Десмонд Бэгли - The Spoilers

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Warren. ‘How’s Jimmy these days?’

‘He’s all right now,’ said Parker. ‘You straightened him out, Doctor. You put the fear o’ God into him — an’ I keep it there.’

‘I wouldn’t be too hard on him.’

‘Just hard enough,’ said Parker uncompromisingly. ‘He’ll not get on that lark again.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know what kids are comin’ to these days. It weren’t like that when I were a lad. If I’d a’ done what young Jimmy did, me father would a’ laid into me that hard with his strap. He had a heavy hand, had me dad.’ He shook his head. ‘But it wouldn’t a’ entered our heads.’

Warren listened to this age-old plaint of the parents without a trace of a smile. ‘Yes,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Things have changed.’

Sally Parker brought in the tea — a cut down, southern version of the traditional northern high tea. She pressed homemade cakes and scones on Warren, and insisted on refilling his cup. Warren studied Parker unobtrusively and tried to figure out how to broach the delicate subject in such a way as to ensure the greatest co-operation.

Daniel Parker was a man of forty. He had joined the Navy during the last few months of the war and had elected to make a career of it. In the peacetime Navy he had forged ahead in his stubborn way despite the inevitably slow rate of promotion. He had fought in Korean waters during that war and had come out of it a petty officer with the heady prospect of getting commissioned rank. But in 1962 a torpedo got loose and rolled on his leg, and that was the end of his naval career.

He had come out of the Navy with one leg permanently shortened, a disability pension and no job. The last did not worry him because he knew he was good with his hands. Since 1963 he had been working as a mechanic in a garage, and Warren thought his employer was damned lucky.

Mrs Parker looked at her watch and made an exclamation. ‘Oh, I’ll be late. You’ll have to excuse me, Doctor.’

‘That’s all right, Mrs Parker,’ said Warren, rising.

‘You get off, lass,’ said Parker. ‘I’ll see to the dishes, an’ the doctor an’ me will have a quiet chat.’ Mrs Parker left, and Parker produced a stubby pipe which he proceeded to fill. ‘You said you wanted to see me on business, Doctor.’ He looked up in a puzzled way, and then smiled. ‘Maybe you’ll be wantin’ a new car.’

‘No,’ said Warren. ‘How are things at the garage, Dan?’

Parker shrugged. ‘Same as ever. Gets a bit monotonous at times — but I’m doin’ an interestin’ job now on a Mini-Cooper.’ He smiled slowly. ‘Most o’ the time I’m dealin’ wi’ the troubles o’ maiden ladies. I had one come in the other day — said the car was usin’ too much petrol. I tested it an’ there was nothin’ wrong, so I gave it back. But she was back in no time at all wi’ the same trouble.’

He struck a match. ‘I still found nothin’ wrong, so I said to her, “Miss Hampton, I want to drive around a bit with you just for a final check,” so off we went. The first thing she did was to pull out the choke an’ hang her bag on it — said she thought that was what it was for.’ He shook his head in mild disgust.

Warren laughed. ‘You’re a long way from the Navy, Dan.’

‘Aye, that’s a fact,’ said Parker, a little morosely. ‘I still miss it, you know. But what can a man do?’ Absently, he stroked his bad leg. ‘Still, I daresay it’s better for Sally an’ the kids even though she never minded me bein’ away.’

‘What do you miss about it, Dan?’

Parker puffed at his pipe contemplatively. ‘Hard to say. I think I miss the chance o’ handling fine machinery. This patching up o’ production cars doesn’t stretch a man — that’s why I like to get something different, like this Mini-Cooper I’m workin’ on now. By the time I’m finished wi’ it Issigonis wouldn’t recognize it.’

Warren said carefully, ‘Supposing you were given the chance of handling naval equipment again. Would you take it?’

Parker took the pipe out of his mouth. ‘What are you gettin’ at, Doctor?’

‘I want a man who knows all about torpedoes,’ Warren said bluntly.

Parker blinked. ‘I know as much as anyone, I reckon, but I don’t see...’ His voice tailed off and he looked at Warren in a baffled way.

‘Let me put it this way. Supposing I wanted to smuggle something comparatively light and very valuable into a country that has a seaboard. Could it be done by torpedo?’

Parker scratched his head. ‘It never occurred to me,’ he said, and grinned. ‘But it’s a bloody good idea. What are you thinkin’ o’ doin’ the Excise with? Swiss watches?’

‘What about heroin?’ asked Warren quietly.

Parker went rigid and stared at Warren as though he had suddenly sprouted horns and a tail. The pipe fell from his fingers to lie unregarded as he said, ‘Are you serious? I’d a’ never believed it.’

‘It’s all right, Dan,’ said Warren. ‘I’m serious, but not in the way you mean. But could it be done?’

There was a long moment before Parker groped for his pipe. ‘It could be done all right,’ he said. ‘The old Mark XI carried a warhead of over seven hundred pounds. You could pack a hell of a lot o’ heroin in there.’

‘And the range?’

‘Maximum five thousand, five hundred yards if you preheat the batteries,’ said Parker promptly.

‘Damn!’ said Warren disappointedly. ‘That’s not enough. You said batteries. Is this an electric torpedo?’

‘Aye. Ideal for smugglin’ it is. No bubbles, you see.’

‘But not nearly enough range,’ said Warren despondently. ‘It was a good idea while it lasted.’

‘What’s your problem?’ asked Parker, striking a match.

‘I was thinking of a ship cruising outside the territorial waters of the United States and firing a torpedo inshore. That’s twelve miles — over twenty-one thousand yards.’

‘That’s a long way,’ said Parker, puffing at his pipe. It did not ignite and he had to strike another match and it was some time before he got the pipe glowing to his satisfaction. ‘But maybe it could be done.’

Warren ceased to droop and looked up alertly. ‘It could?’

‘The Mark XI came out in 1944 an’ things have changed since then,’ said Parker thoughtfully. He looked up. ‘Where would you be gettin’ a torpedo, anyway?’

‘I haven’t gone into that yet,’ said Warren. ‘But it shouldn’t be too difficult. There’s an American in Switzerland who has enough war surplus arms to outfit the British forces. He should have torpedoes.’

‘Then they’d be Mark XIs,’ said Parker. ‘Or the German equivalent. I doubt if anythin’ more modern has got on the war surplus market yet.’ He pursed his lips. ‘It’s an interestin’ problem. You see, the Mark XI had lead-acid batteries — fifty-two of ‘em. But things have changed since the war an’ you can get better batteries now. What I’d do would be to rip out the lead-acid batteries an’ replace with high-power mercury cells.’ He stared at the ceiling dreamily. ‘All the circuits would need redesignin’ an’ it would be bloody expensive, but I think I could do it.’

He leaned forward and tapped his pipe against the fireplace, then looked Warren firmly in the eye. ‘But not for smugglin’ dope.’

‘It’s all right, Dan; I haven’t switched tracks.’ Warren rubbed his chin. ‘I want you to work with me on a job. It will pay twice as much as you’re getting at the garage, and there’ll be a big bonus when you’ve finished. And if you don’t want to go back to the garage there’ll be a guaranteed steady job for as long as you want it.’

Parker blew a long plume of smoke. ‘There’s a queer smell to this one, Doctor. It sounds illegal to me.’