'What's there?'
'Nothing.' He grinned. 'And everything,' he added. 'It's jungle. The nice thing about being a savage,' he said sardonically, 'is that I'm much more capable of coping with the jungle than our so-called civilized playmates out there. Once I've distracted them from you, I'll have no trouble losing them.'
'And then what will you do?'
'Head straight back to the Bulalwa country. I've become too prominent in Salisbury. My usefulness as an agent there is over. So I'll just go home to my five brides. If you should encounter British Intelligence in your travels, you might convey my resignation.'
'Will do,' I promised. 'But I hate to see you taking a chance like this for me.'
'The real danger comes later.' He rolled his eyes. 'Surviving the white Rhodesians is as nothing compared with the problem of surviving the greetings of five frustrated Bulalwa ladies.' The pigmy clasped my hand. 'Goodbye, Mr. Victor,' he said.
'Goodbye, Lagula.' I watched him crawl off, thinking to myself that there went the biggest man I'd ever met. I'd have bet my right arm that he was more than enough of a man to satisfy the quintet awaiting his return. And even if I was wrong, I knew he'd die trying.
Five minutes passed, and there were shouts and gunfire off to my right. I waited for the running footsteps to pass my hiding place, and then I dashed across the road and started climbing the fence. I was almost to the top when I heard Lagula's mocking laugh. There were loud curses then, and more gunfire, but as I dropped down to the ground on the other side, that indomitable, nose-thumbing laugh sounded again and I was reassured. If Lagula had gotten this far, I was sure he'd make it all right.
I trotted down the airstrip, past the hangars, and to the back of the main terminal building. I peered through the window. There were Rhodesian cops checking people's papers at all the entrances and exits. I looked at my watch – 11:55. I ducked around to the other side of the terminal building and spotted a plane loading there. I was just in time to see Vlankov boarding it. A moment later one of the uniformed cargo attendants climbed into the belly of the plane with a large package. From the shape and size of the package, I guessed the last-minute delivery of the Nepalese phallus had been accomplished despite the demise of the man originally entrusted to see to it. Highman must have managed to make other arrangements.
I waited until I saw the ground crew start to remove the wheeled staircase from the side of the plane before I dashed up to it. 'You're late, sir,' the stewardess chided me as she checked my ticket. 'You almost
missed your flight.'
'Sorry. I was unavoidably detained,' I told her.
'That's all right.' She smiled pleasantly. 'Seat number eight in the back, please.'
Vlankov's face was a study in astonishment as he saw me coming down the aisle. I gave him a jaunty wave, and the astonishment changed to a snarl. I didn't see what he had to be miffed about. He'd been tailing me, and now it looked like I was tailing him. Turnabout is fair play, isn't it?
I half-dozed through most of the flight to Ankara. When we landed, I didn't even try to pretend I wasn't following Vlankov. I didn't have to follow him far. He never left the airport terminal.
When he first sat down there, I strolled over to the window looking out on the field and divided my attention between the plane from which we'd just disembarked and Vlankov. The package I'd spotted before was unloaded and placed to one side of the field with some other cargo. But most of the cargo was loaded on hand trucks and wheeled around to the back of the terminal. I guessed that the package was slated to be transferred to another plane.
I was right. About two hours later Vlankov got up, and at the same moment a baggage handler fetched the package and loaded it into another plane which had just taxied up to pick up passengers. Vlankov was now standing at the line-up waiting for a gate to open. The sign above the gate said
I was lucky. There was plenty of space available on the plane. I bought a ticket without any trouble and followed Vlankov aboard.
When we landed in Oslo, I began to think that Vlankov and I might be involved in a game of tag on a global scale. Again he didn't leave the airport. Again the package I thought contained the phallus was held with other cargo waiting to be loaded on other planes.
A half-hour in the Oslo airport, and then Vlankov got up abruptly. A flight for Stockholm had just been announced. He joined the queue at the gate where it was loading. Why hadn't he gone directly from Ankara to Stockholm, I wondered. There were more flights out of there to Stockholm than there were to Oslo. Still, I didn't have time to figure it out. I hurried to buy a ticket on the Stockholm flight.
Standing at the ticket counter, I watched Vlankov pass through the gate and board the plane. With my ticket in my hand, I started to follow him. But as I came through the gate, I spotted the package I'd been watching still sitting off to one side of the field.
'Has all the cargo been loaded on this plane?' I asked the stewardess.
'Yes, sir.' She looked at me curiously.
'Thanks. I've changed my mind.' I turned away and went back into the airport terminal. There was no sign of Vlankov.
That being the case, there was nothing else to do but watch the package. So I watched it for about a half-hour. Then it was plucked up by a hand truck and loaded onto an old four-motor, bucket-seat plane that had just wheeled up alongside the building.
I inquired at the information desk and found out that the plane was bound for Hammerfest, a seaport on the Barents Sea at the northern tip of Norway. It was mainly used for cargo, I was told, but it did carry passengers when the need arose. At most only a few people took advantage of this during any one flight. And tonight, my informant believed, there was only one ticket sold for the flight.
I made it two. I boarded the rickety crate and strapped myself into a bucket seat facing the door. It was almost take-off time when Vlankov finally showed. The look on his face was priceless when he saw me sitting there waiting for him.
'Do you play gin rummy?' I asked.
'Then it's a pity we don't have any cards,' I sighed.
'I do.' He produced a deck and riffled the cards in my face challengingly.
'Deal,' I told him as the plane taxied down the runway and into the air.
'Why are you following me?' he asked as I dealt.
'Why were you following me back in Salisbury?' I countered.
'I asked you first.'
'Shut up and play cards,' I advised him.
He was silent for a few moments, but then he spoke again. 'We will bury you!' he quoted, sneering.
'Gin.' I smiled at him pleasantly.
He scored it, bared his teeth, and re-dealt the pasteboards. 'Look,' he took a different tone. 'We are together in this. No matter what our feelings about the struggle between Russia and America, can't we put them aside and cooperate for the good of both our countries? Why shouldn't we share what we know?'
'Great idea. You first,' I told him.
'But since you are following me,' he said smoothly, 'it is you who should speak first. That will prove your good intentions.'
'All right.' I readily agreed. 'The fact is that I've stumbled on something which should really be of vital interest to you.'
'It's just this,' I told him conspiratorially. 'Russians are the world's lousiest gin rummy players.'
'Capitalist imperial pig!' he sputtered.
'Gin.' I proved my point.
'You American's don't really want world peace,' he muttered, dealing again.
'And you Russians do?' I picked up my cards and discarded one.
'Sure you do.' I picked up his discard and fitted it neatly into my hand. 'A piece of Europe, a piece of Southeast
