Never mind! Everything goes excellently. Everything’s prepared against tomorrow and the arrival of the man Sinders. An involuntary shudder went through Suslev. I wouldn’t want to be trapped by them. MI-6 are dangerous, committed and fanatic against us, like the CIA, but much worse. If the CIA and MI-6 plan, code name Anubis, to join Japan, China, England, Canada and America together ever comes to pass, Mother Russia will be ruined forever. Ah my country my country! How I miss Georgia, so beautiful and gentle and verdant.
The songs of his childhood, the folk songs of Georgia, welled up and took him back. He wiped away a small tear at the thought of so much beauty, so far away. Never mind, my leave’s due soon. Then I’ll be home. And my son will be home on leave at the same time from Washington with his young wife and their infant son, born so wisely in America. No trouble about a passport for him. He’ll be our fourth generation to serve. We advance.
The darkness was pressing down on him. At Arthur’s request, for further safety he had drawn the curtains and kept the windows closed though there was no possibility they could be seen. The apartment had air-conditioning but again for safety he had been asked to leave it off, as well as the lights. It had been wise to leave the Finns’ apartment before Grey in case there had been a change of plan and there was an SI tail on him. Crosse had told him there would be none tonight, though tomorrow another man would be assigned to him.
He had caught a taxi and stopped at Golden Ferry for the evening papers, pretending to lurch drunkenly in case he was being observed, then went to Rose Court and Clinker’s and down the tunnel and then here. There was an SI man stationed outside Rose Court. The man was still outside and would stay there or not stay there. It made no difference.
The phone jangled. The sound made him jump even though the bell was carefully muted. Three rings, then silence. His heart picked up a beat. Arthur would be here shortly.
He touched the automatic that was secreted behind one of the cushions. Orders from Center. It was one of many orders he disapproved of. Suslev did not like guns, handguns. Guns could make mistakes, poison never. His fingers touched the tiny phial that was buried in his lapel close enough for his mouth to reach it. What would it be like to live without instant death so close?
Deliberately he relaxed and concentrated his senses like radar, wanting to sense Arthur’s presence before it was actually there. Would Arthur use the front door or the back?
From where he was sitting he could see both doors. His ears searched carefully, mouth slightly open to increase their sensitivity. The whine of the elevator. His eyes went to the front door but the whine ceased floors below. He waited. The back door opened before he sensed anything. His insides fell over as he failed to recognize the dark shape. For a moment he was paralyzed. Then the shape straightened one shoulder and the slight stoop vanished.
“Kristos!” Suslev muttered. “You gave me a fright.”
“All part of the service, old boy.” The soft, clipped words were mixed with the dry, hacking, put-on cough. “Are you alone?”
“Of course!”
The shape moved noiselessly into the living room. Suslev saw the automatic being put away and he relaxed the hold on his but left it ready in hiding. He got up and stretched out his hand warmly. “You’re on time for once.”
They shook hands. Jason Plumm did not remove his gloves. “I very nearly didn’t arrive,” he said in his normal voice, the smile on the surface of his face only.
“What’s wrong?” the Russian asked, reading the quality of the smile. “And why all the ‘pull the curtains and keep the windows closed’?”
“I think this place may be under surveillance.”
“Eh?” Suslev’s disquiet soared. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“I said, I think it may be. I’m not sure. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make this a safe house and I don’t want it blown for any reason.” The tall Englishman’s voice had a raw edge to it. “Listen, comrade, all hell’s broken loose. SI’s caught a fellow called Metkin off your ship. He—”
“What?” Suslev stared at him with pretended shock.
“Metkin. He’s supposed to be political comm—”
“But that’s impossible,” Suslev said shakily, his acting consummate, hiding his delight that Metkin had fallen into his trap. “Metkin would never make a pickup himself!”
“Even so, SI have him! Armstrong got him and an American off the carrier. They caught them in the act. Does Metkin know about Sevrin?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Even I didn’t know until a few days ago when Center told me to take over from Voranski,” Suslev said, the twisted truth coming easily.
“You’re sure? Roger almost hit the roof! Metkin’s supposed to be your political commissar, and a major, KGB. Is he?”
“Yes, but it’s ridic—”
“Why the devil didn’t he or you or someone tell us you’ve an operation going so we could have been prepared in case of a foul-up! I’m head of Sevrin and now you’re operating here without liaising or keeping me advised. It was always agreed. Voranski always told us in advance.”
“But, comrade,” Suslev said placatingly, “I didn’t know anything about a pickup. Metkin does what he wants. He’s the chief, the senior man on the ship. I’m not party to everything—you know that!” Suslev was suitably apologetic and irritable, keeping up his perpetual cover that he was not the real arbiter of Sevrin. “I can’t think what possessed Metkin to have made a pickup himself. Stupid! He must’ve been mad! Thank God he’s a dedicated man and his lapel’s poisoned so there’s no n—”
“They got him intact.”
Suslev gasped, now in real shock. He’d expected Metkin to be long since dead. “You’re sure?”
“They got him intact. They got his real name, rank and serial number and right now he’s on an RAF transport under heavy guard heading for London.”
Suslev’s mind blanked out for a moment. He had cunningly set up Metkin to take over from the agent who should have made the pickup. For months now he had found Metkin increasingly critical of him and nosy and therefore dangerous. Three times in the last year he had intercepted private reports to Center, written by his number two, criticizing the easy way he ran his ship and his job, and his liaison with Ginny Fu. Suslev was sure Metkin was preparing a trap for him, maybe even trying to guarantee his retirement to the Crimea—a plum posting—by pulling off some coup, like, for example, whispering to Center that he suspected there was a security leak aboard the Ivanov and that it must be Suslev.
Suslev shuddered. Neither Metkin, nor Center nor any of the others would need proof, just suspicion would damn him.
“It’s definite Metkin’s alive?” he asked, thinking through this new problem.
“Yes. You’re absolutely sure he knows nothing about Sevrin?”
“Yes. Yes, I’ve already told you.” Suslev sharpened his voice. “You’re the only one who knows all the members of Sevrin, eh? Even Crosse doesn’t know them all, does he?”
“No.” Plumm went to the refrigerator and took out the bottle of water. Suslev poured himself a vodka, delighted that Sevrin had so many important safety valves within it: Plumm not aware that Roger Crosse was a KGB informer on the side … Crosse alone knowing Suslev’s own real position in Asia but neither Crosse nor Plumm knowing his longtime connection with deVille … none of the other members knowing each other … and none of them aware of Banastasio and the guns or of the real extent of the Soviet thrust into the Far East.
Wheels within wheels within wheels and now Metkin, one of the faulty wheels, gone forever. It had been so easy to drop the honey to Metkin that safe acquisition of the carrier’s armament manifest would guarantee promotion for the agent involved. “I’m surprised they caught him alive,” he said, meaning it.
“Roger told me they had the poor bugger pinioned and a neck collar on him before he could get his teeth into the lapel.”
“Did they find any evidence on him?”
“Roger didn’t say. He had to work so damned fast. We thought the best thing to do was to whisk Metkin out of Hong Kong as quickly as possible. We were petrified he knew about us, being so senior. It’ll be easier to deal with him in London.” Plumm’s voice was grave.
“Crosse will resolve Metkin.”
“Perhaps.” Uneasily Plumm drank some more water.
“How did SI get to know about the pickup?” Suslev asked, wanting to find out how much Plumm knew. “There must be a traitor aboard my ship.”
“No. Roger said the leak came through an informer MI-6 has aboard the carrier. Even the CIA didn’t know.”
“Kristos! Why the hell did Roger have to be so efficient?”
“It was Armstrong. SI has checks and balances. But so long as Metkin knows nothing there’s no harm!”
Suslev felt the Englishman’s scrutiny. He kept his face guileless. Plumm was no fool. The man was strong, cunning, ruthless, a secret protégé and selectee of Philby’s. “I’m certain Metkin knows nothing that could damage us. Even so, Center should be informed at once. They can deal with it.”
“I’ve already done that. I asked for Priority One help.”
“Good,” Suslev said. “You’ve done very well, comrade. You and Crosse. Acquiring Crosse for the cause was a brilliant coup. I must congratulate you again.” Suslev meant the compliment. Roger Crosse was a professional and not an amateur like this man and all the others of Sevrin.
“Perhaps I acquired him, perhaps he acquired me. I’m not sure sometimes,” Plumm said thoughtfully. “Or about you, comrade. Voranski I knew. We’d done business over the years but you, you’re a new, untried quantity.”
“Yes. It must be difficult for you.”
“You don’t seem too upset about the loss of your superior.”
“I’m not. I must confess I’m not. Metkin was mad to put himself in such danger. That was totally against orders. To be frank … I think there have been security leaks from the Ivanov. Metkin was the only long-term member of the crew, apart from Voranski, who had access ashore. He was considered to be beyond reproach but you never know. Perhaps he made other mistakes, a loose tongue in a bar, eh?”
“Christ protect us from fools and traitors. Where did AMG get his information?”
“We don’t know. As soon as we do, that leak will be plugged.”
“Are you going to be Voranski’s permanent replacement?”
“I don’t know. I have not been told.”
“I don’t like change. Change is dangerous. Who killed him?”
“Ask Crosse. I want to know too.” Suslev watched Plumm back. He saw him nod, apparently satisfied. “What about Sinders and the AMG papers?” he asked.
“Roger’s covered everything. No need to worry. He’s sure we’ll get to look at them. You’ll have your copy tomorrow.” Again Plumm watched him. “What if we’re named in the reports?”
“Impossible! Dunross would have told Roger at once—or one of his friends in the police, probably Chop Suey Kwok,” Suslev said with a sneer. “If not him, the governor. Automatically it would get back to Roger. You’re all safe.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Plumm went to the window and looked at the brooding sky. “Nothing’s ever safe. Take Jacques. He’s a risk now. He’ll never make tai-pan.”
Suslev let himself frown and then, as though it was a sudden idea, he said, “Why not guide him out of Hong Kong? Suggest to Jacques he ask to be posted to … say Struan’s in Canada. He could use his recent tragedy as an excuse. In Canada he’ll be in a backwater and he’ll die on the vine there. Eh?”
“Very good idea. Yes, that should be easy. He has a number of good contacts there which might be useful.” Plumm nodded. “I’ll be a lot happier when we’ve read those files, and even happier when you find out how the hell AMG discovered us.”
“He discovered Sevrin, not you. Listen, comrade, I assure you you’re safe to continue your vital work. Please continue to do everything you can to agitate the banking crisis and the stock market crash.”
“No need to worry. We all want that to happen.”
The phone came to life. Both men stared at it. It only sounded once. One ring. The code, danger, leaped into their heads. Aghast Suslev grabbed the hidden gun, remembering his fingerprints were on it as he hurtled through the kitchen for the back door, Plumm close behind him. He ripped open the door, letting Plumm through first onto the exit landing. At that moment there was the pounding of approaching feet and a crash against the front door behind them which held but buckled slightly. Suslev closed the back door silently, easing a bar into place. Another crash. He peered through a crack. Another crash. The front locks shattered. For an instant he saw the silhouettes of four men against the hall light, then he fled. Plumm was already down the stairs, covering him from the next landing, automatic out, and Suslev went down the steps three at a time past him to the next landing, then turned to cover in his turn. Above him the back door buckled nauseatingly. Silently Plumm ran past him and again covered him as they fled downward to the next landing. Then Plumm pulled away some camouflaging crates from the false door exit that branched off the main one. Footsteps noisily raced up toward them from downstairs. Another crash against the back door above. Suslev guarded as Plumm squeezed through the opening into the dark and he followed, pulling the partial door closed after him. Already Plumm had found the flashlight that was waiting in a clip. Footsteps raced closer. Cautiously Plumm led the way downward, both men moving well and silently. The footsteps passed with the sound of muffled voices. Both men stopped momentarily, trying to hear what was being said. But the sound was too indistinct and muted and they could not even tell if it was English or Chinese.
Plumm turned again and led the way downward. They hurried but with great caution, not wanting to make any unnecessary noise. Soon they were near the secret exit. Without hesitation the two men lifted the false floor and went below into the cool wet of the culvert. Once they were there and safe, they stopped for breath, their hearts pounding with the suddenness of it all.
When he could talk, Suslev whispered, “Kuomintang?”
Plumm just shrugged. He wiped the sweat off. A car rumbled overhead. He directed his light to the dripping ceiling. There were many cracks and another avalanche of stones and mud cascaded. The floor was awash with half a foot of water that covered their shoes.
“Best we part, old chap,” Plumm said softly and Suslev noticed that though the man was sweating, his voice was icy calm and the light never wavered. “I’ll get Roger to deal with whatever shower that was at once. Very bloody boring.”
Suslev’s heart was slowing. He still found it difficult to speak. “Where do we meet tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know.” The Englishman’s face was stark. “First Voranski, then Metkin and now this. Too many leaks.” He jerked a thumb upward. “That was too close. Maybe your Metkin knew more than you think he did.”
“No. I tell you he knew nothing about Sevrin, nothing, or about that apartment or Clinker or any of it. Only Voranski and me, we’re the only ones who knew. There’s no leak from our side.”
“I hope you’re right.” Plumm added grimly, “We’ll find out, Roger’ll find out one way or another, one day, and then God help the traitor!”
“Good. I want him too.”
After a pause Plumm said, “Call me every half an hour from various phone booths, from 7:30 P.M. tomorrow.”
“All right. If for any reason there’s a problem I’ll be at Ginny’s from eleven onwards. One last thing. If we don’t get to look at the AMG papers, what’s your opinion about Dunross?”
“His memory’s incredible.”
“Then we isolate him for a chemical interrogation?”
“Why not?”
“Good, tovarich. I’ll make all the preparations.”
“No. We’ll snatch him and we’ll deliver him. To the Ivanov?”
Suslev nodded and told him Metki
n’s suggestion of blaming the Werewolves, not saying it was Metkin’s idea. “Eh?”
Plumm smiled. “Clever! See you tomorrow.” He handed Suslev the flashlight, took out a pencil light and turned, going down the culvert, his feet still under water. Suslev watched until the tall man had turned the corner and vanished. He had never followed the culvert below. Plumm had told him not to, that it was dangerous and subject to rockfalls.
He took a deep breath, now over his fright. Another car rumbled heavily overhead. That’s probably a truck, he thought absently. More mud and a piece of the concrete fell with a splash, startling him. Suslev waited, then began to pick his way carefully up the slope. Another tiny avalanche. Suddenly Suslev hated the subterranean tube. It made him feel insecure and doom ridden.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
11:59 P.M.:
Dunross was looking at the sad hulk of the burned-out Floating Dragon restaurant that lay on her side in twenty feet of Aberdeen water. The other multistoried eating palaces that floated nearby were still blazing with lights, gaudy and noisy, filled to capacity, their new, hastily erected, temporary kitchens on barges beside their mother ships, cauldrons smoking, fires under the cauldrons, and a mass of cooks and helpers like so many bees. Waiters hurried up and down precarious gangways with trays and dishes. Sampans sailed nearby, tourists staring, Hong Kong yan gaping, the hulk a great attraction.
Part of the hulk’s superstructure jutted out of the water. Salvage crews were already working on her under floodlights, salvaging her, readying to float what remained of her. On her part of the wharf and parking lot temporary roofing and kitchens were set up. Vendors were busily selling photographs of the blaze, souvenirs, foods of a hundred kinds, and a huge floodlit sign in Chinese and English proudly proclaimed that the new, ONLY TOTALLY MODERN AND FIREPROOF FLOATING RESTAURANT, THE FLOATING DRAGON would soon be in business, bigger than ever, better than ever … meanwhile sample the foods of our famous chefs. It was business as usual except that temporarily the restaurant was on land and not on the sea.
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