Apart from smuggling the Schmeissers, everything was legal and aboveboard. That did not mean things could not still go wrong. Perhaps one of the two governments would make problems by taking overlong or refusing to sell on the basis of the provided documentation.
Then there were the uniforms, which Dupree was presumably still buying in London. They too should be in the warehouse in Toulon by the end of May at the latest.
But the big problem still to be solved was the ship. Semmler had to find the right ship, and he had been searching in vain for almost a month.
Shannon rolled off his bed and telephoned a telegram to Dupree’s flat in Bayswater, ordering him to check in. As he put the phone down, it rang again.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Hello, Julie,” he said.
“Where have you been, Cat?”
“Away. Abroad.”
“Are you going to be in town this weekend?” she asked.
“Yes. Should be.” In fact there was nothing more he could do and nowhere he could go until Semmler contacted him with news of a ship for sale. He did not even know where the German was by this time.
“Good,” said the girl on the phone. “Let’s spend the weekend doing things.”
It must be the tiredness. He was getting slow on the uptake. “What things?” he asked.
She began to tell him in precise and clinical detail until he interrupted her and told her to come straight around and prove it.
Although she had been bubbling with it a week earlier, in the thrill of seeing her lover again Julie had forgotten the news she had for him. It was not until nearly midnight that she remembered. She bent her head low over the half-asleep mercenary and said, “Oh, by the way, I saw your name the other day.”
Shannon grunted.
“On a piece of paper,” she insisted. Still he showed no interest, his face buried in the pillow beneath crossed forearms.
“Shall I tell you where
?”
His reaction was disappointing. He grunted again.
“In a folder on my daddy’s desk.”
If she had meant to surprise him, she succeeded. He came off the sheet in one movement and faced her, gripping both her upper arms hard. There was an intensity about his stare that frightened her.
“You’re hurting me,” she said irrelevantly.
“What folder on your father’s desk?”
“A folder.” She sniffed, on the verge of tears. “I only wanted to help you.”
He relaxed visibly, and his expression softened. “Why did you go looking?” he asked.
“Well, you’re always asking about him, and when I saw this folder, I just sort of looked. Then I saw your name.”
“Tell me about it from the beginning,” he said gently.
When she had finished she reached forward and coiled her arms around his neck. “I love you, Mr. Cat,” she whispered. “I only did it for that. Was it wrong?”
Shannon thought for a moment. She already knew far too much, and there were only two ways of ensuring her silence. “Do you really love me?” he asked.
“Yes. Really.”