‘Let’s say the day after tomorrow or the next day. If not then there will be no other opportunity.’
‘Let’s make it the day after tomorrow. Sobolev reached for a note book and looked up a number. He found it and dialled. The phone was answered but Ah Fat was unable to hear what the answer to the Rezident’s question was, ‘Where are you and can you come and see me? Yes. An emergency … of sorts. The day after tomorrow? Good. About when? Not before four o’clock in the afternoon but definitely not later than 5. Good. I’ll tell my visitor to be here then.’ And quite obliviously he said, ‘Good night, Mr Bugga,’ as he put the phone down.
‘Do you think you can come here by five o’clock on the day I’ve arranged with your “friend”?’
‘If I don’t it will mean something most unexpected has happened. But yes, of course.’
Ah Fat got a taxi back to the dock area and arrived at the time Jason stepped out of a Transit Camp vehicle.
***
Jason had worn mufti when he travelled to the Transit Camp as it was forbidden to wear the uniform of a foreign army unless one was a diplomatic soldier. He was allowed into the dock area with his official ID card. He also had a certificate saying he was the OC Troops. He greeted Ah Fat who took him to the safety of his cabin and told him exactly what had happened earlier on that day. ‘I have no idea who he phoned but he spoke in English and said that there was “an emergency … of sorts” with a gap in the middle of the sentence and not to come before 4 but not after 5. Oh yes, he said good night to a Mr Bugga.’
‘That’s an Indian name, surely. The Rezident sounds just how I have always imagined such a person to be,’ Jason commented. ‘But how unusual for such a secret set-up to masquerade as a normal diplomatic office.’
‘I disagree. Who would imagine such a place would have such a secret task. As you English might say, “no cloak and no dagger” so nothing secret.’
Jason grinned. ‘Point taken. What else have you for me?’
‘Fasten your seat-belt. I have managed to get you an invitation to meet him the day after tomorrow. Our man said at five o’clock so let’s aim for about half past 4. I have billed you as a deep, deep cover Soviet agent. Is it possible for you to act the part?’
‘Flat Ears, as I once heard it said, “the only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture past them into the impossible.” Providing the Rezident took you sincerely, and those kinds of people would never think such was a ruse, I won’t be suspected.’
‘I like it and provided we get there before this Bugga person – what an unfortunate name! – it could foil any plot they might hatch out to our disadvantage and give us some initiative, something we may be glad of.’
‘Yes, this is new for both of us, isn’t it? For once I can tell you something new. Listen to this …’ and out came the story he had heard from Dougie May about the toasts and how to guard against ill effects. ‘He didn’t offer you anything, did he?’
‘Of course not,’ Ah Fat spat out. ‘I’m not a European white but a coloured Asian so it takes an effort for such a man even to be talking to one such as me.’
Jason nodded ruefully. ‘I’m afraid that is true,’ omitting that the reverse could also happen and had happened to him more than once. ‘That means I’ll be expected to drink toast after toast with him, and, as a non-drinker,’ he sighed heavily. ‘I’ll have to look around for sardines and milk, although I expect butter will do just as well.’
‘Cheer up, Jason. I’ve got another idea that has just come to me. I believe these people only drink vodka. Were you to say that vodka disagrees with your stomach so you’ve brought your own bottle of brandy …’ Jason held up his hand but Ah Fat carried on. ‘ … don’t interrupt. Just listen. My idea is to fill it with cold tea, brewed to the colour of the brandy. That’s why I didn’t suggest gin or whisky.’
‘You mean we drink toast to toast but pour our own?’
‘Well, why not?’ and both roared with laughter.
‘Does that mean I’ll have to buy him a bottle of vodka, do you think?’
‘N … no, I think not. He may have his own sort and much cheaper that anything you could buy in Calcutta which, for all I know, is dry, like the rest of India is, so I have been told.’
‘You are full of ideas,’ said Jason admiringly. ‘I too have another idea. That is go to the main book shop and try to find an English-Russian dictionary or phrase book, learn a few words and come out with them at the correct time.’
Ah Fat nodded and pursed his lips. ‘Yes, that might pay dividends. You never know, it could come in useful. As you said earlier, this is new for both of us. And yes, on the face of it, I advise you not to let anyone hear you speak Chinese. Only use it if absolutely necessary.’
It was Jason’s turn to nod agreement. ‘None of the ship’s crew knows I speak it. As you know the purser better than I do and as the staff seem to know that you do, do you think you could get hold of a used brandy bottle that still has its label on and fill it with tea? Make up some story to suit the occasion. If I leave you to do that I can go and look for an English-Russian phrase book or dictionary.’
‘One other thing, Jason. I don’t know how much Indian currency you have spare but if you can’t walk to the Soviet consulate in Alipore Park Road to have a look I hope you have enough for a taxi to take you there. As it probably won’t be marked as such outside, they are such secretive devils, you can ask the taxi driver, who’s bound to know or ask. What I have learnt about such places is that they have a large array of aerials sprouting from the roof so that could be one way of recognising it.’
‘Yes, I have enough money. I paid the Transit Camp Paymaster a visit before I left. I’d better give you some as getting the bottle and tea ready will be easier to get with an extra rupee to flash about.’
Later on, Jason came back empty-handed, there not being any such phrase book and also, without knowing the pronunciation, it would have been of little use even had he found one.
***
Friday 28 November 1952, Calcutta: They decided to go to Tangra during the early afternoon as there was nothing else to prepare, except for Jason to find a phrase book and Ah Fat to get the bottle of ‘brandy’ ready. They found which bus went there and, although it was unusual for any European to travel by local bus, both of them thought that if they were seen arriving in a bus it might create a better impression of ‘comradely solidarity’ than if they went there by taxi. They got out of the bus at the porticoed entrance, dodged round a white bull chewing the heavy garland of zinnia, cannas and jasmine drooping around its neck, and saw a local guide – or was he a guard? Ah Fat went up to him and asked where the office was.
Cantonese and Hak Wa, being almost interchangeable, Ah Fat was understood. ‘Do you want to see Cheng Fan Tek? If so, you will find him …’ and he gave them instructions how and where to go to his office.
Ah Fat thanked him. Jason kept quiet, listening carefully to what the Hakka guide was saying. Not all that different, is it he told himself.
They found the office building and Ah Fat asked for Cheng Fan Tek and was immediately shown into an inner sanctum. They found a tall man, probably in his fifties, with shrewd eyes and a wispy beard sitting at a table. As they were escorted in he got up, surprise in his eyes. ‘Please come in and sit down.’ He turned to the clerk who had ushered them in and told him to bring tea.
Ah Fat introduced himself and Cheng Fan Tek said who he was. ‘And him?’ cocking an eye at Jason.
‘Oh, a gwai lo who wanted to come along and see what sort of place Tangra is.’
After a bit more desultory conversation ‘may I ask where you have come from?’
‘The Eastern Queen.’
‘How clever of you to find me without Comrade Law Chu Hoi coming with you.’
‘Oh, I met up with him two days ago but there was no time to look around. I want to see part of my motherland so far away and in India.’
‘And will you be going to see Comrade Sobolev?’
‘Yes, later on today.’
