The Spoilers / Juggernaut

‘I hope so.’ Picot looked at Parker who had bis nose deep in a glass. ‘Your friend drinks too much – and talks too loudly. That is not good.’

‘He’s all right. He’s just become edgy because of the waiting, that’s all. Anyway, I can control him.’

‘I understand your position – exactly,’ said Picot drily. He stood up. ‘I will be seeing you soon.’

Abbot watched him leave, then said, ‘You were great, Dan. The stage lost a great actor somewhere along the line.’

Parker put down his glass and looked at it without enthusiasm. ‘I was pretty good at amateur theatricals at one time,’ he said complacently. ‘You paid him something. How much?’

‘He gets a thousand pounds; I paid half.’ Abbot laughed. ‘Keep your hair on, Dan; they’re Lebanese pounds – worth about half-a-crown each.’

Parker grunted and swirled the beer in his glass. ‘It’s still too much. This stuff is full of piss and wind. Let’s go somewhere we can get a real drink, and you can tell me all about it.’

III

Nothing happened next day. They went to the café at the same time in the evening but Picot was not there, so they had a meal, chatted desultorily and went away. Despite his confident attitude Abbot was wondering whether Picot was genuine or whether he had paid over £60 to a smooth grafter he would never see again.

They were just about to leave for the café the next evening when there was a knock at the door. Abbot raised his eyebrows at Parker and went to open it. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Fabre.’

He opened up. ‘How did you know we were here?’

‘That does not matter, Monsieur Abbot. You wish to speak to someone – he is here.’ He jerked his eyes sideways. ‘That will be five hundred pounds.’

Abbot glanced to where a tall man stood in the shadowed corridor. ‘Don’t try to con me, Fabre. How do I know it’s the man I want? It could be one of your put-up jobs. I’ll talk to him first, then you’ll get your money.’

‘All right,’ said Picot. ‘I’ll be in the usual place tomorrow.’

He walked away down the corridor and Abbot waited at the door. The tall man moved forward and, as his face came out of shadow, Abbot knew he had hit the jackpot. It was Eastman. He stepped on one side to let him enter, and Eastman said in a flat mid-western accent, ‘Was Picot trying to shake you down?’

Abbot closed the door. ‘Who?’ he said blankly. ‘He said his name was Fabre.’

‘His name is Picot and he’s a chiselling nogoodnik,’ said Eastman without rancour.

‘Talking about names,’ said Abbot. ‘This is Dan Parker and I’m Mike Abbot. And you are …?’ He let the question hang in the air.

‘The name is Eastman.’

Abbot smiled. ‘Sit down, Mr Eastman. Dan, pull up a chair and join the congregation.’

Eastman sat down rigidly on the chair offered. ‘I’m told you have something to sell me. Start selling.’

‘I’ll start off, Dan,’ said Abbot. ‘You can chip in when things become technical.’ He looked at Eastman. ‘I’m told there’s a fair amount of smuggling goes on around here. Dan and I have got an idea – a good idea. The trouble is we don’t have the capital to pull it off ourselves, so we’re open to offers – on a participation basis, of course.’

‘You don’t get offered a cent until I know what you’re talking about.’

‘This is where the conversation gets tricky,’ said Abbot. ‘However, Dan tells me it doesn’t matter very much if you know the secret. He thinks he’s the only one around who can make it work. Of course, it wouldn’t work with too much weight or bulk. What are you interested in smuggling?’

Eastman hesitated. ‘Let’s say gold.’

‘Let’s say gold,’ agreed Abbot. ‘Dan, how much could you carry – in weight?’

‘Up to five hundred pounds.’

‘Interested?’ asked Abbot.

‘Maybe. What’s the gimmick?’

‘This works when coming in from the sea. You shoot it in by torpedo.’ Abbot looked at Eastman as though expecting a round of applause.

Eastman sighed and put his hands on the table as though to. lever himself up. ‘You’re wasting my time,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Abbot. ‘Why are we wasting your time?’

Eastman stared at him and shook his head sadly. ‘It’s been tried before and it doesn’t work very well. You’re out of luck, boys.’

‘Perhaps you were using the wrong torpedoes.’

‘Perhaps.’ Eastman looked at Abbot with renewed interest. ‘What have you got?’

‘You tell me what you want, then maybe we can get together.’

Eastman smiled thinly. ‘Okay, I’ll play ball; I’ve got ten minutes spare. A torpedo has only worked well once. That was on the Austrian-Italian border; a few smart-alick amateurs got hold of a torpedo and started smuggling across one of the little lakes up there. Booze one way and tobacco the other. They had the customs cops going nuts trying to figure out how it worked. Then some jerk shot off at the mouth and that was the end of it.’

‘So?’ said Abbot. ‘It worked, didn’t it?’

‘Oh, it worked – but only across a half-assed pond. A torpedo doesn’t have the range for what I want.’

‘Can you get hold of a torpedo?’

‘Sure – but for what? Those we can get hold of don’t have the range, and those we could use are on the secret lists. Boy, if I could get hold of one of the modern underwater guided missile babies I’d be made.’

Parker broke in. ‘What kind of torpedo can you get?’

Eastman shrugged. ‘Those on the international arms market – models of the ’forties and ‘fifties. Nothing really up to date.’

‘What about the British Mark XI?’

‘Those are available, sure. With a maximum range of three miles – and what the hell’s the good of that?’

‘Fifty-five hundred yards wi’ batteries brought up to heat,’ corrected Parker.

Abbot grinned. ‘I think you’d better tell him, Dan.’

Parker said deliberately, ‘I can get fifteen miles out o’ a Mark XI.’

Eastman sat up straight. ‘Are you on the level?’