“I will volunteer at once, in such an eventuality,” said Pi Wun Tun. “I will join the British Grenadiers as a general.”
“Most admirable sentiments,” said Lui Ho, thoughtfully. “But, much as I enjoy such enthusiasm for war against the American capitalist society, the point now is that our present work is made more difficult by Hooligan’s interest in it.”
“Not so, Comrade Leader,” said Sam Ling. “As the Americans say, every cloud has a silver lining. None of us doubts our ability to succeed in this venture. So, when we triumph, so much greater will be the discredit and humiliation falling on that dog’s head Hooligan. His revealed inefficiency will earn him execution. And our future work will be easier.”
The spies smiled. Lui Ho nodded agreement. “So!”
Sam Ling continued. “We carry on as before, to your original plan, Comrade Leader. We wait for the right opportunity. Then we will employ a cunning stratagem to distract Hooligan and his pig-pack long enough for us to get the fake bones away, back to our glorious Motherland.”
“Magnificent,” hissed Lui Ho. “Such ignominy for Hooligan! Such disgrace! We will carry on, then, just as though he does not exist.”
“A great shame,” whispered Chou-Tan, quietly. “The interesting conundrum concerning Occidental women must, for the moment, remain unanswered.” He sighed deeply.
“I think Her Majesty will like this,” smiled Emily, in the park the next morning. She examined a crumpled sheet of wrapping paper, printed with miniature Father Christmases’. It rustled in the breeze. “I’ve brought plenty with me.”
Hettie leaned forward and peered inside Emily’s carrier bag. “It’s all Christmas paper,” she said.
“Yes, I save it. It’s so cheerful. I never throw any away.”
“We cannae wrap the Sassenach bones in that. It’s most improper. Remember, they’re going to Her Majesty.”
“Tish, tosh and rubbish,” said Emily. “I never mind getting presents in used wrapping paper. It’s a sensible economy.” She pulled out another piece of paper and smoothed it flat. “Look at this bit--fairies and gnomes. And it’s got tinsel stuck to it.”
“We’ll buy a few rolls of brown paper,” Hettie said. Her old friend looked hurt. “Och, all right, lassie. We’ll use your paper on some of the smaller pieces.”
Further along the bench the three other nannies sat quietly.
“The park seems crowded again today,” remarked Melissa.
“Must be a mid-week festival. Garibaldi Day, or something,” said Emily. “Americans are
always
holding them. I saw one last week. D’you know, they were actually commemorating the invention of the prepacked loaf!”
Una sniffed. Her eyes were watering. “Something that nobody has noticed. All the people. They’re men.” Hettie looked at her in surprise, then stared round, suspiciously. She recognized a Haitian-looking man who seemed to spend a lot of time standing in the undergrowth, close behind the tall park-keeper. The park-keeper was collecting paper again, but today he seemed to be having trouble with his cane. He kept lifting it and looking at the end. Many of the other men were also somehow familiar. Hettie noticed that none of them looked directly at the nannies. This, in itself, was suspicious--men usually looked at Melissa.
Hettie decided to try an experiment. She collected her belongings and whispered to Emily, “Back in a minute.” Then she loosened the brake on her baby carriage and slowly wheeled it down the path. From the comer of her eye, she watched two of the men begin to move with her. She wheeled the carriage farther. The men followed. There was no doubt about it. The first man to move took great care she shouldn’t notice he was following her. It was the second man who attracted her attention. He was very obviously following the first man. She did a circuit of the lake and wheeled the carriage back to the others.
“Dinnae look up,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth to Emily. “Those men are all watching us. They must be policemen. Pass the word along to the others to follow us, and not to talk.” Hettie wheeled her carriage away again, trailed this time by the other nannies. Emily caught up with her.
“Where are we going?”
“Just come along, lassie. We’ll explain in a moment,” said Hettie.
She led the way until they arrived at a spot near the open air theatre, then she stopped.
“Right, set the prams in a circle round us,” she ordered. The nannies arranged them like covered wagons awaiting an Indian attack. Then they sat together in the centre of the ring. The men slowly wandered into view, but didn’t approach too closely.
“Now,” said Hettie. She reached into Emily’s carriage and shook the baby, sharply. There was an immediate noisy protest from the enraged Lindon. The other perambulators provided a descant. The nannies were surrounded by a wailing wall.
“What on earth?” protested Una.
“Let them cry. It does them no harm. And we need the noise. Those men, they’re definitely following us. And that park-keeper has got a microphone or something in his stick. We’ve read about them. He’s pointed it at us several times.”
“Who are they?” asked Susanne, worried.
“They must be police,” replied Hettie. “We thought we’d got away with it. Somehow they’re on to us.”
“Why don’t they arrest us?” asked Una.
“Obviously they cannae be certain.”
“They’re pretty persistent, these New York police,” said Melissa. “They’ll keep on until they get what they want. They’ll find out.”
“Och, they won’t find out,” said Hettie. “If they knew for certain they’d have arrested us. They’re just trying to force us to make a move. We’ve got to keep our nerve. We left no clues in the dinosaur hall. We cleaned up everything. They’re probably following everybody in New York at the moment. We dinnae have to worry. Remember Miss Emily’s advice: just act perfectly normally. If the men talk to you, talk back. Dinnae be frightened. And if anyone questions you, about the business, just deny any connection with it. If we all stick together, they willnae be able to prove a thing. What we’ve got to do now is fix our alibis.”
It took them fifteen minutes to perfect their cover- stories. At last, they were satisfied.
“Whatever happens, dinnae alter them,” warned Hettie. “Stick it out to the bitter end.”
“And the bitter end it’s quaite likely to be, too,” said Una. “If we’re caught, they’ll throw us into jail and then deport us. It’ll be in every English newspaper-- the
News of the World, The People
Emily brandished her knitting, like a small flag. “We won’t be caught. Nanny Hettie’s quite correct. But if we are--” she gave the knitting flag another waggle-- “remember one thing--we did it for Great Britain and Her Majesty, God bless her.” She looked at them, fiercely. “I’d gladly go to prison for my country.” She puffed out her chest, until Susanne thought the starched pinafore would crack.
“As the 25th Earl himself would have said, ‘Hear, hear,’ “ added Hettie.
Jumbo Hooligan was whittling. It was intricate work. He held a new pipe-stem on his blotting pad and shaved a sliver of wood from it with a razor blade. His team sat in their armchairs and watched him. He fitted the new stem into the corncob bowl and grunted approval, then he tapped it home firmly on the side of his desk.
“Right,” he said, wedging the repaired pipe into the comer of his mouth. “Adam’s come up with something hot. The Limey who died on the museum steps was a British Intelligence agent. He was playing mailman with a pickup from Hawaii.” He removed the pipe and scratched the side of his throat with the mouthpiece. “Now for some real bad news. The information he was carrying has international classification of Red-Stripe-Red. And it’s missing.”
“Jesus, boss,” said Boots.
“Yup . .. Jesus,” repeated Jumbo. “And that’s what the guys at the top said when they heard.”
“What’s Red-Stripe-Red, huh?” Willie whispered to Huw, sitting next to him.
“Any information that could involve the West in war,” said Huw, quietly.
“Jesus, boss,” said Willie. Jumbo Hooligan glowered at him.
“The Limey agent was the Earl of Hastings. Sort of royalty, almost. He was supposed to make his handover inside the museum. But he died before making it. The British Embassy say there was nothing on his body when they checked it. And he was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” queried Ivor.
“Yeah, with his own pill.”
“Could have been an accident,” suggested Ulysses. “Not over-likely,” said Adam. “He was an experienced operative. And there’s something else, all the previous agents in the delivery chain from Peking were killed just after they’d made their pass. And the last man in the link has disappeared. Seems he didn’t collect from this British Earl. Somewhere along the line I guess the Reds caught up.”
“Reds?” Willie looked surprised.
“Chinese Reds,” said Adam.
“So the dames are Chinese agents?”
“Maybe, Willie; maybe not.”
Hooligan slapped the bowl of his corncob on his palm. “So this is how it reads. The Limey Earl dies on the museum steps, on his way out. He hasn’t made contact with his buddy, yet the message isn’t on him when the embassy checks later. Two of these Limey nurses are with him when he collapses. Then the dinosaur disappears. What does that add up to?”
Hooligan surveyed his team. “Pretty clear what happened, huh? God, we’ve gotta find those bones. I’m pretty damn certain they and the message are still somewhere in the city.”
“It’s still being combed, Jumbo,” said Adam. “The precinct boys are checking buildings, derelict lots and parks. But it’s a big city.”
Jumbo twisted his pipe between his fingers. “We don’t have much time. These bones are going somewhere, and somebody is anxious to get them away fast. We’ve got to get to them first. Adam, check the background of all those nurses. Get me something solid. See if either of the old ones did any missionary work in China before the war!” Hooligan paused. “One more thing, the Big House gave me a message it wants passed on to you: Find that Red-Stripe-Red ... and get that dinosaur back, or we’ll all be on display in the museum.”
“Don’t worry, boss,” said Willie kindly. “They couldn’t really do that. Remember what President Jefferson said.” Willie pushed himself up from his chair and stood to attention. “All men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, liberty and the pursuit of Happ...”
“WILLIE . . . SIDDOWN,” roared Jumbo.
Huw waited until the echo had died round the room. Then he spoke. “Say Jumbo, d’you figure we could pull ‘em in and charge them on the evidence we got in the museum?”
“Baby, in that museum we got nothing. Nothing at all. All we got were clues to identities. But facts? No. How d’you think it would look, with great blue-chinned lawmen like us trying to nail an espionage charge on some innocent-looking old ladies with baby-buggies parked in the courthouse aisle? With what for evidence? A couple of hairs, a few strands of wool, some complicated smells, baby powder, and a nipple print. Yeh! A nipple print! Not a chance. We got to have facts. Copperbottomed facts.” Jumbo gave in to temptation and leaped at the wastebin, booting it hard against the wall. It flattened itself in a muffled and metallic explosion. His team winced.
Hooligan shuffled the squashed paper-bin with his toe. “We’re dealing with Limeys, and we all know what that means. If we hooked a charge on them, with that sort of testimony, they’d ice up and bluff it out.” Ulysses looked up at Hooligan. “Boss, I think these nurses know we’re tailing ‘em. They didn’t spot us, but they couldn’t miss that spy circus outside.” Hooligan grinned. “Good! Then let’s pressure them a little,” he said. “We’ll tighten the screws even more. Make it obvious we’re on to them. Tail ‘em closer, boys. Try to scare them into action. Maybe if we put the squeeze on, one will talk.”
“What’s your meaning, boss?” asked Willie. “You want we should beat them up some? I couldn’t cream a lady. My momma would never forgive me.”
“Jerk. Not beat ‘em up, just worry them a bit. Split them. Bring them in for questioning. But, remember, treat them real gentle. And be polite. They’re British citizens, don’t forget. We don’t want an international incident.”
Hooligan looked over at Ulysses. “On the way out, ask Sheba to call Two-O Precinct. Tell them we want to use their station house for the job. I’ll meet you all there in half an hour. Each of you pull in the broad you’ve been shadowing.” He dismissed them with a brief nod and a wild kick at the flattened bin.
“Hey, boss,” said Willie, as he reached the door. “You wanna know something?” Hooligan lowered his eyebrows, fiercely. “What?”
“Judging by the impact damage, I estimate your bin’s doing 37.8 miles an hour when it hits the wall. This means that the energy you expend is enough to . .
“Piss off,” roared Hooligan.
Getting the whole of Pi Wun Tun’s tubby figure into the spin-drier proved difficult, even with the combined efforts of the Tse Eih Aei team.
“Why don’t we just put the top half inside?” suggested Fat Choy.
Pi Wun Tun ducked his head into the opening, while the spies pushed from behind. His shoulders jammed solidly against the sides of the round hole. They pulled him out again. He wiped a hand across his sweating forehead.
“We’re doing it for your own good,” said Fat Choy.
“Then remember you’re not going to terminate me. It’s only corrective treatment ... a little corrective treatment,” pleaded Pi Wun Tun.
“If you try to get inside it yourself,” said Sam Ling, eyeing the stout figure of Pi Wun Tun, and the narrow opening of the machine, “we’ll put it in the records as a course of self-re-education.”
Pi Wun Tun sighed, removed his shoes, and pushed one leg into the spin-drier. “I don’t suppose it’ll help much if I apologize again?” he asked, hopefully.
“No,” said Lui Ho. “Now stop farting around and get inside. I have enough objection to your reading lurid and obscene capitalist literature, but to hide
New York Nudes At Night
inside your autographed copy of the Quotations of our beloved Mao ...”
“The treatment is only for five minutes, anyway,” said Sam Ling, consolingly.