To The Stars

“Then drinks, at your place. I’ll save money. Six all right?”

“If you say so. But I don’t understand all the rush…”

“Just boyish enthusiasm. See you at six.”

Thurgood-Smythe did not return home until close to seven and Elizabeth showed very little interest in either satellites or space flight so, after exhausting the conversational possibilities of Orla, Jan turned his attention to mixing a large picture of cocktails. A new one called Death Valley, dry, hot, and deadly the bartender had explained, and leave out most of the tobasco for the ladies. Thurgood-Smythe arrived in a rush, puckered his lips over the cocktail, and listened with half an ear to the satellite news. Which was undoubtedly old news to him if he were getting surveillance reports. Jan trailed after him and had not the slightest trouble in exchanging gold pens when his brother-in-law changed jackets.

It would probably come to nothing, but there was a certain sweet feeling of success to know he had bugged the buggers. When he left they were relieved to see him go.

On his way home he stopped at a twenty-four hour shop and made the purchases as instructed. He would be meeting Sara again later this same evening and the instructions had been detailed and precise.

When he returned to his apartment he went straight to the bathroom and extracted the tester from the holder on his belt. He had done this, every day as a matter of routine, since he had found the optic bug set into the light fixture above the sink. Invasion of privacy was one thing, sheer bad taste was another, he had shouted as he had shorted the thing out. Since that time some sort of unspoken arrangement seemed to have been made. He made no attempt to search for bugs in the rest of the apartment; surveillance, as far as he could tell, kept their cameras out of the toilet. It was still clear.

Running water into the tub should take care of the sound bugs. There were so many ways of picking up voices and sound that he did not even try to look for them. Just mask them when needed. He bathed quickly, with the water still running, toweled himself dry, and dressed from the skin out with his recent purchases. Underclothes, socks, shoes, dark trousers — roughly the color of the ones he had taken off — shirt and sweater. All of his discarded clothing went into the bag that had held the new items. He pulled on his overcoat, buttoning it carefully to his chin, picked up gloves and hat and left with the bundle of clothing. With all of the bugs it might contain whirring and recording like mad.

He looked at the dashboard clock and slowed the car. He was to be at the rendezvous at nine precisely. No earlier and no later. It was a clear night and a few people were still about in the streets. He turned into the Edgeware Road and proceeded leisurely toward Little Venice. The radio was playing, a little louder than he usually liked it, but the music was also part of the arrangements.

It was exactly on the hour when he stopped at the bridge over Regent’s Canal. A man walked out of the darkness and held the car door as he opened it. A scarf around his face concealed his identity. He eased the door shut, trying not to click the latch, then drove away. Jan’s identity and bugs drove away too, along with his overcoat, shoes, and clothing. Until he was back in the car surveillance did not know where he was, could not see or hear him. A man waved to him from the towpath along the canal.

Jan followed about ten paces behind him, not trying to catch up. The wind was cold, cutting through the sweater, and he hunched his shoulders, hands jammed into his pockets. Their footsteps were soundless in the snow, the night quiet except for the sound of a television playing in the distance. The frozen canal was an unbroken layer of whiteness. They came to canal boats tied by the path. After looking around the leading man jumped aboard the second one and vanished from sight. Jan did the same, finding the rear door in the darkness and pushing it open. Someone closed it and the lights came on.

“Cold evening,” Jan said, looking at the girl seated at the table. Her features were invisible behind the face-changer, but her hair and figure was undoubtedly Sara’s. The man he had followed in had a familiar smile and gap-toothed grin.

“Fryer,” Jan said, wringing his hand strongly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And yourself. Survived your little adventure I see, and did well in the bargain.”

“We don’t have much time,” Sara said sternly. “And there is a lot to be done.”

“Yes, m’am,” Jan said. “Do you have a name or do I just keep calling you m’am like you were the Queen?”

“You may call me Queeny, my good man.” There was mischief in her voice and Fryer caught it.

“Sounds like you two met before. So you, old son, we’ll call you Kingy, because I’m blowed if I remember what name you used last time. Now I have some good beer down in the bilge and I’ll get it and we’ll get on with the night’s business.”