Samuel Edwards - Neptune

She took the photograph and looked at him, her gaze steady. ‘Will you want help?’

‘I feel no crying need for assistance,’ he said, ‘but I’m always delighted by the companionship of a lovely lady.’

‘Don’t forget,’ she said, ‘that the bullet could have hit me.’

‘You’re invited,’ Porter said. ‘I assume you’re no stranger to these little celebrations.’

Her smile was tight.

‘Come straight back here after you’ve seen Kaspar, and make very sure you’re not under surveillance,’

‘I should alert my team.’

‘I took the liberty of getting in touch with them on your behalf

before I left Corporation headquarters. The Deacon will check in today, and the others will be on tap by morning, at the latest. Some of my people will be drifting in, too, so we could have ourselves a convention.’

‘You’re all right, Porter,’ Adrienne said. ‘I haven’t known many who live up to their reputations.’

‘We aim to please.’ His smile was fleeting. ‘One minor matter. What make of car did you borrow from Richards?’

‘Cadillac. Eldorado convertible.’

‘Too flashy, and leather is sometimes hard to clean. The motel has a car rental desk, so I’ll attend to the details. Now, before you go to the yard, you may want to call Franklin and Marie. Tell them you’ll be busy the rest of the day, and drop a hint that you may bring me back with you this evening. To be on the safe side, tell them it may be rather late.’

Adrienne attended to her call, then hurried off, and Porter waited for a time before he returned to the bar, ordered another beer and then sauntered into the small dining-room for lunch. A sample case rested on the floor beside him, and he looked like a salesman.

That afternoon other Corporation employees began to arrive, one by one, and he conferred with each of them in his room. Most had been assigned to Adrienne’s unit, so they waited until she returned to report to her, and she outlined their new duties. Two would join the shipyard security staff, one would work in the office and three others would become members of the yard labour force.

When Porter learned she had been too busy for lunch he brought her a sandwich from the motel dining-room.

Not until their subordinates had gone did she tell him, ‘Kaspar was very upset. It will take months before he recovers.’

‘He’ll co-operate, straight down the line?’

‘Oh, yes. He wanted to confess all to Franklin Richards, of course, but I twisted his arm.’ She reached into her shoulderbag for a sheet of paper in her own handwriting. ‘Here’s the Ras-mussen data. That’s the name he’s using, by the way.’

Porter studied the information in silence, then glanced at his watch. ‘Very neat timing. We’ll be on our way after you finish your sandwich.’

‘I’m glad it will soon be night,’ Adrienne said. ‘Capers are so much cosier in the dark,’

Port Angeles, Washington, was an unpretentious town, its summer population swollen by itinerant fishermen, longshoremen and lumber men. Most of them lived in quiet rooming houses of weatherbeaten wood on the edge of town, and because the atmosphere was conservative the lpcal authorities led serene lives. The part-time workers saved their money and went to Seattle when they wanted to raise hell.

A single street light burned at the end of the block, and the few pedestrians paid scant attention to the couple locked in an embrace in the front seat of the modest, three-year-old sedan. A scarf covered the woman’s blonde hair, her face was hidden by the man’s bulk, and occasional passersby scarcely noticed the pair. They appeared to be engaged in nonstop necking, and anyone watching them might have thought they were asleep.

When a dilapidated car turned on to the street behind them and slowed preparatory to a stop, however, they stirred.

‘We’re in business,’ Porter said, watching the other vehicle in the rear-view mirror.

Adrienne drew a snub-nosed .32 from her shoulderbag.

The other car halted, the lights were extinguished, and a husky young man with blond hair emerged. Still dressed in the uniform of a Richards Shipyard security guard, he took his time as he started past the other car en route to his rooming house.

Adrienne’s pistol jabbed him in the small of the back, and at the same instant Porter approached him from the front,

‘Palms up,’ Adrienne said. ‘All the way.’

The young man obediently raised his hands over his head.

Porter frisked him with brisk efficiency. ‘If it isn’t Rasmussen,’ he said. ‘The very chap we want to see. Come along, if you have nothing better to do.’

Adrienne ordered him to place his hands behind his back before he entered their car, then snapped a pair of handcuffs on him. Porter climbed behind the wheel, Rasmussen was placed between the couple and, with the muzzle of Adrienne’s gun pressed into his side, they drove off.

For at least a quarter of an hour no one spoke, and the silence made Rasmussen apprehensive. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘We’ll ask the questions,’ Adrienne said.

Again a silence descended.

After a drive of almost forty-five minutes they turned on to the road that led to the state park on the horn-shaped peninsula that jutted into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

Porter raised and lowered his headlights three times in rapid succession.

Flashlights that snapped on and off at either side of the road told him that the Deacon and Blackman were on duty, ready to turn away stray tourists who might wander into the area.

Porter drove to the end of the road.

‘Let’s stretch our legs, shall we?’ Adrienne kept the prisoner covered as he climbed out of the car.

Porter led the way up a fir-lined path, and did not halt until he came to a cliff that overlooked the Strait. He wandered close to the edge and peered down at the sea, hundreds of feet below, that pounded on the rocks at the base of the precipice. ‘Dear me,’ he murmured, ‘no place for someone with vertigo.’

‘I’m told,’ Adrienne said, ‘that when weather conditions are right one can see Vancouver Island without difficulty.’

‘If you’ll look inland, to your left, through the trees,’ Porter said, ‘there’s a splendid view of a grey limestone mansion. There’s a slight fog this evening, but you can still make out the balconies on the second and third floor bedrooms.’

Beads of sweat rolled down Rasmussen’s face. ‘I had to do it,’ he said. ‘You know that. A guy like me has to follow orders.’

Porter’s tone remained conversational. ‘Whose orders.’

‘My boss works out of Tacoma. His name is Eddie, and he lives—’

‘Never mind,’ Porter said. ‘Eddie was picked up today, and he just follows orders, too. I don’t suppose you’ve had the honour of making the acquaintance of Comrade Verschek?’

‘Never heard of him,’ Rasmussen said.

‘A pity. He knows you. But these Communist aristocrats are frightful snobs. Never mix with the hoi-polloi.’

‘I got nothing personal against you, Mr Porter. You ought to know that. I’m just—’

Adrienne’s pistol jabbed him in the ribs with such force that he gasped.

‘Manners, manners,’ she said.

‘I don’t hate you, either,’ Porter said, ‘although I happen to loathe the system of government you represent. My feelings towards you might become positively benevolent if you’ll tell me something I’m eager to know. Why have you been working in the Richards security department?’

Rasmussen seemed puzzled by the question. ‘We got to have jobs. Someplace in our assigned territory. Guys like me don’t get paid all that much by the USSR unless we do a special job, so we have to support ourselves.’