Triple (37 page)

Ken Folleff

willing to sever. It was Pedlees uranium he wanted, but he was not going to

ask for it, now or ever. Instead he would try to maneuver Pedler into a

position where he was dependent upon Dickstein for his livelihood.

After the factory tour Pedler drove him in a new Mercedes from the works to

a wide chalet-style house on a hillside. They sat in front of a big window

and sipped their Sekt while Frau Pedler--a pretty, cheerful woman in her

forties-busied herself in the kitchen. Bringing a potential customer home

to lunch on the weekend was a somewhat Jewish way of doing business,

Dickstein mused, and he wondered if Pedler had thought of that

Ilia window overlooked the valley Down below the river was wide and slow,

with a narrow road running alongside it Small gray houses with white

shutters clustered in small groups along the banks, and the vineyards

sloped upward to the Pedlers! house and beyond it to the treeline. If I

were going to live in a cold country, Dickstein thought~ this would do

nicely.

"Well, what do you think?" said Pedler.

"About the view, or the factory?"

Pedler smiled and shrugged. "Both."

'The view is magnificent. The factory is smaller than I expected.99

Pedler lit a cigarette. He was a heavy smoker-he was lucky to have lived so

long. "Small?"

Perhaps I should explain what rin looking for.-

"Please."

Dickstein launched into his story. "Right now the Army buys cleaning

materials from a variety of suppliers: detergents from one, ordinary soap

from another, solvents for machinery from someone else and so on. Were

tying to cut costs, and perhaps we can do this by taking our entire

business in this area to one manufacturer."

Pedlees eyes widened. "That, is . He fumbled for a phrase '~ . . a tall

order."

"I'm afraid it may be too tall for you," Dickstein said, thinking: Don't

say yesl

"Not nece&urily. Ile only reason we haven!t got that kind of bulk

manufacturing capacity is simply that we've never had this scale of

business. We certainly have the managerial and technical know-how, and with

a large firm order we could

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get finance to expand it all depends on the figures,

really.-

Dickstem pkJwd up his briefcase from beside his chair and opened it "Here

are the specifications for,the,products," he said, handing Pedler a list.

"Plus the quantities required and the time scAle, You'll want time to

consult with your directon and do your sums---~'

"rm the boss," Pedler said with a smile. "I don't have to consult

anybody. Give me tomorrow to work on the figures, and Monday to we the

bank. On Tuesday 1% call and give you prices."

"I was told you were a good man to work with," Dickstein said.

"There are some advantages to being a small company."

Frau Pedler came in from the kitchen and said, "Lunch is ready.99

My darling Sum

I have never written a love letter before. I don't think I ever called

anyone darling until now. I must tell you, it feels very good.

I am alone in a strange town on a cold Sunday afternoon. The town is

quite pretty, with lots of parks, in. fact rm sitting in one of them

now, writing to you with a leaky ballpoint pen and some vile green

stationery, the only kind I could got My bench is beneath a curious

kind of pagoda with a circular dome and Greek columns all around in a

circle-like a folly, or the kind of summer house you might find In an

English country, garden designed by'a Victorian eccentric. In front

of,me is a fiat lawn dotted with poplar trees, and in the distance I

can hear a brass band playing something by Edward Elgar. The park is

fall of people with children and footballs and dogs.

I dotft know why I'm telling you all this. What I really want to say

is I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I knew

that a couple of days after we met I hesitated to tell you, not because

I wasn!t sure, but

Well, if you want to know the truth, I thought it might ware you off.

I know you love me, but I also know that you are twenty-five, that

loves comes easily to

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you (I'm the opposite way), and that love which comes easily may go

easily. So I thought: Softly, Softly, give her a chance to get to like

you before you ask her to say "Forever." Now that weve been apart for

so many weeks rm no longer capable of such deviousness. I just have to

tell you how it is with me. Forever is what I want, and you might as

well know it now.

I'm a changed man. I know that sounds trite, but when it happens to you

it isn't trite at all, it's just the opposite. Life looks different to

me now, in several ways-some of which you know about, others IT tell

you one day. Even this is different, this being alone In a strange

place with nothing to do until Monday. Not that I mind it,

particularly. But before, I wouldn't even have thought of it as

something I might like or dislike. Before, there was nothing I'd prefer

to do. Now there is always something Id rather do, and you're the

person I'd rather do it to. I mean with, not to. Well, either, or both.

I'm going to have to get off that subject, it's making me fidget.

I'll be gone from here in a couple of days, don't know where I'm going

next, don't know-and this is the worst part-don't even know when I'll

see You again. But when I do, believe me, Im not going to let you out

of my sight for ten or fifteen years.

None of this sounds how it's supposed to sound. I want to tell you how

I feel, and I can't put it into words. I want you to know what ies like

for me to picture your face many times every day, to see a slender girl

with black hair and hope, against all reason, that somehow she might

be you, to imagine all the time what You n-dght say about a view, a

newspaper article, a small man with a large dog, a pretty dress; I want

you to know how, when I get into bed alone, I just ache with the need

to touch you.

I love you so much.

N.

Franz Pedler's secretary phoned Nat Dickstein at his hotel on Tuesday

morning and made a date for lunch.

They went to a modest restaurant in the Wilhelmstrasse and ordered beer

instead of wine: this was to be a working 212

TRIPLE

session. Dickstein controlled his impat ience-Pedler, not he,

was supposed to do the wooing.

Pedler said, "Well, I Chink we can accommodate you."

Dickstein wanted to shout "Hoorayl" but he kept his face impassive.

Pedier continued: "The, prices, which IM give you in a moment are

conditional. We need a five-year contz-act. We will guarantee prices for

the first twelve months; after that they may be varied in accordance with

an index of world Prim of certain mw matenals. And there!s a cancellaton

Penalty amounting to ten percent of the value of one Yeaes Supply."

Dickstein wanted to say, "Donel" and shake hands on the deal, but he

reminded himself to continue to play his part. $wren per-cent is stiff.99

"It's not,excessive," Pedler argued. "It certainly would not recompense

us for our losses if you did cancel. But it must be large enough to deter

you fmm canceling except under very compelling circumstances."

"I see that. But we may suggest a smaller percentage."

Pedler shrugged. "Everything is negotiable. Here are the prices."

Dickstein studied the list then said, 'This is close to what we're

looking for."

"Does that mean we have a deal?"

Dickstein thought: Yes, yes! But. he said, "No, it means that I think we

can do business."

Pedler beamed. "In that case," he said, "let's have a real drink.

Waiterl"

When the drinks came Pedler raised his glass in a toast. "'To many years

of business together."

"1711 drink to that," Dickstein said. As he raised his glass he was

thinking: How about that-1 did it againI

Life at sea was uncomfortable, but it was not as bad as Pyotr Tyrin had

expected. In the Soviet Navy, ships had been run on the principles of

unremitting hard work, harsh discipline and bad food. The Coparelli was

very different. Tte captain, Eriksen, asked only for safety and good

seamanship, and even there his standards were not remarkably high. The

deck was swabbed occasionally, but nothing was ever polished or painted.

The food was quite good, and Tyrin had the advantage of sharing a cabin

with the cook. In theory Tyrin 213 -

Ken Folleff

could be called upon at any hour of the day or night to send radio

signals, but in practice all the traffic occurred during the normal

working day so he even got his eight hours sleep every night. It was a

comfortable regimen, and Pyotr Tyrin was concerned about comfort.

Sadly, the ship was the opposite of comfortable. She was a bitch. As soon

as they rounded Cape Wrath and left The Minch and the North Sea she began

to pitch and roll like a toy yacht in a gale. Tyrin felt terribly

seasick, and had to conceal it, since he was supposed to be a sailor.

Fortunately this occurred while the cook was busy in the galley and Tyrin

was not needed in the radio room, so be was able to lie flat on his back

in his bunk until the worst was over.

The quarters were poorly ventilated and inadequately heated, so

immediately it got a little damp above, the mess decks were full of wet

clothing hanging up to dry and making the atmosphere worse.

Tyrin's radio gear was in his sea-bag, well protected by polythene and

canvas and some sweaters. However, he could not set it up and operate it

in his cabin, where the cook or anyone else might walk in. He had already

made routine radio contact with Moscow on the ship~s radio, during a

quiet-but nonetheless tense--mornent when nobody was listening; but he

needed something safer and more reliable.

-Tyrin was a nest-building man. Whereas Rostov would move from embassy

to hotel room to safe house without noticing his environment, Tyrin liked

to have a base, a place where he could feel comfortable and familiar and

secure. On static surveillance, the kind of assignment he preferred, he

would always find a large easy chair to place in front of the window, and

would sit at the telescope for hours, perfectly content with his bag of

sandwiches, his bottle of soda and his thoughts. Here on the Copareffl,

he had found a place to nest.

Exploring the ship in daylight, he had discovered a little labyrinth of

stores up in the bow beyond the for'ard hatch. The naval architect had

put them there merely to fill a space between the hold and the prow. The

main store was entered by a semiconcealed door down a flight of steps.

It contained some tools, several drums of grease for the cranes and-inex-

plicably-a rusty old lawn mower. Several smaller rooms opened off the

main one: some containing ropes, bits of

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machinery and decaying cardboard boxes of nuts and bolts; others empty but

for msects. Tynn had never seen anyone enter the area-stuff that was used

was stored aft, where it was needed.

He chose a moment when darkness was failing and most of the crew and

officers were at supper. He went to his cabin, picked up his sea-bag and

climbed the companionway to the deck. He took a flashlight from a locker

below the bridge but did not yet switch it on.

The almanac said there was a moon, but it did not show through the thick

clouds. Tyrin made his way stealthily foeard holding on to the gunwale,

where his silhouette would be less likely to show against the off-white

deek. There was some light from the bridge and the wheelhouse, but the

duty officers would be watching the surrounding sea, not the deck.

Cold $Pray fell on him, and as the Copareni executed her notorious roll

he had to grab the rail with both hands to avoid being swept overboard.

At tunes she shipped waternot much, but enough to soak into Tyrin's sea

boots and frem his feet. He hoped fervently that he would never find out

what she was like in a real gale.

He was miserably wet and shivering when he reached the bow and entered

the litdc disused store. He closed the door behind him, switched on his

flashlight and made his way through the assorted junk to one of the small

rooms off the main store. He closed that door behind him too. He took off

his o9skin, rubbed his hand on his gweater to dry and warm them some,

then opened his bag. He put the transmitter in a corner, lashed it to the

bulkhead with a wire tied through rings in the deck, and wedged it with

a cardboard box.

He was Wearing rubber soles, but he put on rubber gloves as an additional

precaution for the next task. The cables to the ship's radio mast ran

through a pipe along the deckhead above him. With a small hacksaw

pilfered from the engine room TYrin cut away a six-inch section of the

pipe, exposing tht cables. He took a tap from the power cable to the

power input of the transmitter, then connected the aerial socket of Ins

radio with the signal wire from the mast

He switched on the radio and called Moscow.

His Outgoing sigrials would not interfere with the shies radio because

he was the radio operator and it was unlikely that an)rone else would

attempt to send on the ship!s equip-

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