smiled faintly and turned away. He beard a noise. The captain heard it too. They went to the side of the bridge and looked out, and then they understood. Down on the deck, the men were cheering.
Franz Albrecht Pedler sat in his office on the outskirts of Wiesbaden and scratched his snowy-white head. The telegram from Angeluzzi. e Bianco in Genoa, translated from the Italfan by Pedler's multilingual secretary, was perfectly plain and at the same time totally incomprehensible. It said: PLEASE ADVISE SOONEST OF NEW EXPECTED DELIVERY DATE OF YELLOWCAKE. As far as Pedler knew there was nothing wrong with the old expected delivery date, which was a couple of days away. Clearly Angeluzzi e Bianco knew something he did not. He had already wired the shippers: IS YELLOWCAKE DELAYED? He felt a little annoyed with them. Surely they should have informed him as well as the receiving company if there was a delay. But maybe the Italians had their wires crossed. Pedler had formed the opinion during the war that you could never trust Italians to do what they were told. He had thought they might be different nowadays, but perhaps they were the same. He stood at his window, watching the evening gather over his little cluster of factory buildings. He could almost wish he had not bought the uranium. The deal with the Israeli Army, all signed, sealed and delivered, would keep his company in profit for the rest of his life, and he no longer needed to speculate. . His secretary came in with the reply from the shippers, already translated: COPARELLI SOLD TO SAVILE SHIPPING OF ZURICH WHO NOW HAVE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR CARGO. WE ASSURE YOU OF COMPLETE RELIABILITY OF PURCHASERS. There followed the phone number of Savile Shipping and the words SPEAK TO PAPAGOPOLOUS. Pedler gave the telegram back to the secretary. 'Would you can that number in Zurich and get this Papagopolous on the line please?' She came back a few minutes later. 'PapagDpolous will call you back.' Pedler looked at his watch. 'I suppose I'd better wait for his call. I might as well get to the bottom of this now that I've started.' Papagopolous came through ten minutes later. Pedler said to him, 'Im told you are now responsible for my cargo on board the Coparelli. I've had a cable from the Italians asking for a new delivery date-is there some delay?'
'Yes, there is,' Papagopolous said. 'You should have been informed-I'm terribly sorry.' The man spoke excellent German but it was stiff clear he was not a German. It was also clear he was not really terribly sorry. He went on, 'qbe Coparelli's oil pump broke down at sea and she is becalmed. We're making arrangements to have your cargo delivered as early as possible.' 'Well, what am I to say to Angeluzzi e Bianco?' 'I have told them that I will let them know the new date just as soon as I know it myself,' Papagopolous. said. 'Please leave it to me. I will keep you both informed.' 'Very well. Goodbye.' Odd, Pedler thought as he hung up the phone. Looking out of the window, he saw that all the workers had left. The staff car parking lot was empty. except for his Mercedes and his secretary's Volkswagen. What the hell, time to go home. He put on his coat The uranium was insured. If it was lost he would get his money back. He turned out the office lights and helped his secretary on with her coat, then he got into his car and drove home to his wife.
Stiza Ashford did not close her eyes all night Once again, Nat Dickstein's life was in danger. Once again, she was the only one who could warn him. And this time she could not deceive others into helping her. She had to do it alone. It was simple. She had to go to the Karld's radio room, get rid of Aleksandr, and call the Coparelli. ril never do it, she thought. The ship is full of KGB. Aleksandr is a big man. I want to go to sleep. Forever. It!8 impossible. I can't do it Oh, Nathaniel. At four A.M. she put on leans, a sweater, boots and an oilskin. The full bottle of vodka she had taken from the mess'to help me sleep'~-went in the inside pocket of the oilskhL She had to know the Karla!s position. She went up to the bridge. The first officer smiled at her. 'Can't sleep?' he said in English, 'The suspense is too much,' she told him. The BOAC Big Smile. Is your seat belt fastened, sir? Just a little turbulence, nothing to worry about. She asked the first officer, 'Where are we?'
He showed her their position on the map, and the estimated position of the Copareffl. 'What's that in numbersr, she said. He told her the coordinates, the course, and the speed of the Karla. She repeated the numbers once aloud and twice more in her head, trying to burn them into her brain. 'It's fascinating,' she said brightly. 'Everyone on a ship has a special skill ... Will we reach the Coparell! on time, do you think?' 'Oh, yes,' he said. 'Tben-boom.' She looked outside. It was completely black-there were no stars and no ships' lights in sight. The weather was getting worse. 'You're shivering,' the lbst officer said. 'Are you cold?' 'Yes,' she said, though it was not the weather making her shiver. 'When is Colonel Rostov getting upr 'He's to be called at 6.' 'I think I'll try to get another hour's sleep.' She went down to the radio room. Aleksandr was there. 'Couldn't you sleep, either?' she asked him. 'No. I've sent my number two to bed.' She looked over the radio equipment. 'Aren't you listening to the Strvmberg anymorer, 'rhe signal stopped. Either they found the beacon, or they sank the ship. We think they sank her.' Suza sat down and took out the bottle of vodka. She unscrewed the cap. 'Have a drink.' She handed him the bottle. 'Are you coldr, 'A little.' 'Your hand is shaking.' He took the bottle and put it to his lips, taking a long swallow. 'Ah, thank you.' He handed it back to her. Suza drank amouthful for courage. It was rough Russian vodka, and it burned her throat, but it had the desired effect. She screwed down the cap and waited for Aleksandr to turn his back to her. 'Tell me about life in England,' he said conversationally. 'Is it true that the poor starve while the rich get fat?' 'Not ma y people starve,' she said. Turn around, damn it, turn around. I can't do this facing you. 'But there is great inequality.' 'Are there different laws for rich and poor?'
'There's a saying: 'the law forbids rich and poor alike to steal bread and sleep under bridges.' ' Aleksandr laughed. 'In the Soviet Union people are equal, but some have privileges. Will you live in Russia now?' 'I don't know.' Suza opened the bottle and passed it to him again. He took a long swallow and gave it back. 'In Russia you won't have such clothes.' Ile time was passing too quickly, she had to do it now. She stood up to take the bottle. Her oilskin was open down the front. Standing before him, she tilted her head back to drink from the bottle, knowing he would stare at her breasts as they jutted out. She allowed him a good look, then shifted her grip on the bottle and brought it down as hard as she could on the top of his head. There was a sickening thud as it hit him. He stared at her dazedly. She thought: You're supposed to be knocked out! His eyes would not shut. What do I do? She hesitated, then she gritted her teeth and hit him again. His eyes closed and he slumped in the chair. Suza got hold of his feet and pulled. As he came off the chair his head hit the deck, making Suza wince, but then she thought: It's just as well, bell stay out longer. She dragged him to a cupboard. She was breathing fast, from fear as well as exertion. From her jeans pocket she took a long piece of baling twine she had picked up in the stem. She tied Aleksandr's feet, then turned him over and bound his hands behind his back. She had to get him into the cupboard. She glanced at the door. Oh, God, don't let anyone come in nowl She put his feet in, then straddled his unconscious body and tried to lift him. He was a heavy man. She got him half upright, but when she tried to shift him into the cupboard he slipped from her grasp. She got behind him to try again. She grasped him beneath the armpits and lifted. This way was better: she could lean his weight against her chest while she shifted her grip. She got him half upright again, then wrapped her arms around his chest and inched sideways. She had to go into the cupboard with him, let him go, then wriggle out from underneath him. He was in a sitting position now, his feet against one side of thecupboard, his knees bent, and his back against the opposite side. She checked his bonds: still tight. But he could still shoutl She looked about for something to stuff in his mouth to gag him. She could see nothing. She could not leave the room to search for something because he might come round in the meantime. The only thing that she could think of was her pantyhose. It seemed to take her forever to do it. She had to pull off her borrowed sea boots, take off her jeans, pull her pantyhose Off, put her jeans on, get into her boots, then crumple the nym Ion cloth into a ball and stuff it between his slack jaws. She could not close the cupboard door. 'Oh, God!' she said out loud. It was Aleksandes elbow that was in the way. His bound hands rested on the floor of the cupboard, and because of his slumped position his arms were bent outward. No matter how she pushed and shoved at the door that elbow stopped it from closing. Finally she had to get back into the cupboard with him and turn, him slightly sideways so that he leaned into the comer. Now his elbow was out of the way. She looked at him a moment longer. How long did people stay knocked out? She had no idea. She knew she should hit him again, but she was afraid of killing him. She went and got the bottle, and even lifted it over her head; but at the last moment she lost her nerve, put the bottle down, and slammed the cupboard door. She looked at her wristwatch and gave a cry of dismay: it was ten minutes to live. The Coparelli would soon appear on the Karld's radar screen, and Rostov would be here, and she would have lost her chance. She sat down at the radio desk, switched the lever to TMNSMrr, selected the set that was already tuned to the Coparelli's wavelength and leaned over the microphone. 'CAftg Coparelli, come in please.' She waited. Nothing. 'Calling Coparelli, come in please.' Nothing. 'Damn you to hell, Nat Dickstein, speak to me. Nathaniell'
Nat Dickstein stood in the amidships hold of the CopareHi, staring at the drums of sandy metallic ore that had cost so much. They looked nothing special-just large black oil drums with the word PLUMBAT stenciled on their sides. He would have liked to open one and feel the stuff, just to know what it was like, but the lids were heavily sealed. He felt suicidal. Instead of the elation of victory, he had only bereavement. He could not rejoice over the
