[The Girl From UNCLE 03] - The Golden Boats of Taradata Affair - Latter Simon - Страница 13

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Mark spat. And a great narcissis to you too! April darling, dammit, go back in the shade. He snarled at a fellow crewman: "Watch it, you clumsy swine! Who is? You are. A stinking, fat, clumsy swine!" And the bosun stepped quickly between them. "Knock it off now — knock it off, you two!" he yelled. "Swing that derrick! Let's get this gear off and go bathe in a gallon of cold beer!" Yeah, yeah — tote that drum, lift that bale! Why the hell do I volunteer for this sort of drag?

He glanced up, to see Chas grinning at him. A super-sharp Chas, all pressed white ducks and curly panama, and flashing teeth.

"Git on with it," said Chas. "There's a ruddy great load to come aboard yet."

"— you too," said Mark.

"Tut-tut," said Chas. "If your muscles were as big as your words, you'd be a real man, sonny." He strolled past the heaving, sweating men and joined the group at the gang way.

April had moved back into the shade. The Padracks were some way off, talking with Maleski, who had just given orders to run out the cat-walk. Four seamen were fixing it. The group of young couples clustered together, chattering and giggling.

"Luscious," said Chas. "That's you, miss. Fair luscious."

"Why, thank you, Chas. You look quite delicious too."

"It's me nature, miss. White brings out the purity in me." He leaned close to her. "Been pig-sticking any good bottoms lately?"

"Chas! I'm surprised at you!"

"Yeah? Well, don't take no trip around the island, else you'll be surprised right enough. Stay where there's people." He moved back a pace, saying loudly: "The hotel ain't bad at all, miss. And you should see their hanging garden. Oh, hullo, sir — going ashore to stretch your legs?"

Andre Cheval had come on deck and was moving towards them.

"A little land beneath my feet, I think, is good. I am told the hills are very lovely." He looked at April. "Would you join me, Miss Dangerveldt? A short, pleasant trip into the cool green hills. I do not want to go alone, and the Padracks have business to tend."

"So kind of you," said April. "But a friend of mine has brought his boat all the way from Palaga just to meet me." She looked at Chas, but he'd moved farther away and started down the gangway. She smiled at Cheval. "Perhaps my friend could come too?"

He shrugged. "I am defeated, mam'selle. I am sure your friend would not invite me — in the circumstances." He smiled. "But do take a ride around the island. You will gain wonderful material for your book."

"But of course," said April gaily. "I wouldn't dream of missing it."

"Au'voir, then." Cheval tipped his hat, bowed and walked to the gangway.

Around a vivid clump of poinsettias, on sun chairs beneath a cluster of dwarf palm trees, April came upon Count Kazan and a gay-looking girl of about her own age, wearing a flame and orange dress. She looked cool, shining-eyed, and glamorous. They smiled at each other.

"April Dancer!"

"Colamina Sherez?"

"But naturally," said Kazan. "One of our most brilliant researchers in the precious flesh."

"You're lovely," said Colamina.

"So are you," said April.

"And I am gorgeous too," said Kazan.

"Not my type," said April.

"An arrogant man," said Colamina. "With the big head and the little mind."

Kazan sighed. "I wish I were back in Europe where I am, oh, so much appreciated. But here on this heathen island, what can you expect? We are in radio silence for twenty-four hours, but I rendezvous with Mr. Waverly forty miles north-west of Taradata, so I am courier. You have something?"

"No," said April, stretching in a chair. "Not yet, any way. Have you, Colamina?"

"There are many stores going aboard Island Traveller for Taradata. They come here by charter boat. A Palaganian flag, but it is from Mexico, I think. Some are cases of a chemical."

Kazan eased a phial from his pocket. "Brave girl –– clever girl."

Colamina shrugged gently. "So my fiance is the warehouse manager."

"She is lying," said Kazan. "He is just a boy friend and he had nothing to do with it. She risked her neck. The warehouse here is staffed by Palaga guards. Lars gave me the details. But nothing except ordinary goods come here from Palaga. I think it is time we got her off here. This is too small a place for her to be safe after meeting us."

"I thought you were a little bold," said April.

"It would not be possible to be secret," said Colamina. "I can bluff about meeting a wealthy man visitor, and even Miss Dancer too, but trying to hide a meeting — no, not here."

"Kazan is right. I've just had a surprising link-up." April told them about Chas, then about Cheval's invitation.

"That Chas!" Colamina exclaimed. "He is a powerful man on the islands. He is religious, you know? A religion of no fear and great joy. A strange man. Very strong. You will think it silly to say — but everyone can trust him. I cannot explain, but it is so."

"Keeper of a thousand secrets?" asked April.

"Ah yes — that is one of his titles. And another silly thing to say — he will kill, yet never harm anyone."

"You have known him kill?" said Kazan.

Colamina shrugged again. "I know. It is enough. About your trip around the island — he may know from his mind, or he may know from knowledge. It is the same thing with Chas."

"We either take your word or we show we've no faith in you," said April. "But we don't have colleagues in whom we have no faith so, through you, we accept Chas's warning. That means Cheval must now be linked in."

"With the Padracks?" said Kazan. "Has he been here before, Colamina?"

"French, you say? Cheval?" She frowned. "No, not that I remember, and certainly not with the Padracks." She smiled at them. "But I have a way we can prove this. The cars do not leave for an hour because of the heat. They are old and they boil over on the hills. If Kazan goes down to the Square and casually discovers Cheval, he could say he is looking for April, who has gone. Now, listen — I think this would work."

Agents are expendable. Researchers are not. In field work an agent has complete authority within his or her own terms of reference. But events sometimes widen such terms of reference, events which are set in train by the agent or his enemies. Close contact with H.Q. is maintained whenever possible, but no agent refuses to make a decision because he cannot immediately call up H.Q. and say: "Please, sir, can I do this or that?" He assesses both risk and reward.

Researchers live at risk. Their training is extremely specialized. They may be young and beautiful. Old and graceful. Fat and ugly. All share one common talent — a genius for probing into people's lives. The highest form of nosey parkers, experts in the art of the casual or throwaway question, with the receptive powers of a father confessor — wise, tolerant, sympathetic, the ready listener to tales of woe, the shrewd judge of what is a relevant link to be forged into their own chain of inquiry.

Sometimes they work in pairs or teams because some are more expert than others in checking official records after a whisper of gossip or fact is passed on to them. So at times they can be at risk. But usually they work so quietly, amassing those seemingly trivial dossiers of human peccadilloes, family secrets and skeletons in closets that no one ever suspects they are a part of a vast organization. An agent can be known, just as he may know agents on the other side, but a researcher must never be known as such.

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