Desmond Bagley - The Freedom Trap

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Slade. ‘I’d have recognized him. I met him a couple of times in... in the old days. What the devil is all this about?’

‘Do you still think you are going to Moscow?’

‘I see no reason to doubt it,’ he said stiffly.

‘Wheeler was born an Albanian,’ I said. ‘And his Chinese cook does more than rustle up sweet and sour pork. They’re not your brand of communist, Slade. Right now you’re in Malta and the next scheduled stop is Durazzo in Albania; from there I guess you’ll be shipped by cargo plane straight to Peking. You’d better acquire a real taste for Chinese cooking — always assuming they give you any food at all.’

He stared at me. ‘You’re crazy.’

‘What’s so crazy about the Chinese wanting to get hold of you? What you have locked up inside that skull of yours would interest them very much — the secrets of two top intelligence services. And they’d get it out of you, Slade — even if they had to do it by acupuncture. The Chinese invented the term “ brainwashing”.’

‘But Wheeler?’

‘What’s so odd about Wheeler? You got away with it for over a quarter of a century — why shouldn’t someone else be as smart as you? Or smarter? Wheeler hasn’t been caught — yet.’

He fell silent and I let him think it out. Yet I hadn’t much time to waste so I prodded him again. ‘It seems to me that your choice is simple. You come with me willingly or I kill you right now. I think I’d be doing you a favour if I killed you because I’d hate to see you after you’d been in the hands of the Chinese for a month. I think you’d better come with me and retire to a nice, safe, top-security wing in one of Her Majesty’s nicks. At least you won’t be having your brains pulled out through your ears.’

He shook his head stubbornly. ‘I don’t know if I believe you.’

‘For God’s sake! If Wheeler wanted you to go to Moscow then why didn’t he transfer you to one of those ubiquitous Russian trawlers? In the Atlantic they’re as thick as fleas on a mangy dog. Why bring you to the Mediterranean?’

Slade looked at me cunningly. ‘I’ve only your word for that, too.’

I sighed, and lifted the gun. ‘You don’t have much of a choice, do you?’ I was getting mad at him. ‘If ever I saw a man looking a gift horse in the mouth it’s you. I haven’t followed you from Ireland to... ’

He cut in. ‘Ireland?’

‘That’s where we were held together.’

‘Lynch is Irish,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Seaman Lynch? He works for Wheeler — he’s an IRA thug with a dislike of the English.’

‘He looks after me here,’ said Slade. ‘He’s my guard.’ He looked up and I saw that the strain of uncertainty was beginning to tell. ‘Where are we now — exactly?’

‘Anchored in Marsamxett Harbour.’

He made up his mind. ‘All right, but if I get on deck and I don’t recognize it then you might be in big trouble. You’ll be wanting silence and I might take my chances on the gun in the darkness. Remember that.’

‘How long is it since you’ve been in Malta?’

‘Five years.’

I smiled humourlessly, ‘Then I hope to God you have a good memory.’

Slade threw back the bedclothes and then paused, looking at me questioningly. There had been a creak which was not one of the usual shipboard noises. I listened and it came again.

Slade whipped the covers back over his chest. ‘Someone’s coming,’ he whispered.

I held up the gun before his eyes. ‘Remember this!’ I backed off and opened the door of the lavatory and even as I did so I heard a key snap metallically at the cabin door. I closed the lavatory door gently and used my pen-light in a quick flash to see what I’d got into. As usual in lavatories there was no back door, just the usual paraphernalia of toilet, wash basin, medicine cabinet and shower. The shower was screened off by a semi-transparent plastic curtain.

I switched off the light, held my breath, and listened. Lynch’s voice was unmistakable. ‘I heard voices — who the devil were you talking to?’

This was the crunch. If Slade was going to give me away he’d do it now, so I listened with care to what was arguably the most important conversation I was ever likely to hear.

‘I must have been talking in my sleep,’ said Slade, and my heartbeat slowed down to a mere gallop. ‘I’ve been having bad dreams and I’ve got the makings of a headache.’

‘Ach, it’s no wonder, and you being cooped up in here all this while,’ said Lynch. ‘But rest easy, you’ll soon be home.’

‘Why have we been stopped all this time?’

‘Something’s gone wrong with the propellers,’ said Lynch. ‘But I didn’t get the exact hang of it.’

‘Where are we?’

‘Now you know better than to ask that, Mr Slade. That’s top secret.’

‘Well, when will we be moving again and when do I get my feet on dry land?’

‘As to the first,’ said Lynch, ‘maybe it’ll be tomorrow. As to the last, I couldn’t rightly tell you. I’m not one of the bosses, you know; they don’t tell me everything.’ He paused. ‘But you’re looking so white and peaky, Mr Slade. Could I get you the aspirin?’

The hairs on the nape of my neck stood up and did a fandango as Slade answered. ‘No, don’t worry; I’ll be all right.’ It was borne heavily upon me that although I could hear Slade’s voice I couldn’t see what he was doing with his hands. He might be saying one thing and pointing out to Lynch that he had an unwanted visitor.

Lynch said solicitously, ‘Ach, it’s no trouble at all. We promise to get you home in good condition; that’s part of the deal. I’ll get the aspirin for you.’

I ducked into the shower stall and drew the plastic curtain just as Lynch opened the lavatory door. He switched on the light and I saw his outline quite clearly through the curtain as he stepped forward to open the medicine cabinet. I had the gun trained on him all the time and I thought that I could dispose of him and Slade, too, if it came to the push. Getting out would be another matter.

I heard the rattle of pills in a bottle and then the rush of water as a tap was turned on. It was a relief to know that Lynch actually was getting aspirin and that Slade had not sold me out. Lynch filled the glass and turned to leave — he was so close that I could have touched him by only half-extending my arm and only the curtain was between us. Fortunately he was back-lit and I wasn’t or he would have seen me had he glanced my way.

He went out, switching off the light and closing the door. ‘Here, you are,’ he said. ‘This should clear up your headache.’

‘Thanks,’ said Slade, and I heard the clink of the glass.

‘Man, but you’re sweating,’ said Lynch. ‘Are you sure it’s not the fever you’ve got?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ said Slade. ‘You can leave the light on. I think I’ll read for a while.’

‘Surely,’ said Lynch. ‘Have a quiet night, mind.’ I heard the cabin door open and close, and then the snap of the lock as the key was turned.

I was doing a fair amount of sweating myself as I waited for the trembling of my hands to stop. My stomach felt all churned up as the adrenalin sped on its appointed rounds gingering up my muscle tone and twanging my nerves like harp strings. At last I stepped out of the shower and gently opened the lavatory door.

Whether his sweating was due to a fright or fever Slade had used his wits when he had asked Lynch to leave on the main cabin light. It meant that I could see at a glance if the place was safe. Slade certainly didn’t want to be shot by accident.

He lay in bed with a book held between slack fingers and his face was the yellow colour of old newsprint. ‘Why didn’t he see you?’ he whispered.