Джон Болл - The First Team

“That is all?”

“That’s enough, I would think.”

Zalinsky remained silent for a few seconds more. “I will give you some very good advice,” he said. “Stay out of this.”

Hewlitt looked at him. “How can I help it?” he asked. “I have nothing whatever to do with the Navy.”

Zalinsky returned his look. “It is good that you sleep with your girl friend; I approve of this. It is normal and healthy. But the house where you stay: there is a visitor sometimes who is part of your underground. This we know, and who he is. You understand?”

Hewlitt did not dare to reply. Instead he said, “I hope to marry her.”

Zalinsky nodded. “A good choice, I think — and very wise of you to try her out first. And she you, of course. In my country this attitude would not be approved, so you see I am becoming a little bit Americanized.”

“Congratulations,” Hewlitt said. “Thank you for your advice. Will there be anything else?”

“Only one thing — I am not feeling too well, find for me please a good doctor. Especially one I can trust — you understand.”

“Fully.”

“Thank you very much.” It was the first time that Zalinsky had been that courteous in either language. It could have been automatic, but Hewlitt thought otherwise. If the submarine never fired a round, at least she had proved something and the lesson could not be ignored. By Zalinsky or anyone else. The notorious Colonel Rostovitch had something new to think about, and catching a submarine at sea would not be an easy matter. Not if the crew knew what it was doing, and he was willing to bet, on the basis of performance already proven, that it did. He wondered if the rumor he had heard, and had not repeated, was true — that the captain was a Jew. Not that it made any difference, but it might make things more interesting.

As he climbed into Frank’s cab to ride home after work, his mood had changed somewhat. Zalinsky’s words about knowing the identity of an underground agent who came to the safe house from time to time came back to him and gave him cause for worry. Not for himself; he had progressed beyond that point, but Percival was a valuable man as all men were valuable, and his loss would be acute. As soon as they were out in traffic and sufficiently by themselves Hewlitt asked for and got the all-clear signal to talk. “I want to get word to Percival,” he said. “It’s urgent.”

“All right,” Frank said. “They’re giving me a rest right now. The idea is that when a guy’s been busy for a while they rest him just in case anyone’s tailin’ him. It throws them off. But I can get word to Percival. You wanna talk to him?”

“Better just give him the message. Zalinsky told me today that he knows an underground agent is calling at the house. He knows this and who he is.”

Frank digested that quickly. “If he told you that, then he had a reason. I’ll get it to Percival right away, but if he was plannin’ somethin’, he wouldn’t let the cat out of the bag like that.”

“I wondered about that,” Hewlitt said. “You tell him, but cover your tracks — they may be watching to see how I communicate.” “Right. I’ll be careful. We’ve got a way and it’s pretty foolproof. Holy hell!”

Hewlitt did not understand until he saw a sedan that had cut in front of the cab with scant inches to spare. Frank hit the brake and turned hard toward the curb to avoid a collision; the sedan led him, forcing him over. Within moments both cars were stopped; in the seconds that it took, Hewlitt understood that they were being intercepted, that he was undoubtedly the reason, and that Percival was not the only person whose disguise had been penetrated.

He felt a desire to panic, but he thrust it down. He had been living under tension for so long now he had his reflexes conditioned and his mind schooled. When he saw two men jump quickly from the sedan he knew that they were after him. Frank saw them too and quickly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender — exactly what he should have done, Hewlitt thought. There was no need to blow Frank in this operation.

When one of the men yanked the rear door open on his side Hewlitt knew Frank was out of it. He looked up into a cold, emotionless face that told him nothing. “Out,” he was directed.

As Hewlitt complied, the man showed him a gun and motioned to the sedan. Hewlitt walked to the car and climbed in as though it was his personal choice to do so. As soon as he was safely inside, the man jumped in beside him and the car took off with a burst of speed that left black rubber on the pavement behind it. At the first intersection the sedan turned right with screaming tires; Hewlitt was forced against the second of his captors. Then, unexpectedly, the man spoke. “Take it easy,” he said. “Percival sent us.”

It could be true or it could not. The man spoke in perfect American English, plus which he had volunteered the information and knew the code name. Against it was the fact that Percival was probably already blown, and there was nothing in the rule book that said the enemy always had to talk with an accent. There were plenty of good agents who were letter and accent perfect in languages other than their own. So Hewlitt sat back and waited as calmly as he could for whatever was to happen next.

The car swung into traffic and slowed down, inconspicuous once more in the mass of vehicles. Unless some witness had been quick enough to catch the license number and had reported it very promptly, there was almost no chance of effective pursuit. Furthermore, the police department was now under enemy control and was operating far below its usual level of efficiency.

As the minutes passed the car worked its way toward the Maryland border. That reminded Hewlitt of his meeting with Barbara in an unoccupied house; the first time that they had been together alone. He thought about her, wondering what she would do if she were in his position. The same thing that he was doing, he decided. His thoughts were interrupted when the car turned into the driveway of a private house. The man on his right got out, opened the side door of the building, and motioned Hewlitt inside.

It was clearly a better-class residence; the furnishings were of very good quality and the paintings which decorated the walls were original oils. That in itself was reassuring; the premises denied the thought of violence and spoke only of good manners and cultured people. When they reached the living room he was motioned to a chair; there was no hostility in it, but there was authority just the same. Hewlitt sat down and attempted to compose himself, he was certain that he had been brought here to meet someone, but if it was a member of the underground, there would have been no need for the peremptory manner in which he had been kidnapped. He confirmed his first impression when the three men who had brought him sat down too and waited. Then a woman came into the room.

Hewlitt stood up automatically. She walked up to him and held out her hand. “Mr. Hewlitt, I believe,” she said. “I am Mrs. Smith, do please sit down.” Hewlitt sat, and noted that the other men in the room had stood up too.

“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Smith added, “I think that Mr. Hewlitt and I would like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

That was the first thing that was really reassuring. Hewlitt did not suffer from the illusion that all comely women were automatically desirable people — even if they acted that way. But if she was willing to be alone with him when she had more than adequate protection available, it could be taken as a good sign. The three men who had brought him went out as Mrs. Smith walked to a corner bar. “A drink, Mr. Hewlitt?” she invited.

“Perhaps later.”

“Very discreet of you,” she said and resumed her seat. “Mr. Hewlitt, your invitation here was very abrupt for a definite reason; we had to establish the fact that you did not come of your own free will. You will see why presently.”