Kolymsky Heights by Lionel Davidson Read Free Book Online Page A

the same.
    This ship had not been to Dudinka; or to Igarka; or Noviy Port, or Salekhard. It had sailed the Arctic from one end to the other, but it had not stopped at any of those places.
       
    Wherever it had stopped, the ship was now moving again. It was steaming down the coast of Portugal and going home; where it would arrive in two months if unlucky, or nearer three if not. This was because it was tramping, and would put in wherever cargo offered – in general to ports not served by regular lines.
    This was what it had done in the Arctic also. But between the Arctic and its present route there was a difference. Wherever it put in now a Lloyd’s agent was likely to report the fact. No Lloyd’s agents had reported facts in the Russian Arctic. There its only listed port had been Murmansk; which had been its listed port in June too. But it must also have called at some port other than Murmansk, for the secret establishment could not be anywhere near there. Murmansk was the base for the Russian Northern Fleet, with extensive yards and service facilities. No biological plant would be sited in that vicinity; which in any case was under constant surveillance, all its objectives known, in no way a waste howling wilderness.
    This opened up the rest of the Arctic for consideration,several thousands of miles of it; and it also opened up the inquiries in Japan.
    From Japan the answers were good and informative.
    The ship was one of a line of six tramps, and the Arctic run was a summer perk of the masters’. Only one of them had been taking it on for the past couple of years. The only regular business on the route was with Murmansk, and any other picked up along the way was the perk: it could be accepted or not at the captain’s discretion. If he reported it, the owners took a share; if not, the crew did. The only sure information was the crew’s, and they were not likely to give it.
    But the ship was being watched, and inquiries would continue.
       
    Wonderful, said Hendricks, and got on with his own. These were not going so well either.
       
    By Christmas – at Christmas – the next news arrived. The Japanese ship had crept back into Nagasaki unnoticed. All the crew had crept off it, and away on leave. When they came back they were being dispersed and the ship broken up. For its engines were clapped out and its equipment was clapped out, and the ship was finished.
    Hendricks passed a hand over his face. He felt like that ship.
    He had at last received a reply from the wild young man. His own previous letter, one of a series, had been dignified and discreet. He had had it mailed in an area where the young man was thought to be at present. It was on plain paper and gave a local postbox number for reply. It said that the old friend mentioned earlier, from Oxford, England, was making a last attempt to reach him. The matter was urgent and personal, and a kind acknowledgment was requested by return for the present letter.
    The kind acknowledgment came back on the letter itself. It was in red felt-tip and said fuck off spook.
    Hendricks thought he could give up then. Nothing morewould come, he was certain. The crew of a Japanese tramp would show no zeal to help a friendly intelligence agency. The young man was not friendly to any intelligence agency, and had not been fooled by this one.
    But still he postponed the decision. Not much money was being spent, and he decided to consider the matter again in April, when the new budgetary year came round.
    April came round, and he considered it again. In particular he considered Rogachev.
    Not a bad record, but not outstanding; nothing at all out of the ordinary. He had done time in a labour camp in the fifties, but so had many other Russian scientists – it was a respectable thing to have done. Respectable, in fact, was the description for him, and biology his field – a teamwork field. If anything remarkable was going on in it some whiff would surely have come from other teams