The Mediterranean Caper (19 page)

There was a brief incredulous silence. All four stared at Pitt in blank skepticism. Giordino broke the silence first.

“You're trying to tell us something, but I'll be damned if you're getting through.”

“Zac admitted that von Till's method of smuggling is ingenious,” Pitt said. “And he's right. The ingenuity lies in the simplicity. The
Queen Artemisia
and the other Minerva ships can operate independently or they can be controlled by a satellite vessel attached to their hulls. Think about it for a minute. It's not as ridiculous as it sounds.” Pitt spoke with a calm surety about him that began to crack any doubts. “The
Queen
didn't cruise two days off her course just to blow kisses at von Till. Contact must have been made somehow.” He turned to Zacynthus and Zeno. “You and your men watched the villa and saw no sign of a signal.”

“Nor did anyone enter or leave,” Zeno added.

“Same goes for the ship,” said Giordino, eyeing Pitt curiously. “No one set foot on the beach except you.”

“Darius and I make it unanimous,” said Pitt. “He heard no radio transmissions and I found the radio cabin deserted.”

“I'm beginning to see your point,” Zac said thoughtfully. “Any communication between the ship and von Till could only have taken place underwater. But I'm still not sure I buy your satellite vessel theory.”

“Try this one.” Pitt paused. “What travels long distances under water, carries a crew, has the capacity to hold a hundred and thirty tons of heroin and would never be searched by Customs or the Bureau of Narcotic Inspectors? The only logical answer is a full-scale submarine.”

“Nice try, but it won't pass.” Zac shook his head. “We've had divers search beneath the waterline of every Minerva ship at least a hundred times. They have yet to discover a submarine.”

“They most likely never will.” Pitt's mouth felt dry and his cigarette tasted like burnt cardboard. He flipped the butt out into the middle of the road and watched it smoke until the tar beneath the glowing ember melted into a tiny black pool. “It's not the method that's at fault. Your divers are missing the boat—if you'll forgive the pun—because of timing.”

“Are you suggesting the sub is released before the ships dock?” Zacynthus asked.

“That's the general idea,” Pitt agreed.

“What then? Where does it go?”

“For the answers let's begin with the
Queen Artemisia
in Shanghai.” Pitt paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. “If you had been standing on the wharves of the Whangpoo River, watching the ship take on cargo, you'd have seen an ordinary loading operation. Cranes lifting sacks—they would be easiest to handle the heroin into the ship's holds. The heroin came first, but it didn't remain in the holds. It was transferred to the sub, probably through a hidden hatch that wouldn't show up on any Customs detection gear. The legitimate cargo was then loaded on board and the
Queen
shoved off for Ceylon. There, the soybeans and tea were exchanged for the cocoa and graphite—another legitimate cargo. The detour to Thasos came next. For orders from von Till most likely. Then on to Marseille for fuel and the final drop in Chicago.”

“There's something bugging me,” Giordino murmured.

“Such as?”

“I'm no expert on pigboats so I can't figure how one could play baby kangaroo with a freighter or where it could accommodate two hundred and sixty thousand pounds of drugs.”

“Modifications had to be made,” Pitt acknowledged. “But it wouldn't take any great engineering feat to remove the conning tower and other projections until the top deck fitted flush against the mother ship's keel. The average fleet-type sub of World War II had a displacement of fifteen hundred tons, a length of over three hundred feet, a hull height of ten feet, and a beam of twenty-seven feet—roughly twice the size of a suburban house. Once the torpedo rooms, the eighty-man-crew quarters and the unnecessary paraphernalia were cleared out there would be more than ample space to store the heroin.”

Pitt saw that Zacynthus was regarding him in a very peculiar manner: there was a deep look of contemplation on his face. Then his features showed the first traces of genuine understanding.

“Tell me, Major,” he asked. “What speed could the
Queen Artemisia
make with a sub fastened to her hull?”

Pitt thought a moment. “I'd say about twelve knots. Unencumbered, however, the ship's normal cruising speed would be closer to fifteen or sixteen.”

Zacynthus turned to Zeno. “It's quite possible the major's on the right track.”

“I know what you are thinking, my Inspector.” Zeno's teeth parted beneath the great moustache. “We have often concerned our thoughts with the puzzling variance of the cruising speeds among Minerva ships.”

Zacynthus' eyes came back to Pitt. “The heroin drop, when and how is it made?”

“At night during high tide. Too risky during the day. The sub could be spotted from the air—”

“That checks,” Zacynthus interrupted. “Von Till's freighters are always scheduled to reach port after sunset.”

“As to the drop”—Pitt hadn't even taken notice of the interruption—“the sub is released immediately after entering port. Without a conning tower or periscope it must be guided from the surface by a small craft. Here, the only real chance of failure comes in, being rammed in the dark by an unsuspecting vessel.”

“No doubt they'd have a pilot on board who was familiar with every inch of the harbor,” Zacynthus said thoughtfully.

“A first-rate harbor pilot is an absolute necessity for an operation like von Till's,” Pitt agreed. “Dodging underwater obstacles over a shallow bottom in the dark is no exercise for an amateur yachtsman.”

“The next problem on the agenda,” Zacynthus said slowly, “is to determine the location where the sub can unload and distribute the heroin without fear of detection.”

“How about a deserted warehouse?” Giordino volunteered. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was dozing, but Pitt knew from long experience that he hadn't missed a word.

Pitt laughed. “The evil villain who slinks around deserted warehouses went out with Sherlock Holmes. Waterfront property is at a premium. An idle building would only arouse instant suspicion. Besides, as Zac here can tell you, a warehouse would be the first place an investigator would look.”

A faint smile crossed Zacynthus' lips. “Major Pitt is right. All docks and warehouses are closely watched by our Bureau and Customs, not to mention the County Harbor Patrols. No, whatever the method, it must be extremely clever. Clever enough to have worked smoothly and successfully all these years.”

There was a long pause, then he went on quietly.

“Now at long last we have a definite lead. It's only a thread, but if it's attached to a rope and the rope is attached to a chain, then with a bit of good fortune von Till will be found at the other end.”

“If you wish to pursue the major's supposition, it is vital that Darius inform our agents in Marseille.” Zeno's tone was that of a man trying to convince himself of something that was not a positive fact.

“No, the less they know, the better.” Zacynthus shook his head. “I want no action taken that might put a bug in von Till's ear. The
Queen Artemisia
and the heroin must reach Chicago without interference.”

“Very sly.” Pitt grinned. “Using von Till's cargo to attract the sharks.”

“It's not difficult to guess.” Zacynthus nodded. “Every big-time hood and every underworld organization engaged in illegal drug traffic will be on hand to greet that sub.” He paused to take a puff on his pipe. “The Bureau of Narcotics will be more than happy to host the reception.”

“Providing you can find the drop location,” Pitt added.

“We'll find it,” Zacynthus said confidently. “The
Queen
won't enter the Great Lakes for at least three weeks. That will give us time enough to search every pier, boatyard and yacht club that even touches the shoreline. Discreetly of course, no sense in blowing the whistle and losing all the players.”

“That won't be easy.”

“You underestimate the Bureau.” Zacynthus acted hurt. “We happen to be experts at this sort of thing. To put your mind at ease, we won't attempt to pinpoint the exact location, only the general area. Radar will track the sub to its final destination. At the opportune moment we move in.”

Pitt looked at him somberly. “You're taking a great deal for granted.”

Zacynthus stared back. “I'm surprised at you, Major. It was you who gave us a direction. The first feasible direction, I might add, that INTERPOL and the Bureau have had in twenty years. Can it be you're beginning to doubt your own deductions?”

Pitt shook his head. “No, I'm certain I've guessed right about the submarine.”

“Then what is your problem?”

“I think you're putting all your eggs in one basket by concentrating your main effort in Chicago.”

“What better place to set a trap?”

Pitt spoke slowly and precisely. “A hundred and one things could happen between now and when the
Queen Artemisia
is boarded by Customs. You yourself said three weeks was enough time to search the city's waterfront. Why rush things? I strongly suggest that you wait and do a little more fact digging before you fully commit yourself.”

Zacynthus looked at Pitt quizzically. “What do you have in mind?”

Pitt leaned against the truck; already the blue-coated metal was hot to the touch. He looked out toward the sea again, the rugged face beneath the wavy black hair intense with concentration. He breathed deeply, drawing in the salt-scented air of the Aegean, and he was lost for long seconds at the wonder of the intoxicating sensation. With effort he shook his mind back to the cold reality of the moment, and when he spoke he knew there was something he had to do.

“Zac, I need ten good men and an old sea dog who is familiar with the waters around Thasos.”

“Why?” Zacynthus asked simply.

“It stands to reason that if von Till carries out his smuggling activities from the villa and communicates with his ships underwater he must have a hidden base of operations somewhere along this coastline.”

“And it is your intention to find it.”

“That's the general idea,” Pitt stated flatly. He looked Zacynthus straight in the face. “Well?”

Zacynthus thoughtfully toyed with his pipe before answering. “Impossible.” The voice was firm. “I cannot allow it. You're a talented man, Major. Up to now your judgment rang with practical logic. And nobody appreciates more than me the great help you have been to us. However, I cannot take any chances of alarming von Till. I repeat, the ship and the heroin must reach Chicago without interference.”

“Von Till is already alarmed.” Pitt was very definite. “He can't help but be wise to you. The British destroyer and the Turkish aircraft that shadowed the
Queen Artemisia
from Ceylon to the Aegean were a dead giveaway that INTERPOL was on to the heroin. I say stop him now, before any more of his ships load or unload illegal cargo!”

“Until that ship deviates from its set course, and not before, I insist on a hands-off policy regarding von Till.” Zacynthus broke off for a few seconds, then he went on quietly. “You must understand: Colonel Zeno, Captain Darius and myself are narcotics men. If we are to do our job efficiently we cannot concern ourselves with white slavery, stolen gold or illegal transportation of known criminals. It sounds cruel and heartless, I admit, but INTERPOL has other good men and departments who specialize in these crimes. And they would say the same thing if this particular ship carried a cargo that was under their jurisdiction. No, I'm sorry, we may lose von Till in the end, but we'll lock up the biggest illegal drug distributors in North America, not to mention drastically cut the outside flow of heroin.”

There was a short period of silence, then Pitt exploded angrily.

“Bullshit! If you round up the heroin, the submarine and its crew and every dope peddler in the States, you still won't stop von Till. The minute he finds new buyers he'll be back with another boatload of drugs.”

Pitt waited for a reaction. There was none.

“You have no authority over Giordino and me,” Pitt continued. “Whatever we have to do from here on in, we'll do it without any cooperation from you.”

Zacynthus' lips were pressed tightly together. His eyes stared fiercely at Pitt, then he glanced at his watch. “We're wasting time. I have only one hour to get to the Kavalla Airport and catch the morning flight for Athens.” He pointed his pipe at Pitt like a gun. “I dislike losing arguments but you leave me no alternative. My regrets, Major. Though I am deeply in your debt, I must once again place you and Captain Giordino in custody.”

“The hell you will,” Pitt said coldly. “We're not going to oblige.”