^ Hahnemann looked embarrassed, then laughed. 'I am giving away my trade secrets. I have a fetish for security, I admit it. But we live in a dangerous world and one day someone who does not like my customers may try to sabotage a ship I am building. So everyone who conies into the building is secretly photographed. We have your own picture, Mr Sullivan. I hope I have not shocked you – Watergate and all that…'
^ 'Thank God you do use a hidden camera. You take just one shot?'
^ 'No, several…' Hahnemann took an envelope out of his breast pocket and spilled glossy prints on to the desk. 'I showed you the best, although this is more of a closeup.'
^ Winter was nearer the camera, probably just turning on to the staircase landing – his head was turned and showed in profile. He had a cold, very alert look. 'Who is this man?' Hahnemann asked.
^ 'I find it hard to believe – he was in my office, sitting where you are sitting.'
^ That's probably his secret,' Sullivan commented drily. 'He doesn't look the part. Before I leave Hamburg could I have three copies of the profile shot and the one you showed me first?'
^ 'No problem, as the Americans say.' He used the phone and told Sullivan they would be ready in thirty minutes. 'He spent ^ ^ the whole day poring over blueprints of the ^ Chieftain, ^ asking questions about her. He pretended he wanted a ship built to a similar specification.'
^ 'The ^ Chieftain! He ^ didn't take any interest in the twin ship you built for Harper, the ^ Challenger?'
^ 'None at all. I think I mentioned that vessel once and he wasn't interested.'
^ So now we know, Sullivan thought. The target ship was the ^ Chieftain, ^ lying up in dry-dock in Genoa, a perfect place for an act of sabotage, while the ship was immobile and helpless. He would fly back to London tomorrow and get Harper to have the security stepped up in Italy.
^ Heathrow Airport, London, Wednesday January 15. 12.15pm ^ Flight BA 601 took off for Montreal, Canada. Aboard the Boeing 707 travelled thirteen of the fifteen ex-OAS terrorists. Such a large group of Frenchmen was hardly likely to excite any interest since they were flying to a city where French is spoken on every street. When they reached Montreal in charge of Andre Dupont, they would stay there overnight; the following day they would catch another flight on to Vancouver, the Canadian city close to the port of Victoria where the trawler ^ Pecheur ^ was moored. Dupont would take them straight on board and there they would wait, confined to the ship until Winter arrived from Alaska.
^ Winter himself had watched them go into the final departure lounge at Terminal One, then he hurried to report for his own flight with LeCat and two other terrorists, Armand Bazin and Pierre Goussin.
^ 12.45pm ^ Flight BA 850 took off for Anchorage, Alaska.
^ Aboard the Boeing 707 travelled Winter and LeCat and the two Frenchmen. Ahead of them was a nine-hour flight by the polar route non-stop. They travelled separately, Winter and LeCat occupying separate seats as though they had no connection with each other, while in another part of the plane Bazin and Goussin travelled together, sitting side by side. They all held economy class tickets, although with the huge sums of money at his disposal Winter could easily have afforded first-class seats. Here he was reversing his normal procedure when staying at a hotel – stay at the best and the police will assume you are respectable. On a plane the passenger who is not noticed is the economy class man. While the other three men stayed awake eating, trying to read magazines, then eating again, Winter slept through most of the flight, only waking up when he was within half an hour of his destination.
^ 1.15pm ^ Flight BE 613 arrived from Hamburg. Among the first passengers to alight from the Trident was Sullivan.
^ Arriving at Heathrow airport, Sullivan phoned his flat in Batter-sea, and then wished he hadn't bothered. His charlady, Mrs Morrison, gave him a number to ring urgently, and he knew immediately it was Admiral George Lindsay Worth, RN, the man who had been responsible for his leaving naval intelligence. Worth was now with the Ministry of Defence. To get it over with, he phoned at once and Worth's secretary made an appointment for them to meet at the RAC Club in Pall Mall. At 3pm.
^ 'He said it was very urgent. You are to ask for Mr Worth. No mention of rank…'
^ Sullivan went straight to Pall Mall from the airport, swearing at himself all the way inside the cab; he was still being treated like a naval lieutenant. Why the hell hadn't he said no?
^ Worth, a crisp, compact man of sixty, was waiting for him in the members' lounge, a vast, empty-feeling room with tall windows at either end. It was cold; there seemed to be no heating at all in the place. Not that this was likely to worry an admiral who had faced hurricane-force winds in the north Atlantic as a matter of course. Worth was sitting against the wall in a dead man's chair, a huge, low arm-chair often occupied by members whose appearance suggested the immediate calling of an undertaker.
^ 'Prefer to sit over there?' Worth enquired, pointing to one of the tables. Thought you might…' He heaved himself up. 'How's Peggy? She's the latest girl friend, I take it?'
^ 'She is.' Sullivan wondered how Worth managed to throw him off balance each time they met. 'What's all this about? I just came in from Europe and I could do with some kip…'
^ Worth stared across the table, registering the note of independence. 'I know,' he said quietly. 'Asking a lot of questions, stirring things up all down the French coast.'
^ 'Coffee? No? Perhaps just as well – it's lukewarm, anyway. As to your question, it's my job to know things. I asked you here to request you to stop stirring things up.'
^ Admiral Worth smiled, at least his mouth performed a bleak grimace which Sullivan took to be his version of a smile. 'I can't answer questions, you should know that by now. All this is off the record, of course. Official Secrets Act and all that…'
^ 'You should have said that when I came in here, I think I'm going…'
^ 'Bear with me a few minutes longer,' Worth suggested. 'You haven't changed, I see. Harper Tankships, isn't it?'
^ 'You said it was your business to know things.' Sullivan was becoming angry, but his expression remained blank. 'If you'll give me a good reason I might consider it – dropping the whole thing. I said consider it.'
^ 'We heard the whisper too – about a hi-jack, or sabotage. It was a smokescreen – to cover something else our Arab friends had in mind. Buy the 4pm edition.'
^ 'Not a ship – another plane. KLM Flight 401 from Amsterdam to Paris. Beggars got on board at Schiphol. Something special about this job – there are three senior Royal-Dutch Shell chaps aboard, including a managing director.'
^ ^ whisper you were chasing was pure camouflage – it was this plane hi-jack they were covering. It's really another demonstration of Arab power, of course…'
^ 'It's become a way of life.' Worth reverted to his salty, commander-on-the-bridge language. 'They have us by the balls and they enjoy squeezing them. Can't do anything about it – the British government is resigned to an Arab condominium over the West for as far ahead as we can see.' He stared as Sullivan stood up. 'Can we rely on you?'
^ 'You didn't think you could when we last met. I'll have to think about it. Please excuse me, but as I told you, I'm straight off the aircraft…'
^ Sullivan was fuming as he left the club. Prior to meeting Worth he had decided to drop the whole thing – after warning Harper to tighten up on security round the ^ Chieftain ^ in Genoa, although at the back of his mind he still wasn't sure. Now, if he did drop it, it would look as though he were falling in with Worth's odd request. He was still fuming when he went on to see Victor Harper.