‘Just so they understand they’re to keep under cover, and under no circumstances are they to pick him up. Ditto for any contact he makes. If Nancy delivered film to him, we want it to have clear, unimpeded sailing to its destination.’
‘The boys understand, Porter. There won’t be any slips. What I don’t understand, though, is why the girl used a new courier drop instead of waiting until tomorrow morning and going through the shopping centre routine.’
‘Because I know about the shopping centre, and she wants to pass along the film behind my back. Probably she had instructions to use Agropolis in an emergency. Either that or he was being saved for vital drops.’
‘We can send a team to question his neighbours about him,’ Blackman said, ‘but I don’t want to do anything that will either tip him off or scare him away.’
‘No neighbours,’ Porter said, and turned back to the telephone. ‘Yes, Porter here… Oh, splendid! Tell Brian Davidson he’s made my day… Fire away… Right… Right… Lovely… I can’t remember the last time headquarters came through for the poor wretches in the field. We bless you for this, all of us.’ He replaced the instrument in its cradle and, enjoying the suspense he was creating, carefully rolled another cigarette.
‘Well, Porter?’ Blackman demanded.
‘A noble name. Aristotle Christopher Agropolis. Aged sixty-one. An ignoble background. Spent World War Two in Russia. Surfaced in Athens when the Communist party became legal, but went underground again during the Papadopoulis dictatorship. Migrated to this country in early sixty-nine. Spent a year in Seattle, moved to Olympia, Washington, and about three months ago bought the little store near the Strait of Juan de Fuca he now operates. No immediate family in the United States and has few known friends Lives quietly, minds his own business and stays out of trouble. No interest in politics. Headquarters will dig up more on him if we want it, but this is enough.’
‘Plenty,’ Blackman said.
Porter allowed himself the luxury of a dry chuckle. ‘Our Chris has KGB written all over him. We still don’t know how Nancy gets in touch with the Chinese or what she tells them. For that matter, we aren’t really certain she works for them. But there can’t be any question now that she’s reporting on the sly to Moscow.’
‘Congratulations,’ Blackman said. ‘This is your most effective caper in a long time.’
‘We won’t flap our wings and crow just yet,’ Porter said. ‘We know the bait is being offered to Andropov on a silver platter, but it remains to be seen whether he swallows it.’
‘There’s not much we can do to speed his digestive process,’ Blackman said.
‘You’re wrong, old boy. But I want him to see the bait and taste it before I shove it gently down his throat.’ Porter stood, yawned and stretched. ‘Nancy must be home by now, so I’ll go make all the appropriate noises to her.’ He walked to the door, then turned. ‘That reminds me. Add three men to the detail keeping watch over her. That girl is worth her weight in diamonds to us, and I want her to say healthy.’
He drove the short distance to the house, where Mrs Stevens awaited him.
‘Her ladyship went down to the beach,’ the housekeeper said, ‘so I checked her bag. That lipstick is a camera.’ She looked grim.
‘Cheer up. If she runs out of film I’ll buy her more.’ He sauntered off to the beach.
Mrs Stevens, who knew nothing about what had transpired, could only gape at him.
Nancy had changed into a bikini and was sunning herself.
She had a right to look pleased with herself, Porter thought.
She smiled up at him. ‘I wish you’d come with me. Frank Richards showed me the huge submarine he’s building, and it was an incredible sight.’
‘I want no part of it, thanks.’ He removed and folded his jacket, loosened his necktie and lowered himself to her blanket. ‘Ready to earn the next share of your fee?’
‘Always.’ She sat up, clasped her hands around one knee and leaned back.
‘Headquarters,’ Porter said, ‘is ready to pay you another five thousand if you’ll tell me your Chinese contact.’
Nancy hesitated.
‘I told them it was no go if they picked him up. You don’t want Peking gunning for you, and neither do I.’
She pushed back a lock of her long hair and frowned. ‘If they don’t intend to pick him up, why do they want to know?’
Porter shrugged. ‘I assume they want to trace the network.’ It was well worth $5,000 to learn the nature and extent of the work she was supposedly doing for the Chinese.
‘All right, then. I’ve already told you once. The shopping centre pickup.’
‘I see.’ He saw a great deal. Not only would the Corporation and the Canadian Mounties be saved many days of hard labour, keeping large numbers of operatives tied up, but he understood the order of her allegiances. She was feeding questionable material to Peking, but Moscow remained her primary employer.
Consequently he would continue to bear down in dealings with the KGB, and could relegate the Chinese to a secondary place. His own priorities were settled at last.
‘I hope your headquarters will keep their word to you,’ she said. ‘I’ll be under suspicion if the courier disappears.’
‘Never fear,’ he said, leaning towards her and kissing her. ‘I’m protecting you.’ For once, he thought, he was telling her the truth.
‘What arrangements shall we make?’
‘I’ve prepared some photostats of various charts you can pass along. They’re sufficiently valid that Peking won’t think you’re turning in useless rubbish. Make your shopping centre drop on Friday, and I’ll have the five thousand for you that same day.’
‘Why Friday?’
The question was shrewd, but he couldn’t explain he wanted her kept busy that morning because he had to attend to something of primary importance himself. ‘Headquarters doesn’t take me into its confidence, you know, but I suppose the chaps who’ll be tailing him are off duty for the next couple of days.’
‘You know so much about these things,’ she said, and laughed.
‘Too much.’ This was the opportune moment to plant the seed that would become the core of his deceptive caper. ‘I’m thinking of getting out.’
‘What will you do?’
‘What will we do, you mean. I’ll retire. Provided I can stash away one large bundle of cash first. Then you and I can go off somewhere and forget this rotten business.’
Nancy was too surprised to reply.
Porter gave no indication that he knew what she was thinking. She was accumulating her own nest-egg, and had no intention of spending years in retirement with a grizzled former agent who was fifteen years her senior. Once she disentangled herself from the intelligence community she would return to her theatrical career with a vengeance.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured. ‘It never crossed my mind you’d want to retire. Of course,’ she added hastily, ‘there’s nothing I’d love more than to go off with you somewhere.’
Porter put his arms around her and, staring out at the sea over her shoulder, told himself that every cog in his master plan was meshing. If anything, things were going too well.
Nothing in the schedule for the SS Neptune followed traditional routines. Other ships were launched, went out for sea trials and, when they returned to port, simultaneously underwent adjustments and received finishing touches. Other ships were launched at elaborate ceremonies, with celebrities in attendance while a prominent lady went through the christening ritual.
The interior of the Neptune was in final shape: furniture was in place, gear was stowed away, flour, sugar, potatoes, and canned goods were stored in the hold directly below the galley. Only the electronic gear that would be flown to her at sea, along with the submersible football field, was still missing.