study in depth of his own facilities.
“Nothing there except shaving things and a toothbrush. The tub is even with the floor and the toilet has no flush tank; operates on pressure, so there’s no place to hide anything there. No closets in the bathroom. The medicine chest is empty.”
The security officer, well aware of these facts, continued to pull out empty drawers, look behind them, and replace them. Jamison emerged from one closet and entered a second. He came out carrying a life jacket, a gleam in his eye.
“Something I overlooked before; life vests. Proves even the best of us can slip up, regardless of practice. Here, give me a knife while I slit this thing open.…”
Rafferty was on his feet in an instant. In his mind, cutting and breaking were in the same category. “Hey! That’s ship’s property. You can’t cut it open. Ships sinks and some character jumps overboard in a bum life jacket, he can drown! Anyways,” he added, “there’s lifeboat drill tomorrow. The guy sees his life jacket all cut up, he’s going to know somebody was in here today.”
“That’s true,” Jamison conceded a bit regretfully. He scratched his nose. “Well, maybe we can just tell by feel.” He pushed on the hard kapok and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, what we’re looking for is too big for these narrow pockets.”
“Incidentally,” Rafferty said, now that the subject had been broached, “what are we looking for?”
“A package. So big.” Jamison’s hands quickly outlined the various dimensions. “Probably wrapped in colored paper from one of the Barbados stores. It has an ivory carving inside, stolen from one of the other islands a few nights ago.”
“Oh. Okay, so l
ong as I know,” Rafferty said, and moved to the vanity.
Jamison tipped over the two chairs and then put them back. He got to his knees to peer under the beds; in his schedule, peering under the beds followed dresser, vanity, bathroom and closets, and looking under chairs. He had never practiced it before, but he was sure it was the most effective progression. He came to his feet and was about to move to the suitcase, the pièce de résistance to any old Customs man, when he happened to glance upwards. A gleam came to his eye.
“Ah! An overhead bunk, folded into the wall! My stateroom doesn’t have one. I should have considered the possibility, though.…” He was speaking mostly to himself. He reached up, twisted the handle, and tugged downward sharply.
“Hey!” Rafferty said in a loud voice. He had wanted to warn Jamison that the overhead bunks on the MV Andropolis, seldom used on cruises, were not counterbalanced and required care in lowering them. But he was too late. Jamison, sitting on the floor and holding tightly to his nose, was looking at him reproachfully, tears welling in his eyes despite his attempt to contain them. Rafferty bent over him, concerned; after all, as security officer he imagined the captain would expect him to see that bunks didn’t fall on people. “You all right?”
Jamison started to struggle to his feet. Rafferty instantly came to his aid with a hand under the other’s arm. Jamison fumbled a handkerchief loose, pressed it urgently to his nose, and staggered to the bathroom. Rafferty looked after him a moment, shrugged, and put the last of the empty vanity drawers in place. He then felt around the overhead bunk enough to convince himself that no package of the requisite size was hidden there, then closed and latched the cumbersome contraption, after which he sat down and calmly awaited Jamison’s return.
If there was no time in the tight schedule for daydreaming, there was certainly none for accidents. Jamison bravely put aside the wet washcloth that had replaced the handkerchief, and returned to the job, determined not to be deterred from his duty by mere pain, although it did occur to him that there should be some limit to the battering one agent had to endure on any particular job. If a person had to take risks of that nature, he might as well be in the FBI and get paid accordingly.
The Wager Page 15