Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 38, No. 13, Mid-December 1993

Criminal Justice by Albert Bashover

A bland, almost featureless seven story office building sits on the bank of the river Seine in Saint-Cloud, near Paris. Most people would not take special note of it unless they walked into the marble entranceway and noticed the relief on the wall. It depicts a globe of the world overlying the scales of justice; the globe is pierced vertically by a sword. At the bottom is the word interpol. Above, on the left, are the initials O.I.P.C., and on the right I.C.P.O., which are the French and English initials for International Crime Police Organization. This unimpressive building at 26 rue Armengaud contains the offices of Interpol’s general secretariat and is Interpol’s main office. The quietness of the halls belies the fact that it is chronically understaffed...

It seemed that everyone, from the top down, was constantly being asked to do double duty. Because of this, Maxim Nevsky was not particularly hopeful when Pierre Fernet, the new head of the narcotics division, sent for him. Maxim, who had a desk job in the documents section of narcotics, had requested field duty from Monsieur Frenetti, his immediate superior, many times but was always told that his work in document translation was much too important for him to be released for field work, especially when skilled Rumanian-Russian-English translators were so hard to come by. Maxim was not in a position to argue. With his background, he was surprised that Interpol had hired him at all, but he knew that the real reason for the refusal to make him a field agent was his age. Sixty was not so old, Maxim thought. He had kept himself in good physical condition, the result of his career in the KGB. He knew he looked years younger. Although his hair was white, it was still thick. His face was thin but unlined, and he carried his still muscular six foot height erectly. But Frenetti had his dossier, which clearly stated his age, and there was no way to get around that.

Pierre Fernet’s secretary told Maxim that he was expected, but he hesitated for a second in front of Fernet’s closed office door, checking for the presence of the notebook in his hand and the sharpened pencil and ballpoint pen in his pocket. After all, the chances were that he was just being called for a simple translation job. He tapped lightly.

“Come in, Monsieur Nevsky.”

The first thing Maxim noticed as he entered was that Fernet had a guest. A small female figure with carefully combed blondish hair and a light blue cotton dress was seated before his desk, her back to Maxim.

Fernet pushed his pudgy frame off his office chair and stood up to his full, rotund, five foot three. His gravelly voice seemed incongruous with his stature. “Monsieur Nevsky, I would like to introduce you to Madame Shannon,” he said.

The lady turned, offering Maxim her hand. “How do you do, Monsieur Nevsky.” Her French had a touch of the English public school in it. She was older than Maxim had expected from his rear view and appeared to be a well-cared-for lady in her early fifties with a bit of gray mixed in the honey yellow of her hair. Her face was smooth, but there was a sadness about her eyes that might have added a few years to Maxim’s assessment of her age.

“We haven’t met before, Monsieur Nevsky,” Pierre Fernet said, “but Monsieur Frenetti has recommended you for a special job. It will require your knowledge of English, Rumanian, and Russian, but I must admit I’m not quite sure you would be, ah, comfortable in this assignment.”

Maxim felt a small wave of excitement rising. Perhaps at last he might be getting away from his desk job.

“I am sure I can handle any assignment you might give me,” he said. “As my dossier indicates, I’ve had quite a bit of experience as an investigative agent. As far as my age is concerned—”

“In this case, your age and appearance are an advantage. The problem is that the assignment I have in mind will take the agent into the old U.S.S.R. We know, of course, that you left there illegally several years ago, but since Interpol is an independent organization, not bound by any one nation’s laws, we felt there would be no problem in our using your particular linguistic abilities here in France — especially since the U.S.S.R. was never a member of Interpol and you had applied for French citizenship. In the old U.S.S.R., however, you would have been considered a defector. There have been many changes there since then, but how would you feel about it if you had to go back?”

“Monsieur Fernet, even though I worked for the KGB in the Odessa region for many years, I was never really at ease in that political environment. As you must know from my dossier, that’s why I, shall we say, ‘departed’ that country. But I always did my job there well, and since I left, I’ve never used any knowledge I might have against my former homeland. In today’s environment, as an agent of Interpol, I don’t believe I would have any difficulty in returning.”

Fernet studied Maxim for a moment. Then he sat down and said, “All right, Monsieur Nevsky. I’ll explain our problem. As you know, the Rumanian and the Ukrainian security police may have their little weaknesses, and they don’t particularly like each other, but when it comes to the illegal importation of narcotics, they are very strict and actually cooperate to some extent. A few months ago, even though the Ukrainians are not members of our organization, we were notified by their police that they had arrested several addicts in the port city of Odessa, and that those men had pointed them to one of the biggest sources of drugs in the area. It is the same type of narcotics that the Rumanian police have been reporting in large quantities around their Black Sea ports. The Ukrainian informants have identified a recently privatized clothing manufacturer in Odessa that calls itself Para Clothing as the source of the drugs. The authorities there have purposely refrained from immediately closing in on that factory because they and the Rumanians would like to know how the drugs are being smuggled into the country and who is at the other end of the pipeline. We are not talking here of a kilo or two a week but of large quantities being supplied over a considerable length of time. The Ukrainians know that if they close up their end of the drug route any suppliers outside their country will simply find another receiver. The way the country is today, it would be very easy for them to do so.”

“It would seem to me, sir,” said Maxim, “that the Ukrainian government should know how and from where Para Clothing receives its imported materials. A surveillance of those routes and sources—”

“Of course,” interrupted Fernet. “The obvious steps were taken by the Ukrainians and by us. The first thing the Ukrainians did was to have two of their operatives obtain jobs in the receiving department of Para Clothing, where they could thoroughly check all the material brought into the factory. In three months they weren’t able to find an ounce of narcotics in any shipment — but the dope was still going out the back door. They were, however, able to get some useful information for us. The Ukrainians determined that almost all the imported material for Para Clothing came from Istanbul—”

“A prime source of narcotics,” said Maxim.

“True, but also a prime source of mohair and other fabrics they legitimately export. All of Para Clothing’s fabrics come from one distributor in Istanbul, Atlas Ltd. Naturally, we notified the Turkish authorities, and they did very much what the Ukrainians had done. They secretly put operatives to work at that distributor, but again, after several months, no narcotics were discovered leaving the plant.”

“So that leaves the transportation between the two,” mused Maxim half aloud.

“Correct. The Ukrainians noted that all imported shipments to Para Clothing were made via Crescent Shipping Company, a small British-owned shipping line operating in the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. Crescent owns five ships, but one, the Athenia, seems to have been the carrier most used by Atlas. That ship makes regular freight trips from Istanbul to Odessa, with, not incidentally, a stop at Constanza, Rumania. It also carries a few passengers who want a cheap seven-day Black Sea cruise.”

“Do you believe the narcotics could be put into the cargo while it’s on the ship?”

“Not easily,” frowned Fernet. “The Athenia is what is called a ‘break bulk’ cargo ship. That is, all the material is brought to the ship from the distributor packed in crates, covered and sealed with a heavy tarp, and steel-strapped to wooden pallets. The tines of a forklift truck can slip into the spaces provided by the pallet so the cargo can be moved from warehouse to ship and from ship to destination without ever disturbing the security of the package. Even so, for insurance reasons, all palletized packages are thoroughly inspected for tampering both at the Istanbul docks and at the receiver’s docks. Besides that, we have had our own personnel secretly check the loads going to Para Clothing, even to the extent of ‘accidentally’ breaking a load now and then so we could inspect it right down to the last layer of fabric. If pallet loads were being opened and resealed on a regular basis, the dock cargo checkers or our men would have surely discovered it by now. Remember, we are talking about a fairly large quantity of narcotics being consistently delivered for almost a year. It should have been easy for our men to spot any tampering.”

“Still, the ship should be observed,” said Maxim. “Interpol should be able to put someone on board. That is, if the owners are truly innocent and willing to cooperate.” He was aware that Madame Shannon was watching him appraisingly with intent blue eyes.

Fernet rose. “You are quite right, Monsieur Nevsky. We have already taken that step, the ship’s owners were only too willing to have their innocence proved. The agent we placed on board was Alex Shannon, the son of Madame Shannon here.” Fernet came out from behind his desk and put his hand lightly on her shoulder. “Lila Shannon has been employed at Interpol since she was widowed, almost ten years ago. For over five years she has been an excellent investigative agent for my department. Through her efforts, her son was also hired by Interpol and trained as an agent.” The narcotics chief looked at the lady with a sad affection. “At the time this case came up, Lila — Madame Shannon — was busy on another assignment, so I gave Alex this job. I thought it was a simple investigative assignment. It was a mistake. As you know, Monsieur Nevsky, Interpol is not a police agency in the regular sense. That is, we are basically a source and dissemination center for information on criminals who cross international borders. We don’t arrest or detain people. In fact, it is illegal for us to do so. We don’t even carry arms, so it’s unusual for any of our personnel to meet violent ends—”

“I am sure my son was murdered, Monsieur Nevsky.” Madame Shannon said it quietly but with an intensity that surprised Maxim.

“Lila, the report did not say—”

“I think Monsieur Nevsky should hear a more complete version of that report.”

Fernet opened a slim file on his desk and ran a finger down the page. “For your information, Monsieur Nevsky, Monsieur Shannon was placed on board the Athenia as a passenger with instructions to try to discover the methods used by the smugglers. He was killed when he slipped on a steel ladder during some rough seas and fractured his skull.”

Fernet moved his finger farther down the page. “His body was discovered about four A.M. by the ship’s cook at the foot of the outside ladder that led to the main deck. The seas had been rough, and the steps and railing were wet and slippery.

“It seems that he did not die instantly,” Fernet went on. “According to the cook, Monsieur Shannon was able to scrawl the Russian word for lighthouse in the mixture of blood and moisture on the deck.” Fernet looked up from the file. “We only have the cook’s word for this because by the time any senior officers arrived, fresh blood and rain had obscured any sign of a message.”

Maxim brought his brows together. “Lighthouse?”

“Yes. Mayuk. It didn’t seem to make sense, and though the cook is not a very reliable witness — he is a poorly educated, almost retarded Russian — at Lila’s insistence we’ve been working on the assumption that there might have been some accuracy to his report. As yet we have not been able to associate any lighthouses in the Istanbul, Constanza, or Odessa regions with the route of the Athenia. It may be that ‘lighthouse’ is a code name for someone or someplace involved with the drug traffic.”

“If you will pardon me, sir,” said Maxim, “it doesn’t seem likely that agent Shannon, with his dying strength, would be so cryptic.”

“That may be true, but it’s all the information we have now. Officially, Alex Shannon died as a result of an accident.”

“Monsieur Nevsky, I do strongly believe my son was murdered,” Lila Shannon said. “I cannot sleep. I won’t rest until I find out if he was, and who did it.” Her eyes were moist. Maxim thought she looked very feminine, very vulnerable; at the same time there was a ferocity and determination there that told Maxim he would not like to be the object of her wrath.

“If I can be of service—”

“You can be,” said Fernet. “Lila has volunteered — in fact, has insisted that she be assigned to follow up on this case. She’s a seasoned field agent, but I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. She must have a backup. You, Monsieur Nevsky, are familiar with the Russian and Rumanian languages, and your English is excellent. Lila was raised in England and is most comfortable with that language. English is the language usually spoken on the Athenia. Alex was placed on board the Athenia with instructions to determine how the narcotics are being transported, and to notify us as soon as he found out. You have the same instructions.” Fernet looked at Lila, then added, “As you know, our department handles smuggling. Homicide is under the direction of another department, but I think it wouldn’t disturb them if I added as a secondary assignment the job of determining whether our agent, Alex, was murdered and, if so, by whom. But remember, Lila, your primary objective is to find out about the smuggling. You are too valuable to me to have you get mixed up with murderers.”

“Thank you, Pierre,” Lila murmured.

“Although she’s not what you would call a luxury liner,” continued Fernet, “the Athenia can carry up to twelve passengers. You and Monsieur Nevsky will board at Istanbul and travel as ‘Mr. and Mrs. Nevsky’ from Paris.”

Maxim allowed his eyebrows to rise slightly. This was duly noted by Fernet. “Come, come, Monsieur Nevsky. Neither you nor Madame Shannon is a teenager. It is important that you be together for your mutual protection. Besides that, you must be able to exchange information freely. On a small ship like the Athenia, any artificial meetings or secretive discussions would be too easily detected.”

Lila Shannon turned to Maxim. For the first time he noticed the beginnings of a smile on her face. “You don’t have to concern yourself, Monsieur Nevsky. We won’t have separate cabins, but we will have separate beds, and I promise not to bother you.”

Maxim returned her smile. “I’m sure a comfortable arrangement can be made, but if we are to be husband and wife, I think you could start calling me Maxim.”

Her smile broadened slightly. “How do you do, Maxim. I am Lila.”

“How do you do, Lila.”

Fernet’s gravel voice broke in. “Before you forget your purpose here, I will remind you that besides being friendly you must be especially cautious. If Alex’s death was not an accident, the murderer has been forewarned that an investigation is taking place, and he will not hesitate to repeat his actions. You must take care of each other.”

You must take care of each other, thought Maxim. It sounded almost like a benediction. For a fleeting moment a picture of his long dead wife Anna flashed before him. Still young. Still beautiful. It was almost eighteen years since she died. It had been a long time since he had thought about her. Fernet’s voice broke into Maxim’s thoughts. “You will make the seven-day round trip and observe the loading and unloading operations at each port. If you discover any information, you will contact me immediately; otherwise, you will complete the trip, then fly back to Paris from Istanbul, and report to me here. Whatever you find out, you are to take no independent action. I’m sure you understand that.” The last remark was said pointedly to Lila Shannon. “Interpol’s first priority is to find out about the narcotics smuggling. Any action relative to the possible murder of Alex Shannon must be taken through the homicide department.”

During their flight from Paris to Istanbul, they decided they would be widow and widower who had met and married while working in Paris. This Black Sea voyage was their honeymoon. Other than that, their ostensible backgrounds would be the same as their actual ones. To get ready for their shipboard experience, they decided to converse in English rather than French, since English was the working language used on the ship. From the Istanbul airport they went directly to the ship’s embarkation port where, after running the usual gauntlet of officials and officious civilians, they were allowed to board the ship.

The Athenia was two thousand nine hundred tons of well-used steel built as a combination bulk cargo and passenger ship in 1955. Although it was freshly painted, its age clearly showed. Maxim and Lila were escorted to their cabin by a young man in a rumpled white uniform who introduced himself in Liverpool-accented English as Nigel Turner, their purser. Their two pieces of heavy luggage were carried for them by an unusually large Chinese lad who handled them like two small briefcases. It appeared that most of the officers were English, but the crew was a worldwide collection of colors, sizes, and languages.

Since Maxim and Lila had boarded early, they could lean against the railing on the main deck and watch the loading operation taking place on the dock. A thin, redheaded young man introduced himself as Mark Greeley, the ship’s radioman, and offered to explain the activity going on on the pier below.

“All cargo is secured to pallets — those flat wooden platforms — so the forklifts can get under them to carry them to the side of the ship. It’s not a job for raw muscle. Those pallet loads can weigh over a ton. The dock workers secure the bridles from our cranes to a pallet, lift them over the side of the ship, and lower them into the hold.”

“How do you know where all this material is supposed to go?” inquired Lila.

“All the pallet loads are coded,” Mark told her. “Do you see that pallet being swung over the hatchway now? That bundle is going to a certain factory in Odessa. I can tell by the red squares painted on the tarp covering the cargo. The next pallet is going to a warehouse in Constanza. That pallet has a blue-square label. The load with a red triangle is also going to Constanza, but to a different consignee. Each consignee has his own code design.”

“How clever,” Lila said.

“It’s simple, but it works.”

Maxim was watching the red-square coded pallet being slowly lowered into the forward hold. Fernet had told them that the cargo code for Para Clothing was a red square. It was those pallets that had to be particularly watched.

Lila and Maxim met their fellow passengers and the rest of the ship’s officers at dinner that evening. The dining room was small but nicely appointed, with one long table placed in its center. There were six other passengers besides Maxim and Lila. An American couple, about the same age as Maxim and Lila, were celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary. They seemed to find it very important to convince everyone that they could really afford much more of a ship than the Athenia but they wanted the adventure of traveling with “real” people. There were also a pair of middle-aged English schoolteachers out for a fling and two young Scandinavian backpackers spending their summer on the way to anyplace.

The captain, a ruddy, yellow-bearded Scotsman who looked every inch the British seaman, gave what was probably his standard welcoming speech. Between witticisms that were dutifully laughed at by passengers and officers, he introduced his first mate, Arthur Stevens, and some of the other officers.

After dinner, a small bar was opened up at one end of the dining room. Maxim and Lila tried not to get involved with any of the other passengers, even though the American couple seemed to be trying to attach themselves to them. Instead, Lila cornered the purser, Nigel.

“I must have that dessert recipe,” she told him cheerily. “Do you think I might visit your kitchen and speak to the cook?”

“You will be touring the ship in three days, madam, right after we leave Constanza,” Nigel said. “The tour will include the galley, but it might be difficult to get a recipe from Feador, our cook. He is a Russian, and his English is extremely limited.” Nigel tried to edge to the side, but Maxim stepped in to block his escape.

“That’s no problem,” Maxim smiled. “I’ve been away from Russia for a long time. It would be great to have a chance to practice the language again.”

Nigel realized that there was no escape. “I will introduce you to Feador then,” he said.

The American couple were the first to leave the party at eleven thirty. Although he was getting tired, Maxim found himself reluctant to suggest to Lila that it might be time for them to go to their cabin, but at eleven forty-five she took Maxim’s hand in hers, as if it were something she had done for years, said goodnight to the remaining passengers, and steered him to the dining room door.

When their own cabin door was locked behind them, Lila sat down on one of the narrow beds. “Thank you for helping me get to the cook,” she said. “I think Nigel would have gotten away otherwise.” She leaned back against the bulkhead and wiggled her toes. “I think you’d better use the bathroom first,” she smiled. “If I remember correctly, it takes a lady a little longer to prepare for bed than a gentleman.”

It was a warm evening. Normally Maxim would have slept naked under the thin sheet, but this situation called for pajamas. After some time, Lila came out of the bathroom wearing a nightgown and slipped under the sheet of her bed. “I’ve left the bathroom light on and the door open a little as a night light. Goodnight, Maxim.”

Maxim turned on his side and mentally slapped himself. You are sixty years old, and this is a work assignment, he thought. Get those adolescent fantasies out of your head. Aloud he said, “Goodnight, Lila.”

The trip from Istanbul to Constanza took two and a half days. There was not much that Maxim and Lila could do during that time except to continue to play the older honeymoon couple. The American couple and the two English schoolteachers had asked Maxim if they would like to join them in an exploration of the city of Constanza when they arrived there, but Maxim explained that he had been to Constanza and that he and Lila would prefer to lounge around the ship for the short time they would be in port.

On the day of their arrival, they rose at six A.M. to have an early breakfast and watch the harbor pilot steer the Athenia to her assigned berth at Pier 23. It was one of the smaller piers, since the Athenia needed no special loading facilities. She would load and unload using her own on-board hoisting equipment. They watched from the railing of the passenger deck as the forward hatches were opened and the unloading began.

Arthur, the first mate, stood on the main deck with a clipboard in his hand, noting each consignment symbol as the pallet loads were removed from the ship. On the dock, three forklifts scurried back and forth, taking the cargo from where the hoists dropped it on the dock to an area farther back where it was stacked, two high, in neat rows, awaiting trucks to transport it to its destination. The only people on the dock beside the longshoremen were a group of three workers repairing a hole in the concrete surface of the dock. They moved with the languid motions of the dispirited workers Maxim remembered seeing when he was stationed in Odessa many years ago. He smiled as he watched one of the workers move a wheelbarrow half filled with sand from a sandpile to a mixer at a speed that guaranteed a four hour repair job would take all day. He noticed that Lila was also watching the dock repairman. Suddenly she laughed.

“When I was very young,” she explained, “we lived near the border of Northern Ireland. It was very hard at that time to find work or get food in our country, so many of the villagers engaged in some smalltime smuggling across the border. There was a constant competition between the English border guards and the local smugglers. My father used to tell me the story of an Irish farmer, Paddy, who crossed the border every day to work on a farm in Northern Ireland. He was paid in potatoes, and every evening he would return with a wheelbarrow half filled with potatoes. This went on for a couple of months until the border guards were notified that Paddy was suspected of smuggling. From that day on, every time he returned home, the guards searched him thoroughly, even emptying the wheelbarrow on the ground and going through the potatoes one by one, but they could never find anything he might be smuggling. After a couple of weeks of this, the head of the border guards admitted defeat, and after a particularly thorough search, he said to Paddy, ‘We know you’re smuggling something across the border, and I could have you thrown in jail just on suspicion, but if you tell me what you’ve been smuggling, I’ll let you go.’

“ ‘Wheelbarrows’ was Paddy’s answer.”

“When I heard the story,” Maxim grinned, “it was Polish smugglers and Russian border guards. But what—”

“It just struck me,” Lila said. “We’ve been concentrating on the potatoes and ignoring the wheelbarrow.”

“You’ll have to explain that in a little more detail.”

“I’d better make sure I’m right before I say any more. Eventually they’ll finish the unloading operation, and then they’ll start moving cargo from the pier to the ship. At that time we should be able to walk around the pier a little.”

When the shiploading operation began, Maxim and Lila got permission from the first mate to stretch their legs on the dock. Lila guided Maxim to the area where the pallets marked with blue squares were stacked.

“I’ve noticed that the cargo marked with blue squares not only has colored labels but that those pallets are also marked.”

“You think those containers have been opened?”

“No, not the containers — the pallets themselves.”

“But they’re just flat boards.”

“Not really. If they were really flat, the forklifts couldn’t get underneath the cargo to lift it. Take a close look at how they’re made. There are four ‘stringers,’ that is, four pieces of lumber, four inches square and four feet long. Then there are one-inch-thick strips of wood nailed across the top and bottom of the stringers. The tines of the forklifts fit between the stringers to lift the cargo.” As she was talking, Lila had maneuvered them so they were concealed from the ship by the stacked cargo. She took a small penknife from her purse and scraped away at the blue paint that had been applied to the end of one of the stringers as an identifying marker. After a few scrapes, she peered closely at the wood that had been exposed. “I was right.”

“What do you see?” asked the still bewildered Maxim.

“A change in the wood grain. Take a look. You see, Maxim, I realized that it’s possible to drill a hole at least two inches in diameter down the center of these stringers. That would give you a hole two inches square and four feet long. That’s a lot of volume. You could then wrap narcotics in plastic tubes, insert them in the hole, and plug up the ends. The dab of paint, supposedly used as a marker, neatly conceals the difference in the wood grain of the plug. If you do that to only one center stringer of the four, you won’t appreciably weaken the pallet, and you can use them over and over again.”

“And there are dozens of pallets going in every week,” added Maxim with a touch of awe in his voice. “So this load is suspect, too.”

“We will still have to notify Fernet—”

“Not so fast, Lila.” Maxim scratched the side of his face for a moment. “There is another part to our assignment, you know. A couple of disconnected ideas have been bouncing around in my head for a while now. It may be a big stretch of logic, but I’d like to talk to you about some thoughts before we call Fernet.”

In their cabin, Maxim made sure the door was locked, then seated himself on his bed near the porthole and as far away from the door as possible so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. Lila sat down opposite him and leaned forward attentively.

“That business about the word ‘lighthouse’ has been bothering me since I heard it,” began Maxim. “The fact that Interpol could turn up nothing... and that it meant nothing to Alex’s contacts there... But when you said what you did on the pier—”

Lila looked confused. “What was that?”

“You said let’s call Fernet.”

“So?”

“Don’t you see? If Alex was indeed murdered, it probably was because he had discovered something about the smuggling operation — probably in much the same way you did. He would have had the same reaction as you, but without the knowledge that there was someone on board the ship who was connected to the smugglers. He would have gone immediately to the radio room to send a cable to Fernet explaining what he had found.”

“But Interpol received no cable.”

“That’s right. And that’s why I think my theory is right, because the radioman’s name is Mark.”

“So?”

“So, in the Cyrillic alphabet that the Russians use, except for the letter R being written in reverse, mayuk, the Russian word for lighthouse, is spelled ‘mark.’ The reversed R would have meant as little to the cook as it would to you if you had seen a reversed S written by a child. Alex actually wrote the name of his murderer — ‘Mark.’ ”

Maxim watched as a whole parade of expressions raced across Lila’s face. Doubt, surprise, shock, anger, and finally, sadness. “You might be right, Maxim,” she said slowly, “but there’s no way we can prove it.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. When the authorities receive the information we can give them about the pallets, they’ll break up the smuggling ring all right, and they might even implicate Mark, but only as a minor cog in the ring, not as a murderer. Still, there might be something we can do about it.” Lila looked hopefully at him. “I’ve tried to figure out what the function of a member of a smuggling gang would be on board a ship,” continued Maxim. “After all, the contraband was safely stored away, so there was nothing he would have to do about it while the ship was in transit.”

“Maybe his job was to see that the loading and unloading of the marked pallets took place smoothly.”

“Maybe — but a more important job has to be done. You’ve figured out how the narcotics were being transported into the countries, but how were the payments for the narcotics getting out?”

“Oh,” said Lila. “So he must be the conduit.”

“If he is, well, I have a suggestion. It might mean bending the rules a little, but the result could take care of Mark to your satisfaction.”

During the trip from Con-stanza to Odessa, it was more difficult for Maxim to play the part of the carefree, older newlywed. He felt himself tense up every time Lila and Mark met at mealtime, or casually on deck, but Lila was a pro. She even let the tour of the galley go by without a word to the unsmiling Feador. Her feelings never surfaced. Maxim felt sure that as far as Mark was concerned Lila was just another lady passenger enjoying her second chance at married life.

In line with their plan, they did not go immediately into Odessa to sightsee with the other passengers. Instead, they spent their time enjoying the cool breezes on the passenger deck while taking turns watching the loading operations on the dock below.

“There he goes now,” said Lila to Maxim, who was relaxing in a deck chair. Maxim hopped up to the rail, and both of them watched as Mark, casually swinging a small duffle bag, threaded his way among the workers and cargo. He headed towards a quiet area near the stem of the ship, where piles of material waiting for shipment had created a labyrinth of streets and avenues on the broad dock. For a while Mark leaned against a stack of spooled wire and watched the men on the dock as they unloaded Athenia’s cargo. Occasionally he looked at his watch. At precisely two P.M., he suddenly turned, walked into one of the “avenues,” and disappeared from sight behind the piles of stacked material. There was nothing Maxim and Lila could do except wait. In no more than three minutes he reappeared, coming out from behind the same pile of stacked material. He sauntered back towards the ship, still swinging the duffel bag, which seemed to have gained some weight.

“He didn’t even have to leave the dock area,” commented Maxim. “The bosses at Para Clothing must have greased the way for the payment to get past the guards at the dock gates. Well, that’s as much as we can do here now.” He took Lila’s hand. “Let’s see if we can get some transportation and take a tour of Odessa.”

The return trip from Odessa to Istanbul took a little over two days. No one but Maxim noticed that Lila seemed a slightly different person from the one who had taken the first half of the trip. She seemed happier — younger. She was acting the part of the loving wife on her honeymoon so well that at times Maxim felt almost embarrassed, but when the door to their cabin closed, Lila let it be known that the curtain to the play was down for the day.

On the evening before their arrival in Istanbul, Maxim and Lila left the dining room immediately after dinner, saying that they wanted to have one last look at the setting sun of the Black Sea. Normally they would have stayed to oversee the bridge game that took place every evening between Mark, Nigel, and the two Americans. As soon as they left the dining room, they went to their cabin where they picked up an empty shopping bag. They checked to see that no one was around, then walked forward to the ladder that led to the upper deck where Mark’s combination radio shack and cabin was located. Maxim unhooked the chain across the ladder that held the sign “Crew Members Only” and rehooked it behind them. The sound of their footsteps as they climbed the ladder was covered by the dull chugging of the ship’s engines. Lila’s handbag held a small assortment of hardware that made picking the lock to Mark’s cabin a minute’s work. The bridge game would keep Mark busy for the next two hours, but Lila kept a lookout on deck while Maxim searched the cabin. He finally emerged, carrying the now bulging shopping bag.

When they returned to their cabin, Maxim emptied the shopping bag on his bed. Out poured a colorful display of neatly bundled packages of German marks, American dollars, Swiss and French francs, English pounds, and Japanese yen.

Maxim let out a small gasp. “What do you think this would add up to?”

Lila looked at the currency with loathing. “It doesn’t matter. We are going to do what we decided to do. It was your idea.” She carefully put the packages of money back into the shopping bag, added the two heavy glass ashtrays that were in their room, tied the shopping bag closed, and handed the bundle to Maxim. Maxim gave a small, sad sigh and took it outside. The white spot of foam it made as it hit the black water quickly disappeared in the darkness.

Two days later, Pierre Fernet welcomed Lila and Maxim into his office, where tea and cake for three awaited them. “Congratulations on a great job, you two,” he smiled. “Your first assignment together, and you completed it very well.” Fernet poured the tea. “Our offices in Istanbul and Bucharest have relayed your information about the pallets to the local police departments, and I’ve notified the Ukrainian police. They were very thankful. I won’t be too surprised if those newly formed Russian states decide to join Interpol soon.” He picked up his teacup. “But I’m sorry you weren’t able to find out anything about Alex’s death.”

“Pierre,” Lila said, “there was something that wasn’t in our report that we think you might be interested in — if we can tell you off the record.”

“Off the record? Yes, I am interested.”

Lila told Fernet of Maxim’s analysis of Alex’s message and of their subsequent actions aboard the ship. When she had finished, Fernet’s round face puckered with a questioning look.

“You could have turned the money over to the Turkish authorities. You didn’t have to destroy it,” he said.

“True,” said Maxim. “But if the money were turned over to the authorities, it wouldn’t be long before the narcotics traffickers found out about it. This way, when Mark finds the money gone, and no way to account for it, he’ll realize that his bosses will assume he took it. There are no excuses that would be acceptable to that bunch. He’ll have to try to ‘disappear.’ ”

“And,” continued Lila, “with the smuggling method exposed, the money unaccounted for, and Mark gone, the ‘big boys’ of the smuggling ring are going to put two and two together. They’ll assume that Mark sold out to the authorities and took off with their money. Their assumptions will be wrong, of course, but that won’t help Mark any. Those smugglers are going to make sure that Mark pays — with interest — no matter where he goes. I’m sorry if I sound cynical, Pierre, but in this case I think the criminals will dispense a more accurate level of justice than the English courts could, under the circumstances.”

Pierre Fernet leaned back in his chair. His puzzled look had been replaced by a grin. “Criminal justice, eh? — with justice dispensed by the criminals. Well, what you two did was definitely not by the book, but as far as this department is concerned, you’ve fulfilled your assignments. It’s lucky for you that Interpol is a private organization and not part of the Turkish government.” Fernet took a slow sip of his tea. “Lila, remind me never to let you get angry with me.”

“I could never be angry with you. You let me have this assignment, and you introduced me to a wonderful partner.” Lila turned to Maxim. “I hope we work together again — soon.”

Pierre Fernet looked at the couple in front of him sipping their tea and smiled. They looked like anyone’s youngish grandparents. “You will,” said Fernet. “I am quite certain you will.”