“Don’t say anything.”
“But—”
“Not a word.”
They stood on the deck in silence, watching the search go on.
Thirty minutes later, they were assembled again on the main deck.
“There’s no sign of him, Commander,” a sailor reported.
“You’re certain of that?”
“Absolutely, sir. There are no passengers aboard, and we have identified each member of the crew.”
The commander stood there a moment, frustrated. His superiors had made a serious mistake.
He turned to Monte and Susan and Captain Simpson. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you. We’ll leave now.” He turned to go.
“Commander—”
“Yes?”
“The man you’re looking for got away on a fishing boat half an hour ago. You should have no trouble picking him up.”
Five minutes later, the Stromboli was speeding toward Marseilles. The lieutenant commander had every reason to be pleased with himself. The governments of the world had been pursuing Commander Robert Bellamy, and he was the one who had found him. There could be a nice promotion in this, he thought.
From the bridge, the navigation officer called out, “Commander, could you come up here, please?”
Had they spotted the fishing boat already? The lieutenant commander hurried up to the bridge.
“Look, sir!”
The commander took one look, and his heart sank. In the distance ahead, covering the horizon, was the entire Marseilles fishing fleet, a hundred identical boats returning to port. There was no way in the world to identify the one Commander Bellamy was on.
Chapter Forty-seven
He stole a car in Marseilles. It was a Fiat 1800 Spider convertible, parked on a dimly lit side street. It was locked, and there was no key in the ignition. No problem. Looking around to make sure he was not observed, Robert made a rip in the canvas top and shoved his hand inside to unlock the door. He slid inside the car and reached under the dashboard and pulled out all the wires of the ignition switch. He held the thick red wire in one hand while, one by one, he touched the other wires to it until he found one that lit up the dashboard. He then hooked those two wires together and touched the remaining ones to the two wires hooked together until the engine began to turn over. He pulled out the choke, and the engine roared into life. A moment later, Robert was on his way to Paris.
His first priority was to get hold of Li Po. When he reached the Paris suburbs, he stopped at a phone booth. He telephoned Li’s apartment and heard the familiar voice on the answering machine: “Zao, mes amis…Je regrette que je ne sois pas chez moi, mais il n’y a pas du danger que je réponde pas à votre coup de téléphone. Prenez garde que vous attendiez le signal de l’appareil.”
“Good morning. I regret that I am not at home, but there is no danger of my not returning your call. Be careful to wait for the tone.” Robert counted out the words in their private code. The key words were: Regret…danger…careful.
The phone was tapped, of course. Li had been expecting his call, and this was his way of warning Robert. He had to get to him as quickly as possible. He would use another code they had employed in the past.
Robert walked along the Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré. He had walked this street with Susan. She had stopped in front of a shop window and posed like a mannequin. “Would you like to see me in that dress, Robert?” “No, I’d prefer to see you out of it.” And they had visited the Louvre, and Susan had stood transfixed in front of the Mona Lisa, her eyes brimming with tears…
Robert headed for the offices of Le Matin. Just down the block from the entryway, he stopped a teenager on the street.
“Would you like to make fifty francs?”
The boy looked at him suspiciously. “Doing what?”
Robert scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to the boy with a fifty-franc note.
“Just take this into Le Matin to the want-ads desk.”
“Bon, d’accord.”