Текст книги "[The Girl From UNCLE 03] - The Golden Boats of Taradata Affair "

Автор книги: Simon Latter

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Mark observed all, and cussed all, with steaming intensity. As the rest of the labour crew, apart from the seamen, also were sweating and cussing, no one asked him for his particular reasons. They had lost the land wind when Island Traveller moved to her berth in the harbour beneath the hills. The heat was a glaring whip flaying eyes, heads and bodies as they laboured to winch up cargo from the holds.

Mark saw April Dancer, like a cool, green, iced lollie, waiting by the gangway. He even cussed her gently, though admitting she couldn't help it if she looked good enough to eat. Or could she? That lime-green dress against the golden skin, dark hair shining, thighs and buttocks contoured by the thistle-light material. Goddam it, she didn't have to stand just there, did she? You bet she did! No woman is going to miss a chance like this. Mark swore savagely as he heard the comments from the men around him. Do women really know what is said at these moments? Or are they too full of their own mental reflection of themselves!

Mark spat. And a great narcissis to you too! April darling, dammit, go back in the shade. He snarled at a fellow crewman: "Watch it, you clumsy swine! Who is? You are. A stinking, fat, clumsy swine!" And the bosun stepped quickly between them. "Knock it off now – knock it off, you two!" he yelled. "Swing that derrick! Let's get this gear off and go bathe in a gallon of cold beer!" Yeah, yeah – tote that drum, lift that bale! Why the hell do I volunteer for this sort of drag?

He glanced up, to see Chas grinning at him. A super-sharp Chas, all pressed white ducks and curly panama, and flashing teeth.

"Git on with it," said Chas. "There's a ruddy great load to come aboard yet."

"– you too," said Mark.

"Tut-tut," said Chas. "If your muscles were as big as your words, you'd be a real man, sonny." He strolled past the heaving, sweating men and joined the group at the gang way.

April had moved back into the shade. The Padracks were some way off, talking with Maleski, who had just given orders to run out the cat-walk. Four seamen were fixing it. The group of young couples clustered together, chattering and giggling.

"Luscious," said Chas. "That's you, miss. Fair luscious."

"Why, thank you, Chas. You look quite delicious too."

"It's me nature, miss. White brings out the purity in me." He leaned close to her. "Been pig-sticking any good bottoms lately?"

"Chas! I'm surprised at you!"

"Yeah? Well, don't take no trip around the island, else you'll be surprised right enough. Stay where there's people." He moved back a pace, saying loudly: "The hotel ain't bad at all, miss. And you should see their hanging garden. Oh, hullo, sir – going ashore to stretch your legs?"

Andre Cheval had come on deck and was moving towards them.

"A little land beneath my feet, I think, is good. I am told the hills are very lovely." He looked at April. "Would you join me, Miss Dangerveldt? A short, pleasant trip into the cool green hills. I do not want to go alone, and the Padracks have business to tend."

"So kind of you," said April. "But a friend of mine has brought his boat all the way from Palaga just to meet me." She looked at Chas, but he'd moved farther away and started down the gangway. She smiled at Cheval. "Perhaps my friend could come too?"

He shrugged. "I am defeated, mam'selle. I am sure your friend would not invite me – in the circumstances." He smiled. "But do take a ride around the island. You will gain wonderful material for your book."

"But of course," said April gaily. "I wouldn't dream of missing it."

"Au'voir, then." Cheval tipped his hat, bowed and walked to the gangway.

Around a vivid clump of poinsettias, on sun chairs beneath a cluster of dwarf palm trees, April came upon Count Kazan and a gay-looking girl of about her own age, wearing a flame and orange dress. She looked cool, shining-eyed, and glamorous. They smiled at each other.

"April Dancer!"

"Colamina Sherez?"

"But naturally," said Kazan. "One of our most brilliant researchers in the precious flesh."

"You're lovely," said Colamina.

"So are you," said April.

"And I am gorgeous too," said Kazan.

"Not my type," said April.

"An arrogant man," said Colamina. "With the big head and the little mind."

Kazan sighed. "I wish I were back in Europe where I am, oh, so much appreciated. But here on this heathen island, what can you expect? We are in radio silence for twenty-four hours, but I rendezvous with Mr. Waverly forty miles north-west of Taradata, so I am courier. You have something?"

"No," said April, stretching in a chair. "Not yet, any way. Have you, Colamina?"

"There are many stores going aboard Island Traveller for Taradata. They come here by charter boat. A Palaganian flag, but it is from Mexico, I think. Some are cases of a chemical."

Kazan eased a phial from his pocket. "Brave girl – clever girl."

Colamina shrugged gently. "So my fiancé is the warehouse manager."

"She is lying," said Kazan. "He is just a boy friend and he had nothing to do with it. She risked her neck. The warehouse here is staffed by Palaga guards. Lars gave me the details. But nothing except ordinary goods come here from Palaga. I think it is time we got her off here. This is too small a place for her to be safe after meeting us."

"I thought you were a little bold," said April.

"It would not be possible to be secret," said Colamina. "I can bluff about meeting a wealthy man visitor, and even Miss Dancer too, but trying to hide a meeting – no, not here."

"Kazan is right. I've just had a surprising link-up." April told them about Chas, then about Cheval's invitation.

"That Chas!" Colamina exclaimed. "He is a powerful man on the islands. He is religious, you know? A religion of no fear and great joy. A strange man. Very strong. You will think it silly to say – but everyone can trust him. I cannot explain, but it is so."

"Keeper of a thousand secrets?" asked April.

"Ah yes – that is one of his titles. And another silly thing to say – he will kill, yet never harm anyone."

"You have known him kill?" said Kazan.

Colamina shrugged again. "I know. It is enough. About your trip around the island – he may know from his mind, or he may know from knowledge. It is the same thing with Chas."

"We either take your word or we show we've no faith in you," said April. "But we don't have colleagues in whom we have no faith so, through you, we accept Chas's warning. That means Cheval must now be linked in."

"With the Padracks?" said Kazan. "Has he been here before, Colamina?"

"French, you say? Cheval?" She frowned. "No, not that I remember, and certainly not with the Padracks." She smiled at them. "But I have a way we can prove this. The cars do not leave for an hour because of the heat. They are old and they boil over on the hills. If Kazan goes down to the Square and casually discovers Cheval, he could say he is looking for April, who has gone. Now, listen – I think this would work."

Agents are expendable. Researchers are not. In field work an agent has complete authority within his or her own terms of reference. But events sometimes widen such terms of reference, events which are set in train by the agent or his enemies. Close contact with H.Q. is maintained whenever possible, but no agent refuses to make a decision because he cannot immediately call up H.Q. and say: "Please, sir, can I do this or that?" He assesses both risk and reward.

Researchers live at risk. Their training is extremely specialized. They may be young and beautiful. Old and graceful. Fat and ugly. All share one common talent – a genius for probing into people's lives. The highest form of nosey parkers, experts in the art of the casual or throwaway question, with the receptive powers of a father confessor – wise, tolerant, sympathetic, the ready listener to tales of woe, the shrewd judge of what is a relevant link to be forged into their own chain of inquiry.

Sometimes they work in pairs or teams because some are more expert than others in checking official records after a whisper of gossip or fact is passed on to them. So at times they can be at risk. But usually they work so quietly, amassing those seemingly trivial dossiers of human peccadilloes, family secrets and skeletons in closets that no one ever suspects they are a part of a vast organization. An agent can be known, just as he may know agents on the other side, but a researcher must never be known as such.

April Dancer had served her term as a researcher. So had Count Kazan. Many contact men are researchers. Their official role comes between the true researcher and the top– assignment agent, but they use researchers for detailed background work. The qualities that make a good researcher do not necessarily make a good agent, but a top agent has to, and can, perform all tasks. Researchers who show great courage, initiative, coolness and good judgment, allied to physical stamina and power, are always encouraged and recognized as viable agent material.

Colamina Sherez was one of these. The plan she proposed lay well outside her scope as a researcher, but on this small island her term of usefulness without danger to herself was in any case ending.

Count Kazan said: "It is your decision, Miss Dancer. I agree with Colamina's plan, but not with the person proposed."

"But it is myself, you silly man," said Colamina.

"That's what he means," said April. "Kazan is no different from a lot of our men. They still cannot reconcile an attractive woman with danger. They are steeped in the myths of chivalry. We have the same training, can perform the same tasks in our own way, are paid as much, if not more than some of them – because, after all, we don't have to support wives and children – and have many privileges of our sex. This is our freedom. But they still want to protect us... It is not a question of sex, age or beauty, Kazan. It is only one question – will this decoy plan expose another link to us? If so, then we do it. And having decided, we then use all our wits to minimize the danger to Colamina. Right?"

He shrugged resignedly. "Right."

"Then you will go to the Square and lay the ground bait. Colamina and I will be at the hotel. Buy one of those gay shopping baskets with a lid, fill it with canned goods – usual food stores – take it to your boat. Put the guns, the protective gear and the trap devices in the basket and come to the hotel. We could use Lars on this. With a radio silence in force, he could leave the boat, hire one of those motor scooters and go ahead into the hills. No one will snoop aboard at this time of day."

"Ah yes! That will make me feel much happier." Kazan beamed. "And we all could keep a radio link. I will see to it." He kissed Colamina gently. "You are still too lovely, ma petite!"

"Get going," said April curtly. "And forget your hormones. This is business."

The vegetation on Providencia was not exotic, as on many of these islands. The hills which looked so attractively olive– green from the sea were, in fact, planted with olive trees. Eucalyptus trees, prickly pear and fawn-coloured grasses were the only other vegetation. The more fertile areas were around the base of the hills between the beaches.

But the scene had grandeur and the panorama viewed from various vantage points a picture-postcard beauty. The breeze was cool and tangily scented. To tourists it made a refreshingly enjoyable trip after days on the island boat. Camera nuts could use all lenses for technical shots to brighten many a long winter evening back home – wide angle, telephoto, and "This is Marge looking for a lizard that got away".

The taxi drivers knew all the camera angles and the ways to obtain extra tips for "discovering" these. There weren't many taxis on the hills today. The young couples had hired scooters. Andre Cheval was way up there somewhere and Lars had him in view.

The girl in the lime-green dress, wearing a large-brimmed hat, sunglasses and carrying one of the island export baskets, had climbed into the taxi at the hotel – one of the newer taxis with a drophead roof – and pretended not to notice the gun bulge in the driver's coat. He himself didn't look closely at his passenger. He had orders he didn't like, but the pay was high and he couldn't refuse. He had been exported from Palaga a few years previously for the crime of over-production family-wise, now had five children and a sixth on the way. He didn't know all that happened around the island these days, but carrying out orders meant more money, providing you weren't curious.

He stopped the taxi on a small plateau, one of the camera vantage points.

"It is a lovely view, yes?"

"Uh-uh!" his passenger grunted. The difference between April and Colamina was scarcely noticeable to the fairly distant eye, but the driver particularly would notice the voice.

He stayed there for ten minutes. Colamina pressed her hand over one ear where the tiny receiver earpiece nestled.

Lars' voice said: "The truck with four men came up another route. Is hidden in a gulley near a eucalyptus grove. I cannot see the men."

"I can," said Kazan's voice. "They are among the eucalyptus trees, crouched down in the grass. Do you see April Dancer?"

"Not since she left the road and headed for that farm." Lars paused. "Is a farm – no?"

"No," said April's voice. "But don't let it worry you. The owner is an old eccentric, but a real sweetie. I am on a horse, coming through that same eucalyptus grove. At least, I hope it's the same one. Where is Colamina?"

"Stopped at a vantage point around the bend from the grove. The driver is either timing himself or waiting for a signal."

"They won't signal," said April. "Hear me, Colamina – start chewing that gum immediately the taxi moves off. You know all about the saliva-activated explosive. Keep your nerve and your hat on tight, and don't forget to collapse at the first blow."

"The taxi is backing on to the road," said Lars.

"Do you see Cheval?" Kazan asked.

"He is well out of it, but he gave a signal – no mistaking that. He warned them her taxi was coming. I am now leaving my view point. Contact out."

The driver saw his passenger chewing gum, saw one hand pressing down the floppy hat. Not long now, he thought. Then he'd be free to get back to that poker game in the hut behind the warehouse. He'd pay up the rent, buy the kids something special, give momma a treat and relax happily until the boat's next trip. It wasn't such a bad life really.

He swung the taxi deep into the grove, stopped, and sprang out. He pulled open the rear door, levelled his gun, and said politely: "Step out, if you please – quickly." If he hadn't been so sure that everything was arranged perfectly, he might have wondered why his passenger made no protest.

She stepped out, clutching her basket and chewing gum. Figures slithered from the trees. The taxi driver holstered his gun. Colamina moved quickly away from the taxi – facing the two men approaching her, not seeing the other two coming from the rear. But she knew there were four, so braced herself as she heard scuffing feet. Something thudded on to her head. She gave a moan and sank to the ground.

The U.N.C.L.E. skull-protector absorbed the main impact, but the blow made her ears sing for a few minutes. The four men were about to reach down to grab her when the driver yelled and they all turned. Colamina took the gum from her mouth and threw it a well-judged distance.

Action exploded in the green eucalyptus grove. Lars and Kazan rushed into the grove, dart guns levelled. The gum exploded under the front of the taxi. The driver was hurled back, to sprawl huddled, one arm shattered, blood spurting.

Two of the men drew guns. As they fired at Lars and Kazan, so April lunged her horse through the trees, to crash into their backs. Colamina leapt to her feet, snatching her dart gun from the basket. One of the other men flung a knife at her. It struck below her breasts. She fired once. The sleep dart hit him dead between the eyes, knocking him flat.

April Dancer leapt from the horse, gripped the fourth man, slashed twice at his gun arm, then pivoted to throw him bodily against the shattered taxi. Kazan and Lars made short work of the first two men, then Kazan ran to Colamina's side. She was gently easing out the knife.

"Mon Dieu! This is terrible! Hold on to me, ma cherie."

"Why should I?" said Colamina calmly. "I am not hurt. But I am too hot!" She flung off the heavy hat. Perspiration made a crown around her glossy hair and dewed her forehead and nose. "I shall stifle if I do not take off this..." She scratched her ribs. "Yoy! It is worse than a corset in this weather!"

"Go among the trees and strip off," said April. "Those safety vests aren't usually so hot, but that's one of the early models." She gripped Colamina's arm. "But you were real cool. Now leave this to us."

Lars said: "I get their truck – ya?"

April nodded. "Pronto, Lars, pronto."

Kazan gazed after Colamina. "She is wonderful, is she not?"

"Cheval must be a top cog to be able to lay this on so fast," said April.

"You are not sorry you took the chance?" Kazan asked.

"No regrets." April walked to the taxi driver. "Did you bring a kit?"

Kazan went to the basket, pulled out the emergency medical kit. "You did not tell me, but I am the good thinker."

"I assumed you were properly trained. Bring it, quickly – his arm is very bad. Collect their guns and go through their pockets while I tend him. Get the darts if you can. No need to advertise our secret weapons."

Colamina's riding gear fitted April as well as the lime-green dress fitted Colamina.

"That feels better," said Colamina, stowing the bullet proof vest in the basket. "Such a lovely dress, April!"

"Keep it," said April. "I'll swop you for that flame and orange island-weave of yours when we get back to the hotel."

"Poor Ysana!" Colamina gazed down at the taxi driver. "Is he badly hurt?"

"Not as bad as it looked." April completed the bandaging. "Poor Ysana my foot – he was willing to lead you to a coshing, or knifing, or worse!"

"Not me – you."

April shrugged. "He's a pawn for profit. I have no pity for pawns. Who would have paid him? Is this a normal sort of service on the island?"

"Not normal, but not unusual since the Palagas obtained a stranglehold on the economy. They teach people lessons – if you know what I mean? One or two are beaten up, left on the hills, miss the boat, have time to reconsider their position – or are kept away from Palaga long enough for certain matters to be adjusted. Yes, I suppose you could call it a service."

"You think they would have killed me?"

"I do not think so. They would teach you a lesson, make you miss maybe two boats, keep you out of circulation. Everyone here would be very kind. We are not violent people. We are very nice, happy-go-lucky people. That is why we do not see what is going on until it is too late and the Palagas use us more or less as they please." Colamina pointed to the four sleeping men. "They are paid by the warehouse company. Hired thugs posing as Customs men. They are changed about every three months."

Lars came with the truck. The wounded taxi driver and the four men were loaded into it. Lars also had collected the scooters.

"Lars, take the truck back along the road. You'll see a track – it winds among the trees. Hide the truck, climb on your scooter and finish the grand tour of the hills before you return to the boat. Try to act a little drunk, as if you'd taken a couple of bottles with you, so you won't have to speak, then you can reach the launch without giving away your accent."

"Forget the deposit on the scooter," said Kazan. "I overpaid for the hire of all of them. What about Colamina?" he asked as Lars backed the truck on to the road.

"She comes with me on the horse," said April. "We'll double back to the old man's place."

"Tarancita," said Colamina. "You must have charmed him into lending you his horse."

April frowned. "Tarancita? That's his name? He speaks perfect English."

"We call him Tarancita. It means, he who hides – or, more literally, the shy vegetable. Tara means a fern – a special green plant, very hard to find here. Tarancita lives with his goats and olive trees, and does not bother anyone."

"And has a telescopic radio mast buried in his garden, and a powerful radio camouflaged by an old-fashioned dresser," said April. "I have an eye for such things – it's part of my job – though I guess the casual caller would miss them."

Colamina shrugged. "I did not know. That is true, April."

"But you know him?"

"Of course."

"He reminds me of someone," said April thoughtfully. "All that white hair and big white beard still doesn't stop me being reminded. He's just a harmless old recluse, I suppose? Came here to die – but has radio as a secret hobby. Would that be right?"

"I do not think he is near dying, and the radio is a big surprise to me – but perhaps it should not be."

"Why not?"

"He is the father of Chas. He has been here many years. Chas always visits him, brings him supplies. Perhaps the radio belongs to Chas?"

"That Chas!" April exclaimed. "Didn't you include his father in your section of the research report?"

"Yes, of course I did. But only that he lived alone on the island and was an old man."

April nodded slowly. "What else could you say? And we wouldn't probe it too hard. The English research reported the father as 'retired to live abroad – believed dead – no contact with known relatives'." She smiled. "Our Chas becomes more and more interesting!" She looked at Kazan. "What the hell are you dozing around here for?"

Kazan, one leg hitched over the scooter saddle, was staring hard, but unseeingly, at a parade of red ants passing by.

His head jerked up. "I am struggling with my inferiority complex."

"Couldn't you struggle as you rode? What bee is buzzing in that tiny noble head of yours?"

Kazan sighed. "I cannot become used to working under the authority of a woman. It makes me nervous. To a woman, I like always to be right. If I tell you and I am wrong, I shall lose my dignity."

"Oh, good heavens! You're worse than a woman, Kazan! Do your job, that's all. If there is something I have to know – tell me."

"Very well. It is Cheval. I have seen him before, but not very close in person, and he looks different in photographs, but I am sure it is he. It is – oh, more than two years since I heard of him."

"In France?"

"In Europe. He is from Alsace, though I think he was born in Brussels. He also is of Switzerland, and some time in Germany. But not Cheval. Andre is right, I think. Andre Charival – or Chamival. I forget which."

"Who is he?"

Kazan smiled. "Like Chas's father – a mystery man. Very shy. He is a scientist – a famous bacteriologist. I go now."

CHAPTER SIX: SEEK, FIND, DESTROY

APRIL slipped aboard Island Traveller as misty dusk purpled the harbour, and reached her cabin without seeing anyone or herself being seen. The ship was very quiet, with no passengers and only a skeleton crew on duty.

She opened her cabin door, closed it softly and moved to black out the porthole before switching on the light. As she trod cautiously to reach the switch, she heard a sound of heavy breathing from the bunk. Instead of using the bunk-side switch, she moved to the door, clicked on the light and tensed for trouble.

Mark Slate muttered, turned, yawned, opened one eye. "Put that ruddy light out!"

"Don't swear at me – and say please."

"Please put that ruddy light out."

"There's no need. I'd already covered the porthole before I knew you were here."

Groaning, he eased up, hand scrubbing at his face.

"Aw hell! The first real sleep since I signed on this stinking barge, and you have to come back early." He surveyed her through blinking eyelids. "That's not your gear! Is that blood?" He swung off the bunk. "Are you hurt, me old darling?"

She went coy. "How nice of you to care!"

"Scrub the comedy," he growled. "My back's broken in three places, my hands have more calluses than I can count, my arms are stretched six inches, my belly is in revolt against fish skilly – and I've run out of cigarettes! Just don't be coy or kittenish, or I'll belt you. Got it?"

She smiled. "Aye, aye, sir. Poor Mark! You've had the dirty end this time."

"Yeah – and for what? Nothing I couldn't have discovered as a passenger. I'm buying myself out of this man's navy. You got five hundred dollars?"

"You have to pay that to get released?"

"Yep."

"It's an awful lot."

"Oh, my Gawd! How mean can you get? I'm an awful lot of agent, sweetie – some of your Paris dresses cost that."

He held out his hand. "Come, baby, give – else poppa take. Give me no arguments – just cash. Make it seven hundred. You bet Chas will overcharge on the clothes."

"I might have known he'd be in the swindle."

"Natch. I've been released, officially, by the captain, but it's Chas who pockets the mowlah. He's bringing clothes for me, and I have the cabin next to yours. Broadminded cuss, that Chas."

"He overestimates you and underestimates me," said April. "If you get what I mean?"

"I can't live without you either, darling – ah, thanks – cigarettes!"

She supplied lighter, then counted out money. "You'd better have a round thousand." She wrote on a card. "Just sign that."

"Bureaucracy at its highest level," Mark scoffed. "I have to make an expense report too, y'know. Ain't you got no trust at all, woman?"

"Plenty," said April. "But you might die on me. The Treasury minions never die. They'd take that thousand out of my pension, and you know it."

"Funny," said Mark, scribbling his signature. "Funny, funny world! To think treasure rhymes with pleasure."

"And Treasury rhymes with usury."

"A good point." He exhaled with a satisfied sigh. "Been having a joyous time?"

April pointed to the bunk. "Relax, and I'll tell you. Then we'll have to adjust our ideas."

Speaking quietly, clearly, she reported on the events of the day. Mark was silent for a long time after she'd finished, then said:

"I think we should extract Chas and his pop. No doubt they have their own little racket – maybe broadcasting messages to the faithful around the islands. I know he's not THRUSH. I believe he knows about them. Likewise, he knows about us. He'll take profit from both, responsibility from neither."

"He saved me from harm – maybe my life."

"Yes, he'd do that. He's a kinky sort of cuss, but I trust him. Don't ask me why. He's got a code of his own. But this Cheval – or Chaminal – whatever his name is – he's a strong link. Yet he was party to a shocking weak ploy. Up to that point we couldn't link him at all. Then, all of a sudden, he involves himself in the most obvious way with the Padracks."

"We're not sure it was the Padracks, though I admit it seems likely."

"Maleski is THRUSH, but not senior to Simon Padrack. I caught enough to convince me of that," said Mark. "And the captain is a weak sister. I think Maleski has a blackmail hold on him. Chas is the king of this castle."

"Chas sold you out – and me too."

"Then tipped you off so you'd escape? That would be a bit devious."

"Chas is a devious character."

"I said: extract him. He clouds the picture. If Cheval – we'll call him that for now – is a top scientist, he's not going grubbing around in petty thuggery – unless…"

"Unless someone convinces him that his own interests are threatened?" said April. "Said someone being the Padracks – or maybe just Lucy Padrack. She was out to kill, but kidded Cheval she aimed only to remove me from the scene. A personal attack, but she used her – hmm – trade connections. It's the way a woman would work."

"Not pausing to consider that if it failed, then she'd have involved Cheval – left him open to suspicion?"

"We're assuming she knows I'm an agent. I don't think she does. But, yes, I think her personal vengeance would override everything else in her mind. I think also that if she suspected I was an agent, she'd pass it on to Simon Padrack and Maleski, and pressure them to fit me for a halo. That would give her great satisfaction. Make her feel dominant and oh, so in the right."

"We sail on the midnight tide," said Mark thought fully. "If you keep out of sight until then, she's going to have one helluva shock when you show up. But perhaps she'll know by now. Those thugs would have come round in about five hours. You'll have to watch yourself between here and Taradata, me old darling."

"I don't think she'll try anything on board. Chas wouldn't stand for anything he didn't organize himself."

Mark groaned. "That Chas..." He paused at a tap on the door.

April opened it. Chas stepped into the cabin, carrying packages.

"Dead on cue," said Mark.

"Thought I'd find you here." Chas beamed. "Brought your clothes. All nice stuff. That'll be one hundred, seventy– five dollars, plus twenty-five service charge."

"Pah!" Mark snapped his fingers; "Now how could I forget the service charge?"

"And five hundred for this." Chas waved a piece of paper. "All legal and aboveboard. Been notarized, it has. You were paroled in our custody, y'see. We transfer the parole to the local magistrate and he signs your release." Chas flipped the paper across. "I got the feeling you never ought to have been in that prison, sonny." He grinned. "Nice young fella like you. But then – you will do these things."

Mark looked at the paper. "This is signed by Salisbury. Are you the magistrate too?"

"Nah, not me. That's my Daddy." He smiled at April. "Nice old duck, ain't he? Took a shine to you, he did. He's still got an eye for a nice bit of crackling."

"Yes?" said April weakly. "Thank you."

"And thank you," said Chas, plucking the cash from Mark's hand. "If you can't always be clever, you don't have to be good, y'know." He winked at April and exited.

"Daddy!" said Mark, rolling his eyes ceiling-ward. "That's my Daddy!"

"Crackling!" April snorted. "The dirty old man!"

"Now, now!" said Mark. "Leave us not think ill of the aged. I've an idea that when my whiskers turn white, I'll be thinking along the same lines."

"You should live that long," April snapped. "Men! Get out, you horrible specimen! Go on – get, get!"