The Double Agents (Men at War 6)

“There are ladies present,” Niven cautioned, fearful of which digits were about to be displayed.

Ustinov looked to his fists. First the left index finger popped up, then the right index finger.

“I will now show you how this is properly done,” Ustinov said formally, and slowly, very slowly, punched out the letter with a series of tap…tap…taps:

* * *

Lloyds Bank Limited

Head Office

London, E.C.3.

Major W. Martin, R.M.

Army & Navy Club

Pall Mall

London, S.W.1.

Dear Sir,

I am given to understand that in spite of repeated application your overdraft amounting to £79 19s 2d still outstands.

In the circumstances, I am now writing to inform you that unless this amount, plus interest at 4% to date of payment, is received forthwith we shall have no alternative but to take the necessary steps to protect our interest.

Yours faithfully,

Joint General Manager

* * *

“Luckily for us, this was the short letter,” Niven said.

Ustinov removed the sheet from the typewriter, signed it E. Whitley Jones above the title of Joint General Manager, and handed the page to Montagu.

“Any particular reason you used the Army and Navy Club address,” Montagu

asked, “as opposed to the Naval and Military Club we put on the McKenna letter?”

“He moved,” Ustinov said simply.

Montagu made a face of appreciation. “I like that,” he said. “Simple. Plausible. And another item for the Germans to confirm—or dissuade them.”

He began folding and unfolding this letter, too.

“I’m not sure I like the next part of our exercise,” Montagu said. “But we would appear not to have much choice with it….”

[TWO]

Gulf of Palermo, Sicily 0235 5 April 1943

The three canvas-skinned kayaks were moving through the dark in a pyramid formation, Dick Canidy paddling on point, with Jim “Tubes” Fuller ten feet off his stern at five o’clock and Frank Nola a little farther back at seven o’clock.

There was a soft rhythmic sound coming from the paddles of Fuller and Nola as their blades dipped in the water. But not from Canidy’s; his strokes were awkward, irregular, the blades occasionally making somewhat-noisy slaps as they broke the surface.

I hate this goddamn excuse for a boat, Canidy thought.