Tanner’s Virgin

Still, I got the gist of it. They were on their way to some country where the groundwork was already being laid for a revolution.

They were set to overthrow a government.

When they went away, leaving me with no idea of just what government they were overthrowing, or when, or why, I pulled the mackintosh over my head and thought about frying pans and fires. It occurred to me that all of this was some extraordinarily involved put-on concocted for my benefit. This was a tempting theory, and in a way it made as much sense as anything else. Because why on earth would a batch of Russian agents be sneaking across the English Cha

“Ah, there ye are!” It was Daly, my Irish friend, with a leather-covered flask in his hand. He sat cross-legged beside me, opened the flask, and took a long drink. “Bedad, there’s no better remedy for the cold.”

He sighed and passed the flask to me. “Slainte,” I said, and drank. It wasn’t just what my stomach had in mind, but by now I was used to the roll of the sea. Besides, the hell with what my stomach had in mind. A good draught of Irish whiskey was certainly what my mind had in mind, and right now that seemed the most important consideration.

He said, “Bloody Rooshians and Ukrahoonians and God knows what-all.” He took another drink and passed the flask to me again. I drank. “The lads ye have to work with in this bloody business. A couple of fine boys like you and myself, there should be a better place for us than this slogging old tub and this mucking ocean. Sure, and half an hour more and we’ll be in France.”

“A long way from County Mayo,” I said.

“Too far to walk, eh?” We laughed, and he had a drink and I had a drink. “Oh, a good long walk from County Mayo, and more than a hop skip jump from Liverpool, too. But France is still a damn sight closer to home than Afghanistan, I’d say.”

I went numb. I said, “How did you know I was going to Afghanistan?”

He looked at me, and I looked at him, and that went on for longer than was entirely comfortable. “Bejasus,” he said finally. “Then you’re for it, too, are ye?”

“Uh-”

“Those bloody Rooshians. Here we are like McGi

Oh, I thought, stupidly. He hadn’t meant that Afghanistan was a long ways from Ireland for me to be. He had meant it was a long ways from Ireland for him to be. Which meant that he and the bloody Rooshians were on their way to just that spot, which in turn meant that I suddenly knew what government it was that they intended to overthrow. And which also meant, now that I had opened my idiot mouth, that he thought I was a part of the group, bound for the same destination with the same purpose, and-

Oh.

“And here’s everyone saying you’re only a paying guest the captain was greedy enough to take on, and you not knowing about us or we about you. Why, I’ll let them know how things stand.”

“No, don’t do that.”

“What, and contend with these foreigners meself? Let the bleeders know from the start they’ve two Irish lads to deal with.”

“Have another drink first,” I suggested.

“Have it for me,” he said, passing me the flask. “I won’t be a minute.”

I took a long drink, shuddered, capped the flask. I had made a grave mistake, but now that I thought about it I could see how it might work out for the best. If they were really a crew of spies and saboteurs en route to Afghanistan, and if they were fool enough to accept me as one of their own, things might be infinitely easier. I could forget about the headaches of border-hopping. I’d just tag along with them, and when the whole bunch of us got to Afghanistan I could slip away and find Phaedra while they were busy billing and couping. I didn’t know very much about the government of Afghanistan, but I’ve long felt that most governments are better overthrown, and if they put up with slavery, that makes them even better candidates for a coup d’etat. So if my shipmates would get me into the country, they were then welcome to do as they pleased with it.

I had another drink, a long one, and by the time Daly came back with four of his friends in tow, I was feeling positively giddy.

“So we’re all of us bound for Afghanistan,” I said. “Fancy that.”

“No one tells us of you,” the bearded one said.

“Nor I of you, for that matter. I received my instructions, how to cross the Cha

“Where?”

“I was to receive further instructions at a drop in Cherbourg.”

They looked at each other. “From whom did you receive orders?”

“A man called Jonquil. I do not know his actual name.”

“Which section are you?”

“Section Eight,” I said.

“You are in Section Eight and you were assigned to this operation?”

“I was requisitioned for it. Through Section Three.”

“Ah, that has more sense to it.” Thank heavens for that, I thought. “But this is most remarkable.” The man with the spade-shaped beard turned to a chunky man with a bald head and cheap false teeth. “Get Yaakov,” he said, in Russian.

“He sleeps.”

“He has slept since he boarded this garbage scow. Wake him.”

“He will be displeased.”

“Tell him such are the penalties of leadership.” He turned to me. I looked blank. In English he asked me if I spoke Russian. I told him I did not, and he told me that Yaakov, the leader of the expedition, would come to have a look at me. While we waited, we chatted pleasantly about the wind and the condition of the sea. The crossing was slower than anticipated, I was told, but in another fifteen minutes we should be reaching shore. I looked for France out ahead of the boat, but I could see nothing but inky blackness.

And then Yaakov made his appearance.

He didn’t look as though he was in charge of anything. What he really looked like was Woody Allen, small and ski

Yaakov asked if I spoke Russian. I looked as blank as ever, and the bearded man said I didn’t. Yaakov nodded, fastened his eyes on me again, and smiled shyly.

I returned the smile.

In Russian he said, “You are all fools. This man is not Irish but American. His name is Evan Ta

They were all looking at me. My friend Daly had evidently not understood the speech. The others had, however. Their faces showed that they had altered their opinions of me.

So I spun to my right and bellowed, “Man overboard!”

They turned to look. I shrugged my mackintosh off my shoulders and looped it over the head and shoulders of the man immediately to my left. While he was clawing at it I dodged around him and raced for the rail. I had time for another fleeting thought of frying pans and fires, and then I vaulted the rail, and then I was in the water.