Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

For Anders, Newman guessed, this was a major speech as he walked with the Pole past another huge storage shed. Inside open doors he saw agricultural machinery, painted a bright orange and arranged in neat rows. The rain had slackened -was now a heavy drizzle. Overhead the clouds were stationary, the colour of molten lead.

Anders moved with a heavy deliberate tread, staring straight ahead, saying nothing. Beyond the shed Newman saw a freighter moored to the dock, its single smoke-stack carrying the Polish emblem. Aft it had a high bridge and the ship was equipped with a small forest of radar and other sophisticated devices.

It struck him it had the appearance of a spy ship. Forward an immense hold was open as loading proceeded. Suspended from a crane inside nets he recognized the long wooden boxes he had travelled with all the way from Leipzig. Stahl's truck, backed to near the edge of the wharf, was being unloaded by men stacking the boxes out in the open. Another team heaved them inside another of the huge carrying nets. The Skorpions for Cuba were going on board.

`Don't slip on the gangplank,' Anders warned.

It was the first remark he'd made since leaving the hut. At the foot of the gangway – it had a hand-rail on either side – stood a burly seaman. He saluted Anders, who merely nodded. The captain then ran up the incline like a two-year-old. Newman followed more cautiously.

He gripped the rail with his right hand and its surface was greasy, as it was underfoot. Anders waited for him, then led the way to the starboard side, out of sight of the loading. He stopped amidships, looked round, saw no one was about, lifted the lid of a huge wooden box screwed down to the deck. The cable locker.

`Get in. Move!' he growled.

Newman swung himself over the side and dropped into the box. He landed on something soft which gave under his weight. Anders reached forward a large hand, pressed him down by the top of his shoulder. The lid was swung closed on its hinges and Newman was crouched in darkness.

Hauling out of the pocket of his oilskins the torch he had been given by Stahl, he switched it on and examined his new quarters. The soft thing he'd landed on was a rubber dinghy equipped with a small outboard motor.

Thud! Newman nearly jumped out of his skin. Then he realized something heavy had been dropped on the lid, some object Anders had dumped to discourage anyone from exploring inside the locker. He went on with his examination. There was a lot to discover.

A long length of thick rope was coiled inside the dinghy, rope knotted at intervals. He found one end was attached with a reef knot to a metal ring at the rear of the dinghy near the outboard. It puzzled him, but he went on with his exploration.

Unwrapping two packets wrapped in a Polish newspaper he found one contained a bottle of mineral water and a bottle of vodka. Inside the other was a loaf of rye bread, a hunk of cheese and a knife for slicing the bread. Bread and some cheese – at least he was keeping to a regular diet.

Tucked into a pocket in the side of the dinghy he found a torch, a marlin spike and, inside tissue paper, a compass. 'I got everything ready,' Anders had said. A methodical man, Captain Anders. A practical man. But already he had reminded Newman of a British captain in the Merchant Marine he'd once known. The men who commanded ships all over the world were of a similar breed, irrespective of the political system they happened to live under. They were either very good or very bad. In Newman's opinion Anders came top of the poll in the former category.

Newman took only a small nip of the vodka. He followed it with a larger gulp of the mineral water. Immediately he'd swallowed the water he cursed his folly. There was a little matter of the inevitable call of nature. Then he remembered Anders and continued his search. He found the enamel jug with the tight-fitting top tucked under the outboard. Now all he had to do was to sit it out. Literally.

He woke up aching, cramped and with a crick in his neck. Newman was lying in a foetal position, curled up inside the dinghy. His first thought was that the Wroclaw was moving, its engines ticking over with a steady hum. The sea had to be very calm – the vessel seemed to glide over the surface.

His second thought was the time. He checked his watch by the illuminated hands. 7 p.m. It couldn't be. He switched on the torch resting against his hand. It was 7 p.m. He recalled that the last thing he'd done before he must have dropped off into deep sleep was to wind up the watch. Then it had registered 7 a.m. He had slept for twelve hours.

That worried him – until he realized he was ravenously hungry. He made himself sandwiches with the rye bread and the cheese. As he ate, pausing occasionally to drink some mineral water, he tried to think what to do next, to work out the likely position of the Wroclaw. He realized very quickly it was impossible – he'd no idea when it had sailed from Rostock.

His next problem was to decide whether to eat all the food or whether to keep some in reserve. Instinct told him to curb his appetite. Then he remembered what Falken had said. Eat, sleep, pee – when you can. Something like that. He devoured all the bread and cheese, but drank only half the water. He didn't touch the vodka. It might dull his senses, make him light-headed.

Finishing his meal, he found the enamel jug, crouched to relieve himself, then put back the lid firmly. It had a rubber ring which made it practically watertight. Just as well – in case of spillage. He began to feel quite normal, but he ached in every limb.

Despite his confined space, he managed to do some exercises, stretching his arms, his legs, flexing and unflexing his fingers. Then, kneeling, he reached up and gently pushed at the lid of the cable locker. It wouldn't move, solid as concrete. This gave him a claustrophobic feeling and he recalled experiencing the same sensation in milder form when he was travelling inside Stahl's truck. God, he was going to be glad to get out in the open, to be able to move around again.

The vessel continued steadily on course, moving incredibly smoothly. The seaman who had shared the but with him inside Rostock docks had been right in his forecast. Smooth as a millpond. The Baltic, from what he had heard, was rarely like this. That was, if he was still in the Baltic. Could the vessel have turned north, passed Copenhagen, and moved up into the Kattegat between Denmark and Sweden?

There was no way he could calculate his present location. He had no data to work on. The time of departure from Rostock. The speed of the vessel. He began to feel disorientated. No idea where he was. Trapped inside this box. He took a deep breath as he had a moment of panic. That was when he heard someone moving the heavy object off the lid.

He did two things instinctively. Switched off the torch. Grasped the marlin spike, which he now realized Anders had left him as a weapon. He crouched, ready to spring, staring up. The lid was lifted.

The evening sky was a brilliant azure. Silhouetted against it was the wide-shouldered Anders. He dropped a folded sheet into the locker. He spoke quickly, his voice low.

`The ship will be stopping shortly – to make a transhipment. I don't know what it is – something to do with the bloody Russkies. Keep very quiet. I've arranged with my Chief Engineer to fake engine trouble when they've finished their business. That's when you leave. I'll be back..

`Where the hell are we?'

`In the Bight of Lubeck. In DDR coastal waters. Be ready to move fast when I come back. I must go..

The lid was swung closed on its hinges. Very quietly. Newman waited for the thud! of the heavy object being replaced. Nothing. Anders had either forgotten (unlikely) or someone had appeared and the Pole had not wished to draw attention to the cable locker.