“Dutch, get down and fetch the big nugget. That may end up being the key to this whole thing.”
Dutch left immediately. Whereupon Don asked the question I thought he might.
“What’s the nodule really for?”
I approved of his question.
“The Krugerrands are just gold. They’re worth the weight of gold. But the nugget? The nugget has potential. Only we, and hopefully a very few others, know the exact location it’s from.”
Don’s mind was working along with mine.
“Our Commissar is, no doubt, in possession of information stemming from the Russian assault on the Isle of the Tsar of Russia. Spetsnaz and helicopters were involved. A major operation, certainly. And nothing came of it. A burned forest. A broken-down Zodiac. A nearby expedition ship. Nothing.”
I watched Don carefully, after I concluded. Suddenly, he plumbed the point.
“You bastard! It’s perfect! We were there for the gold and got driven off! The commandos did not go prospecting. They were looking for spies. They never thought to check for gold! It’s genius. You’re a demented genius.”
I humbly accepted his compliment.
Don turned more serious. “The purser thing. I don’t like killing anyone. I’ve never killed anyone.”
“You’re not killing anyone,” I responded.
He inhaled, and then sighed deeply upon hearing my words.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
I couldn’t help but grimly relate to his words. The gun in my pocket again felt hot through the cotton. Dutch returned with the nugget. He closed the door and then tossed the huge thing onto Don’s bunk. I fetched it.
It was larger than I had remembered. In truth, it was a little larger than an orange, but weighed about the same as a bowling ball. It was hard to grasp and hold up with one hand. It was a dull gold color, shot through with green veins of copper. It was remarkable. I wondered just how many pure nuggets of its size existed anywhere in the world.
I forced the large object into my left front pocket. It looked ridiculous, but I would get it back to my cabin under cover.
“I want the bar open at eight in the morning tomorrow. Open for all the people who have hangovers. Serve ’em up free. We need the population as pacified as possible by noon. The ones who drink, that is. Don, you head down to see Filipe. Make sure that everything is still a go there. If there’s a hitch, then get back to my cabin pronto. That Russian kid is going to be at the cemetery first thing in the morning. I want you to find him and settle him in there. If he drinks, give him a bottle, too. I don’t care. I don’t want him running around with his little rat pack creating trouble tomorrow.”
I was done with operational items. I looked at both men.
“I went in there alone today. It was difficult. Tomorrow, I’ll have you with me. A team. It’s going to be a much better visit this time.”
I then headed for the door and closed it behind me. In truth, I was going back in there with two more people I might have to defend or look after in some other way. It did feel better to have a plan, however, any plan, no matter how impossible. And it felt better to have friends.
I had not locked my door. I stepped inside my cabin and closed the door behind me. Marlys stood in the center of the room. She was wearing a white sheath, looking like a true Goddess of the Sea.
“I came to be with you,” she declared.
I smiled broadly.
Then she pointed at Benito’s sleeping form. “Awaken her and tell her to leave.”
Marlys went on speaking, softly, while still pointing at the sleeping woman. I frowned.
“Can’t we go to your cabin and leave her to sleep?” I responded reasonably.
She disdained reason.
“You won’t tell her to go?” Marlys questioned, as if not understanding the response I had given her.
I realized that she had heard and that she had understood and what she was really asking. I looked at the tattered wreck of my cruise director, who didn’t like me or what I was, but could not sleep without having me close by. I also looked at Marlys, with my whole being wanting to surge toward her. But I didn’t move.
“I can’t do it. I can’t ask her to leave,” I breathed.
I closed my eyes as Marlys moved. I felt a slight breeze in her passage when she went by my side. I heard the soft click of my door latch when the door closed behind her.
“It’s a heartache…” I repeated the first words of the seventh song, my eyes still closed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE:
Into the Valley
Marlys left abruptly. Whether to terminate our relationship (one that might not exist) or simply to forget about me, I couldn’t tell.
I locked the door. Then I turned out the light in order to enjoy a small measure of privacy with Benito sleeping in the lower bunk. I stripped and showered in the dark, removing the smell of gulag from my pores. It was an abomination I would have to endure again the following morning. I didn’t have to sleep with it, like the O’Donelly boy.
I used Benito’s towels to dry off, retrieved my underwear and the automatic from my clothes pile, and then mounted the top bunk. The last thing I remembered was leaning over to make sure that Benito was okay. After listening to the steady chant of her breathing, I was gone.
A knock came at five a.m., Breguet time. Luminous figures glared up at me in the dark. The knocking was insistent. It was also soft.
Once I was awake, I moved quickly and silently to respond. I prayed that it was Marlys with a solution to my roommate problem. It was Günter and Borman.
I explained through the crack that I wasn’t alone, but would be out presently. Günter attempted to peer inside, but the light was too bad for him to see anything.
It was cruel, yet I was not going to reveal that Benito and I were sleeping together, no matter what price it cost Günter in jealousy and worry. I threw on the same clothes I had stripped off earlier, put the damp shoes onto my bare feet, then tip-toed over to the bunk. I then slipped my right hand under my pillow and retrieved the Kel-Tec. Benito was sleeping like a baby as I slipped out of the door to join the two Mates.
The mission was pending. I had not spent time with either man prior to engagement. Things were moving too fast. Both men were doing me and the mission a favor by demanding to be included in any changes in the operational plan. Borman leaned toward me.
“This boy, the one you are retrieving, he must be kept somewhere. The captain must not know. He would never let him aboard if he were aware.”
The German language ruffled me at that hour of the morning. I had first translated his last sentence into “the captain would never have him in bed.” In hindsight, I had not planned well. I had ideas, but I had never implemented anything with respect to them. I had counted on Filipe who was most dependable, but nobody could work in a vacuum.
“Down to the bilge,” I ordered, pointing with my finger.
Both men obeyed with typical German seriousness on their faces. I led the Mates to the old workout room, where luggage took up half the space. I pulled the un-dogged hatch open, then climbed inside the large space. We had encountered not one soul as we had made our way down. The deck watch, with his huge necklace of a clock, was nowhere to be seen.
I was not going to wake Filipe at that hour. I needed my team at one hundred percent efficiency in the morning, not a bunch of sleep-deprived zombies.
“This is the place. We can’t seal the boy up inside the chain locker. He’s in too bad a shape,” I said, not mentioning that we actually had two boys to consider.
Full-grown Dutch, even with his limited mental capacity, had not taken to being welded into the chain locker “iron coffin,” as he had called it.
We re-stacked the luggage, forming a wall with a narrow space behind it and the far bulkhead. It would have to do. I would h
ave to think of something more covert by the time we ran into U.S. Customs and Immigration, but the old defunct workout room should do to keep the boy’s presence from the German portion of the crew. Especially since we had the support of the Filipinos. Once done, we headed to the Lido deck.
At the bar I found the necessary items to brew a pot of coffee. I let both men know that I wanted them on duty and alert at the Provideniya bar. The Khromov boy would be handled at the cemetery by Don and Dutch, so I didn’t need to mention that. I was primarily worried that we would have sufficient booze at the bar in town and that there would be someone to serve it. Marlys was capable of anything, I felt, at that point. Her own papers and those of her mother depended upon her performance, yet emotions could subvert everything. In truth, although I longed for the woman, I did not really know her at all.
Neither Borman nor Günter could serve alcohol at a bar while in uniform. It just would not work in front of the passengers, even if they were willing. If necessary, Don or Dutch might have to be left behind. It was that crucial to put as many people into an anesthetic state as possible, particularly the tank crew. If Don or Dutch were left behind, then Günter or Borman would be assigned to the gulag.
The boy might not be able to move under his own power. I had to have two strong men, as I knew I would most probably be running difficult interference and not able to help. But I swore to myself that that boy was coming out of that hell-hole, even if we all had to die in making it happen.
I drank coffee from a cup for the first time since coming aboard the World Discoverer. Borman and Günter took it black. The sun was up as it always was at that time of the year, so I looked at my watch to get a feel for the beginning of the day. We had somehow burned through an hour and a half.
“The Captain,” I said and then took another swig of my coffee. “The Captain’s a potential loose cannon. You two have to interdict him if things go south.”
I finished my short mutinous speech.
“Loose cannon ashore or on-board?” Borman asked, going right to the heart of the question.
Ashore was ashore — and different rules applied to everyone on land. Aboard ship, a captain of a vessel was a god. Draconian punishments could be applied for interfering with a captain. Borman and Günter checked with one another for almost half a minute, then they both nodded. They were in. At least, that was the message they communicated to me. When the chips were down, what they might do, well, that might be entirely different.
Marlys showed at seven. In more ways than one. The mini-skirt she had worn the day before had been only a foretaste of this day’s attire. It was light blue. It had this wonderful silver belt and buckle running around the top of her hips. The Yemaya necklace and anklet were firmly in place as well. Günter reacted to her before I saw her. I automatically moved to give her room.
“We need to transport more liquor,” she said casually, as if she had not shot out of my cabin in a huff hours earlier.
Günter and Borman watched her every move. I took a small piece of notepaper from the counter while they were distracted and wrote upon it. I scribbled the name and number of my control in D.C. at the CIA. I put down my serial number then the naturalization requests for Marlys and her mother, leaving the mother’s name blank. The Agency was most excellent about keeping the promises of dead agents, even if the mission was a total failure. If you helped the Agency when the chips were down, you got rewarded. Simple. Uncommon in the outside world.
“Help her with the cases, gentlemen, if you would?” I asked of Günter and Borman, confident that such labor was beneath them, but gambling on body, skirt, legs, and Yemaya.
Yemaya won. They didn’t even utter a mild protest. I folded the piece of paper into a tiny square. When the two men were busy, I tapped Marlys on the shoulder. She turned with a look of fire in her eye. I took her hand, opened it, and then folded her fingers around the small piece of paper. She pulled her fist back.
“What’s that?” she snapped, but she did not unclench her fist.
“If things go wrong. That’s your ticket to the ball game. You and your Mom. Put it somewhere.”
I wanted to tell her to place it carefully and revealingly between her generous breasts, but I figured such a comment might be inappropriate. I backed off instead and left the lido deck.
I went to my cabin to suit up with gold, radio, and my little sack of medical supplies. Benito was gone, her bed made. My towels were damp, but folded and re-hung. I felt like I was married. I had all the amenities, except sex.
“Long married, then” I mumbled and then chuckled to myself.
The gold nugget fit perfectly into the canvas bag. If all went well, I was about to launch a gold rush on The Isle of the Tsar of Russia. I made sure I had all three rolls of adhesive tape in the bag. I was going to need the tape before the day was done. Instead of a coat, I chose my Banana Republic field photographer’s vest. It was perfect. It had a lens tube pocket, which accepted the silencer like it was custom-made.
Hathoot was supposed to be at the museum by ten a.m. The driver had told me ten a.m. for the pick-up run to the gulag. I had to somehow reconcile those two events. I had to get Don and Dutch ready and make sure the Zodiac was on station. I had no clue what was going to happen at the museum, nor a hint as to how to handle the coming confrontation at the gulag. I had only the most cursory of egress plans in the event of failure. When dissected later, by Agency forensic experts from the training school, my mission would go down as a model of poor preparations and planning. My dead body might be exhumed to be burned in effigy.
I stood and looked at the ridiculous bulky figure I saw in my mirror. A short ugly version of Indiana Jones, Captain Kessler had termed me. My own reflection did not inspire me.
“Into the valley, of the shadow of death, rode the six hundred,” I chanted instead, but then regretted it.
I felt that I was being too dramatic. But I had a few minutes. I pushed the CD player button and listened. The music began. My spirits soared as the lyrics poured forth.
“Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, under the shade of a coolibah tree … and he sang as he watched….”
It was good. It was pitch-perfect. Australia’s national anthem and a song known by military special operations teams nearly as well as “Puff the Magic Dragon” around the world.
CHAPTER FORTY:
Wet Work
On the way to the lido deck, I stopped at Don’s room and assured myself that the Basque was going to be on the radio while the rest of us were ashore. I opened Don’s door, unannounced, then greeted his bedmate. She held up her radio. I pulled mine out and then turned it on.
“You’re Number One for the remainder of the mission,” I said into my small device.
I had heard my own voice come out of her micro-machine. The devices were so well made and modulated, that there had been no interference squeal, which might have otherwise garbled my message.
“And you?” she sent back to me.
“Cherub,” I transmitted.
That “handle” had been given to me by a sitting president of the United States. There was no more cherished prize than to receive a nickname directly from the commander-in-chief, but I had not been happy with mine. My looks, I knew, explained the origins of the name, but its lack of any macho flavor had bothered me throughout my entire career. It did, however, provide constant entertainment to all who worked with me.
“And Don?” the woman went on.
“Andre,” I said directly, not using the device.
The Basque broke out into one of her rare charming smiles.
“Once we’re ashore, you start making your rounds. Don’t call either of us unless it’s vitally important, as the radios will be revealed. Try to wait, unless it’s critical, for us to call you.”
We all had earpieces, but wearing such aberrant devices would give us away as quickly an
d surely, as having a metallic voice speak from inside our pockets.
“Good luck, Indy,” the Basque whispered to me, off the air.
I prayed that she would not stay locked away in their cabin.
The lido deck was pulsing with milling passengers. They had completed their breakfast and were being cleared to go ashore. Ordinarily, Benito would have been at the head of the gangplank. Nobody was there. Marlys was not behind the bar. Don and Dutch were nowhere to be seen. I had not performed a last minute operations plan. I shook my head in frustration with myself. The plan should have kicked off with all of us together, everyone re-checked individually for his or her role in the mission. Instead, the mission was proceeding as if we were all scouts at some grand jamboree, aimless until forces outside our control mandated action. I checked my Breguet. It was eight-fifteen.
“All right everyone,” I yelled over the bedlam, waiting for things to marginally settle. “Okay, you can go ashore, but meet at the bar on the other side of the docks before you take off anywhere. Later, there will be free drinks for everyone.”
That brought a round of cheering.
“The ship sails at one o’clock,” I hollered, even louder. “If you miss it, you’ll be in Provideniya for the winter!”
That elicited stony silence. Outside of the cemetery and the Anthropology Museum, there was absolutely nothing to do in Provideniya. There was a single grocery store, which any local convenience mart in America could put to shame for variety of products and price. There were no shops. No places of interest at all. A library and a theater were long closed. Hence, the passengers would all collect at the bar, head out from there, then meet back there to drink the remainder of the day away. The town’s backwardness was the primary reason for no customs or immigration processing. Neither was needed.
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