by Antony Trew
Black mumbled, ‘Hallo,’ in the flattest voice he could manage, looked at his watch and said, ‘Be seeing you.’
Then, ignoring the new arrivals, he slung his shopping bag over his shoulder and slouched off.
The new arrivals sat down and Manuela watched Black’s retreating figure. Francois laughed. Helmut smiled quizzically. ‘Your friend is not pleased, nein?’
Manuela looked at herself in a mirror, patting her hair. ‘Well if he is, let’s say he shows it in the strangest way.’
‘You know him long?’ asked Francois.
She shook her head. ‘Not very.’
‘So,’ said Helmut solemnly. ‘Goot. Please what to drink?’
‘That,’ said Manuela, ‘is a sensible question.’
She didn’t tell him that Charles Black had just stood her up on a lunch date, and failed to pay for the last round of drinks.
Chapter Sixteen
From the line of lamps between the quay and the roadway, pools of light reached across dimly to the stacked timber, oil drums, orange cylinders of butane, pockets of cement, coils of wire, steel pipes, and straw-bound demijohns awaiting shipment to Formentera.
In the shadows beyond lay the island schooners, decklights throwing into relief sections of their upperworks and rigging, so that they were broken into unco-ordinated shapes like unfinished jig-saw puzzles.
The throb of diesel generators, the suck and squeak of bilge pumps, a cat miaowing, a faint thread of pop music from somewhere and the distant whine of a jet, were the only sounds of the night. At the end of the quay a solitary light burning amidships in a white schooner illuminated the gangplank and the white lifebuoy in the cockpit which had Snowgoose and Piraeus lettered around it in gold leaf.
In the town a clock chimed twice as a man came from the shadows and crossed the gangplank to the deck of the schooner. He went into the cockpit and down the forward companionway to the saloon. For a moment he stood in the doorway blinking in the strong light. The men round the table stood up and greeted him. It was evident that they were old friends.
The heavy bearded man pointed to the table. ‘The charts and things are here. We can start when you’re ready, Bernard.’
The newcomer swung round on him. ‘Charles. Charles Black,’ he said with fierce insistence. ‘Not Bernard. And for Christ’s sake don’t forget it.’
The big man said, ‘Ach! Mein Gott: I forgot.’
Black nodded. ‘That’s why I sheered off yesterday when you people pitched up at the Montesol. Scared me stiff. You should have kept away. What if Francois had called you Werner—or I’d called him André. Would’ve looked bloody good, wouldn’t it?’
The German flushed but said nothing.
‘Elle est très jolie.’ Francois made a circle with his thumb and forefinger.
Black rebuffed the attempted humour. ‘Security’s paramount. Should have kept away when you saw me.’ He stared them into silence.
Kamros said, ‘Shall I fetch the coffee?’
The Englishman’s frostiness disappeared. ‘Yes. Good.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But first tell me about Hassan.’ He looked round the saloon. ‘Where is he?’
Helmut pointed forward. ‘In the crew’s quarters. Handcuffed. Locked up and battened down. You need not worry. He is co-operative. Anxious to keep clear of the police.’
‘Is he well?’
‘Very. But not happy at sea. He suffers from seasickness.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘As you suggested. That we are from Cyprus. That we took him from the water on Kyriakou’s orders because the police were about to arrest him, and it was necessary for him to disappear. Otherwise they could all be implicated.’
‘What does he say about that?’
Helmut shrugged his shoulders. ‘He thinks the coshing was unfriendly, that he might have been given the opportunity to co-operate.’
‘Good point. What does he think will happen to him now?’
‘We’ve told him that quite soon he will be put ashore—but not on Ibiza—and that he will then be a free man again.’
In a sudden gesture of affection, Black patted the German on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Helmut,’ He turned to the others. ‘You too. You’ve saved the operation. I can’t say more.’ He looked at Kamros. ‘Now for that coffee.’
They sat down round the table and exchanged notes about how they were and what they’d been doing. Helmut reported on the reconnaisance of the cala near Cabo Negret. Black told them of the night with Manuela at Altomonte, and of his observations there on other occasions. He mentioned the punch-up with Kyriakou and Tino Costa two nights back.
‘I’m sorry it happened,’ he said. ‘But there was no way out. It was them or me. If they were going to the police, they’d have been by now. But they’re too vulnerable. Apart from the letter threat, they know they started the fight. Manuela would testify to that.’
Helmut stroked his beard. ‘To whom did you give the letter?’
‘No one. It doesn’t exist. Except in their minds. And I don’t know any more about Kyriakou than local gossip. But human nature being what it is, he’ll assume I know the worst. And that must be pretty unattractive.’
The discussion switched to Manuela. Black told them of her involvement with the Greek.
‘I don’t understand their relationship,’ he said. ‘I think he’s got her hooked. She’s loyal to him, but she fears him. Some sort of love-hate complex, maybe. Whatever it is, I think drugs are at the bottom of it.’
‘And your relationship with her?’ Francois leant forward, the intensity of his dark stare, the gold earrings and mandarin moustache emphasising the aura of piracy.
‘Entirely operational,’ said Black irritably. ‘But I’ll be frank. Under other circumstances I’d have gone for her. She’s got something.’
‘They all have it,’ Dimitrio grumbled, loading his pipe with calloused fingers. ‘That’s what half the trouble in the world’s about.’
Black ignored him. Francois relaxed his stare. ‘Does she know anything about this situation?’ he said.
‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘And about you?’
‘Only what is generally known on the island. What we have intended should be known all along: that I would very much like to see van Biljon’s pictures, and the reasons why. That I’m a fairly dissolute character. Aimless. Not very successful.’ He looked away, embarrassed. ‘Some even say I’m a queer.’
Francois raised an eyebrow, cleared his throat and stroked his moustache. Black frowned at him before going on. ‘At times I’ve been afraid that if I were to play this part too long I’d become Charles Black. To be dissolute and idle is not unattractive.’
‘Especially in attractive company.’ Francois lit a cheroot.
Black regarded him speculatively, his thoughts elsewhere. Then he said, ‘That’s pretty recent. But she’s been invaluable. Without her I couldn’t have got into the house. Anyway, let’s get on with the job.’ He looked at his watch. ‘God, how the time flies.’
Kamros came back with coffee and rolls, and Black produced plans of Altomonte and its surroundings, a town plan of Ibiza, and a road map of the island. On it he indicated the route from Altomonte down into the valley, then westwards to San José, where it joined the road to Cubells, later forking off to the east towards Cabo Negret.
‘That’s the direct route,’ he said. ‘Eleven kilometres. But we won’t use it. Here are the diversionary routes. Longer, but better tactically. If there’s a pursuit we should be able to shake it off. Give the impression we’re heading for San Antonio or Ibiza.’
He turned to Helmut. ‘Fixed the car?’
‘Yes. A Zephyr. From the Ford people on the Figueretes road. I said we wanted it for a few days to tour the island. Usual guidebook stuff. All okay.’
‘Good,’ said Black. ‘An hour or so before you sail, park it here.’ He made a cross on the town plan, close to El Corsario. ‘Leave the key under the right front seat. W
ell back.’
He took the Nautical Almanac from the table. ‘Now let’s check the basic timetable. To-day’s the tenth of May.’ He turned the pages of the almanac. ‘Here it is. Times of moon-rise and moonset. Night of the eighteenth/nineteenth. Yes. It’s slap in the middle of the period of no moon. So we didn’t get that wrong.’
He closed the almanac and pushed it away. ‘You must sail on the morning of the sixteenth. Keep to the south, well out of sight of land, and get the painting done. At daybreak on the eighteenth, make for Vedra. Go into Cala d’Or soon after midday and anchor. You two,’ he turned to Helmut and Francois, ‘go for a bathe in the afternoon. Swim ashore and wander about the beach. Get your bearings. Return on board at about five. Soon after dark Kamros will land you in the dinghy. Doesn’t matter if you’re seen. Perfectly normal. Yachtsmen having a run ashore. Wear dark slacks, wind cheaters and rubber-soled shoes. Carry the gear in a canvas beach bag. Start up the road towards San José about a quarter to eight. Don’t go to the road immediately on landing. Wander about a bit first.
‘I’ll be along in the Zephyr to pick you up at eight-fifteen. It’s an unlit winding road. Okay so far?’
There was a murmur of assent.
‘Right. Now we’ll stop the car here.’ He pointed to the position on the map. ‘About a kilometre below Altomonte. Helmut and I will get out on to the terraces. That’ll be about nine o’clock. Then you turn the car, Francois, and drive back down the road. When you reach the junction, set off in the Ibiza direction.
‘Give us until ten-thirty to get into position. In the woods here, alongside Altomonte.’ He marked the spot on the plan. ‘At ten to eleven, exactly, drive up to the front gate …’ He paused, thinking of something. ‘We’ll synchronise watches by the noon time signal that day. Okay?’
They nodded.
‘When you get to the gate,’ he continued, ‘hoot twice and turn the car so that it’s facing down the road. Pocket the ignition key. They’ll put the light on you, and the dogs’ll raise hell. Pedro or Juan will be on duty there. Probably both, once the lights go on. They’ll recognise you, which is a good thing. Neither of them has much English, so don’t let on that you speak Spanish. It’s better …’
Francois interrupted. ‘We’ve already spoken to them at the harbour. Always in French or English. We do not forget our instructions. They’re not much good at either.’
‘Fine. Tell them you’ve an urgent message for van Biljon. Say you must see him. They’ll stall on this and want to know what it’s all about. Tell them you’ve come from the harbour where Nordwind is in trouble. They’ll want to know what sort of trouble. Stall. Make the most of the language difficulty. When they press you, say that the boat is sinking slowly. Underwater damage or an outlet not properly shut, or something. That’ll be difficult to put over in broken English. Say you couldn’t raise anybody at the moorings at that time of night, but a man in one of the island schooners told you where van Biljon lived so you decided to come up.
‘You know. A sailor’s concern for another man’s boat. According to Manuela, you’ll probably be taken to the front door where the housekeeper will quiz you. She speaks good English. Keep up the chat with her, but at that stage ease up on the insistence to see van Biljon. It might look queer. Say that as long as she appreciates the urgency, etcetera, etcetera, and will give him the message it’s all right by you. Okay? The important thing is to keep the chat going for as long as possible.
‘When Helmut and I hear the dogs barking—we’ll also have heard the Zephyr coming up and the two hoots—we’ll go down to the wall on the west side and pop the meat over. Then we’ll double round to the back, go over the wall there and make for the gallery.’ He looked round the table, ‘Okay?
‘From then on the drill will be as laid down by ZID. You’ve discussed and practised it often enough. The problem will be to adapt it to this house on a dark night in the circumstances which apply at the time. Now let’s run through it using the plan of Altomonte, We’ll make a number of different assumptions and vary our tactics to suit each. There’ll always be the imponderable. We’ll have to play them by ear as they come up.’
Almost an hour later Black said to Kamros. ‘Now for your final part. Use an anchor light in Cala d’Or and when you leave keep the navigation lights burning until you’re south of Vedra. Then switch off and start the run in to the cola. Be in position there from 2300 onwards. If all goes well, we’ll make a torch signal from the shore between 2400 and 0200. Ideally at 0100. We may coast down the road to the beach. It’s steep, so don’t expect to hear the car, but you’ll see the lights. Acknowledge our signal, then bring the dinghy in as fast as you can. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Kamros.
Black took a pad and pencil. ‘I’ll cable the standby to ZID from the post office this morning. They should have it a few hours later.’
He wrote on the pad: Can let you have vernissage article on eighteenth nineteenth. Twenty-four pounds sterling. He pushed it across to Helmut. ‘Check it please.’
Helmut read it, nodded, and passed it to Francois. ‘Bon,’ said the Frenchman.
‘Confirm it with ZID direct by radio once you are south of Formentera. And confirm the rendezvous in the same signal.’
‘Okay,’ said Helmut.
Black leant over the chart of the Mediterranean. ‘Now let’s have a look at that rendezvous again.’ Helmut marked the position with a pencilled cross.
Frowning with concentration as he set the dividers. Black measured the distance from the cala to the rendezvous. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Any questions?’
‘What about Hassan?’ asked Francois.
‘We’ll stop in the lee of Abago Island on our way south,’ said Black, ‘and put him ashore that night. Provisions and water for three or four days. When we’re well clear we’ll make an anonymous signal to the harbour master here, reporting Hassan’s presence on the island and asking them to pick him up.’
Helmut frowned. ‘What story will he tell?’
‘That’s up to him. It’ll be too late then to worry us.’
The town clock had not long chimed four, when Black went up on deck and made his way across the gangplank to the quay.
Soon afterwards a man came from behind a pile of timber near the Snowgoose and watched the Englishman disappear into the darkness.
In one hand the Comisario de Policia held the telephone, in the other a cigar the end of which he considered carefully, eyelids drooped over deep-set eyes.
Opposite him his deputy, Capitan Bonafasa, and the thin man, Capitan Calvi, looked out of the window, their faces expressing bored unconcern with the Comisario’s end of a conversation to which they were listening intently.
The Comisario put down the telephone and sighed. He waved a hand at Calvi. ‘Please proceed, Capitan.’
‘We believe it will be stored overnight in a warehouse in the dock area and transferred soon afterwards to …’ He hesitated. ‘Another place.’
‘And when will this consignment arrive?’
Calvi balanced his cheroot on the rim of the heavy glass ashtray. ‘On May the thirteenth. The steamer from Barcelona that day will be the Sevilla. I think we …’
‘Have you checked the manifests and passenger lists?’ interrupted the Comisario.
A twitch of irritation showed on the thin man’s face. ‘I was about to mention them.’
‘Find anything? Any features common to the occasion on which you last expected a consignment?’ His superior officer’s emphasis did not escape Calvi.
‘A number, señor Comisario. Kyriakou and Costa are again passengers. The blue Buick will again be on board. Other items of cargo which interest us are again being carried. The same consigners, but different consignees.’
‘And what are these items, Capitan?’
Calvi stiffened in his chair, lifting his shoulders and spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. The Comisario nodded, sensing what lay behind it. ‘Ah, I see.’ He stared at Calvi, spe
culating, trying to read the thin man’s mind. ‘You are sure these consignments come as cargo? That they are not in the hand-luggage of passengers. Or possibly brought ashore by crew members?’
‘My information suggests that they come as cargo. That is our difficulty. No customs procedures operate in respect of cargoes shipped from one Spanish port to another. However, we shall on this occasion use certain checks. Here, and at the Barcelona end.’
‘Can you develop this theme?’
Calvi sighed. It was not that he lacked confidence in the Comisario and his deputy, but his undertaking to the U.S. Narcotics Bureau was one on which he could not go back. The real information, the key to it all, he could not divulge. An agent in an exposed position had to be protected. If not, both the operation and the agent’s life might be endangered.
‘We believe,’ said Calvi, ‘that the drugs are placed in the——.’ He corrected himself. ‘In cargo awaiting shipment in a dock warehouse at Barcelona—or on the voyage itself—probably by a workman or sailor who has access to it. Once unloaded here, it lies at the quay or in another warehouse. It is at this time, we think, that the drugs are removed. Again by someone who has official access. Then they are transferred to another place.’
‘Have you confidence in this?’
‘It is only a theory. We shall have to test it.’
‘Other possibilities?’ The Comisario leant back, drawing on his cigar, eyes half closed.
‘We are watching the Snowgoose and Nordwind. Their movements shortly before and after the steamer arrives may be of importance.’
The Comisario leant forward, frowning with sudden concentration. ‘You think, then, that van Biljon may be involved?’
‘No,’ said Calvi. ‘I do not think so. But I am not so sure of his servants.’
The older man sighed with relief. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It would have been a shock to me.’ He turned to his deputy. ‘But not a surprise eh, Bonafasa? After thirty years of police work one is never surprised.’ He turned back to the thin man. ‘And so, Capitan, what are your plans?’
