Chapter 55

FORLORN, SMITH AND PEDRITO trudged along a flat, sandy beach on the bomb-battered Pirate Key. The bright sunshine, lapping waves, fresh air — and above all the peaceful silence, now that the two attacking warships had been sunk — made the small island into a Caribbean paradise. Both redheads negligently carried a rifle by the breech at hip level.

Ahead, they spotted a rubber inflatable boat drawn halfway up onto the beach. “Maybe we could take that raft and escape,” Pedrito suggested.

“Even if we got out of here, there’s no place to hide,” Smith said. “We’ve got to face it, the U.S. is against us.”

“Yeah,” Pedrito said, “and Cuba and Russia are against us.”

“And we’re certainly not welcome back in Colodor . . . in fact, probably not anywhere in South America.”

Pedrito stopped as inspiration struck him. “Hey, we can always start a revolution somewhere else. I’m good at that.”

“That’s brilliant. Let’s do it together — what do we have to lose?”

Pedrito gestured toward the inflatable raft with his rifle. “We better get out of here, then. Time’s wasting.”

“You get the first shift rowing,” Smith said as they trotted down the beach.

Suddenly, Bolo stood up out of the inflatable raft like a jack-in-the-box. He wore a trench coat with the collar turned up and a fedora slouched over his face. His hands at his sides were empty. “Hello, my friends,” he said with a bland smile. “I’ve been waiting for you. Congratulations on your survival, both of you.”

Pedrito halted in surprise. “Bolo!” He peered closely, suspicious. “Say, are you the one who radioed me to come to this spy assembly station in the first place? That sounds like something you’d do.”

“That guy sure looks familiar,” Smith said.

Bolo shrugged and beckoned for them to join him in the raft. “Come along, we’ve got some business to discuss. A proposition.” He stepped out of the inflatable boat and prepared to launch it without saying another word. Smith and Pedrito looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then climbed into the raft.

* * *

At dusk on the calm ocean, an unmarked submarine lay in the water like a beached whale. As the inflatable raft carrying Bolo, Pedrito and Smith approached, no one moved about on deck. The submarine’s conning tower and forward deck shimmered copper in the last rays of the setting sun.

After he lashed the inflatable raft to the sub, Bolo clambered aboard and moved to a large hatchway in the forward deck. He lifted the heavy metal hatch and stood waiting for the two redheads. “Come on, sirs. This is what you’ve been waiting for all along.”

Smith and Pedrito, still carrying their rifles, went down the hatch into the submarine. Smith moved awkwardly in his wet-suit flippers, and Pedrito gave him a hand. Bolo followed last, closing the hatch from below. Then he pressed a signal button on the wall. With a low growl of engines, the sub moved forward slowly, submerging. It had a long way to go to its final destination.

Up on the surface, as the submarine dove, the rubber raft raced forward for a moment, as if it were being dragged by an enormous fish. Then it dove underwater. Moments later, as the raft popped like a balloon from the tremendous stress, a ball of air rose out of the ocean with a sound like an enormous belch.

Smith and Pedrito walked side by side in a narrow passageway. Bolo directed them to a closed stateroom door, which opened mysteriously ahead of them. “After you,” said Smith.

“No, you,” Pedrito smiled politely. “Always let the man in flippers take the first steps. It’s a spy tradition.”

“Oh, okay,” Smith said and entered a lavish submarine wardroom.

On the other side of the wardroom, a man stood behind a table and turned to face them. He wore a general’s uniform, but no cap. He had a yellow moonface, dark almond eyes and ridiculous dangling Fu Manchu mustaches. He spread his arms wide in an enthusiastic greeting, displaying immaculately long fingernails.

“Ai! Pedritos!” he said with a glad cry. “Welcome to the Chinese Secret Service! We’re happy to have you here.”

* * *

As he discussed his plans and his country’s offer, the Chinese general sat on one side of the rectangular table. Across from him Smith and Pedrito took seats beside each other but not too close.

At the head of the table, Bolo folded his hands in front of him, very pleased and confident. He had changed clothes into the uniform of a colonel of the Chinese Army with a wide array of medals on his chest . . . but who could tell if it was just another disguise?

Bolo said, “Yes, I pretended to cooperate with Colonels Enrique and Ivan, but all along we were just testing you both. On-the-job training, you might say, to see if you have the right stuff to work for us.”

The Chinese general was very jovial and relaxed, tugging on his drooping mustaches. “You see,” he said, waving one long-nailed hand, “we have secret influence all around the world that can’t be traced to us. We’ll straighten out this silly misunderstanding with both your governments, and you can both go home as heroes — and double agents.”

“Triple agents, actually,” Bolo said.

Smith and Pedrito just sat there, unable to believe what the Chinese general was offering.

“What do you get out of this?” Smith asked.

The general chuckled, very pleased with himself. “My government will have spies in both places. We can even switch you around, if you like! Oh, we’re so wily when we want to be.”

“Isn’t that a cliché?” Smith asked. Pedrito and Smith snapped their heads around to lock gazes as it all became clear. They had heard the hackneyed old stereotype many times before. “Damned clever, these Chinese!” they said to each other.

With a shrug, they reached out to shake the general’s hand. “We accept!”

Bolo sat at the end of the table, smiling his secret smile.