1966 - You Have Yourself a Deal (12 page)

It took Danbridge exactly six minutes to locate the limpet microphone.

“Here it is,” he said, pointing to the under shelf of the desk.

Dorey bent to stare at the small betrayer, then he straightened.

An unwired microphone couldn’t function without a powerful receiving set not far away.

“I’ve already contacted Inspector Dulay,” O’Halloran said as if reading Dorey’s thoughts. “He’s checking. Who has been here this morning?”

“Wolfert, Sam Bentley, and Merl Jackson.”

“Wolfert? Bentley and Jackson are out.”

“Wolfert has gone down to his place at Amboise,” Dorey said. “You handle this, Tim. I must alert Girland. Someone now knows where he is. Not that I’m worrying. They can’t get near them. I have six of your men down there and the place is so situated, they can’t be got at. Still, I must alert him,” and he reached for the telephone.

An hour later, while Sadu Mitchell, Pearl Kuo and Jo-Jo Chandy were driving to Orly airport, Inspector Jean Dulay of the Sûreté together with a young gendarme arrived at Dorey’s office.

O’Halloran was still there. Danbridge had confirmed that the fingerprints surrounding the microphone had been Wolfert’s.

A fast car was racing down to Amboise with two Security officers to make the arrest.

The gendarme, nervous and sweating, under the glaring eyes of his superior, told of the Renault that had broken down near the U.S. Embassy at 09.00 hrs. that morning.

Dorey became very alert when the gendarme described Sadu Mitchell.

“He had Chinese eyes, sir,” the gendarme said. “I thought he was a tourist. There was a woman with him: a Vietnamese I think. She could have been Chinese. She was wearing a deaf aid.”

Dorey smiled grimly. They must be the two who had listened in to his conversation with Washington. The deaf aid would be hooked to a receiving set. So now he had not only Malik to worry about, but the Chinese also had taken the field.

“I want those two found,” he said to Dulay.

“At least he remembers the number of the car,” Dulay said, glaring at the gendarme. “We are checking now.”

Twenty minutes later, it was found the car had been hired by Sadu Mitchell, the owner of a boutique on the Rue de Rivoli.

By the time the Nice Police had been alerted, Sadu and his party had passed through the police barrier at Nice Airport and were heading for Eze.

Chapter Five

S
he’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Ginny said wistfully.

She and Girland were standing side by side by the sleeping woman’s bed.

“I guess,” Girland said and moved away.

She was certainly beautiful, he thought. It made him a little uneasy that he was to pretend to be her husband. He realised suddenly that he was not looking forward to the moment when she recovered consciousness.

“How is she going?” he asked, looking out of the window.

“All right. Sometime tonight she will wake up,” Ginny said.

“Her pulse beat is returning to normal. I’d say around two or three in the morning.”

Girland moved to the door. Together they went down to the terrace. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, turning the sky and the sea a dark, vivid red. Girland was still wearing shorts and sandals, and Ginny, now in a white cotton frock, walked to the balustrade of the terrace and rested her hands on the hot stone. She looked down at the twinkling lights of Eze village, then beyond at the darkening outline of Cap Ferrat.

“I wish I were as beautiful as she is,” she said, as if speaking to herself. “I would love to be blonde.” She turned, resting her small hips against the balustrade and looked at Girland, “Do you think I would look better if I were a blonde?”

Girland groaned silently.

“Why not buy a blonde wig and then you’ll know,” he said.

Women’s problems about their beauty bored him. To him a woman was either beautiful or not. “You look lovely as you are.”

He looked at his watch. “I must have a word with Sergeant O’Leary. I won’t be long.”

As he walked down the steps into the garden, Ginny looked after him. His strong muscular shoulders, his straight back, his massive suntan gave her a little pang. She now discovered she was falling in love with him and this realisation came as a shock to her. She watched him out of sight, then turning abruptly, she hurried into the villa and up to her room.

Girland found O’Leary sitting on a stool outside the lodge.

Near him was the black Alsatian dog which stiffened at Girland’s approach. Girland walked straight up to the dog and put his hand around the dog’s black muzzle.

O’Leary caught his breath sharply and began to get to his feet.

“Hello, chum,” Girland said, looking straight into the dog’s eyes.

The dog regarded him, then pushed its muzzle deeper into Girland’s hands.

“Hell!” O’Leary said, relaxing. “You gave me a fright. I thought you were going to lose your hand. That dog’s vicious.”

Girland continued to caress the dog.

“I like dogs,” he said. “They seem to like me.” He gave the dog a final pat and then sat on a rock by O’Leary’s side. “Looks like we have the yellow boys as well as the Commies to watch out for.”

“Yeah. Let them all come,” O’Leary said indifferently. “We can handle them. There was a guy here around a couple of hours back. He wanted to know if this was Lord Beaverbrook’s old home. I didn’t dig for him. Beaverbrook had a place further down the coast, didn’t he?”

“Cap d’Ail. Who was this guy?”

“Search me. A beatnik: dirty, young. I told him to beat it . . . he did.”

Girland rubbed the side of his nose.

“Look, O’Leary, suppose they threw a bomb at this gate . . . they could get in, couldn’t they?”

“Sure they could, but it wouldn’t get them anywhere. I have two boys at the head of the drive, nicely placed and concealed with machine guns. We can’t get taken from behind. All we have to bother about is our front, and by the time they get those gates down, we’ll be ready for them.”

The two men talked of this and that for half an hour, then Girland got to his feet.

“Maybe I’d better have a gun up there,” he said. “If we do have trouble, I’d be happier with a gun.”

O’Leary grinned.

“I have just the job for you.” He went into the lodge and returned with a .38 automatic and three clips of ammunition.

Back in the villa, Girland put the gun on the undershelf of the terrace table, then stretched out on the chaise lounge.

Diallo came onto the terrace.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour, sir,” he said. “Another drink?”

Girland grinned at him. He was thoroughly enjoying this feeling of luxury.

“Why not? A Cinzano Bitters. What are we eating, Diallo?”

“Well, sir, I thought an avocado with crab, then a gigot with a touch of garlic. I have a very fine Pont-l'Évêque and a beautiful Brie. Perhaps a citron sorbet to follow.”

Girland closed his eyes.

“Hmmmm . . . don’t tell me, give me.”

With now a feeling of complete security, he relaxed. After all, O’Leary had told him that trouble was his business. O’Leary was one of O’Halloran’s bright, Irish fighters. Girland told himself he now had nothing to worry about until Erica Olsen recovered consciousness, and that would be some hours ahead. He dozed.

“Hey!”

The blonde girl, wearing a flame-red sleeveless dress, who stood before him brought him upright.

He stared, then grinned.

“Well! For a moment you had me fooled.”

Ginny looked anxiously at him.

“Do you like it? It took a whole bottle of peroxide.”

Girland regarded her small, immature figure, her bright, expectant eyes, her young alert face and he smiled.

“Ginny . . . you look gorgeous. Yes, of course, I think you look more beautiful blonde. Come and sit down. Tell me the story of your life.”

She regarded him, an exasperated expression in her eyes.

“I don’t want to tell you the story of my life . . . it is far too dull. Tell me the story of your life.” She came and sat by his side, self-consciously touching her hair. “Are you sure you like me better this way?”

Girland crossed his long legs and lit a cigarette.

“How old are you, Ginny?”

She stiffened.

“What’s that to you?”

“Eighteen?”

“Of course not! I’m nineteen!”

Girland put his hand over hers.

“I’m nearly twice your age.” He shook his head. “I envy you, Ginny. It’s wonderful to be as young as you are.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about! Do you like me blonde?”

“I like you anyway. How is the patient?”

Ginny moved impatiently.

“She’s all right. You are far more interested in her than you are in me!”

“Ginny dear,” Girland said, keeping his face straight, “she is my wife.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that! I know all about it. She is no more your wife than I am!”

Girland flicked ash off his cigarette.

“Can you guess what we are having for dinner?”

She stared at him, then stood up and walked slowly over to the balustrade. He watched her, then grimaced. Complications, he thought. She is a sweet kid, but . . .

He remained where he was, smoking and staring up at the stars as they began to appear in the darkening sky.

He was relieved when Diallo announced that dinner was served.

* * *

Sadu Mitchell was always being startled by Pearl’s unexpected knowledge and her odd contacts. When they left Nice Airport in the 404 that Hertz Rental had ready for them, she directed him through Nice, along the Corniche to Villefranche Pass and to a tiny hotel, set back against the mountain where a small, elderly woman came out to greet them. This woman, in a white sweater and black slacks, was Vietnamese.

Slightly bewildered, Sadu watched the two women greet each other while Jo-Jo sat in the back of the car, sneering to himself.

The woman, Ruby Kuo, turned out to be Pearl’s aunt. She also owned the hotel. There was a little delay before the three were given rooms as Pearl and Ruby had much to say to each other. Eventually, Sadu got Pearl to himself. Jo-Jo joined them.

It was decided that Jo-Jo should go immediately to Dorey’s villa and explore the ground. It was Pearl who gave him the Beaverbrook excuse.

A couple of hours later, Jo-Jo returned. He found Sadu and Pearl waiting for him in the snail garden that Ruby kept for her own use.

“The Army’s there,” Jo-Jo said, shrugging. “I haven’t a hope in hell of getting at her.” He sat down and began to pick his nose.

“You are supposed to be the brains of this outfit . . . you fix it.”

Pearl and Sadu looked at each other. Then Pearl said, “I will talk to Ruby,” and she went into the hotel.

Sadu questioned Jo-Jo about the position of the villa.

“It’s built against the mountain,” Jo-Jo said. “There are high walls around it and the Army’s there. There’s a police dog too. You can’t even see the villa from the gate. If she stays holed up there, we’ll never get at her.”

Sadu got to his feet and walked to the end of the garden. He thought of what Yet-Sen had said: if there is another mistake, an example will be made. What did that mean? His hands turned clammy. He was now regretting getting mixed up with Yet-Sen.

It was Pearl’s fault. She had nagged at him, and at that time, it had seemed not only safe and simple, but the right thing to do.

Twenty minutes later, Pearl returned. The two men looked expectantly at her.

“It can be done,” she said. “My aunt knows the villa. She has lived here for many years. There is a little known footpath from the Grande Corniche that leads down to the back of the villa. The path is never used now. We could get near the villa by this path.”

“Suppose they know about it?” Sadu said uneasily. “Suppose there is a man and a dog there, waiting for us?”

Pearl shrugged indifferently.

“A man and a dog does not make an impossibility,” she said. “Jo-Jo has a gun and a silencer.”

Sadu regarded her flower-like, expressionless face. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. This woman, he thought, was too dedicated. He began to hate her.

Jo-Jo got to his feet.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Time’s getting on.”

“I will drive the car,” Pearl said. “You must go with him.” This to Sadu. “I will leave you at the footpath and then go on to La Turbie. I will wait there half an hour, then come back. By then you should have been able to see what can be done.”

“When you two have finished making plans,” Sadu said angrily, “let me remind you I am in charge of this operation. We will not go now. At this hour the Corniche will be crammed with cars. We will wait until the traffic thins out.” He looked at his gold Omega. The time was 14.15 hrs. “We will not leave here until midnight.”

Pearl and Jo-Jo exchanged glances, then Jo-Jo shrugged.

“Don’t we get any food here?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”

* * *

“She’s awake,” Ginny said as she came out onto the terrace.

Girland was lying on the chaise lounge. The time was 9.30 p.m. He had had an excellent dinner and was now watching a satellite jinking across the star-laden sky.

He raised his head, then swung his legs off the chaise lounge.

“Do you want me to do anything?”

“She wants to know where she is. I think you had better . . .”

Girland hurriedly pulled on a sweatshirt and followed Ginny into the villa. There was a table lamp in the woman’s bedroom which cast shadows. He crossed to the bed.

Erica Olsen looked up at him and Girland drew in a long, slow breath. He had thought her beautiful in sleep, but now the big, violet coloured eyes were open, bringing life to her face, she was even more beautiful.

“Where am I?” she asked, looking up at him. “Who are you?”

“I am Mark, your husband, darling,” he said gently. “You are home. It’s all right. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Home?” Her long cool fingers moved over the back of his hand. “I can’t remember anything. You are my husband?”

“Yes, darling. Don’t you remember me?”

She closed her eyes. For a brief moment, she remained still, then she said, “It is beautiful and black like a grape.”