Роберт Фиш - The Wager

“Not me—” André began hastily.

Anita touched her glass to his. “I am, darling. I’m merely following orders. You see, I’ve become a government agent.”

Despite his iron control, Kek could not help but stare. “A what? ”

“Keep smiling, darling. Drink your drink. I said, I’ve become a government agent. A spy of sorts, you might say. Of course I don’t get paid for this job, but in the future I imagine I could ask for a fee. This is more or less training, I suppose—”

“Will you please tell me—”

“Right now. You see” — Anita became serious — “last night I had dinner in the captain’s quarters, and there was a man there named Jamison who is — a G-man, I think they call him. Anyway, he told me there was a dangerous smuggler on board, with another man he was sure was the smuggler’s confederate, and he wanted to search their cabins, but in order to do so without being unpleasantly interrupted, he needed some way to keep them occupied while he went through their luggage and drawers and things like that.” She smiled. “My job is to occupy you from now until noon.”

André’s face had hardened. He threw his drink down his throat and started to rise, his huge hands opening and closing, but Kek put a hand on the large man’s massive arm and urged him back into his seat.

“Relax,” he said, and sipped his drink. He put it down and looked at Anita, his eyes twinkling. “Go on.”

“That’s it, darling. I thought you’d want to know. I’m supposed to keep you here drinking until noon, and time is passing, so if either one or both of you would like to get down to your cabins before he musses up all your clothes—”

“And be responsible for your failing on your very first assignment?” Kek sounded shocked. “They’d drum you out of the corps, and you wouldn’t get that raise, either. Besides,” Kek added, “what would Max say if he heard you couldn’t keep the attention of two men for a mere hour? He’d think your attraction was only a flash in the pan, and then what of all your hopes when Rose and I go off with the grandchildren?”

André was looking confused by the entire exchange. Anita was also frowning in surprise at Kek’s attitude. She went on slowly.

“Jamison also said he’s made a complete study of possible hiding places in shipboard cabins — he looks the type — and he’s sure he can do a complete search of each cabin in half an hour. André is scheduled first and then you’re next, from eleven thirty until noon.” She looked at Kek anxiously. “Are you sure neither one of you has anything you don’t want him to find?”

“‘My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure,’” Kek quoted a bit sententiously. “Tennyson.” He winked at Anita and sipped.

“I’m going down and show this character my strength!” André said fiercely.

“There’s a security officer with him,” Anita warned.

“Good! I’m in the mood—”

“Sit down, André,” Kek said, and pushed the other back. He smiled. “Let the boys have their fun. After all, if a man’s profession is searching, he has to take his practice wherever he can find it. Besides, you don’t have anything to hide, do you?” He thought a moment. “Except those shirts you bought yesterday?”

“But—”

“Besides,” Kek went on, “the poor man has been manhandled so often on the case so far, I’m beginning to feel sorry for him. And he’s only been manhandled by amateurs so far. Let the poor soul alone.”

André sank back, confused. Anita looked at Kek ruefully.

“And I thought I was being so clever about the whole thing.”

“You were, sweet, you were. And deserve another drink for your successful efforts. The one thing I hate to see,” Kek admitted sadly, “is a thirsty spy. And, of course, the thirsty victims of a thirsty spy. So why don’t we all have another round of drinks and wait calmly for noon to come around, when we can have lunch? Just in case Mr. Jamison isn’t quite as rapid as he thinks he is?”

He raised an arm for the waiter.

With the door to André’s stateroom closed and locked behind them, Jamison and the security officer — whose name was L. James Rafferty — stood and looked about themselves a moment in the gloom; then Jamison walked swiftly to the porthole, throwing back the heavy drapes. The schedule did not permit of daydreaming. Brilliant sunlight streamed in, brightening the already-made-up twin beds, the warmly upholstered furniture, and the colorful pictures on the paneled walls. Jamison nodded, satisfied with the arena, and turned to Rafferty.

“Let’s go!” He might have been a Marine drill sergeant from his tone, but Rafferty was no recruit. The security officer bit back a yawn and looked at Jamison curiously. “You take the dresser and the vanity,” Jamison ordered. “Don’t forget to take out the drawers completely and look behind them. I’ll cover the closets and the bathroom first. Then we’ll look under the chairs and get to the luggage last. We’ll do that together.”

Rafferty shrugged and bent down to the dresser. His instructions from the captain had been to follow Jamison’s orders within reason, and to see to it that Jamison didn’t break anything. Jamison disappeared into the bathroom to reappear a moment later, nodding his head at confirmation of his study in depth of his own facilities.

“Nothing there except shaving things and a toothbrush. The tub is even with the floor and the toilet has no flush tank; operates on pressure, so there’s no place to hide anything there. No closets in the bathroom. The medicine chest is empty.”

The security officer, well aware of these facts, continued to pull out empty drawers, look behind them, and replace them. Jamison emerged from one closet and entered a second. He came out carrying a life jacket, a gleam in his eye.

“Something I overlooked before; life vests. Proves even the best of us can slip up, regardless of practice. Here, give me a knife while I slit this thing open...”

Rafferty was on his feet in an instant. In his mind, cutting and breaking were in the same category. “Hey! That’s ship’s property. You can’t cut it open. Ships sinks and some character jumps overboard in a bum life jacket, he can drown! Anyways,” he added, “there’s lifeboat drill tomorrow. The guy sees his life jacket all cut up, he’s going to know somebody was in here today.”

“That’s true,” Jamison conceded a bit regretfully. He scratched his nose. “Well, maybe we can just tell by feel.” He pushed on the hard kapok and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, what we’re looking for is too big for these narrow pockets.”

“Incidentally,” Rafferty said, now that the subject had been broached, “what are we looking for?”

“A package. So big.” Jamison’s hands quickly outlined the various dimensions. “Probably wrapped in colored paper from one of the Barbados stores. It has an ivory carving inside, stolen from one of the other islands a few nights ago.”

“Oh. Okay, so long as I know,” Rafferty said, and moved to the vanity.

Jamison tipped over the two chairs and then put them back. He got to his knees to peer under the beds; in his schedule, peering under the beds followed dresser, vanity, bathroom and closets, and looking under chairs. He had never practiced it before, but he was sure it was the most effective progression. He came to his feet and was about to move to the suitcase, the pièce de résistance to any old Customs man, when he happened to glance upwards. A gleam came to his eye.

“Ah! An overhead bunk, folded into the wall! My stateroom doesn’t have one. I should have considered the possibility, though...” He was speaking mostly to himself. He reached up, twisted the handle, and tugged downward sharply.