No one saw the great ship put out to sea. A small flotilla of launches escorted her, four of them fanning out ahead of her to clear small craft from her path. Soon after sunrise she sailed out of the Strait of Juan de Fuca into the open Pacific.
The few passengers who were still awake could see virtually nothing out of their cabin portholes because of the fog, which had not yet dispelled. So none of them realized that two attack submarines of the United States Navy, both atomic-powered, moved into their assigned positions about a quarter of a mile from the Neptune, one on the port side and the other on starboard. They rode on the surface, but both were prepared to submerge when other shipping appeared on their radar screens.
An Air Force reconnaissance jet screamed overhead at an altitude of three thousand feet, and a break in the haze made it possible for those on the bridge to see the aircraft dip her wings in salute. In the weeks ahead the frequent appearance of Air Force sentinels would be taken for granted.
The first lieutenant appeared almost as soon as he was summoned to the bridge.
‘You may relieve me,’ Captain Humphries said. ‘I’m turning in, but don’t hesitate to call me if there’s trouble. There’s a small fleet of Russian fishing trawlers about ten leagues north-northeast of our present position, according to the Air Force, but we’ll outrun them and they can’t identify us on their radar, so we should be okay.’
‘Very good, sir.’The first lieutenant saluted and took the watch.
Captain Humphries yawned and walked to his quarters directly aft of the bridge, nothing in his manner suggesting that this was anything but a routine voyage of an ordinary vessel.
The bikini-clad Eurasian girl and her companion in his swimming briefs stretched out on deck chairs beside the pool of what had been the Havana Hilton, and other guests lounging nearby assumed they were a honeymoon couple. They were in almost constant physical contact with the man either stroking the girl’s arm or holding her hand.
Members of a Czechoslovakian cultural mission, stocky and glum, ignored the pair, as they did everyone else. Three Polish university professors attending an educational conference bowed when they passed the deck chairs, but did not speak. Only the captain and mate of a Bulgarian freighter were gauche enough to stare openly.
Porter and Nancy spoke to each other only in Mandarin after he had decided it might prevent complications. His American-flavoured English was identifiable, and he preferred anonymity. All the same, two Cuban security officers in sports shirts and slacks loitered nearby, trying in vain to appear inconspicuous.
Three Russians wearing rust-coloured suits, black shoes and neckties appeared at the pool, and sitting under a beach umbrella opened bulging briefcases. Launching into an animated discussion of trade figures involving sugar and tobacco, they were so aggressive they dominated the poolside. When a waiter appeared they ordered kvass, taking it for granted that the Russian brew was available here, and their faith soon was justified.
Porter kept his eyes closed, giving no indication that he understood Russian.
‘How much longer must we wait?’ Nancy asked him in Mandarin.
He opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. ‘Our contact is two hours late now,’ he said in the same tongue, ‘but time means very little here. Relax, why don’t you? This is very pleasant.’
‘I’m trying, but I keep wondering if anything has gone wrong.’
‘Impossible,’ he said, and refrained from mentioning that he had been wondering the same thing.
The Russians became aware of the language they were speaking, noted that the girl was part-Chinese and glared at the couple.
Porter’s expression was bland as he gazed off into space. The cold war was being waged everywhere, on all levels, and he knew the KGB had been spurred to greater alacrity because he had hinted that China was interested, too, in his blueprints of the super-submarine under construction at the Richards shipyard.
By this time, he reflected, the Neptune was somewhere in the Pacific, sailing towards her rendezvous with the sunken Zoloto. Meanwhile his own project was developing without a discernible hitch.
So far so good.
A slender Cuban in smartly tailored sports shirt and slacks emerged from the hotel and headed straight for the reclining couple. ‘I am informed you speak Spanish,’ he said to Porter as he extended his hand. ‘I’m Ramon Silvero, Deputy Minister of Security.’
‘I am honoured, Senor,’ Porter said, bowing and shaking hands. ‘We regret that the lady doesn’t understand Spanish.’
Nancy’s dazzling smile spoke for itself.
‘I regret the delay in the arrangements for your transportation,’ Silvero said. ‘I hope you are not too much inconvenienced.’
‘We hope we can return here after we conclude our business in the East, Senor.’ Porter refused to be outdone in courtesy.
The official pulled up a somewhat battered metal chair in need of paint and spread a handkerchief on it before he sat. ‘The delay could not be avoided. We were asked to provide you with an aeroplane, and we assumed you would travel with Aeroflot. But our mutual friends in Moscow telephoned in great excitement last night. They believe you would be too conspicuous at refuelling stops in a Russian aeroplane.’
‘Of course.’ Andropov, Porter thought, was taking no chances, knowing the Corporation would miss no possible opportunity to destroy the fugitive former agent.
‘After a small measure of trouble,’ Silvero said, ‘we managed to obtain a privately owned aeroplane with neutral markings that happened to be in Belize.’
The Russian interest in Central America made it unlikely that the presence of an available aeroplane in Belize was accidental. ‘What make is it, Senor Silvero?’
‘A Boeing Seven-Nought-Seven, I believe. It will be ready for you to board in about an hour and a half, unles you wish to stay for lunch. I shall send a car and driver to take you to the airport.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’ Porter was puzzled by the informality of the departure schedule. ‘How many other passengers will be on board, Senor Silvero?’
‘Why, none. Only you and the lady. Together with the flight crew and cabin attendants.’
Porter needed all of the self-control he had acquired through long years in the intelligence community to conceal his elation. There was no question that the Soviet Union attached the utmost importance to his mission and had been taken in by the photographs of the decoy super-submarine. Moscow was paying a fortune to transport him and Nancy to Singapore; never had he known any agent to be accorded such red-carpet treatment by any government.
There were drawbacks to the situation, of course, and he recognized them immediately. He had been isolated, cut off from any possible source of help. Certainly he could not rely for assistance on Nancy Wing, who would not hesitate to betray him in a crisis for her own benefit or salvation. He was completely alone, not for the first time but possibly for the last.
His predicament became even clearer after he. and Nancy changed and checked out of the hotel, where their bill had already been paid. A Cuban Ministry of Security car and chauffeur took them to the airport, where they were driven straight to the far end of the field. There the huge silver aircraft awaited them, with a crew of three in the cockpit and four attendants in the cabin, three of them men and one a woman.
Seven KGB representatives had been assigned to take him and Nancy to the rendezvous, and they were not only instructed to deliver the passengers safely, but undoubtedly would prevent them from making contact with anyone along the way. The original red herring ploy had been so effective that Andropov was taking no chances.