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The engineer moved a few steps closer. "You're not supposed to be here. This area is off limits to the passenger service crew."
Still no answer.
Then the engineer noticed a strange misshapen lump pressed against the side of the fuel tank. Two strands of copper wire ran from it to a clock mechanism beside the duffel bag.
"A bomb!" he blurted in shock. "You're planting a damn bomb!"
He swung around and began running wildly down the walkway, shouting. He'd taken no more than five steps when the narrow steel confines echoed with a noise like twin handclaps in quick succession, and the hollow-point bullets from a silenced automatic tore into the back of his head.
The obligatory toasts were voiced and the glasses of iced vodka downed and quickly refilled. Pokofsky did the honors from the liquor cabinet in his cabin, avoining the cold, piercing gaze of the man seated on a leather sofa.
Geinar Ombrikov, chief of the KGB residency in Havana, was not in a congenial mood. "Your report won't sit well with my superiors," he said. "An agent lost under your command will be considered a clear case of negligence."
"This is a cruise ship," Pokofsky said, his face reddening in resentment. "She was designed and placed in service for the purpose of bringing in hard Western currency for the Soviet treasury. We are not a floating headquarters for the Committee for State Security."
"Then how do you explain the ten agents our foreign directorate assigned onboard your vessel to monitor the conversations of the passengers?"
"I try not to think about it."
"You should," Ombrikov said in a threatening tone.
"I have enough to keep me busy running this ship," Pokofsky said quickly. "There aren't enough hours in my day to include intelligence gathering too."
"Still, you should have taken better precautions. If the American politicians escape and tell their story, the horrendous repercussions will have a disastrous effect on our foreign relations."
Pokofsky set his vodka on the liquor cabinet without touching it.
"There is no place they can hide for long on this ship. They will be back in our hands inside the hour."
"I do hope so," said Ombrikov acinly. "Their Navy will begin to wonder why a Soviet cruise liner is drifting around off their precious Cuban base and send out a patrol."
"They wouldn't dare board the Leonin Andreyev."
"No, but my small pleasure boat is flying the United States flag.
They won't hesitate to come aboard for an inspection."
"She's an interesting old boat," Pokofsky said, trying to change the subject. "Where did you find her?"
"A personal loan from our friend Castro," Ombrikov replied.
"She used to belong to the author Ernest Hemingway."
"Yes, I've read four of his books-" Pokofsky was interrupted by the sudden appearance of his first officer, who entered without knocking.
"My apologies for breaking in, Captain, but may I have a word in private with you?"
Pokofsky excused himself and stepped outside his cabin.
"What is it?"
"We failed to find them," the officer announced uneasily.
Pokofsky paused for some moments, lit a cigarette in defiance of his own regulations and gave his first officer a look of disapproval.
"Then I suggest you search the ship again, more carefully this time. And take a closer look at the passengers wandering the decks.
They may be hining in the crowd."
