The QE2 Is Missing

Both Diaz and Josep shrugged in real or pretended indifference. This was the way it would have to be. Hank looked at their unreadable expressions and wondered, not for the first time since he made the reluctant decision, if he were doing the right thing. This was not his battle. When he had first gone to London he had been approached for some small assistance by a friend he had been to law school with, who was now living and working in Israel. At no time in his life had Hank ever joined any Jewish associations, he had never been Bar—

Mitzvahed or been religious in any way. As far as the world was concerned the only thing Jewish about him was his name. As far as he was concerned, there was an unforgettable heritage, thousands of years old, that made him instantly accept when asked to perform some simple liaison tasks for the Israelis. That was how this whole business had started.

Very early in the relationship he had been assured that he would not be asked to do anything illegal, or anything that might jeopardize his American citizenship. This promise had been kept and the relationship had been a good one. Never very demanding, but satisfying in that he felt he was doing something more positive in life than marking time in the family law firm until one of the elderly partners croaked and he could be lifted up to that lofty position himself.

The Paraguayan photographs had changed all that. What had begun as a simple liaison, a contact with an outside party who might be trying to compromise the Israeli delegation in London, had grown out of all proportion to his original commitment. He had finally realized that he must draw the line someplace. He had. If he took part in an armed and violent attack against representatives of two sovereign nations, no matter how corrupt these countries were, he was putting not only his life in jeopardy but his entire future. He just couldn’t do it, that was all. He had never wanted to be a G-man, a combat marine, a black belt judo champ, never. And he did not want to be a gun-toting international agent. He believed in law and the rule of law and he intended to devote his life to that. He had bent his personal rules of behavior by working outside international law to aid the threatened state Israel. And certainly helping to apprehend criminals like the Nazis was about as moral as you could get. But now he had gone just as far as he could possibly go.

The sudden loud knocking drew their attention. It was not in this room, but was the one in the suite next door; the sound was coming from the speaker of their eavesdropping apparatus. Instinctively they all leaned close to listen.

“Sergeant, get the door,” Stroessner ordered, weakly. He sipped the neat gin and stifled a groan. Would this ship ever stop heaving and rolling so? He was keeping seasickness barely at bay with a mixture of dramamine and gin. It worked, but was ruining his digestive tract.

One by one the principals entered; the final meeting had begun.

Dr. Wielgus was first, bringing the bag of diamonds — and the hulking form of his bodyguard, Klaus, to keep watch over them. Admiral Marquez was with him, they had met in the corridor, and Aurelia Hortiguela arrived just moments later. She was alone.

“Where is Chvosta?” Wielgus said, frowning with displeasure. “This meeting must begin on time.”

Aurelia looked him up and down coldly and waited an insultingly long time before she answered. “Mr. Chvosta is discomposed. He regrets that he won’t be able to attend at the present time.”

“What!” Wielgus exploded with rage. “Tell that fat Czech swine that I want him here at once, you hear me? Now!”

Aurelia’s smile had no trace of warmth in it. “Why don’t you tell him yourself, Doctor Wielgus? The last time I talked to the fat Czech he was heaving his guts out. Seasick. Mareado. Or what is the quaint word you Germans have? Seekrank. He wouldn’t even open the door. Shouted through it that he was dying and I should go away and leave him in peace.”

“I want him here, now, even if he has to be dragged.”

Admiral Marquez broke in. “May I make a suggestion? A seasick Chvosta will be of no use to us. But my personal physician, Dr. Llusera, is in my cabin. He not only uses pills but has a powerful injection that dispenses with all of the symptoms as well.”

“A capital suggestion, Admiral,” Stroessner said. “I could use that injection myself. Does the doctor speak English?”

“Of course not.”

“Then my aide, Major de Laiglesia, will accompany him and translate. Call first, Major, and have the steward there to unlock the cabin for you.” His voice hardened. “And Sergeant Pradera will go as well in case Chvosta has to be carried. Because he will be here. This meeting must begin.”

Aurelia Hortiguela tried to leave with the two men, but Wielgus seized her by the arm and pulled her back. “You are staying here,” he said and turned away. Ignoring or indifferent to her look of cold fury.