by Lou Cameron
“No, but I can sure smell ’em! How come you guys have to have rotten sponge aboard, Kid? I thought this was really an undercover salvage mission for Woodbine Arms.”
Kantos shrugged and said, “It’s supposed to be an innocent sponging schooner, too. A sponger that does not stink is not a sponger. Such details can be important, if one meets a nosy patrol vessel, no?”
Captain Gringo had to agree, however reluctantly. At least it was cooler out here on the water, and dead sponges didn’t really smell much worse than that old woman’s cooking had, once one got over the surprise.
The longboat bumped against a ship’s ladder and Kantos went lightly up it, then the soldiers of fortune followed. On deck they were introduced to a burly dark figure who reeked of dead sponge and garlic. Kantos said Captain Papadakis spoke neither English nor Spanish, but they shook hands with him anyway and Kantos said, “Come. I’ll show you to your quarters. It’s going to be very busy on deck for a while.”
It was noisy as well as busy as they followed Kantos forward to a hatchway. Behind them the skipper was yelling and apparently cursing in Greek as chains rattled, lines were heaved, and so forth. By the time they’d been shown to a tiny stateroom furnished with no porthole and with built-in top and bottom bunks, they could feel the schooner was under way. Gaston stared about in dismay and said, “Merde alors, you call these quarters, M’sieur Kantos? I have spent the night in more than one jail cell more luxurious!”
Kantos shrugged and said, “You should see the crew’s quarters, up in the bows. We were told to take good care of you. These are officer’s quarters, on a Greek sponger. The other people Hakim has on board are no better off.”
Captain Gringo asked, “When do we get to meet them, and when do I get to see the weapons Hakim promised?”
Kantos said, “Later. You’ll be able to meet the other passengers in the ship’s mess, and your machine gun as well as their salvage gear is in the hold, of course. But you’d better stay here quietly until we’re well out to sea. I’ll come for you as soon as the skipper’s good and drunk.”
Captain Gringo laughed and asked “Is your skipper in a nicer mood when he’s drunk, Kid?”
Kantos replied soberly, “He’s never in a nice mood. But when he’s drunk he can’t hit anything he throws at people.”
“He throws things at people? Why?”
“We’ve often wondered. But the last crewman who asked Papadakis why he had such a vile disposition wound up in the scuppers with a split scalp. I have to go now. I could wind up with a split scalp if I don’t get back to my galley. I’ll send your food to you in a little while. Meanwhile, there’s a bottle of retsina in that cupboard by the heads of your bunks. Lock the door after me. The boy I send with your tray will knock once, then twice. Don’t open up for anyone else.”
Without waiting for an answer, Kantos left. Captain Gringo sat on the bottom bunk and muttered, “Jesus, what kind of a tub have we wound up aboard?” Gaston said, “I told you I did not want to take this sea voyage.” Then he opened the cupboard, took out a clear glass bottle filled with amber fluid, and uncorked it, adding, “Eh bien, perhaps it could be worse.”
He took a swig and handed the bottle to Captain Gringo, who did the same, wheezed, and said, “Jesus, you might have warned a guy! What is this shit? It tastes like turpentine, for God’s sake!”
Gaston said, “It’s retsina, or what the droll Greeks regard as wine. It’s an acquired taste, as you just observed, but in the legion we learned to drink everything. I’ve no idea why Greeks put pine tar in their booze and asphalt in their coffee. But they are both strong as the devil. So let’s have the bottle back if you’re a sissy, hein?”
Captain Gringo took another experimental sip, frowned, and said, “It’s not so bad, once you get over the first shock. But I sure hope that Greek cooking on its way tastes more like Mom’s apple pie.”
Gaston took the bottle, swallowed a healthy jolt of retsina, and sat down beside him, saying, “This may help if we drink enough first. Greek cooking is something one must be born a Greek to understand, I fear. As a Frenchman, I’ve never understood why the English like their chocolates and marmalade so bitter. But next to a Greek, an Englishman suffers from a sweet tooth. Wait until you try Greek olives. I think they pickle them in quinine. I have yet to figure out how they manage bitter cheese. But that seems to be the way they like it.”
Captain Gringo tried some more retsina and said, “Oh well, young Kantos speaks pretty good English, and if he’s the cook he might know English tastes. If the others Hakim’s sending along work for Woodbine, they’re probably Brits, and English marmalade’s not as weird as this stuff.”
Gaston took out a smoke as he mused, “Eh bien, I noticed the slight clipped British accent the boy spoke his English with. What did you think of our young Kantos, Dick?”
“What’s to think? He’s just a young Greek sea cook who probably picked up his English working in Cyprus or even London, if he’s working for Woodbine Arms. He seems like a nice enough young guy. Why?”
“I think he combs his hair on the wrong side. You know what they say about Greek boys, hein?”
Captain Gringo grimaced and said, “You should hear what they say about French boys sometime. Okay, he did seem a little effeminate. But that’s not our problem, unless you want to bugger him.”
Gaston laughed lewdly and said, “One imagines our gallant skipper already reams his petite rectum well and trés often. That no doubt accounts for the swishy way he walks, non?”
“Don’t you ever think of anything but sex, Gaston?”
“Mais non, why should I? It’s the only thing that makes existence on this otherwise banal planet worth the time and effort.” He took another swig of retsina and added, “Aside from this, of course.”
“Hey, you’d better go easy on that booze, Gaston. You’ve already put away half the bottle, on an empty stomach, too.”
“Sacre God damn, Dick, when has a Frenchman ever gotten drunk on wine?”
Captain Gringo chuckled fondly and said, “Many many times, you old goat. I keep telling you and telling you that you just don’t have the body weight to drink like a fish, but do you ever listen?”
“Of course not. Every time I listen to you I wind up in a gunfight or a war.”
Before the younger American could answer they heard one knock, then two, on the stateroom door. So Captain Gringo rose to open it, and a scared-looking little Greek came in with a tray in each hand. He must not have spoken English or Spanish, since neither worked on him. But when Gaston took his tray as well and said, “Efcharisto,” the Greek grinned, nodded, and crawfished out, muttering all sorts of things Captain Gringo didn’t understand.
He locked the door again, sat down by Gaston with his own tray, and said, “I didn’t know you spoke Greek, Gaston.”
Gaston said, “I don’t. All I know is that ‘efcharisto’ means merci beaucoup, the ‘kore’ is the one who gets on the bottom and the ‘kouros’ is the one who gets on top, and, oh, oui, ‘skata’ means shit. That is enough to get laid in Alexandria, if one waves money about as one speaks. I think that one was a swish too.”
Captain Gringo didn’t care if the galley crew was swishy or not. He was more worried about what Gaston had said about Greek cooking. He dug in, put what looked like scrambled eggs and bacon in his mouth, and said, “Hey, this tastes just like bacon and eggs. Let’s try the home fries … Yeah, they’re good too. You’re full of shit about Greek cooking, Gaston.”
“Eh bien, I told you there was something sneaky about that Kantos. We may put in at some mainland port on the way to the Bahías. If we do, I vote we jump ship there and quit while we’re ahead! Our skipper is an obvious lunatic and the Greek cook can’t be a real Greek. Seriously, Dick, I’m really beginning to worry now!”
*
Gaston wasn’t the only one who was worried that night. Up in San José, secret-service agent Purvis was burning lots of midnight oil and tobacco as he tried to ge
t a handle on the general confusion. His phone was ringing again. He picked up on the third ring and heard, “Greystoke here, British Intelligence. We need a bit of a favor from Uncle Sam, Purvis.”
“Do tell? What can we do you for, Greystoke?”
“Your new battle cruiser Pittsburgh is paying courtesy calls at various Central American ports and is due to arrive at Limón within twenty-four hours, right?”
“Maybe. Keep talking,”
“Our own RN in these waters is spread a bit thin, and for some reason Whitehall sterns to think vessels left over from our French wars suffice to show the Union Jack in these parts. Your cruiser’s the fastest thing with guns we could get a message to in time. We’d like to, ah, borrow her for a sea chase.”
Purvis laughed incredulously and replied, “I’ll bet you would. But the USS Pittsburgh wasn’t built by the U.S. taxpayers for the Royal Navy, Pal. Who did you say you were chasing?”
There was a cautious pause. Then Greystoke said, “Same chaps you lot are. We’ve reason to believe Captain Gringo and Gaston Verrier just left Limón aboard one of those ubiquitous Greek spongers. We know for a fact the so-called schooner Peirene is faster than she looks. A British subject who should be ashamed of himself saw fit to install a torpedo-ram engine in her when he bought her from her original Greek owners a few months ago. But your Pittsburgh should be able to overtake her easily enough.”
Purvis frowned thoughtfully and said, “You’re still holding out on me, Pal. Walker and the Frenchman aren’t wanted by the British government, and I know for a fact you guys have hired them to pull some chestnuts out of the fire for you in the past!” Greystoke sighed and said,-“Those were the good old days. They’re working for the wrong side now. Actually, we don’t want to hang your renegade. We just want to question him and, above all, stop him! He seems to be up to something murky for a peer of the empire who also dabbles in international skullduggery. We’re willing to turn those two soldiers of fortune over to you as soon as we’re finished with them, of course. But if we don’t get cracking, they’ll be out of reach bloody soon!”
Purvis growled, “You’re all heart. You know we want those guys. But our navy may take some convincing. When did you say that schooner left Limón?”
“Around ten-thirty, on the ebb tide. What difference does that make, Old Bean?”
Purvis laughed harshly and said, “You just saved me an argument with our navy department. Walker and the Frenchman couldn’t have left Limón aboard anything at ten-thirty. At the time in question they were shooting the shit out of a team I sent to arrest them in the Limón favilla. So they’re still there, and, come morning and some light on the subject, we’ll be sending in some marines from the Limón consulate to do it right!”
There was another cautious silence on the other end of the line before Greystoke said, “That’s odd. Some of our lot was involved in a messy firefight in the same favilla tonight. You don’t suppose …?”
“Don’t be silly. Our guys tangled with natives, not your guys. Our field agent, Rumford, got a look at the guy who put him on the ground with a bullet in his leg. He was a ragged-ass guerrilla type, like the renegade usually teams up with.”
“Couldn’t they have left a rear guard as they headed for the schooner?”
“Surely you jest. I told you they shot the shit out of my boys and chased them clean out of the favilla! We’re talking about trained gunfighters, Greystoke. There’s only one guy in these parts who could have led such a neatly planned surprise attack, and they call him Captain Gringo. So that Greek sponger’s all yours. Unless, of course, you’re ready to deal with the cards face up on the table for a change.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t beg my pardon. Tell me what the fuck is going on! I’m not about to stick my neck out and request sea chases at the expense of the U.S. taxpayers until I know what in hell they’re chasing, and how come!”
“I told you, Captain Gringo and the Frenchman are—”
“Bullshit!” Purvis cut in, adding, “Who do you think you’re trying to green? If Walker was smoking up your guys about the same time he was smoking up ours, you know as well as I do he couldn’t have been fishing for sponges at the time. You made another slip just now, Buddy Boy. You said that schooner was owned by a British peer. Ergo, you want Uncle Sammy to take the heat instead of you when Queen Vickie gets around to asking awkward questions, right?”
“I assure you, stopping that vessel may well be in the best interests of your government as well as mine, Purvis.”
“So tell me about it.”
Greystoke couldn’t, of course. So Purvis said, “That’s what I thought,” and hung up.
Over at the German legation, the officer who’d been listening in on the tapped line didn’t hang up. He handed the earphones to his assistant, tore off the top sheet of the pad he’d been covering with shorthand notes, and headed for the office of his superior, schnell!
Oberst Karl Jager was a handsome middle-aged Prussian who would have been handsomer without the saber scar on his left cheek or if he’d at least smiled once in a blue moon. His face wore no expression at all as he took the sheet of foolscap from his underling and read it, leaning back in his severe desk chair behind his severe desk.
He didn’t have to have shorthand transcribed for him. Jager could read shorthand, Russian Cyrillic, and, if need be, Arabic. That was one of the reasons Der Kaiser had made him a colonel. The other reasons were that he was utterly dedicated to the German Empire and was a coldblooded killer who made even the bully-boy Kaiser a little nervous at times.
Jager put down the paper, stared thoughtfully up at his junior officer, and mused aloud, “Zo! A picture begins to emerge from the mists at last, nicht wahr? Our men were not the only people ambushed in the Limón favilla earlier tonight. Great minds must have been running in the same channels, if both the British and Americans had the same idea of nipping Hakim’s plans in the bud. Our men, too, reported shooting at least one native guerrilla, obviously led by this Captain Gringo. Gott im Himmel, such a fighting man he must be! Such a pity he is not on our side. We could surely use such a man when Der Tag arrives!”
His aide saw he was expected to say something. So he nodded and said, “He and the little Frenchman must be good indeed if they shot their way out of such a situation, Herr Oberst. I can see what must have happened, now. As you say, both the British and Americans were closing in on them as well as us. But of course they must have had lookouts posted and—”
“Never mind the past,” Jager cut in, adding, “It is the future we must deal with now. Greystoke may be right about die time that Greek vessel left port. On the other hand, he could be wrong. They are not as professional as we are and we don’t know when the Peirene left port.”
He rose and moved over to a big wall map to stare at it with his hands clasped behind him. His aide’s balls were itching, but one did not stand at ease around Oberst Jager unless he told one to, and he never did. Jager stared at the map for what felt like a million years to the aide’s balls. Then he said, “They could have waited. Or they could have put in further up the coast to wait for those soldiers of fortune. In any case, we know what the Peirene is up to so far from Greek waters, nicht wahr?”
The aide risked a sneering chuckle as he said, “We always know more than the stupid British and Americans, Herr Oberst. Shall I send a message to have the schooner cut off by one of our own disguised commerce raiders?”
Jager turned, stared at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a rock, and snapped, “Don’t be an idiot! If those soldiers of fortune are aboard the Peirene it can’t be stopped at sea without a fight, and if I wanted it sunk I would not have put my own agent on board. We are intelligence officers, not young Herrs engaged in blood sports, so let us act intelligent! If Hakim has those soldiers of fortune aboard for security, it may complicate our plans a bit, but not enough to change them much. Before we do anything about that salvage operation we must let them fi
nd that wreck for us! Nobody working for us seems to be able to pinpoint it among those unmapped keys and reefs of the Bahías. Hakim may not know where it is either. But if he does, it solves two problems for us. We’ll know there’s a leak in our navy and we’ll be able to salvage that U-boat ourselves!”
He went back to his desk and sat down again, growling, “We still don’t know why it went down in that storm. It wasn’t supposed to go down in any storm. We have to know what went wrong before Der Tag. For Der Kaiser is building a fleet of sister ships for Der Tag and … never mind. I am not going to serve mein Kaiser sitting here and talking to meinself. When does the next train leave for the east coast?”
“The last midnight train just left, Herr Oberst. There will not be another leaving before morning. But I can send someone over for your tickets right now.”
“Don’t bother. I always carry tickets. One never knows when such things may come in handy. But I can’t wait until morning. Have mein thoroughbred saddled and waiting for me by the time I change into civilian disguise. Wire our agents at Pejivalle and Guagimo to have fresh mounts waiting for me. I see I have some riding to do tonight if I have to take personal charge of this unangenehm case!”
So, less than an hour later, a telephone at British intelligence rang, and when Greystoke answered, one of his field agents reported, “Jager just hit the eastbound trail in mufti aboard a mount that’s sure to drop dead if he doesn’t slow down between here and Limón, sir. Do you want him ambushed on the trail by, ah, bandits? We’ll never get a better crack at the murderous bastard.”
Greystoke sighed and said, “No. Alert our people in Limón and let’s see if he can lead us to that perishing submarine. Our agents up in the Bahías certainly haven’t had any luck looking for the damned thing!”
*
Aboard the Peirene, the rain-soaked chinos of Captain Gringo and Gaston had dried by the time Kantos came to lead them to the ship’s mess. The young sea cook had changed to dungarees, a pea jacket, and a wool knit cap. When Captain Gringo asked how their skipper was feeling, Kantos said, “He’s not feeling anything. He’s out like a light. But I don’t know what we’ll do when we run out of ouzo. Papadakis won’t drink rum and we’re a long way from anyplace we can buy more ouzo.”
