Red Heroin

by Jerry Pournelle

  That is what the Eagle is like. We sat in the front room, where the booths are padded and have plastic covers. You can have that in the front room, because your bartender—who presumably is the toughest stud you can hire—can watch them. Pretty soon we were joined by three or four of the crowd, and somebody got out the dice cup. The game this month seemed to be 4-5-6. It alternates. Sometimes they play 26, sometimes poker dice. I didn't figure 4-5-6 would last too long because the action is fast, and somebody generally gets cleaned out pretty soon. When everybody's cleaned out, there's nothing for the dice addicts to do, and they either have to loan money to the losers—a redistribution of the wealth—or invent a new game that takes longer. I played without getting involved and waited for something to happen. Nothing did.

  For three days Carole stayed at my house, and we went to the Eagle, or to parties, or just around the District. I became friends again with some people I had lost track of, and I seemed to be getting some acceptance with the non-student crowd, helped along by my willingness to buy the beer, but nobody mentioned narcotics, espionage, Red China, or sailing to Canada. I did hear a couple of guys discuss why the price of Bennies was up, namely the fuzz were big up at the border, but that wasn't meant for me.

  Friday rolled around, and I decided that I had better get this sailing date set. Friday night I picked Janie Youngs up in my car and drove her through and out of the District. I hadn't told Carole, and I tried to look furtive about it, even cautioning someone not to say anything to Carole; I could be sure she'd hear about it one way or another.

  There wasn't anything significant said. I reported on who was doing what in the District, which didn't amount to much. I was given a key to a locker in the bus station, from which I could pick up some gear I might be able to use, including a gun. I was also told that Carole was our best bet if anybody was, but to keep looking.

  I got back to the house late. Carole was still there and she didn't say anything. We talked about the play we'd seen Tuesday, and drama in general, and went to sleep. If she'd heard anything about where I went, she didn't mention it.

  So Saturday afternoon I asked her if she wanted to go on this trip. It didn't look like anybody else wanted to come with me.

  "I've been wondering if you'd get around to asking," she said. Then she kissed me. The job had its rewards anyway. I set the sailing date for the next Wednesday, and she decided to go immediately to her room and get the clothes she'd need. "If I bring them over now, you'll be able to see if I have everything I need," she told me. She skipped out the door and I got busy with provision lists. I could see her going down the street, looking happy and excited and like a young girl again. I liked her that way. I wasn't used to having her so damn serious about everything when we were alone.

  We went to Eileen's for dinner because neither one of us felt like cooking. While we were waiting for them to serve us, Carole waved at some people coming in and a young couple came over. They were about twenty-three or so, the guy maybe a little older. He was clean shaven and wore what looked like army suntans and a white shirt with the collar open. He had short blond hair, and stood maybe five ten. The girl was pretty well matched to him, about Carole's height, medium-length brown hair. In other words, they looked like perfectly ordinary seniors or graduate students, which was a change from the people I'd been seeing the last few days.

  "This is Nancy Snow," Carole told me. "And Dick Wahlke. Nancy used to be my roommate last year, but she didn't come to the parties, so I guess you never met her."

  I shook hands with Wahlke. He had a firm grip and looked at me when he talked to me. As I said before, I noticed these things after the last week. They sat down with us and ordered.

  "Nancy, guess what? Paul's bought a sailboat and we're sailing to Victoria next week," Carole bubbled. I thought she was overdoing it, but what the hell. If it made her happy to act like she was in on the biggest thing since the Odyssey, why not let her? I guess there was a time when crossing open water in a sailboat would have excited me too. It still does, for that matter, but not that much.

  "Gee, that's great," Nancy said. "We were up there last year. Took the ferry from Vancouver. It's sure pretty in Victoria." The girls fell to discussing what Carole absolutely couldn't afford to miss on the trip. Dick looked at Nancy, decided not to get in the hen game, and said, "What kind of boat do you have, Paul?" It sounded as if he'd thought of a way to work the sentence so he could use my name. That way he'd remember it, just like he'd been taught in Speech 101.

  "She's an old sloop, one of those all-purpose racing-cruising hulls they used to build. Few years ago somebody re-rigged her to a masthead cutter. Thirty-four feet, but with the new rig I can handle her by myself. I expect that's why she was changed over, the main must have been a little big for one guy when she was designed."

  "I used to do a little boating," he told me. "But it was all on powerboats. Went sailing about one time in my life, I think they called it a Snipe. Little centerboard job. Fellow took me out in the Sound one day when it was blowing good, and I got as soaked as if they'd towed me behind the boat. Scary too. Does your boat tip like that one did?"

  I laughed, but made it friendly. "No, Witch has a keel. Big heavy lead thing. In a centerboarder you have to lean out to balance the wind pressure on the sails. In a keel boat the keel does that."

  The waitress brought our dinners, and we stopped the conversations while we ate. Over coffee, Dick told me stories about the psychology department and a couple of kooky profs he had, and I regaled him with tales of my undergraduate days. After a while they left, and Carole and I had another coffee.

  "They're nice people," I told her. "Didn't know you knew any."

  "Aw, that's not fair. Anyway I thought you liked my friends. We've seen enough of them lately."

  "Sure, hon. But it is nice to meet somebody who likes to talk about something unimportant once in a while. I can't get used to saving the world every day. Besides, it needs saving from so much."

  "It does, doesn't it?" She was smiling, but she was getting quite serious now. "Paul, I wish you could see some of the films of what we're doing over there. They're hard to get because the government won't let them in the country if it can help it, but they're horrible. Villages blown up, little kids burned with napalm . .. I wish you'd look at some."

  "Sure. Got any around? Not that I really want to see them, but if it moves you that much maybe I ought to."

  "We don't have any right now, but there'll be a feature length movie on the war here soon. I grant you it will be films made by the other side and they probably slant them, but then so do we with the ones you are allowed to see."

  "Is it really that bad, getting the films?" I asked her.

  "Oh yes. John Murray was arrested in Sacramento for showing one. He's out on bail now."

  "Maybe he's right when he talks about police harassment. Most of the policemen I know would take a dim view of that sort of movie all right, and some of them might decide to do something about it, Constitution or no Constitution."

  "Well," she said, "I think he overdoes it the way he tells it, because I don't really think he's as important as he thinks he is, but he's had enough experiences with police to be justified in seeing one behind every tree."

  I thought of what I was supposed to be doing and how close she was to being right, and finished my coffee. "Come on, Carole, let's get some fresh air."

  I wasn't really up to the blasted party, but we went. This one was like any other, except that it was at somebody's house, and the neighbors began calling the police about the noise at eleven thirty instead of waiting until midnight. The third time, the police were getting annoyed, and I decided we ought to go before they came in and maybe something ugly developed. Nothing noteworthy happened at the party anyway, if you don't count two pacifists getting drunk and taking a swing at a guy who preached anarchy and thought a little violence would be good for the movement. I didn't much blame the pacifists, I'd have taken a poke at him myself if he'd been s
houting at me like that, but of course he'd scored his point by getting their goats.

  Sunday afternoon I told Carole I had to drive out to see a client. Just to make certain if anybody followed me, a meeting had been arranged in the home of a retired colonel who lived on Queen Anne Hill. He showed me to his study and got out of the way. Shearing was there.

  I reported the complete lack of enthusiasm anybody had shown about my upcoming trip.

  "Well, the girl may be something," he told me. "They should be feeling the effects of our search pretty badly now. She could be the delivery service. I'm inclined to agree with you that she's not, but we've invested this much in the operation now, so carry it off." Shearing paced the floor while he told me this.

  "Something wrong?" I asked him.

  "Quite a bit is wrong. The Treasury people and the state cops want to move in on what we have of the distribution organization before they hook any more kids. Even Louis is getting nervous. He's managed to talk them out of it for a little while more, but I'm worried about him now. We've got to get some sort of break or I'll have to start over."

  I lit my pipe. "Mr. Shearing, I don't know much about this, but couldn't you get something from the pushers? Like who they get the stuff from?"

  "No, on two counts." He held up one finger. "One, they use dead drops mostly, so the pushers don't know themselves. I might be able to trap somebody by rigging something with one of the drops, but two, I don't dare let anybody but Louis know I'm in this. Paul, I have to level with you. If they ever got public proof that the CIA was messing around with internal security affairs, it would be one of the biggest propaganda hauls the other side could make this year. It would get Congress interested in a new watchdog committee, and hamper half my operations. That's why you haven't anything that could be used to prove a connection with us. It's why I have to turn to amateurs like you. I don't have an unlimited organization here. You'd be surprised how small our Seattle section is."

  "I'd think Seattle would be pretty important, what with Boeing and all."

  "It is. That just shows how careful I have to be. Anyway, you can see why I have to have people like you. That university crowd is prime material for the other side to use, but I have to keep my pros for their real organization. What few I have, and what little I know about it. Damn it, I have to find out who links the dope racket with the espionage group. It may even be the same one who runs the agitprop stuff."

  "Sounds like the city is swarming with Chinese agents."

  "Not really." Shearing sat down at the colonel's desk and took out a sheet of paper, but he didn't write anything, just doodled while he talked. "There are three basic groups. The biggest is agitprop. You know, pickets, anti-war propaganda, demonstrations, that kind of thing. It's the biggest operation they have, but there won't be more than one or two who know where the money comes from. There may be another two or three who know what country really runs the show, but not the names of the control people. These will be the ones who organize crowds, see that debates come off right by spotting people through the audience, the leaders. The rest are just people who agree with whatever cause they're supporting this time."

  He drew a hangman's noose, then somebody in it. Then he started putting spears through the hanged body, and went on. "The next part is standard espionage. It may overlap with agitprop in order to make use of any information that it can get, but mostly it will hide any connection with obvious sympathizers. It will also be in the blackmail and recruiting business. This is the one they're trying to get going now, and the most expensive branch. Some people will be moved over from agitprop to it as the propaganda takes effect, but a lot of what they want will have to be bought.

  "The third part is the money-raising section. Its size depends on the number of customers, but most of its people won't know anything about who they're working for. It will look like any other dope racket. We're working on it now, and the Treasury has a couple of informers, but we just don't get much. Now, somewhere, the money has to go across from this branch to the other two. It may be the same man in both cases, because they won't have too many they trust with that kind of dough. He'll also have files and such things, and accounts, because they have to have them. That's who we want. Now all I have to do is find out who would know. Once I know that, we'll get information, and Louis can have his commendation."

  "Yeah. Well this is an expensive trap. Thanks for the boat ride."

  "Don't worry about it. It's their money anyway. We took one of these operations apart in Sacramento last year. Nobody to return the money to, so we kept it."

  We discussed communications methods I could use in Victoria, and tried to dream up a plan that might work in case the boat trip didn't turn out to be anything else, and I wrote him a receipt. Shearing had decided to use this method to give me the money instead of letting me in on one of his dummy corporations.

  I spent the next couple of days waiting for something to happen. The whole business was getting to be a drag, because nothing did. Carole and I got to know each other pretty well, and I was still wondering if I was falling for her, but the whole idea that she was anything other than a nice kid involved at the outer edges of the agitprop group got sillier all the time. Either she was the contact, which I didn't want to believe, or nobody was going to take the bait. Shearing had told me he was trying a lot of stunts and most of them wouldn't work, but I hated to think I was just wasting time. I mean, what with messing my emotions up and all, the least I deserved was some of the action, wasn't it?

  Tuesday night we got all the stores aboard Witch, and Wednesday about eleven in the morning we cast her loose and motored down the canal to the locks. For once it wasn't raining in Seattle. That's one thing about Seattle, when there's a good day it's a really good day, like nowhere else in the world. The Olympics stood out across the Sound, and back of us were the Cascades towering over the city. Usually you can't see either range, but after a rain, when the sun comes out, they're worth all the bad weather you had to put up with and then some.

  We eased into the locks and tied up alongside a fishing boat, one of those sturdy forty-foot jobs you see all around Seattle, headed for the Pacific Ocean about a hundred miles west. It's always easier when you can tie up alongside somebody else, because then you don't have to fend off from the slimy concrete sides while you let 80 feet of line out to keep you from drifting into the current. The currents in the lock are quite strong, and when you reach the bottom and they open the gates, it can be tricky.

  The locks are free, but you have to fill out a form that tells what boat you are, how many aboard, and where you're headed. I didn't have any of the forms aboard so the tender had to go get some, and I put the others in the cabin. The lock tenders take the filled-out forms, and they must do something with them, but I never heard what. Probably use them to justify bigger appropriations next year.

  Once out of the lock, you're in the Sound almost immediately. We motored out behind the fishing boat until we were well clear of the traffic, and I headed Witch up into the wind. Carole steered while I raised the sails. It's not hard with the motor to keep steerage way, but without it, any wind can make hoisting a sail a bad job.

  The wind was from a little north of west, which put it forward of the beam when I switched off the motor and got on course. It was blowing maybe fifteen knots, which can pile up a sharp chop for the boat to plow through, and worse, the sea was from dead ahead, out of Admiralty Inlet. The Inlet is about 15 miles north-northwest of the locks, and it takes you north and west 20 miles to the Straits of Juan de Fuca. You officially enter the Straits when you round Point Wilson, and then you have 35 miles of Juan de Fuca to cross to reach Victoria on Vancouver Island. The Straits of Juan de Fuca are named for an old fraud who, as I understand it, never saw them but took credit for what some of his captains discovered. They're formed by the Olympic Peninsula, U.S.A., on the south, and Vancouver Island, Dominion of Canada, on the north, and they connect Puget Sound where Seattle is with the Pacific Coast
where nothing and nobody lives. Out on the coast you have the Indian village of Neah Bay where they don't even sell beer, and a lot of rock and hills. It's wild country. Most people seem to think Seattle is on the coast, which comes from school geography books having maps so small you can't see anything on them. As a matter of fact, the roads on the peninsula are so bad, most Seattlites have never seen the coast.

  In spite of the head winds, it was lovely sailing. The sun was out, the mountains showed clearly on both sides, and we had the kind of weather Seattlites stay in our miserable climate for. If you don't live here, you can't understand why we'll put up with the horrible weather most of the year unless you get out on a good day like we were having.

  It had taken more time to get everything stowed and get under way than I had figured it would, so it was well past one when we began sailing. With the wind ahead of us and the sea and tide against us we didn't make very good time, probably not over four knots over the bottom. Came supper time, Carole got the little gimbaled alcohol stove going after I showed her how, and tried to heat something up. She soon found out why I had bought two little pressure cookers for the boat. Pressure cookers not only cook faster, they have watertight lids that won't come off when the pot rolls into the bilge. She had to stick her head up in the wind three or four times to keep the cooking smells from getting to her, but she didn't get sick. I don't get seasick in less than a real blow, and this was pleasant sailing.