Mark grinned. "What would happen if you didn't play?"

"You're kidding, of course? In Palaga, you play, mate, else you don't never come here again." Chas leaned on the bar top. "And talking of playing — it ain't nice, y'know, not nice at all."

"What isn't?"

"You using two-way talkie-walkie things in my liquor store."

They stared steadily at each other for a long time.

Then Mark sighed gently. "How much?"

"Ah!" Chas beamed. "That's nice of you to offer. We'll work out something. I'll let you know. Just you and me, eh? Nice and cosy. Not to worry. Keeper of a thousand secrets, they call me around the islands."

CHAPTER THREE: CORACLE-ORACLE

MARK silently cussed the cheerful Chas. The liquor store was an ideal place to make contact. Now, he had to find an excuse to shin up the rigging during his spell as deck hand. The Island Traveller needed a lot of attention as she creaked her way around the islands, so no cushy steward's job took priority over crew work. Fortunately, the block and tackle had to be re-rigged and some ropes spliced and fitted, so Mark had ample time on his own, high above the deck. Time enough to sight Kazan and the launch.

Kazan did a sweep around Island Traveller. Mark nearly fell off the mast with laughter when he saw Lars Carlson wearing a dark wig, a shortie beach robe and large sun glasses. Some material stuffed down his chest gave Lars a feminine appearance from a distance. Such launches were a common sight in these waters, but all had at least one female lounging on deck. Palaga patrol boats were suspicious if all males were aboard a strange launch, deeming smuggling as their own special preserve.

Count Kazan enjoyed himself in Palaga. He had the name, the air, and the reputation — and a wad of U.N.C.L.E. money. A top-echelon contact man in Europe, he moved in lush society but worked closely with Sama Paru. This was the first time they'd been sent far away from their own locations. Both were eager to do well, though Kazan sounded peevish.

"I study the file. In New York, in Paris, in Monte Carlo, I read and read. And what do I know? Damn damn-all! I have the grand time in Palaga, but not work time. Only to establish I am me and I have the money and the powerful boat. It is not enough for a man of action."

"Calm down," said Mark. "That place is thick with THRUSH and the Palagas know your every move. You did what you were instructed to do. Keep doing that — else you'll get us all killed."

"Am I a fool? Can I not have the little beef? What is at Taradata? Or is it another island?"

"If we knew, then we wouldn't be where we are," said Mark. "It's big — we know that. The threads lead from all over the world — first to Palaga, then to the islands. We have to find what it is, and our linking threads are very slender. If we're discovered before we can connect them, we shall all be very dead."

"Okay, so I play the playboy some more. But, mon ami, I am so tired of it. You have all the fun."

"Quit beefing and listen. I've a sharp boyo down below. A chap they call Chas — here's his description." Mark gave this, then added:. "Contact our man on the mainland first, then send it to H.Q. I want all the background you can get on him. Something I can blackmail him with, if possible. He could be a big danger."

"I come and throw him to the sharks."

"Aw, grow up, Kazan! Do as I say. Contact Paru in the Dx5 and get him working on it too. He also has a contact on the mainland. If you can't reach me, try April Dancer. She'll find a way to pass it on."

It took two days, but they got it. Chas had been in the file, after all — under the name of Clarence Harold Arthur Salisbury, a combination which, of course, made a natural Chas. The researchers had cleared him and lined him up in the dossier along with ships' engineers, harbour masters, customs officials — all who linked with Island Traveller in the normal course of their work yet were free of any known contact with THRUSH.

Mr. Waverly sent a mild blistering, remarking that agents were supposed to absorb all details. Not just those that interested them, and when could he expect some information — perlease?

As April Dancer conveyed, on one of the few brief conversations they could manage: "This dam scow wallows along like a pregnant elephant — and so do the passengers. We come alive for five hours at Corn Island, pick up three more passengers and a hold full of pigs. You figure they are the THRUSH secret weapon?"

Mark yawned. "Passengers or pigs? For Pete's sake don't you start beefing too! How are you making out with Cheval and the Padracks?"

"Oh, great, just great! None of them leave their cabins long enough for me to even open the door. And if they do, then that blackmailing little Chas comes snooping around. It seems Cheval is recovering from a heart attack. The Padracks are getting off at Taradata. They are the V.I.P.s and regular passengers, yet they eat at Maleski's table while Cheval and I join the captain." She glared at Mark. "And what are you doing, besides making like a tame chimp up that mast?"

"This and that," he said airily. "When my work allows. You think my job is fun? You try it, sweetheart — just try it! Sixteen hours a day of assorted hard labour while you gorge and booze and lay around like pickled man-bait."

"You look very fit on it."

"I'd look, and feel, a sight fitter off it."

"Yes — I'm sorry. It was a snide crack for me to make. And your living quarters are terrible. I think you're wonderful to do the job, and to stick it."

"Flattery will get you as far as you like." Mark grinned. "As if you didn't know it! Frustrated, that's us."

"And isolated. I haven't seen Kazan's boat for two days."

"They were called to rendezvous with a naval craft once we were clear of the Palaga patrols. And the midget sub too. It needs fuel and servicing rather frequently."

"That could be a liability."

"On a long sea haul — yes. But if we find anything, it will be on one of the islands — then the sub will be a powerful asset for off-shore work. There's something you can do, April. Develop an interest in the Island Traveller. Ask to be shown over it."

"Will do. Any particular objective?"

"Look for unusual bulkheads, or sea hatches, or hull openings, such as extra luggage chutes or cargo hatches. This tub isn't quite as creaky as it appears. The engines are the latest diesels. The captain's cabin has new electronic equipment. They haven't bothered to chip rust or furbish paint and renew ancillary equipment, but someone has spent a helluva lot of money on this crate — and where it'll do the most good."

"But, surely, Mark, you can find those things more easily?"

"Don't be naïve, darling. I'm just another ex-convict scum of a crewman. Maleski and his henchmen keep us hard at work and make sure we don't wander around. As steward I'm more free to enter the passenger deck, but that's about all. I was caught in the engine room and given a mild beat-up to teach me a lesson."

"Oh, Mark! You didn't tell me!"

"I didn't need to — until now. This boat is run like a prison as far as the deckhands are concerned. The few real seamen don't mix with us. Remember my dive from the mast? I swam around before climbing up the anchor chain. There are definitely a couple of hatches cut each side of the stern. Cleverly done, and the hull plates matched up to the openings so you wouldn't notice them from a distance. There's another amidships, about twenty feet aft of the real cargo hatch."