Роберт Фиш - The Wager

Jamison’s smile widened. His third finger bent down to join the other two.

“That’s the best part of the scheme,” he said smugly, and wondered why he had never thought of applying to the CIA, which obviously needed men of his caliber. “I know a very sure way to be positive both men are out of the way during the searches.” He reviewed his scheme and his face fell a bit as he suddenly remembered the young red-haired youth. “Of, course,” he added, “I shall need your good offices, but I’m sure we can rely on them, can’t we?”

Young Billy Standish sat at the table for two he had arranged in the dining room and glowered. It was not simply that the captain, at the last moment and without even a written invitation, had invited Anita to be his guest and dine in his quarters, thus depriving Billy of a meal he was positive might lead to something, but what on earth had ever induced the man to ask that Jamison along, too? And nobody else? Billy knew, because he had stood sulking outside the door to the captain’s quarters for fifteen minutes, divided between a desire to break in and demand the truth, and plain hunger. Hunger had won, but Billy still didn’t like the setup. He chewed moodily, scarcely aware of the quantities, wondering what on earth they could be talking about in the captain’s cabin.

The trio he was thinking of so glumly had finished their dessert; the captain’s orderly had cleared away the dishes and was bringing out the coffee when the captain cleared his throat in a manner that indicated that unfortunately the time had come to get on with the silly business to be discussed.

“Miss—”

Anita smiled brightly. “Call me Anita, Captain.”

“Thank you. With pleasure.” The captain beamed, pleased by the interruption. It seemed to him a rather shoddy business to involve a lovely young lady like this in Jamison’s scheme, but it was either that or the strong possibility of a few days on the carpet in New York. He sighed and motioned the orderly to bring cigars and brandy, and then turned back to the girl. Best to get on with it and get it over with. “Well, Anita, the fact is this gentleman here, Mr. Jamison, is with the United States Government. He... well, he would like your help.”

Anita looked at Jamison curiously. Throughout the dinner she had felt there was something faintly familiar about the man, and now it came to her. This was the man in the perfectly awful clothes who had been sitting with Kek in the 66 Roof when Billy Standish, for reasons never disclosed either at the time or since, had walked over and hustled the man around a corner, to return a few moments later dusting his hands. This could be very interesting. She looked at the captain.

“The government? My help?”

“Yes,” said the captain, pleased that the first step in the nasty business was over with. He poured himself a brandy and then suddenly remembered his manners, offering it to Anita. She shook her head and waited. The captain didn’t bother to offer anything to Jamison, but drank his drink. “Well,” he said, “you see—” He paused, sighed, and turned to his left. “Possibly you’d better explain...”

“I think it would be best,” Jamison said coldly, and looked at Anita in his most official manner. In his evening clothes he knew he cut a distinguished figure, and he wanted his voice to be equally impressive. “Anita, I am with the Treasury Department of the United States Government. There is, on this ship, a man who is an international smuggler—”

“No!” Anita’s eyes widened in alarm; her hand automatically went to her throat, as if to protect the small, heart-shaped locket there. Had Billy Standish seen the gesture, it is almost sure he would have instantly abandoned his charcoal-broiled sirloin, medium, with mashed potatoes and peas on the side, to go to her rescue, but fortunately for his appetite he was unable to.

Jamison smiled a fatherly smile; had Billy seen it he would have called it wolfish

“No, no! There’s nothing to worry about. It’s simply that you can be useful to us in helping to trap him. And/or his accomplice.”

Anita sounded more horrified than ever. “He has an accomplice?”

“We’re not positive, but we’re fairly sure.” Jamison made it sound as if there were files upon files of proof merely awaiting someone’s inspection. “However, with your help—”

“My help?” Anita repeated. She had never looked or sounded so helpless in her life.

“Yes,” Jamison said firmly, and got down to business. “This man — his name is Huuygens, by the way — and a second man who boarded here at Barbados just this morning — his name is André Martins — are the two we are talking about. They stole a valuable carving — a Chang Tzu — but never mind — from the National Gallery on the island of Ile Rocheux the night before last, and they intend, one or the other, to take it past Customs in the United States when we dock.” Jamison’s jaw tightened in manly determination; his eyes became as steely as he could make them, challenging John Wayne at his best. “Or, rather, they intend to try. I intend to stop them.” He added, a bit weakly, “With your help, of course.”

“Terrible people,” Anita murmured and looked at him wonderingly. “But what can I possibly do to help?”

“It is necessary to have their cabins searched—”

“You are suggesting that I—”

“No, no!” Jamison wished he could remember exactly how he had practiced this conversation. “What I mean is,” he said patiently (after all, this was just a young woman who had little experience of life), “we need someone to keep these two men occupied while the security officer of the ship, together with myself, go through their things.” He hastened to correct any possible misapprehension. “It isn’t that I have any physical fears of the consequences of being interrupted, but we have gone to great lengths to prevent these men from knowing we suspect them at all, and we don’t want their suspicions aroused at this stage of the game. Do you understand?”

“I... I think so. You wish me — to act — how do you say? As a decoy for these men?” If Jamison could speak in fits and starts, so could she, Anita thought.

“Not a decoy,” Jamison explained, trying not to sound testy. “All you would have to do would be to allow one or both of them — both of them, preferably — to buy you drinks. Would that be so hard?”

“If they were decent, upright people, no,” Anita said, and looked him evenly in the eye. “But what you are suggesting is not nice. You have already told me these are hardened criminals.”

Jamison bit his lip. “They are not hardened criminals! They are—” A thought came. “Well, actually you know one of them. He’s the man whom you stumbled against the second day out, remember? The day we were passing Cape Hatteras? The one who bought you a drink.”

Anita’s finely chiseled nostrils flared with contempt. “That one! The things he said!”

“Then all the more reason for helping us put the man in prison, where he belongs,” Jamison said reasonably, pleased with his argument and already phrasing it in his mind for his final report together with his other acts of brilliance.

The captain felt he ought to say something; he wanted to get the whole silly matter finished and done with. “It’s for the government,” he added simply. He had a sudden feeling that if he explained to Anita about the green peppers and the tomatoes, she would understand and be only too willing to help, but it was doubtful if Jamison would have considered the argument consistent with governmental dignity.

Anita considered the matter carefully, a slight frown on her face.

“But you see,” she said, “I slapped him. Very, very hard. And with good reason. How could I now explain to him why I would allow him to buy me a drink?” She suddenly smiled and clapped her hands. “I know! I will tell him I am very sorry I lost my temper. I will tell him a pleasure cruise is no place to carry a grudge.” Her newly acquired animation faded; she looked at Jamison anxiously. “Do you think he’ll believe me?”