'I am,' Alan said.
'Wanta pitcher, gotta rushit, needit fora final.' The photographer began putting his equipment together. 'Backup againsta law books, Maitland.'
'Pardon me for asking,' Tom inquired. 'But what the hell is this?'
'Oh yes,' Alan said. 'I was about to tell you. I spilled the beans, and I guess you could call it Plan Three.'
Chapter 5
Captain Jaabeck was sitting down to lunch when Alan Maitland was shown into the master's cabin aboard the Vastervik. As on the previous occasion, the cabin was orderly and comfortable, its mahogany panelling polished and brasswork gleaming. A small square table had been moved out from one wall and on a white linen cloth with gleaming silverware a place was set for one, at which Captain Jaabeck was serving himself from a large open dish of what appeared to be shredded green vegetables. As Alan came in he put down the servers and stood up courteously. Today he was wearing a brown serge suit but still the old-fashioned carpet slippers.
'I beg your pardon,' Alan said. 'I didn't know you were at lunch.'
'Please, I do not mind, Mr Maitland.' Captain Jaabeck gestured Alan to a green leather armchair and resumed his own seat at the table. 'If you have not yourself had lunch...'
'I did, thank you.' Alan had declined Tom Lewis' suggestion of midday spaghetti, settling instead for a hastily consumed sandwich and milk en route to the ship.
'It is perhaps as well.' The captain gestured to the central dish. 'A young man such as you might find a vegetarian meal unsatisfying.'
Surprised, Alan said, 'You're a vegetarian. Captain?'
'For many years. Some think it a...' He stopped. 'What is the English word?'
'A fad,' Alan said, then wished he had spoken less quickly.
Captain Jaabeck smiled. 'That is what is sometimes said. But untruly. You do not mind, if I continue...' 'Oh yes, please do.'
The captain munched several forkfuls of the mixture steadily. Then, pausing, 'The vegetarian belief, I expect you know, Mr Maitland, is older than Christianity.'
'No,' Alan said, 'I didn't.'
The captain nodded. 'By many centuries. The true follower holds that life is sacred. Therefore all living creatures should have the right to enjoy it without fear.'
'Do you believe that yourself?'
'Yes, Mr Maitland, I do.' The captain helped himself once more. He appeared to consider. 'The entire matter, you see, is very simple. Mankind will never live in peace until we overcome the savagery existing within us all. It is this savagery which causes us to kill other creatures, which we eat, and the same savage instinct propels us into quarrels, wars, and perhaps, in the end, our own destruction.'
'It is an interesting theory,' Alan said. He found himself being constantly surprised by this Norwegian shipmaster. He began to see why Henri Duval had received more kindness aboard the Vastervik than anywhere else.
'As you say, a theory.' The captain selected a date from several on a side plate. 'But, alas, it holds a flaw like all theories.'
Alan asked curiously, 'What kind of a flaw?' 'It is a fact, scientists now inform us, that plant life, too, has a form of understanding and feeling.' Captain Jaabeck chewed on the date, then wiped his fingers and mouth fastidiously with a linen napkin. 'A machine exists, I am told, Mr Maitland, so sensitive it can hear the death screams of a peach when plucked and skinned. Thus, in the end, perhaps, the vegetarian achieves nothing, being as cruel to the defenceless cabbage as the meat eater to the cow and pig.' The captain smiled, and Alan wondered if his leg were being gently pulled.
More briskly the captain said, 'Now, Mr Maitland, what can we do?'
'There are one or two more points I'd like to talk over,' Alan told him. 'But I wonder if my client could be present.'
'Certainly.' Captain Jaabeck crossed the cabin to a wall telephone, depressed a button, and spoke briskly. Returning, he said dryly, 'I am told that your client is helping to scour our bilges. But he will come.'
A few minutes later there was a hesitant knock and Henri Duval entered. He was in grease-stained coveralls and a strong odour of fuel oil clung to him. There were black grease marks on his face, extending into his hair which was matted and disordered. He stood diffidently, youthful, both hands clasped around a knitted woollen cap.
'Good day, Henri,' Alan said.
The young stowaway smiled uncertainly. He glanced self-consciously at his filthy clothing.
'Do not be nervous,' the captain instructed him, 'nor ashamed of the signs of honest work.' He added, for Alan's benefit, 'Sometimes, I fear, advantage is taken of Henri's good nature by giving him tasks which others do not choose. But he does them willingly and well.'
At the words, the subject of them grinned broadly. 'First I clean ship,' he announced. 'Then Henri Duval. Both most dirty.'
Alan laughed.
The captain smiled sombrely. 'What is said of my ship is,' alas, true. There is so little money spent, so small a crew. But as for our young friend, I would not wish his lifetime to be used in cleaning it. Perhaps you have some news, Mr Maitland.'
'Not news exactly,' Alan replied. 'Except that the Immigration Department has refused to grant an official hearing of Henri's case.'
'Ach!' Captain Jaabeck raised his hands impatiently. 'Then, once more, there is nothing can be done.' Henri Duval's eyes, which had brightened, dimmed.
'I wouldn't say that entirely,' Alan said. 'In fact there's one point I want to discuss with you. Captain, and it's why I wished my client to be present.'
'Yes?'
Alan was aware of the eyes of the other two intently upon him. He considered carefully the words he must use next. There was a question to be put and a specific answer he hoped to get. The right answer from Captain Jaabeck would open the way to what Tom Lewis had called Plan Two. But the words and response must be the captain's own.
'When I was here previously,' Alan said carefully, 'I asked if, as master of this ship, you would take Henri Duval to Immigration headquarters and demand a hearing into his application to land. Your answer at that time was no, and the reasons given' - Alan consulted a note he had made - 'were that you were too busy and you thought it would do no good.'
'It is true,' the captain said. 'I remember talking of that.'
As each spoke, Duval's eyes turned inquiringly from one to the other.
'I'm going to ask you again. Captain,' Alan said quietly, 'if you will take my client Henri Duval from this ship to the Immigration Department and there demand a formal hearing.'
Alan held his breath. What he wanted was the same answer once more. If the captain again said no, even casually and for whatever reason, then technically it would mean Duval was being kept a prisoner aboard ship ... a ship in Canadian waters, subject to Canadian law. And just conceivably - based on Alan's own affidavit to that effect - a judge might grant a writ of habeas corpus ... a direction to bring the prisoner to court. It was a hairsbreadth point of law ... the long shot he and Tom had talked of. But its launching depended on obtaining the right answer now, so that the affidavit could be truly sworn.
The captain appeared puzzled. 'But surely you have just told me that Immigration has said no.'
Alan made no response. Instead he eyed the captain steadily. He was tempted to explain, to ask for the words he wanted. But to do so would be a breach of legal ethics. True, it was a fine distinction, but it was there and Alan was acutely aware of it. He could only hope that the others' astute mind...
'Well...' Captain Jaabeck hesitated. 'Perhaps you are right, and everything should be attempted once. Perhaps, after all, I must find time...'
It was going wrong. This was not what he wanted. The captain's reasonableness was effectively sealing off the only legal opening ... a door, slightly ajar, was closing. Alan tightened his lips, revealing disappointment in his face.
'It is not what you wished? And yet you asked.' Again puzzlement in the captain's voice.
Alan faced him squarely. He said, with deliberate formality, 'Captain Jaabe
ck, my request remains. But I must advise you that if you disregard it I reserve the right, in my client's interest, to continue with whatever legal steps may be necessary.'
A slow smile spread over the captain's face. 'Yes,' he said. 'Now I understand. You must do things by certain means because that is the law's way.'
'And my request. Captain?'
Captain Jaabeck shook his head. He said solemnly, 'I regret I cannot comply. There is much business for the ship to be done in port, and I have no time to waste on worthless stowaways.'
Until now Henri Duval's brow had been furrowed in concentration, although obviously he had understood very little of what was being said. But with the captain's last remark his expression became suddenly surprised and hurt. It was almost, Alan thought, as if a child, abruptly and inexplicably, had been disowned by a parent. Once more he was tempted to explain but decided he had already gone far enough. Holding out his hand, he told Henri Duval, 'I'm doing everything I can. I'll come to see you again soon.'
'You may go.' The captain addressed the young stowaway sternly. 'Back in the bilges! - and do your work well.'
Unhappily, eyes downcast, Duval went out.
'You see,' Captain Jaabeck said quietly, 'I am a cruel man too.' He took out his pipe and began to fill it. 'I do not understand exactly what it is you require, Mr Maitland. But I trust there is nothing I have missed.'
'No, Captain.' Alan was smiling. 'To tell you the truth, I don't think there's much you miss at all.'
Chapter 6
Near the end of the dock a white MG convertible was parked, its top raised. As Alan Maitland approached from the Vastervik, his collar turned up against the cold damp wind coming off the water, Sharon Deveraux opened the driver's door.
'Hullo,' she said. 'I called at your office and Mr Lewis said to come here and wait.'
'Sometimes,' Alan responded cheerfully, 'old Tom shows real horse sense.'
Sharon smiled, the dimple appearing. She was hatless, with a pale beige coat and gloves to match. 'Get in,' she instructed, 'and I'll drive you wherever.'
He went around the other side and eased his length gingerly into the tiny two-seater. On the second attempt he made it. 'Not bad,' Sharon said approvingly. 'Granddaddy tried it once, but we never got his second leg in.'
'I,' Alan said, 'am not only younger, but also more flexible than Granddaddy.'
In three swift movements Sharon turned the car around and they moved off, jolting rapidly over the dockside road. The MG's interior was small and snug. Their shoulders touched and he was conscious of the same perfume he had noticed last time they met.
'About being flexible,' Sharon said, 'the other day I was beginning to wonder. Where to?'
'Back to the office, I guess. There's some swearing I have to do.'
'Why not here? I know most of the words.'
He grinned. 'Let's not go through the dumb-brunette routine. I know better.'
She turned her head. Her lips were red, full, and slightly parted in a humorous bow. He was conscious again of the petite elfin quality.
'All right, so it's some sort of legal thing.' She returned her eyes to the road. They took a corner sharply and he was jolted against her. The contact was pleasant.
'It's an affidavit,' he told her.
'If it doesn't offend your stuffy old rules to tell me,' Sharon said, 'how is it all going? The man on the ship, I mean.'
'I'm not sure yet,' Alan said seriously. 'The Immigration people turned us down, but we expected that.'
'And then?'
'Something happened today ... just now. It might turn out that there's a chance - just a remote one - we can get the case into court.'
'Would that help?'
'It might not, of course.' Sharon's question was one he had already asked himself. But with this kind of problem you could take only one step at a time and hope for the best after that.
'Why do you want to go into court if it might not help?' They swung through traffic, accelerating to beat a light already changed to amber. In the intersecting street, brakes squealed. 'Did you see that bus?' Sharon said. 'I thought it was going to hit us.' They made a sharp turn, left then right, around a halted milk truck, barely missing its driver. 'You were talking about getting into court.'
'There are different ways,' Alan said, swallowing, 'and different kinds of courts. Could we go a little slower?'
Obligingly Sharon slowed from forty to thirty-five. 'Tell me about the court.'
'You can never know in advance just what's going to come out in evidence,' Alan said. 'Sometimes there are things you'd never get to hear of otherwise. Points of law, too. And in this case there's another reason.'
'Go on,' Sharon urged. 'It's exciting.' Their speed, Alan noticed, had crept up again to forty.
'Well,' he explained, 'whatever we do, we've nothing to lose. And the longer we keep things stirred up, the better chance there is that the Government will change its mind and give Henri the chance to be an immigrant.'
'I don't know if Granddaddy would like that,' Sharon said thoughtfully. 'He hopes to make it a big political issue, and if the Government gave in there wouldn't be anything left to argue about.'
'Frankly,' Alan said, 'I don't give a damn what Granddaddy wants. I'm more interested in what I can do for Henri.'
There was a silence. Then Sharon said, 'You called him by his first name - twice. Do you like him?'
'Yes, I do,' Alan said. He found he was speaking with conviction. 'He's a nice little guy who's had it rough all his life. I don't think he'll ever be president of anything, or amount, to very much, but I'd like to see him get a decent break. If he does, it'll be the first he's ever had.'
Sharon glanced sideways at Alan's profile then returned her eyes to the road. After a moment she asked, 'Do you know something?'
'No. Tell me.'
'If I were ever in trouble,' she said, 'you're the one, Alan, I'd like to have help me.'
'We're in trouble now,' he said. 'Will you let me drive?'
Their tyres squealed. The MG slid to a halt. 'Why?' Sharon asked innocently. 'We're here.'
The mixed odour of pizza and spaghetti sauce was unmistakable.
Within the office Tom Lewis was reading the Mainland edition of the Vancouver Post. He put down the paper as they came in. 'The Law Society will disbar you, of course,' he announced. 'After a public unfrocking, no doubt, in Stanley Park. You did know the rules about advertising?'
'Let me see,' Alan said. He took the paper. 'I just said what I thought. At the time I was a bit peeved.'
'That,' Tom said, 'comes through with remarkable clarity.'
'My God!' Alan had the front page spread out, Sharon beside him. 'I didn't think it would be like this.'
'It's been on the radio, too,' Tom informed him.
'But I thought it would be mostly Duval...'
'To be perfectly honest,' Tom said, 'I am bright chartreuse with envy. Somehow, without even trying, you seem to have corralled the outstanding case, a hero's publicity, and now, it seems...'
'Oh, I forgot,' Alan interjected. 'This is Sharon Deveraux.'
'I know,' Tom said. 'I was just getting to her.'
Sharon's eyes sparkled with amusement. 'After all, Mr Lewis, you are mentioned in the newspaper. It says quite distinctly Lewis and Maitland.'
'For that crumb, I shall be eternally grateful.' Tom put on his coat. 'Oh, by the way, I'm off to see a new client. He has a fish store and, I gather, a problem about his lease. Unfortunately he has no one to mind the store so I must go to the fish. You wouldn't like a nice cod cutlet for supper?'
'Not tonight, thanks.' Alan shook his head. 'I'm planning to take Sharon out.'
'Yes,' Tom said. 'I somehow thought you would.'
When they were alone, 'I'll have to work on the affidavit,' Alan observed. 'It "has to be ready, so I can appear before a judge tomorrow.'
'Could I help?' Sharon asked. She smiled at him, the dimple coming and going. 'I can type too.'
'C
ome with me,' Alan said. He took her by the hand into his glass-panelled cubicle.
Part 9
General Adrian Nesbitson
Chapter 1
The entire Cabinet, with the exception of three ministers who were away from Ottawa, had come to Uplands Airport to witness the departure of the Prime Minister's party for Washington. This was not unusual. Early in his regime James Howden had allowed it to be known that he liked to be seen off and met, not merely by one or two of his ministers, but by the entire group. And this applied, not just on special occasions, but to all his journeys in and out of the capital.
Among cabinet members the process had become known familiarly as 'the line-up'. Occasionally there was mild grumbling and, once, word of it had reached James Howden's ears. But his own attitude - defined to Brian Richardson, who had reported the complaints - was that the occasions were a demonstration of party and government solidarity, and the party director agreed. Not mentioned by the Prime Minister was a boyhood memory he sometimes even now recalled.
Long ago, young James Howden had journeyed from his orphanage to school to Edmonton, three hundred and fifty miles distant, where he was to write examinations for entry to the University of Alberta. He had been provided with a return train ticket and set off alone. Three days later, brimming with a success he desperately needed to share, he had returned - to an empty railway station, with no one to meet him. In the end, carrying his cardboard suitcase, he had had to walk to the orphanage three miles out of town, his first flush of excitement evaporating along the way. Ever after, he had shrunk from beginning or ending a journey alone.
There would be no aloneness today. Others, in addition to the Cabinet, had come to the airport, and from the rear seat of the chauffeur-driven Oldsmobile, with Margaret beside him, James Howden observed the chiefs of staff - Army, Navy, and Air Force, in uniform, with aides - as well as the Mayor of Ottawa, the RCMP Commissioner, several chairmen of Government boards, and discreetly in rear. His Excellency Phillip B. Angrove, US Ambassador. In a separate group were the inevitable cluster of reporters and photographers and, with them, Brian Richardson and Milly Freedeman.
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