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"Since there's been a change of plan," said Shaw, "I'd be interested in learning my new instructions."
"I thought it obvious," Burton-Angus replied. "You have approximately seventy-two hours to find out what Commander Milligan knows."
"I'll need help."
"After you've settled into your hotel, you'll be contacted by a Mr. Graham Humberly, a rather well-heeled Rolls-Royce dealer. He'll arrange for you to meet Commander Milligan."
"He'll arrange for me to meet Commander Milligan," Shaw repeated, his tone sarcastic.
"Why, yes," said Burton-Angus, momentarily taken back by Shaw's evident skepticism. "Humberly is a former British subject. The man cultivates an enormous channel of important contacts, particularly in the U.S. Navy."
"And he and I are going to march up the gangplank of an American naval vessel, waving the Union Jack and whistling "Brittania rules the waves," and demand to interrogate a ship's officer."
"If anybody can do it, Humberly can," Burton-Angus said resolutely.
Shaw drew deeply on his cigarette and stared at the lieutenant.
"Why me?" he asked stonily.
"The way I understand it, Mr. Shaw, you were once the most able operative in the service. You know your way around Americans. Also, Humberly is planning on introducing you as a British bu
sinessman, an old friend from his Royal Navy days who also achieved fleet rank. Naturally, you're the right age."
"Sounds logical."
"General Simms is not expecting miracles. But we've got to go through the motions. The best we can hope from Milligan is that she proves to be a stepping-stone."
"One more time," Shaw said. "Why me?"
Burton-Angus stopped and looked up at the televised departure schedules. "Your plane is on time. Here are your tickets. Don't worry about the luggage. It's been taken care of."
"I assumed as much."
"Well I guess what it came down to was your past record of ah . . . shall we say, successful dealings with members of the opposite sex. General Simms thought it an asset. Of course, the fact that Commander Milligan recently had an intimate affair with an admiral twice her age rolled the dice in your favor."
Shaw gave him a withering stare. "Just goes to show what you've got to look forward to someday, laddy."
"Nothing personal." Burton-Angus smiled wanly. "You say you've been in the service six years?"
"And four months, to be more precise."
"Did they teach you how to detect a surveillance blind?"
Burton-Angus' eyes narrowed questioningly. "The class was mandatory. Why do you ask?"
"Because you flunked," Shaw said. He let it sink in a moment and then tilted his head to the left. "The man with the metal attachd case, staring innocently at his watch. He's been glued to us since we left the customs exit. Also, the stewardess in the Pan American uniform about twenty feet behind. Her airline is on another concourse. She's his backup. They'll have a third eye lurking ahead of us. I haven't fixed him yet."
Burton-Angus visibly paled. "Not possible," he muttered. "They can't be on to us."
Shaw turned and showed his ticket and passed it to the girl at the boarding entrance. Then he refaced the lieutenant.
"It would seem," he said in his best sardonic voice, "that the British have few secrets from the Americans."
He left Burton-Angus standing there looking like a drowning man.
Shaw sat back in his seat, relaxed, and felt in the mood for champagne. The stewardess brought him two small bottles with plastic glasses. The labels said California. He would have preferred a Tattinger, brut reserve vintage. California bubbly and plastic glasses, he mused. Would the Americans ever become civilized?
After he had polished off one bottle, he took stock. The CIA had put the finger on him the instant he boarded the plane in England, just as he knew General Simms knew they would.
