Partisans by Alistair MacLean Page A

usually drops with the temperature. If you do run into any, just say you’re from the Colombo : the worst that can happen is that they’ll escort you back here to check.’ ‘I think I’ll take my chance on both weather and the police,’ Petersen said. ‘Advancing years or too many hours in that damned truck or maybe both, but I’m as stiff as a board.’
    â€˜Back inside an hour, please, then we’ll leave for the meal.’ He looked at the bulkhead clock. ‘We should be back at ten. We sail at one o’clock in the morning.’
    â€˜Not till then?’ Michael looked his astonishment. ‘Why, that’s hours away. Why don’t we –’
    â€˜We sail at 1.00 a.m.’ Carlos was patient.
    â€˜But the wind’s getting stronger. It must be rough now. It’ll be getting rougher.’
    â€˜It will not be too comfortable. Are you a bad sailor, Michael?’ The words were sympathetic, the expression not.
    â€˜No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t see – I mean, I can’t understand –’ ‘Michael.’ It was Petersen, his voice gentle. ‘It really doesn’t matter what you can’t see or can’t understand. Lieutenant Tremino is the captain. The captain makes the decisions. No-one ever questions the captain.’
    â€˜It’s very simple, really.’ It was noticeable that Carlos spoke to Petersen not Michael. ‘The garrison that guard such port installations as they have at Ploe are not first-line troops. As soldiers go, they are either superannuated or very very young. In both cases they’re nervous and trigger-happy and the fact that they have radio notification of my arrival seems to have no effect on them. Experience and a few lucky escapes have taught me that the wisest thing is to arrive at sunrise so that even the most rheumy eyes can see that the gallant Captain Tremino is flying the biggest Italian flag in the Adriatic.’

    The wind, as Michael had said, had indeed strengthened, and was bitingly cold but Petersen and his two companions were not exposed to it for long, for George’s homing instinct was unerring. The tavern in which they fetched up was no more or less dingy than any other dockside tavern and it was at least warm.
    â€˜A very short stroll for such stiff legs,’ George observed.
    â€˜Nothing wrong with my legs. I just wanted to talk.’
    â€˜What was wrong with our cabin? Carlos has more wine and grappa and slivovitz than he can possibly use –’
    â€˜Colonel Lunz, as we’ve said, has a long arm.’
    â€˜Ah! So! A bug?’
    â€˜Would you put anything past him? This could be awkward.’
    â€˜Alas, I’m afraid I know what you mean.’
    â€˜I don’t.’ Alex wore his suspicious expression.
    â€˜Carlos,’ Petersen said. ‘I know him. Rather, I know who he is. I knew his father, a retired naval captain but on the reserve list: almost certainly on the active list now, a cruiser captain or such. He became a reserve Italian naval captain at the same time as my father became a reserve Yugoslav army colonel. Both men loved the sea and both men set up chandlers’ businesses: both were highly successful. Inevitably, almost, their paths crossed and they became very good friends. They met frequently, usually in Trieste and I was with them on several occasions. Photographs were taken. Carlos may well have seen them.’
    â€˜If he has seen them,’ George said, ‘let it be our pious hope that the ravages of time and the dissipation of years make it difficult for Carlos to identify Major Petersen with the carefree youth of yesteryear.’
    Alex said: ‘Why is it so important?’
    â€˜I have known Colonel Petersen for many years,’ George said. ‘Unlike his son, he is, or was, a very outspoken man.’
    â€˜Ah!’
    â€˜A pity about Carlos, a great pity.’ George sounded,