‘Caribbean Clues’ 
PATRICIA MCGERR

NAME: Selena Mead, Government Agent 
PLACE: The Caribbean 
TIME: 1983

CASES: ‘The King Will Die Tonight’ (1963), ‘Is There a Traitor in the House?’ (1964), ‘Legacy of Danger’ (1970), ‘The Writing on the Wall’ (1978) etc.

DOSSIER: Selena Mead is a resourceful government agent extraordinaire who has been described as ‘one of the first women protagonists without womanly frills’. Although born to wealth and social status-her mother is a descendant of Robert E. Lee and her father a leading industrialist and occasional ambassador-Selina has proved herself equally at home investigating subversive activities in the far-flung corners of the world or dancing with visiting statesmen at the White House. Attractive and engaging, she prefers to avoid the use of violence in favour of wit and guile despite the trauma which brought her into her present role. Profoundly happy in her marriage, Selena had her world shattered when her husband, Simon Mead, an agent for a secretive branch of the US National Security, known as Section Q, was knifed by an enemy agent in a Washington back-street in 1963. Distraught but resolute, she tracked down the killer, cleared a US senator of suspicion of treason, and found herself drawn into her late husband’s network. Since then she has foiled a plot against the First Family, rescued a king, and tracked down criminal masterminds in places as far apart as Eastern Europe and South America. Although once dubbed by the Wall Street Journal as ‘the female James Bond’-an epithet she denies and intensely dislikes-Selena avoids the use of guns and has the highest moral standards. She is now remarried to Hugh Pierce, her immediate superior in Section Q, and also works as a journalist covering stories for a Washington magazine-facts which enable the couple to work together often on investigations.

CREATOR: Patricia McGerr (b. 1917) was educated in Washington and worked as a public relations officer and journalist before becoming a fulltime writer in the ‘fifties. Attracted to the crime genre by the announcement of a mystery story contest-which she did not win-she has since produced a string of exceptional novels and short stories which have earned her the accolade of having created a new development in the genre: the ‘whodunnin?’ in which the victim of the crime, rather than the culprit, is unknown. But it is for her memorable series character, Selena Mead, that she is best known, and the stories about the agent, with their elements of intrigue, suspense and humour, have not only won Patricia McGerr awards in the US but made her one of the few Americans to be honoured with the Grand Prix de Litterature Policiere of France. ‘Caribbean Clues’ is one of Selena’s more recent cases, in which the author again uses her strategy of starting with a solution and working backwards to create the mystery which unravels against the background of a luxury cruise...

THE STORY:

Selena was at her desk paying bills when Hugh came in and dropped an illustrated folder on top of her chequebook. ‘Look that over,’ he said. ‘It’s time we had a vacation.’
‘Vacation?’
She glanced at the red-letter headline-‘Six Sun-filled Fun-filled Days in the Caribbean’-then raised her eyes to regard her husband with scepticism. ‘While I bask in the sun, what will you be doing for Section Q?’
‘Nothing consequential. A little courier duty.’
‘Really? I know budgets are being cut all over Washington but I didn’t think it had reached the point where agency heads have to run their own errands.’
‘What’s the good of being chief,’ he countered, ‘if I can’t give myself a plum assignment? Read the brochure. Look at the pictures. It’s a great trip. A quarter of an hour for business and the rest of the week to enjoy ourselves. Aren’t you tempted?’
‘I might be.’ The cover picture was of scantily clad couples holding tall glasses and reclining in deckchairs around a sun-drenched pool. It was in sharp contrast to the snow and ice and blistering winds outside their door. ‘But only if you tell me the real reason for the trip.’
‘I have a piece of paper to deliver, that’s all.’
‘That’s not all.’ She swivelled her chair to look at him directly. ‘This is a secret operation and it’s important enough, or risky enough, for you to go yourself. If I’m to be involved, even if only as part of your cover as a cruising couple, I’ve a right to know what I’m walking-or sailing-into.’
‘In intelligence work,’ he reminded her, ‘nobody has rights. Information is given on a need-to-know basis and for this trip you only need to know what to pack.’
‘I can refuse to go.’
‘And send me off alone?’ He grinned at her. ‘They say these cruise ships are filled with seductive females lying in wait for unattached men.’
‘In that case you might like to withdraw your invitation.’
‘What do you say we compromise?’ Hugh said. ‘I’ll give you a rough outline of the mission and you do without names or specific details.’
‘Very well,’ she agreed. ‘Just tell me what’s on the paper and to whom you’re going to deliver it.’
‘OK, here’s the plan.’ He sat down, pulling the chair closer to her desk. ‘Next Friday we’ll fly to Miami and sail from there. The ship stops in four ports. During the second stop, a leader of the resistance forces of one of the Latin American countries will come aboard. There’s a heavy price on his head, so his movements must be kept top secret. Going myself keeps the people who know about the meeting to a minimum.’
‘And when you meet, what then?’
‘I have a list of names to give him and a map. People who are sympathetic to the cause, and dates and places where they will make contact. Once delivery is made, he’ll get off the ship and my job is ended. You see, it’s a very simple operation.’
‘You make it sound that way,’ she conceded, then let enthusiasm override her misgivings. ‘All right, Hugh, I’d love to cruise the Caribbean with you.’

The first two days lived up to the brochure’s promise. It was an unaccustomed luxury to wake in the morning with no plans, no appointments, no deadlines. They were free to concentrate on such important decisions as whether to take a brisk walk around the deck, play shuffleboard, or He immobile and watch the smooth sea blend with an almost cloudless sky. In the evening they danced to the accompaniment of a five-piece band whose repertoire bridged the generations from the waltz through ragtime to the latest hard rock. It was an idyllic time, the first extended period since their marriage that they could count on uninterrupted time together, their tranquillity unbroken by newspapers or telephones. The single distraction was the list that Hugh was carrying with him. Soon, Selena told herself, he’ll pass that on. Then we’ll have the rest of the cruise to rest, relax, and enjoy each other.
Early in the morning of the third day the ship sailed into its first port. Many of the passengers boarded buses for a guided tour of the small island republic. Hugh and Selena chose to explore on their own, shop for souvenirs, and lunch at a restaurant recommended by friends. They were walking up the broad tree-lined avenue when a young boy, running fast, brushed Hugh’s right hip and sped on to disappear up a side-street.
‘Your wallet!’ Selena exclaimed. ‘Did he-‘
‘No, that’s inside my coat. But I think-‘ he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a screwed-up paper ‘-yes, he left a message.’ Unfolding it he read the words, ‘Call your office.’
‘Trouble,’ Selena said. ‘I knew things were going too well.’
‘Not necessarily,’ he returned. ‘It may be a minor change of plans. I’ve been out of touch for two days.’
They reversed their steps and went to the American consulate, where Hugh’s credentials procured a private room with a secure phone. Selena drank coffee with the consul’s wife while he made his call. Soon he joined them, looking grim.
‘Bad news?’ she asked when, having declined an invitation to lunch, they were outside the consulate.
‘The worst.’ He said no more until they were seated on a bench in the centre of a small park where they could talk without fear of eavesdroppers.
‘Raul,’ he told her then, ‘has been taken.’
‘Raul? Is that the man you’re supposed to meet?’
‘Yes. Word reached headquarters yesterday that he was caught in an ambush and delivered to the security police.’
‘Then your meeting is cancelled.’
‘Not exactly. According to our source-an informer with links to the security forces-his capture has been kept secret. He was compelled, probably under torture, to give them full details of tomorrow’s rendezvous. They’re sending one of their own people in his place.’
‘Then you can at least be thankful that you found out in time. I gather it would be unfortunate if the data you’re carrying went to the other side.’
‘A disaster,’ he confirmed. ‘In the wrong hands, my list would endanger some very good men.’
‘Will you meet the impostor or just let him dangle?’
‘Oh, I’ll keep the appointment. But I’ll draw up a new list of names. Men who are solidly behind the government, some with important jobs. If we can start them distrusting each other, that will salvage something from Raul’s loss. Come on.’ He rose from the bench, cheered by the thought of counterattack. ‘We’ll have to have a quick lunch or we’ll miss the sailing.’

After returning to the ship, Hugh went at once to their stateroom to prepare a counterfeit message for the counterfeit Raul. Selena stayed on deck to watch the liner manoeuvre through the harbour’s narrow passage while young islanders dived for coins tossed by the passengers.
Hugh had finished his work by the time she went down to dress for dinner, but with habitual caution they did not speak of it while in their cabin or later in the dining salon.
They were finishing dinner when the room’s lights dimmed and the pastry chef emerged from the galley bearing aloft a cake lighted by candles.
‘Somebody’s birthday,’ Selena guessed as, with everyone’s eyes upon him, he carried his sparkling burden toward the corner where they sat. A waiter followed with a bottle of champagne and, from the opposite direction, one of the ship’s musicians, guitar in hand, came to meet them. Stopping at Selena and Hugh’s table, the chef, with a flourish, placed the cake before them, the waiter uncorked the champagne, and the guitarist began to play and sing the ‘Anniversary Waltz’. Other voices, scattered around the room, joined him.
Our anniversary was last month, Selena thought. They’ve come to the wrong table. I hope they can correct the mistake without too much embarrassment. She looked at Hugh, expecting him to protest, but he responded with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, reminding her of an agency rule. When the inexplicable occurs, do nothing and wait for an explanation.
As the song ended, the cruise director stepped forward to hand Hugh a white envelope.
‘Happy anniversary, Mr and Mrs Pierce,’ she said. ‘This message came through shortly before dinner and the radio operator tipped us off. I hope you don’t mind our holding it back in order to arrange the surprise.’
‘It was indeed a surprise.’ Hugh’s glance circled the foursome-chef, waiter, guitarist, and cruise director. ‘My wife and I are very grateful. Will you blow out the candles, darling?’
‘It was most kind of you.’ Selena smiled at them, took a deep breath, and bent toward the cake. The candles flickered and went out and the other diners applauded. The waiter poured the champagne, Selena cut the cake, and the staff members, satisfied with the celebration’s success, left them alone.
Hugh tore open the envelope and, with unchanging expression, read the message silently and passed it to Selena. It was brief. ‘Happy Anniversary. Love from Sophie, Craig, and Doris.’ The greeting, she assumed, was camouflage. The coded message was in the signatures.
‘Sophie, Craig, and Doris,’ she repeated.
‘Yes, aren’t they the thoughtful ones.’ Leaning close, his mouth at her ear, Hugh translated. ‘Source credibility doubtful.’
‘Oh.’ For the benefit of anyone still watching, she smiled demurely and lowered her eyes.
While they ate the cake and sipped the wine, she thought about the message. The source referred to must be the informer who had reported Raul’s capture and replacement. That he should be of dubious credibility was not surprising. Informers are often turned into double agents. If they discovered he was sending reports to Section Q, they might well use him to feed us misinformation. But what would be the point of saying Raul was in custody if it wasn’t true?
‘Congratulations, you two.’ Passing their table with his wife in tow, a fellow passenger interrupted her thoughts. ‘How long since you tied the knot?’
‘Fifteen years,’ Hugh answered.
‘Let’s hope you have fifteen more,’ he said heartily and moved on.
He was the first of a stream of well-wishers who followed them from the dining-room, eager to help them celebrate the fictitious anniversary. They bought them drinks, offered toasts, shook Hugh’s hand, kissed Selena.
‘Next time,’ she suggested when they had a moment’s privacy, ‘tell your colleagues to send condolences.’
‘I think,’ he returned, ‘it’s time for the happy couple to take a walk in the moonlight.’
They escaped from the lounge, climbed to the next deck, and walked back to the dark deserted swimming pool. There Selena was at last able to ask her question.
‘If they somehow found out about Raul’s mission,’ he explained, ‘but weren’t able to stop him, they could plant the impostor story to block his getting the information we have for him.’
‘And if you give the real Raul the wrong list of names and the resistance goes to them expecting to find friends-‘
‘Exactly.’ He finished her sentence. ‘That would turn into a trap for him and his fellow freedom fighters.’
‘Then it’s lucky you learned about the trick before your meeting.’
‘If it is a trick,’ he said sombrely. ‘The message doesn’t say that our source has been proved a liar, only that his credibility is doubtful. The conclusion is that the information he sent us may or may not be accurate.’
‘So the man coming tomorrow may or may not be Raul. Then the only safe course is to give him nothing.’
‘That’s how it appears.’ He frowned, shook his head. ‘But if it is Raul, he will have taken great risks to come here. If I send him away empty handed, all his efforts, the dangers he’s faced, will be for nothing.’
‘There must be some way to check his identity. Aren’t there pictures of him?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen his picture. I’ve also seen Diego, the man they say is coming in his place. They’re cousins and they look very much alike. That’s one of the tragedies of civil war. It splits families. And that lets them send in a ringer who can easily pass for the man we’re expecting. You can be sure he’ll have all the right IDs and be fully briefed on what to say and do.’
‘You say you’ve seen pictures of both of them?’
‘Pictures of Raul,’ he corrected. ‘Diego I’ve seen in person. So have you.’
‘I’ve seen Diego? When? Where?’
‘About three years ago. Remember we went a few times to a nightclub on M street near Wisconsin?’
‘Jazz-o-mania?’
‘That’s the one,’ he said. ‘It’s out of business now. You know how those spots come and go. But the music was good. Diego was on the drums.’
‘So he’s lived in Washington.’
‘Not for long. After the club failed, he had a couple of other jobs but finally gave up and went home. They tell me he has his own band now and plays for all the official functions.’
‘But he’s not part of the government?’
‘No, his interest is music not politics. The only reason for using him as messenger is the family resemblance.”
‘And they’d have the same reason for giving his name as substitute if the report is a hoax. There must be some way to distinguish between them.’
‘I’m sure there is,’ Hugh agreed. ‘Given enough time, we could uncover the difference. But H-hour is noon tomorrow. By then I have to decide whether to give him the right list, the wrong list, or no list at all.’

The ship docked at its second port at ten o’clock the next morning. Since most of the passengers would spend the day ashore, the company had sold vouchers to island residents and tourists that entitled them to a tour of the ship and buffet lunch. The arrangement supplied protective cover for the Section Q-arranged rendezvous. The scenario called for Raul to come aboard with the touring party and, shortly before noon, to go to the Carib Bar and order a drink. To assure recognition, he was to wear a bright-orange shirt decorated with brown ponies. Hugh would take the stool next to his and identify himself by ordering a quinine and gin. While sipping their drinks, they would exchange comments on the weather or other small talk appropriate to strangers at a bar. And Hugh would inconspicuously pass on the list of names.
‘That means I’ll have approximately ten minutes to judge whether I’m talking to Raul or Diego,’ Hugh told Selena as they stood at the rail on the top deck watching the visitors come aboard. He shook his head.
‘There ought to be something you could ask him,’ Selena said. ‘A question to which only Raul would know the answer.’
‘Too bad it’s not the other way around,’ he returned. ‘If Raul were trying to pass as Diego, I might stump him with a musical question. But as things stand, there’s no way-‘
‘Maybe there is,’ she interrupted. ‘There just may be.’
‘You’ve an idea?’
‘I’m not sure but-yes, it might work. Anyway, it’s worth a try.’ She turned from the rail and started away.
‘Where are you going? What’s your plan?’
‘There’s no time to explain. But I’ll see you in a few minutes. Outside the Carib Bar.’

Her first stop was the purser’s office to ask where to find the guitarist. ‘He may have gone ashore,’ he told her, ‘but I doubt it. He’s probably resting in his cabin. Number 721 on B deck. Or there may be n card game going in the crew lounge.’
She hurried to the cabin, knocked, and waited tensely until the shirt-sleeved young man opened the door.
‘Mrs Pierce.’ His tone showed surprise.
‘I don’t believe I thanked you properly for serenading us last night.’
‘Your husband did. He was very generous.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Because I’ve come to ask another favour.’ She improvised quickly. ‘Actually, the celebration was a day early. This is our real anniversary. And there’s a tune that has special meaning for us. “Rhapsody in Blue”. Can you play it?’
‘Yes of course.’
‘Then can you come right away to the Carib Bar? My husband’s on his way there and I-oh, I know I must sound terribly sentimental-‘
‘Not at all. I’m happy to be involved in a romantic plot. Just let me get my jacket.’
‘I’ll go ahead,’ she said, ‘and meet you there.’
She took the elevator to the Promenade Deck and looked in the small bar. There were two customers, seated at opposite ends of the counter. One was an elderly passenger, the other a dark man in an orange shirt speckled with small brown horses. She waited in the doorway for the guitarist.
‘Will you sit in that alcove, please?’ She indicated a spot on the other side of the room. Crossing with him, she spoke again as they passed behind the orange shirt. ‘I’d love to hear you play Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue”.’
‘”Rhapsody in Blue”,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve got it.’
He sat down, strummed a few introductory notes, then began the familiar melody. Selena glanced at her watch. Two minutes to twelve.
She slipped out the other door to meet Hugh on deck.
‘You have the lists?’
‘Both of them. The right one here.’ He patted his shirt pocket. ‘And the other one here.’ He touched his belt.
‘I’ll stand where you can see my signal. Ask him to name that tune.’
‘You think he’ll give himself away? He’s not that stupid. I don’t-‘
‘Trust me.’
‘It appears,’ he said, ‘I have no choice.’
She waited on deck until Hugh was seated on the bar stool, then followed him inside. Passing the guitar player, she gave him an encouraging smile, then stationed herself close enough to the bar to hear the conversation. She was behind the orange-shirted man, out of his sight, but in Hugh’s line of vision.
‘This is the best drink in hot weather,’ Hugh opened the conversation when the barman put down his quinine and gin.
‘I prefer rum,’ the other returned, ‘in any weather.’
‘That’s good, too,’ Hugh agreed. He picked up his glass, took a long sip, and seemed for the first time to become aware of the music. ‘I’ve heard that tune before, but I can’t put a name to it. Do you recognise it?’
‘Sorry. I don’t know anything about American music.’
Hugh glanced toward Selena. She put out her hand, thumb turned downward. He frowned, looking dubious. She repeated the gesture and he shrugged, accepting her judgment. He picked up a cocktail napkin and pressed it to his belt as if wiping off dripped liquid, then returned the crumpled napkin to the bar, near his companion’s glass. A few seconds later the other man picked up both glass and napkin. He drained the glass and wiped his lips with the napkin while palming the paper Hugh had placed inside it.
‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your cruise,’ he said politely as he got off the stool.
‘Thanks,’ Hugh said. ‘Nice talking to you.’
Selena watched him leave the bar, then took his place beside Hugh.
‘I hope you understand what just happened,’ he told her. ‘Because I don’t.’
‘That was Diego,’ she answered positively, ‘and you gave him the false list.’
‘I grant you that Diego would be suspicious of a musical clue and try to protect himself by pretending ignorance. But Raul would be genuinely ignorant. So how did that tell us which one it was?’
‘Because I made sure he heard the title before our friend began to play. He knew it was “Rhapsody in Blue” and Raul would have told you so. Only Diego, needing to hide his identity, would deny his knowledge. And now your work is done, so let’s thank the musician for playing our song.’