VIII
On the third ring from the embassy switchboard, somebody picked up the extension and said, “Attache, Sergeant Rowe speaking.”
Kelly’s eyes were on the Bay of Algiers; he had never been enough of a TV viewer that he felt compelled to stare into a dial as he talked on the phone. “Hello,” he said without trying to counterfeit an accent, “this is Angelo Ceriani with Rank Xerox. We are informed that you have been requesting a look at our desk-top copying system.” The cue was “desk-top,” the only information about his arrival which Kelly had permitted to be given through the DIA system.
“Huh?”
Jesus Christ. Many of the ships standing far enough off-shore to be tiny white slivers in the sun were in fact supertankers. With a good pair of binoculars—”Yes,” Kelly said aloud, with a calm that he could not have managed without a moment to cool off, “my firm received the request through, I believe, a Mr. Pedler of your Paris branch. Perhaps if you would check with your superiors . . . ?”
“From a Mr.—oh. Oh!” Sergeant Rowe swallowed audibly. “Sure, that’s right, Mr.—well, we didn’t have the name is all. Are you at the airport? I’ll bring a car right out.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” the agent said through a grimace. “The equipment isn’t set up yet, of course. But I’d like to drop by with a brochure shortly, and then later you and your superior may come here to my room at the Aurassi for a demonstration.”
“Right, of course,” the sergeant agreed. “Ah, well, I’ll inform Commander Posner. He’s been very interested in the new equipment. It, ah, it should really speed up office routine.”
Yes, friend, it surely will do that, Kelly thought. Aloud he said, “I’ll get a taxi, then. Good day.”
Of course, if he really wanted to look at ships, the Company doubtless had a Celestron telescope with a coupled 35 mm SLR taking pictures of everything in the roadstead. More and more it seemed to Kelly that he would be smarter to spend his time looking at boats rather than trying to make bricks out of locally available materials, not —it appeared—including straw.
What the hell. He showered and changed, removing the sheath for his knife from the suitcase lining. He clipped the weapon to his waistband at the small of his back. What the hell.