Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

“But you have suspicions?”

“We certainly have. The QE2 must be involved somehow. The diamonds may be aboard right now, with those thugs in the cabins next to you. Did you ever hear the word Diamant used when you listened to the tapes?”

“Never. Though I could have missed it.”

“Not to worry. Mr. Ginzberg will find it if it is there.”

“Do you know where the diamonds are coming from?”

“No. But this must be the Nazi involvement. Certainly these tinpot fascists don’t have gems in amounts like that. But we need more information, since the source in Paraguay seems to have dried up for the time being. Here are the names we are interested in. Memorize the list and burn it before you leave this room. These two, the Czech and the woman, appear to represent the arms people. The others are on the military staffs of both governments involved.”

Hank took the paper and studied it, thinking aloud at the same time. “The two suites next to mine, we know the people in there are connected with this affair. But are there any more of them aboard the ship?”

“A good question — and one that is keeping us up nights. A certain amount of breaking and entering has been done and we now have the complete passenger list of the ship. But it tells us little or nothing. Just names. Any number of them could be fakes. It also only tells us who booked and paid for the cabins — not how many might be aboard or still coming aboard. Also, the ship is surprisingly full for so expensive a cruise. We had trouble obtaining cabins for some of our people, but that has been taken care of. They are boarding here in Hawaii.”

“There’s a relief to know. How do I contact them?”

“You don’t. They’ll be in touch with you. This must all be done with a very low profile. Particularly since our Paraguayan associates have taken on some partners. The Tupamaros.”

“I’ve heard of them. The urban guerillas, terrorists, in Uruguay. But I thought they had been wiped out?”

“Most were. But there are enough in exile to cause trouble. We are still cooperating, but our role is getting smaller and smaller. The resistance movements want the diamonds, and the arms if possible. Or at least to stop them from reaching the two countries. They have promised to throw any Nazis our way, glad to get rid of them, but little else.”

“If only we knew more…. “

“We do,” Ginzberg said from the doorway. He came into the room, a wad of notes clutched in his hand.

“Those tapes are wonderful, Mr. Greenstein, excellently done. I will prepare a complete transcript later of all the valuable material. But I wanted to share a little discovery with you right now.”

They leaned forward, tensely, as Ginzberg smiled grimly and shook the notes in their direction.

“Something very big is going to happen in Acapulco. That is where the action will begin. Also, it appears that Wielgus will be joining the party there, and he personally will be bringing the diamonds with him.”

“Aboard this ship?” Uzi asked.

“That I don’t know, they were not clear. But they were clear about one thing. The diamonds are Nazi loot, their mutual savings account you might call it. So a number of them will be involved in this exercise in order to keep an eye on their fortune. This is big, very big. It could be the key to the entire underground Nazi organization and all of their finances.”

Ginzberg smiled benignly at the wide-eyed expressions on their faces, shock that turned to glee. He accepted the offer of a small glass of whisky and Uzi poured it for him.

“Let us hope,” Uzi said. “Let us pray that we get it right. This could be the big one that we have been working for all these years.”

They raised their glasses and drank.

The city of Acapulco baked in the tropical sun, burning down out of the Pacific blue of the sky. However, out to sea, heavy dark clouds banked up higher and higher, hung with gray sheets of rain that trailed down to the ocean below. Their threatening blackness was lit occasionally by bolts of lightning, but they were still too far away from the sound of thunder to be heard on land. The occupants of the two cars drawn up on the shore road, Costera Aleman, looked at the approaching storm with uncertain speculation. For the guards baking in the Volkswagen, the rain might bring a welcome relief from the stifling heat. They had all of the windows in the car rolled down but there was no escape. However, in the Mercedes the engine and air conditioning were running, so it was cool and comfortable.

“I would like to drive soon, Herr Doktor,” Klaus said, leaning back and sliding open the glass partition behind the driver’s seat so he could be heard.

“We are still eating,” Wielgus said, a cold leg of chicken in his hand, specks of meat and grease on his lips.

“I’m very sorry, sir, but the engine is beginning to overheat, standing like this. If we could drive, the moving air would cool it down and then we could stop again after a bit.”

“All right. In a few minutes.” He held out his glass and General Starke filled it with chilled Brauneberger-Jusser-Sonnenuhr. “I don’t like the look of those clouds, Starke. That could be a bad storm, a hurricane perhaps.”

“I don’t think so. The weather report on the radio this morning just mentioned heavy tropical storms, rain, some wind.”

“ And wind means waves and, verdamte, I can’t stand being at sea. I am prone to seasickness. And there comes the ship now. I can feel my stomach heave at the sight. Please put the food away…. “

He wiped his lips with the linen napkin and dropped it into the basket on the seat between them. Out to sea the QE2 had appeared suddenly out of a sheet of rain, headed for the harbor, seemingly running before the storm.

“No need to worry on a ship this size,” Starke said, closing the basket and putting it onto the floor. He took a cigar case from his pocket. “I read the propaganda that came in the envelope with the tickets. Over sixty-seven thousand tons. Computerized stabilizers. Twin propellers. One hundred and ten thousand horsepower and a cruising speed of twenty-eight and a half knots. This ship will ride out any storm, then quickly leave it behind. Don’t be concerned, old friend.” He had read through the brochure once; the figures would be remembered forever. Starke had the precise memory needed for military planning, and had been on the General Staff before being relieved and given a Waffen SS division as punishment for being so bold as to differ with one of Hitler’s more stupid tactical decisions. History had proven that Starke had been right; it was too late to prevent him from being classified as a war criminal for certain orders he had given to his men.

“It is nice of you to reassure me — but I know my stomach. I know what the sea does for me.” He drained his glass and put it into the basket with the rest of the debris. With a nod of thanks he accepted one of Starke’s Havanas and neatly cut a V in the end with the gold clipper from his waistcoat pocket. After blowing out the first pungent cloud of smoke he relaxed slightly; leaning forward, he opened the partition. “All right. A little ride now to cool down the engine. Then to the docks. I want to board as soon as possible without waiting around.”

Libor Chvosta, though born in Plzen in Czechoslovakia, had long since deserted that socialist country for the more profitable capitalist world. He believed only in money, and more money, and did not care in the slightest how it was earned. It was not by chance that he carried a Swiss passport.

Aurelia Maria Hortiguela was as Spanish as her name, but since Franco’s death she had found herself rather unwelcome in that country. It did not matter. She was now an Argentinian citizen and needed all the time she could find for the thriving business she did in South and Central America for the arms corporation she represented. Unlike Chvosta she enjoyed weapons for their own sakes, and indeed had an indoor firing range at her home outside Santiago del Estero, close to the foothills of the Andes. To her, a pleasant evening was a few hundred rounds of ammunition and the holes punched neatly in and around the bull’s-eye on the paper target. Then, ears ringing, relaxed and happy, she would climb the stairs to bed with a bottle of good wine. Clara would be waiting for her, soft arms and full breasts, and the night would be perfect. She owed her tastes in weapons to her father, an artillery captain, who had raised her on a succession of Spanish Army bases after her mother had died at childbirth. She owed her tastes in sex to him as well, once she was old enough to discover that all of the other fathers went with the putas near the Army bases, not with their own daughters. Aurelia hated men; with very good reason.