Samuel Edwards - Neptune

Two Russian agents, screamingly obvious in a Singapore crowd in spite of their efforts to remain inconspicuous, followed Porter through the streets. He had planned his moves with care, including their timing, and a glance at his watch told him he was on schedule. First he went to the general post office, where he showed his passport and picked up a bulky registered letter awaiting him there. Then he headed directly across the street to a bank, where he took out a safe deposit box.

Using a small piece of carbon paper and a blank sheet of paper he had brought with him for the purpose, he placed them under the signature card, and in a bold, easy to forge hand he wrote the name, Leo Tolstoy.

The KGB, totally lacking in a sense of humour, would not appreciate his little joke.

He was given a safe deposit box, placed the envelope in it and pocketing the key, he left the bank only minutes before it closed its doors for the day.

As he moved to the kerb to hail a taxi he saw two Russians in a waiting automobile, and was tempted to ask them for a ride since they would be going to the same place. But this was not the moment to create complications.

After a short ride he was deposited at the front entrance of the Raffles Hotel, long one of Singapore’s landmarks and for many decades prior to World War Two the glory of the British Raj. Its landscaped lawns and gardens were vast, and its front porch, where the cream of British colonial society had sat in rockers, consumed gin slings, and gossiped, was said to be the longest in the world. Only an American resort hotel in northern Michigan disputed the claim.

Newer hotels, resplendent in chrome, glass, and steel that made them resemble their counterparts all over the globe, had reduced the stature of the Raffles. Most of her guests were German, Japanese and American tourists travelling in groups, who entered and left en masse, cameras slung over the shoulders of their multi-coloured sports shirts, their footsore, souvenir-laden wives trailing behind them. The hotel was in need of paint and the floorboards of the porch creaked under Porter’s weight, but he had known the Raffles in her days of grandeur, and what remained of her magic was not lost on him.

He strolled past Americans drinking bourbon, Japanese sipping warm saki, and Germans downing steins of beer, until, at the far end of the porch, he spotted a bulky figure behind an open, three-day-old copy of the London Daily Telegraph.

The man was alone.

‘Georgi,’ Porter said, ‘you’re a proverbial sight for the proverbial sore eyes. I haven’t seen you since our little chat at the Corporation safe house in Virginia. I wondered if Andropov would have the good sense to send you.’

Georgi Verschek lowered his newspaper, folded it with care and placed it on a vacant rocker beside him. He was wearing the KGB uniform, a dark, loose-fitting suit, white shirt and narrow necktie, and by no stretch of the imagination would he have passed as an Englishman. He smiled slightly, but neither rose nor extended his hand. ‘You are on time, as always,’ he said. ‘I must grant you that much.’

‘I could have been here days ago.’ Porter lowered himself into the adjacent rocker, moving the newspaper. ‘I didn’t appreciate the steam bath in Port Moresby, I can tell you. Why the delay?’

‘Andropov refused to believe you were truly defecting, and the entire Council agreed with him. But we obtained certain proof that the large submarine the Americans are building at the Richards shipyard is genuine, so we decided to go through with our deal.’

‘I’m always truthful with Andropov, Georgi. And with you.’ Porter summoned a white-coated waiter, ordered two pink gins and turned back to the Russian. ‘This will be your treat, Georgi.’

‘You’re very free with my money.’

‘The Kremlin’s money. You’re still on an expense account, but I’m not.’

Verschek shrugged, bit off the end of a cigar and lighted it. ‘Some of the confusion,’ he said, ‘arose because your recent activities make little sense. We have known each other for a long time, Porter, and you are guilty of bad form.’

Porter rolled a cigarette.

‘I refuse to believe you are in love with that Wing harlot, or that you’re chucking your career because of her.’

Porter laughed. ‘I’ve never known anyone with greater sexual appetites.’

‘At our age,’ Verschek said reprovingly, ‘sex no longer matters all that much.’

Porter tried not to think of the dead girl in the hotel room.

‘You knew she was working for us.’

‘Of course.’

‘You also knew she was on the payroll of the Chinese.’

‘That’s what made her dangerous,’ Porter said. ‘I preferred to bring her with me, so I could keep an eye on her.’

Verschek slapped the arm of his chair. ‘That is precisely what I told Andropov!’

The waiter arrived with their drinks.

The Russian grudgingly counted out change and added a small tip that sent the Malaysian waiter off in a huff. ‘She cannot be trusted by anyone.’

‘So the Chinese thought. She had a close call in Port Moresby.’

The KGB man shrugged. ‘If Peking is on her trail she is as good as dead. But that is no matter to you and me. These unreliable amateurs cause clutter in our business.’

‘To professionalism,’ Porter said, and sipped his drink.

Verschek emptied his glass in a single gulp, as though he were drinking vodka. ‘You are prepared to conclude our deal?’

‘That’s why I’m here. That’s why I risked leaving America as I did, and why I placed myself at the tender mercies of your gorillas.’

You have the blueprints and specifications of the new submarine with you?’

‘Better than that. They’re in a place where only one person has access to them, and you can be that person, Georgi. May I see the colour of your money?’

The Russian took a bulky envelope from his pocket, handed it to him and watched him.

Porter counted 100 banknotes, each of $1,000 denomination. ‘Very nice,’ he said.

Verschek caught hold of his arm before he could place the envelope in his pocket. ‘Please, first the documents.’

Porter handed him the key to the safe deposit box and the carbon copy of the signature he had written. ‘You or one of your people will have no trouble duplicating this signature. Go into the bank tomorrow morning, and you’ll find the papers waiting for you.’

‘Explain!’

‘It was a simple procedure,’ Porter said. ‘I mailed myself the documents, care of the general post office here. Registered so no one else could claim the letter. Then I took it to the bank, just before coming here to meet you.’

Verschek studied the signature and grinned. ‘Andropov will wonder why you used the name of Count Tolstoy. Ah, well. When I have seen the documents you will be paid the money.’

‘I’ll take the money now,’ Porter said, ‘or you won’t collect the papers. If I had carried them on my person your people could have jumped me, you know. I couldn’t afford to take the chance.’

‘How do I know the specifications are to be found in the safe deposit box? How do I know you aren’t cheating me?’

‘You have the word of one professional to another.’

Verschek snorted.

‘Besides, Georgi, your organization is too efficient for me to play games with you. If I tried to fool you the KGB would follow me to the ends of the earth, and either do me in or turn me over to the Corporation for disposal. I’m not sure which would be the worse fate.’

‘Nor am I. You give me little choice, Porter. And I know why you wanted to meet me at the end of the business day, after the banks are closed.’

‘You’re right. I have no intention of hanging about in Singapore waiting for your thugs to recover the one hundred thousand dollars. Andropov is as big a skinflint as Brian Davidson, and he’d promote you to deputy chairman of the KGB on the spot if you returned the money to him’ Acting with great deliberation, Porter pocketed the envelope.