Don Jaime shrugged slightly, and the corners of his mouth went down. “But naturally. However, she is the wife of His Excellency, and it could not be done, for obvious reasons. I have to rely on you now, my friend.” He clasped Shaw’s shoulder hard, and then, making some excuse, went discreetly indoors.
Debonnair said, “Listen, I don’t know what you two were talking about, or maybe I do!” She looked at Shaw accusingly. “You’re going to try to keep me out of this, aren’t you?”
Shaw grunted. “You can say that again! Tell me — just how much do you know?”
She said quietly, “Not an awful lot, Esmonde darling, except that Gib’s buzzing with rumours and furtive head-shakes — you know what I mean — and there’s pretty obviously something going to happen if you take the trouble to think about it.”
“Is anybody taking the trouble to think about it?”
“The older people are. Most of the others are too busy enjoying themselves.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Look, Debbie. How did this invitation of Don Jaime’s reach you?”
She laughed. She looked awfully desirable, Shaw thought, in that summer frock. She said, “Oh, it was a bit of a wangle. Your Major Staunton rang me down at the Shell offices and said Lady Hammersley wanted to see me for something or other, and would I drop in at The Convent, and — well — here I am. Hugh said that as—”
“Hugh?”
“Major Staunton to you.” He grunted and made a face, and the tip of her tongue showed momentarily between her lips. “He said that, as a courier had been detailed already to come up this way, I might as well go with him. Like it?” She grinned.
“I love it, and you know I do. But from now on you’re keeping well clear of all this, Deb.”
Her eyes flashed, beneath the fair brows drawn now into a straight line. “Oh, am I?” she said determinedly. “That’s what you think — don’t forget I know this game as well as you do — well, almost — and I can help quite a lot if you stop being pigheaded!”
When Debonnair had gone to the room which had been prepared for her Shaw walked into the garden, cool before the main heat of the day began to burn it, and ripped open the letter which she had handed to him. It was from Staunton himself, and it contained an up-to-date list of shipping movements in and out of Spanish ports, together with a coded message from the Old Man which said that he was getting concerned about how soon general sea trade ought to be warned of the effects of anything happening in Gibraltar. That was something Shaw couldn’t answer yet; he knew too that it was unlike Latymer to prod his agents unnecessarily, and he could guess from that how the Old Man was being pressed by the Cabinet and the Chiefs of Staff. But — that shipping-list; he could get his teeth into that. The question of how Ackroyd was to be got out of Spain was one to which Shaw had been giving a lot of thought. It would not, of course, be utterly impossible for him to be removed by air, but Shaw didn’t think that was a likely avenue — there were too many snags. For one thing, except for the Barajas airport at Madrid, pretty well all the airports were run by the military, and a very tight control was maintained at all of them — including Barajas; there was none of the careless, slap-happy atmosphere of a seaport. A lift by helicopter was a possibility, but here again it was remote, for the only place which a helicopter could reasonably use as a local base would be North Africa, and word would soon get through the grapevine about that — to say nothing of the suspicions which would be aroused by an unidentified helicopter crossing the Straits in the circumstances.
Shaw was practically certain that the escape would be by sea, and he studied that shipping-list with the greatest care. Spanish ports were at their most easy-going in Andalusia, where the attitude of mañana was perhaps more prevalent than in the rest of the country; and Karina would want to get away as quickly as she could, obviously, while if she wanted to use a more distant exit port — say somewhere to the north — she’d have to use the roads or railways to get there; and on the roads there would be more chances of her being stopped by the Civil Guard or by the armed Traffic Police, who were always stopping vehicles even if only to beg a lift. All that would increase her hazards, while the railways would be even more tricky with Ackroyd for company. So it was most likely to be an Andalusian port — say Algeciras, Cadiz, Malaga, Almeria, Huelva. Or even points along the coast in between. Quite a choice. And quite a lot of coastline.
Shaw searched through Staunton’s shipping-list, ticking off the ports one by one, slowly and painstakingly looking for a clue. There was plenty of movement in and out of all these ports, some of it only coastal, but after a while one name stood out — a vessel named Ostrowiec, which had entered Malaga two days before from Marseilles. She stood out because she was a Pole and she was bound for Gdynia, and she was the only Iron Curtain ship in any Andalusian port at the time, while according to the list no more were due for about another fourteen days. The Ostrowiec’s departure date appeared uncertain; at any rate, it was not given in the list.
Reflectively Shaw rubbed his nose.
The Ostrowiec’s departure date could be dependent on Karina, and it looked very much like the ship to watch. But however closely he watched, Ackroyd, he knew, could be smuggled past. A man could live in a crate quite long enough to be hoisted inboard in a cargo-sling; and however careful or logical-seeming his deductions might be, Shaw couldn’t be certain that he was right about the Pole. Watching the ship, he might miss some other departure-point so easily. Should he, he wondered, contact Gibraltar, ask for a naval vessel to intercept this Ostrowiec when she went to sea? A moment’s thought told him that Hammersley couldn’t give such an order on mere conjecture. The British Navy had no authority to stop and search a ship on the high seas in peacetime, particularly when she was bound neither to nor from a British port; nor could a blockade be instituted. If either of these two things were done and no abducted British subject found aboard, it would prove a nice little tit-bit for the Iron Curtain countries to exploit as propaganda, could even be made into an excuse for starting a shooting war, perhaps.
Shaw felt flummoxed. There was still really no lead of any kind, and his surmises about the Ostrowiec didn’t help much. He considered the possibility of advising the Embassy in Madrid to ask for unofficial co-operation from the Spanish authorities in this matter of the Polish ship — he knew the Naval Attache, and knew that he was the sort who might be able to get things like that done. But Gibraltar was a sore point, and, though the Spaniards wouldn’t like the idea of harbouring Karina’s outfit, Shaw knew that they’d have to be told rather too much before they would act — and even then, the due processes, even the unofficial ones, would take far too long. Information might be released, Project Sinker jeopardized, without any results being achieved at all… there was far too much behind all this to permit of any security leakage just yet, before it became inevitable. He had to have a chance of finding Ackroyd and Karina himself before anyone else was brought into this; and he was prepared to back himself a little longer yet. So the answer was as before: find Karina now, and not wait for her to move on her departure-point; but meanwhile he’d better send a code telegram to Latymer telling him of his suspicions so that the British Government could be warned.
As Shaw put the shipping-list back into its envelope and thrust it into his pocket he saw Debonnair coming towards him across the lawn, and he waved.