“Quite small. Very discreet. Half a dozen wharves and two large warehouses. The Yugoslavs usually use it for their arms exports. The last shipment out of Yugoslavia I did by plane, but I was told at that time if it was to be by sea, it would be from Ploc?e. It’s better if it’s a small port. There’s usually a berth, and loading facilities are quicker. Moreover, the customs there must be a very small unit, probably with one lowly man in charge, and if he gets his present, he’ll see everything on board within a few hours.”
“Okay, Ploc?e. On June eleventh,” said Shannon.
Baker noted the date. “The Toscana is okay?” he asked. He decided to bear the Toscana in mind for later use. Shannon, he was sure, would have little use for her after whatever operation he was mounting was finished, and Baker was always on the lookout for a good boat for running his cargoes into deserted coves.
“She’s fine,” said Shannon. “She’s running for an Italian port now, where I have to let her know by telex or letter where to head for. Any problems at your end?”
Baker shifted slightly. “One,” he said. “The price.”
“What about it?”
“I know I quoted you fixed prices, totaling fourteen thousand, four hundred dollars. But the system inside Yugoslavia has changed over the past six months. To get the paperwork through on time, I had to engage a Yugoslav partner. At least, that’s what he is called, though in fact he’s another middleman.”
“So?” asked Shannon.
“So he has to get a fee or salary for getting the paperwork through the Belgrade office. On balance, I supposed it was worth it to you to have the shipment ready on time and no bureaucratic hang-ups. So I agreed to engage him. He’s the brother-in-law of the official in the Trade Ministry. It’s another way of taking a kickback. But what can you expect these days? The Balkans are still the Balkans, and they’ve got wised up.”
“How much extra will he cost?”
“A thousand pounds sterling.”
“In dinars or dollars?”
“In dollars.”
Shannon thought it over. It might be the truth, or it might be that Baker was trying to squeeze a bit more out of him. If it was the truth, refusing to pay would simply force Baker to pay the Yugoslav out of his own cut. That would reduce Baker’s margin to such a small amount he might lose interest in the deal, not caring whether it went through or not. And he still needed Baker, and would need him until he saw the white wake of the Toscana heading out of Ploc?e harbor on her way to Spain.
“All right,” he said. “Who is this partner?”
“Fellow called Ziljak. He’s out there now, taking care of the shipment right up to Ploc?e and into the warehouse there. When the ship comes in, he’ll get the stuff from the warehouse through customs and onto the boat.”
“I thought that was your job.”
“It is, but now I have to engage a Yugoslav as partner. Honestly, Cat, they left me no alternative.”
“Then I’ll pay him personally, in travelers’ checks.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Baker.
“Why not?”
“The buyers of this shipment are supposed to be the government of Togo, right? Black men. Another white turns up, obviously the paymaster, and they might begin to smell a rat. We can go to Ploc?e, if you like, or I can go alone. But if you want to come with me, you’ll have to come ostensibly as my assistant. Besides, travelers’ checks have to be cashed at a bank, and in Yugoslavia that means they take the man’s name and identity-card number. If someone cashing them is a Yugoslav, there are questions asked. It would be better if Ziljak got cash, as he has asked.”
“All right, I’ll cash some checks here in Hamburg, and I’ll pay him in dollar bills,” said Shannon. “But you get yours in checks. I’m not carrying vast sums of dollars in cash around. Not to Yugoslavia. They get sensitive about that sort of thing. Security gets interested. They think you’re funding a spy operation. So we go as tourists with travelers’ checks.”
“Fine by me,” said Baker. “When do you want to go?”
Shannon glanced at his watch. The next day would be June 1.
“Day after tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll fly to Dubrovnik and have a week in the sun. I could do with a rest anyway. Or you can join me on the eighth or ninth, but not a day later. I’ll hire a car, and we can drive up the coast to Ploc?e on the tenth. I’ll have the Toscana come in that night or early on the morning of the eleventh.”
“You go on alone,” said Baker. “I have work to do in Hamburg. I’ll join you on the eighth.”
“Without fail,” said Shannon. “If you don’t turn up, I’ll come looking. And I’ll be hopping mad.”
“I’ll come,” said Baker. “I still want the balance of my money, don’t forget. So far, I’m out of pocket on this deal. I want it to go through just as much as you.”
That was the way Shannon wanted him to feel.