To The Stars

Nothing too obvious; he knew the dangers of Security surveillance better than she did. His glass was empty, getting another would not be compromising. If she had come here to contact him, he wanted her to know he was aware of that. Then, if she did not get in touch with him or give him some message, her presence was an accident as far as he was concerned. Italian or Israeli she was certainly an enemy agent of some kind. In this country illegally? Did Security know about her and were they watching her even now? Should he identify her for his own protection?

He rejected the idea as soon as it was formed. He couldn’t do that; whoever she was, she was also one of the people responsible for saving his life. Not only that — he had no desire to identify anyone to his brother-in-law’s branch of the service. Even if he could have done it safely, for if he identified her he would have to say how he knew her and the whole story of the submarine would come out. He was beginning to realize how thin was the layer of ice that supported the world he used to call normal. He had broken through it when he had been rescued, and had been sinking deeper and deeper ever since.

It took a moment to locate her, to push through the crowd and set the empty glass on her tray. “Another Corvo, if you please.” His eyes were upon her, yet she would not meet them. She passed the wine over in silence, never looking at him, turning away the instant he had taken it. So what was that supposed to mean? He was angry, feeling rejected. All of these charades just to be ignored! Or was it part of a more devious plan? The entire matter was beginning to disgust him and the noise and light was giving him a headache. Not only that but the unaccustomed spicy food sat like a weight in the pit of his stomach. There was no point in staying on here any longer.

The servant found his coat, bowing deep, holding it up so he could shrug into it. Jan went out, buttoning it, breathing deeply of the icy and refreshing air. A rank of cabs was waiting and he signaled the doorman for one. His hands were getting chilled so he pulled on one glove, then the other — and stopped.

There was something that felt like a piece of paper in the glove, at the tip of his index finger. He knew that it had not been there when he had left his apartment. For an instant he hesitated, then pulled the glove all the way on. This was neither the time nor the place to investigate. The cabby jumped out, held the door open, and saluted.

“Monument Court,” he said, dropping into the seat. The doorman hurried out from under the canopy to

open the cab door when they arrived.

“Another cold one, Engineer Kulozik.”

Jan nodded; there was no need to answer. He stalked across the lobby and into the elevator, not even noticing the operator who took him to his floor. Natural. He must act naturally at all times.

The alarms had not been tripped; no one had entered the apartment or tampered with anything since he had left that morning. Or if they had it had been done so well it had left no trace, in which case there was no escape. A certain fatalistic acceptance was necessary in this situation. Only when this had been done did he turn the glove inside out and shake the folded bit of paper onto the table.

It opened up to reveal a poorly printed cash register receipt for the sum of ninety-four pence. The time and date were stamped on it as well, one in the morning, some three days earlier. The establishment that had issued it was called SMITHFIELD JOLYON and he had never heard of it.

Was it an accident that this had appeared so suddenly inside his glove? No, no accident, not at the same place, the same evening he had seen Sara. It must be a message — yet a message that would be completely innocuous to anyone who might find it by accident. A register receipt, everyone had them. It would have been puzzling but meaningless to him as well if he hadn’t seen her there at the embassy. So it was a message — meaning what?

The phonebook revealed that the Smithfield Jolyon was one of a chain of automated restaurants. He had never heard of them before because they were all located in areas that he never frequented. This one, while not too far away, was in a scruffy dock area. What next?

Why go there of course, at one A.M. Tonight? Of course tonight. It would take a fool not to understand the simple intelligence carried by the slip of paper. It might also take a fool to go there. If he did not go — then what? Another attempt to contact him? Probably not. A wink was as good as a nod in this kind of business.

Jan realized that he had already made up his mind to go when he found himself considering what clothes he should wear. So it was decided. It had to be. He had to find out more. He would put on the rough clothes and boots that he used for field work in the fen district. He wouldn’t look like a prole — wasn’t even sure that he wanted to do that — but these clothes would be the best compromise.