Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

No one, other than Josep, appeared to notice that he did not come out again. Nor did three other men who were also working in the gang. If the remaining longshoremen were aware of what was happening, they gave no sign.

When Josep was sure that the men were safely aboard, and that there was no sign of any disturbance from the ship, he walked slowly back along the wharf and into the loading shed. The exit on the far side was guarded by an armed soldier and a civilian guard. The soldier eyed him coldly as he approached, leaning on his heavy Mauser rifle. Josep ignored him and took the pass from his pocket and handed it to the guard, who glanced at it, nodded, then handed it back. Josep walked on, out into the sunlit street.

He was very happy in Mexico where the universal motto was No hay reglas fijas. There are no fixed rules — meaning anything could be done by bribery. The mordida, the “little bite,” the bribe, was a way of life of which he greatly approved. It really did make all things possible for him.

The battered truck was parked two blocks away, in the shade, he was happy to notice, as he pulled the creaking door open and climbed into the cab. Con-cepcion Valverde was sitting there, patiently waiting, inhaling gently on a joint. She passed it over to him and he sucked in a deep lungful, holding it for long seconds before he let the fragrant smoke trickle out through his nose.

“No trouble at all. Went like clockwork,” he said. She nodded in understanding, but did not speak. A dark, silent, beautiful girl, no more than twenty-five years of age. Wanted for murder in three countries.

“There was a little bit of resistance from one of the longshoremen, but nothing important. I saw the bags safely aboard and our men as well. It’s our turn now. Papers.”

She took the envelope out of her purse and handed it to him. He checked the tickets and the Mexican passports, then gave hers back. There was a jacket on the ledge behind the seat and he took that with him when he climbed down, and pulled it on. The sun was gone now, hidden by thick clouds, the air even more heavy and oppressive than it had been all day. He looked up at the sky as she joined him.

“Better hurry,” he said. “The storm is almost here.”

At first there were a few large drops that splatted heavily onto the dusty street. Then more and more — until suddenly the sky opened up in a deluge, a cataract of water that roared down upon them. They ran the last few feet to the entrance to the dock, yet were still soaked to the skin. But they were indifferent to it, just nodding at the Cunard official’s commiseration as he took their tickets. The Paraguayan Leandro Diaz was waiting on the other side of the customs barrier, sitting alone on a bench against the far wall. Josep and Conception joined him. Leandro looked at the Tupamaros and raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

“Our part has been done,” Josep said. “My people are all aboard. What about your Paraguayans?”

“Aboard as well. And we have finally had a report through from our agent. The news is incredible, almost unbelievable.”

“Nothing is unbelievable,” Josep said. *

“This is. As we suspected, the final arrangements for the arms purchase will be made aboard the QE2. So we are in the right position to act when the time comes.”

“The diamonds?”

“They must be aboard by now, because the Global Traders representatives are here, along with their diamond expert. He can have only one function — to make sure of the diamonds’ authenticity and value. But more important than that is the identity of the Paraguayan agent who will close the deal. None other than Stroessner himself!”

“I can see why you said unbelievable! Your scabrous little general actually leaving the country. You must find some way to see that he doesn’t return.”

Leandro nodded. “My thought exactly. But that isn’t all of the news. We have also found out that the Uruguayan representative will be of the same calibre…. “

“Not that swine Marquez himself?” Concepcion asked, leaning forward with eager anticipation. Leandro nodded slowly and she clapped her hands with glee. “This is wonderful, wonderful. Could I cut his throat myself? Could I please?”

“I’m sure something decent like that can be arranged,” Josep said, smiling quickly. “This is an opportunity that will be taken. This is a chance to free our country.”

“Both our countries,” Leandro Diaz corrected. “Now let’s get aboard.”

Hank Greenstein had been standing on the deck near the top of the gangway, watching people come aboard, until he realized that he was highly conspicuous there — as well as also having not the slightest idea who he was looking for. He had retreated then to the open rear of the Quarter Deck where he leaned over the rail to watch the loading. Far forwards, towards the bow, luggage was being swung aboard, while just below him men were carrying food up a gangway and through an open door in the ship’s hull. He wondered how they could work in the heat; he was hot just watching them. But thick clouds were blowing up which should have cooled things down — although it was so humid that the absence of the sun seemed to make no difference at all.

“Found you at last,” Frances said coming up the ladder from the first deck below.

“I thought you were taking a nap?”

“I was. But I woke up feeling all trapped and claustrophobic with the curtains closed and the air-conditioning puffing away. Had some ghastly dreams.”

“You should have retired earlier. No one said you had to stay up until four watching me lose at blackjack.”

“But you were winning! You were over two hundred quid ahead. My hero!”

“That’s when your moronic hero should have called it quits. I ended up over thirty pounds down.”

“Never mind, lover, it was a wonderful experience. And I could also enjoy myself watching those slimy Nazis losing money at the roulette table. It was like something out of a bad movie, all that nattering in German, slamming the table when they lost — even that one who kept twisting his monocle around and around. Is that a drop of rain I felt?”

“It was. And that was one of his friends — and here comes a lot more.”

They hurried to the door and pulled it open, were barely inside when the heavens opened up and the rain thundered onto the wooden deck behind them. The Lido Bar was deserted, with just the barman, Sean, carefully polishing a glass. All but a few of the passengers had gone ashore.

“Raining stair rods,” Sean said. “Would you people like a drink, perhaps, to put some joy into your life?”

“And alcohol to soothe the system,” Hank said. “Why not.”

After the Pacific crossing, they were regulars here and had no need to specify their drinks. Sean poured a large measure of tax-free Gordon’s gin into a glass, lemon and no ice, with Schweppes tonic on top of that, then put it down in front of Frances at the bar. Hank watched intently, nibbling at the peanuts before him, as the barman poured a much larger measure of Bombay gin into a cocktail-pitcher, added ice and a few drops of Noilly-Pratt, then stirred and decanted it through the strainer into a chilled glass from the fridge. A bit of lemon peel, squeezed over the drink so that the drops of oil could float on the surface, then rubbed on the rim and dropped in, completed the drink.

“Good,” Hank said, sipping from it. “First of the day.”

“But far from the last, sir, far from the last.”

“Thanks a lot, Sean, I appreciate the observation.”

“Always happy to oblige, sir.”

They finished their drinks in silence, idly watching the barman first slice lemons, then prepare a large container of his own formula Bloody Mary mix. He had worked in New York for a number of years, to the pleasure of the Americans aboard who did not want warm white wine when they ordered a Martini, or beer served at blood heat. Sean reserved these pleasures for his British customers, and what you were served depended upon your accent.