Agent in Place (23 page)

“Where?”

“In the kitchen with Bernard—as usual. Everything normal. Don’t sweat.”

“When did he return?”

Bill consulted with Nicole, who took over the receiver. “He arrived only eight minutes after I did,” Nicole said. “I was here by quarter past twelve.”

“That’s odd.” Impossible, in fact.

“Why?”

“When I last saw him, he was tailing Rick Nealey from the market. And that was at five minutes to twelve.”

“Then he couldn’t have followed for very long. Perhaps it was a coincidence—he just seemed to be—”

“It was a tail.” That silenced Nicole. “Who does Parracini think he is? The Invisible Man? He is taking too many chances.” Curious, thought Tony: he hadn’t had time to tail Nealey all the way to Cap Martin—so why had he followed at all? Or hadn’t Nealey returned to Shandon Villa? Stopped a few blocks from the market area? And Jean, curiosity or ego satisfied, had headed home? A puzzle... “Let it go meanwhile. Keep him under wraps this afternoon. Don’t lose sight of him.”

“Even when he’s resting in his own quarters?”

“Where are they?”

“Above the garage, of course.”

“Separated from the house?”

“Yes.”

“Put Bill back on the ’phone—Bill, move Jean over to the main house—put him up in one of your spare rooms. For his own security.”

“He will refuse. He likes his privacy. And the only room available is right next door to Brigitte and Bernard.”

“Who’s in charge, anyway? You and Nicole better start sweating along with me. Now—here’s some other business. I want you to ’phone Shandon Villa, see if Charles Kelso is around. Have a good story ready if he is there to take your call: you’ve just heard that his brother, an old friend, is staying in Menton—can Chuck give you his address? Then I want Nicole to call Shandon—yes, she’s to ’phone too. She will ask for Rick Nealey, try to find out if he’s there. She can be a reporter from Nice, wanting an interview. I’ll call you back in twenty minutes, get your answers.”

“Planning a visit to Shandon?”

He’s too damned smart, Tony thought irritably. He didn’t answer the question, said, “And now hear this. I’m sending out for reinforcements. And I want you to accept their invitation to take you and Jean sailing tomorrow.”

Bill said, “What if he refuses to go with them?”

“They’ll be senior men, they’ll pull rank. Besides, it is a matter of security. He’ll listen. Explain to him that they want to clarify some of his earlier information. What better place than a boat?”

“We’re using the
Sea Breeze
? I thought you had engine trouble.”

“Not so much as all that. We’ll be ready by the time the reinforcements fly into Nice tomorrow morning.”

“Serious problems?” Bill was really listening now.

“When weren’t they?”

“Sounds like an alert,” Bill said reflectively.

Tony hung up, checked his watch with the post office clock. He had used up several
jetons
, and his next call was to Paris. But all he’d have to do, when he did make sure of the right connection, would be to identify himself by his code name (Uncle Arthur) and leave a message with significant phrases for further relay. “Weather deteriorating, heavy winds possible. Advise dual repairs, best available, at dockside by eleven
A.M
. tomorrow.” They’d know where the
Sea Breeze
was moored, its exact location in the harbour—all that had been reported on arrival yesterday evening.

And let’s hope, he thought, once the brief talk with Paris was over, that the best they have available for this repair-job will be a couple of men senior enough to keep Jean Parracini in place. Bloody nuisance: protecting an ally could be more difficult, and definitely less rewarding, than tracking down a hidden enemy.

His third call was to Georges, in the room he had rented at the seaside edge of the Old Town. (Excellent position, right across from the harbour, with a view of the
Sea Breeze
neat in a row of small boats, large boats, old boats, spanking-new boats; short masts, long masts, or none at all.) “Cancel your visit to Bill,” he told Georges. “And Emil is still working on repairs? Fine. Get in touch with him. Everything has to be ready by eleven tomorrow morning. And he is to lay in supplies for five people—better make it enough for three days—perhaps more. Did you rent that Citroën? Oh, a Renault, cream-coloured, two-door. Okay. Pick me up near my hotel at two thirty. And wear a collar and tie—and a jacket. We’re turning respectable.”

Back now to Bill on his hill. Four minutes later than arranged, dammit. Would Bill notice? Of course he did.

“Four minutes late,” he said in mock surprise. “Run into trouble?”

“Napped too long. Forgot to set the alarm clock.”

Bill laughed. “I believe you. Okay, listen to this: Charles Kelso lunched at the villa with the Director and his family, but he seems to have gone out. The girl at the ’phone didn’t know where. Couldn’t care less, if you ask me. There was a lot of banging in the background. I joked about it. Seems there are a lot of workmen still around, trying to get everything finished for next week’s grand opening. And here is Nicole to add her little piece.”

Nicole said, “Rick Nealey hasn’t been around since he delivered Chuck at the villa this morning. He had to dash off to Eze and La Turbie—making arrangements for next week’s guests. He should be back around five or six this evening.”

“Good. Now, how’s Jean our intractable friend? Sulking in his tent like Achilles?”

“He balked at first, but now he’s packing his things to move over to the main house. Regrets his good TV in the chauffeur’s quarters, though. His new room isn’t set up for television.”

“Has he a telephone there?”

“No.”

“But there was a telephone in the old room?” There would have to be one linking the main house and its garage.

“Of course.” Nicole sounded puzzled. “Two, actually.”

“An outside line as well?” Somehow, a disturbing thought.

“It came with the place.”

“And no one thought of having it disconnected.”

“Why should we? He’d avoid using it, wouldn’t he? He’s more security-minded than—” She paused, realising her tactlessness.

“Than I am?” Tony suggested. “Okay, okay. Glad all is under control at your end. One thing you can do for me, Nicole—scout around the harbour near the
Petit Port
this afternoon.
Not
the new marina in Garavan—the old one. And mark where the
Sea Breeze
is berthed. She’s lying just under the big mole—you can stroll right along it, many people do. Got that? About the middle of that row of boats. She’s a cabin sloop, a one-master: porpoise bow, inboard engine.” But although she might look slow, she could make ten knots, and there was space enough for six people, even if slightly cramped.

“
D’accord
.”

“Put Bill back on.”

Bill spoke at once. “Here.”

“Get Parracini down to the
Sea Breeze
tomorrow at eleven
A.M
. On the dot. Can you manage that?”

“Yes. I’ve already told him that he will have two NATO visitors.”

“His reaction?”

“Just what you’d expect. Thinks their visit here could be dangerous for all.”

“Tell him that’s why you’ve decided, as a security precaution, to make arrangements for him to meet the visitors elsewhere.”

“Will do. But aren’t we going to a lot of extra trouble—”

“Yes.” Indeed we are, thought Tony. “But it’s a safety measure. And keep him happily occupied at the house for the rest of the day.”

“He has already arranged with Bernard and Brigitte to take in a movie tonight. It’s one they all want to see.”

“Where?”

“At the Casino.”

“
Where
?”

“The movie house is part of the building.”

There was a deep silence.

“I’ll tell him that idea is out,” Bill said. “It won’t make anything easier for tomorrow morning, though.”

“What showing of the movie? Early or late?”

“There’s only one show. This is off season. Eight thiry, I think.”

Tony calculated quickly. “Let him keep his engagement tonight, and have him in a good mood for tomorrow. How did he get away with arranging a visit to the movies, anyway?”

“Said it looked unnatural if he stayed cooped up here all the time like a prisoner. Some people might start wondering.”

“I see. He has got his confidence back, has he?”

“Well, it’s true enough: if a fish doesn’t want to be noticeable, it had better learn to swim with the school.”

Seems to me, thought Tony, that I’ve heard that dictum before. “His phrase, or yours?”

“His. And a good one. Don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Now, where did I hear it? Tony wondered. He glanced at his watch. It was one thirty-five. “See you tomorrow, dock-side. You can throw away your crutch. Use a cane and limp slightly.”

“I’m going for a sail, too?”

“You know how to handle a boat. It looks better—chauffeur goes along to help you board. Right?”

“And you?”

“Vaguely in the background. If you need to contact me before then, leave a message with Georges. He has rigged up an answering device on his ’phone. You have his number? And you won’t see him this afternoon. He’s needed elsewhere.” Tony rang off.

He took a taxi to his hotel, one of the new ones on the
Quai Laurenti
that stretched east along the waterfront from the Old Town and its port. He had registered there that morning, left his bag. He’d change into something more in keeping with a visit to Shandon Villa—tweed jacket and flannels. He could risk bumping into Chuck Kelso; the important thing was to keep out of Rick Nealey’s way. Meanwhile.

And his ostensible reason for the visit?

He had found a good one before he had left the hotel and was strolling towards Georges and the waiting Renault. Certainly, over the ’phone, it had impressed Maclehose enough to let him extend a welcome for a brief tour of Shandon Villa. He couldn’t very well snub a visitor who brought direct greetings from the Director of the Shandon Institute in New Jersey: Paul Krantz’s name packed a punch even at this distance. Hadn’t Krantz given his own guided tour to Tony, on that unpleasant morning back in November when the memorandum crisis was in full flap? “Of course,” Maclehose had said, “I remember you. Drop out here any time. This afternoon? If you could make it early—I’ll be here to show you around. And how is Paul?”

“Couldn’t be better. I’ll be with you before three.”

“Good enough.”

“Oh, just one thing—what’s the quickest road to take through Cap Martin to reach Shandon?”

Maclehose gave him the directions—much needed, he told Tony with a laugh—and the call ended amicably.

Now, as Tony stepped into the Renault, he could say, “All set. We’ll head for Cap Martin. And stop at the Casino on the way. I’ve a brief visit to make there.”

And Georges, tall, thin, dark-haired, a thirty-year-old Frenchman, carefully selected for this assignment in Menton—he knew this area well from family vacations as a boy—said in his usual offhand way, “Don’t expect much action there until the evening. At this time of year, you’ll probably find the Casino closed for the afternoon.”

“All the better to let me see the layout clearly.”

“Planning a night on the town?” Georges’s sharp brown eyes looked both interested and amused. “You won’t find it pulsing like Monte Carlo’s Casino.”

“Where the busloads start arriving in the morning?” Tony’s smile was wide, his spirits rising. All arrangements made, nothing forgotten.

Georges smiled too. “And I thought this trip was going to be all dull work.” He approved of the change. His manner was deceptively mild, cloaking his natural exuberance. Like Tony and Emil and Bill and Nicole, he wasn’t in this profession for money. He had brains, a contempt for danger, and deep convictions. He had lively curiosity, too. It surfaced now. “Any excitement this morning?” he couldn’t resist asking.

And Tony, sketching in the details, put him neatly into the recent picture. Enough of it, anyway, to let him know what was on the agenda, and why. (Later, Georges would fill in Emil, who was now superintending the repairs to the boat’s engine.) There were moments, Tony believed, when a need-to-know was the best safeguard for concerted action. He enjoyed team-work (strange as that would seem to some people who thought of him as a loner) and based it on his old
quid pro quo
maxim. You got good co-operation if you gave it. To those you could trust, of course. And Georges, with whom he had worked for the last seven years, was a man who was dependable. Even to the way he now drew up the car a short distance from the Casino’s entrance—not too far to walk, not too near to be noticeable.

The entrance steps faced a square, complete with flowers, palm-trees, and a small taxi-rank. (Tony noted it for future use. There weren’t many taxi-stands around this town.) Inside, a small vestibule and more steps and no one to stop him. He found himself in a totally deserted hall, spacious, light—the wall directly opposite the vestibule’s steps was of glass—giving a view of terrace and large pool, and beyond that, a glimpse of the front street where Nicole and he had walked along the promenade. There were two wings to the hall; the left one consisted of the
Salle Privée—
well marked, well screened from curious eyes—but a thin young man, dark-suited, pale-faced, appeared out of nowhere at the sound of Tony’s footsteps, and politely barred him from pushing open its curtained door. Near by was a large and empty dining-room, handily adjoining that side of the pool’s terrace; and across from it, close to the vestibule steps, was a pleasant (and equally empty) bar. The main hall itself had two large green-covered tables, where play would be less private and certainly easier on the budget. Beyond them, occupying the right wing of the building, there actually was a movie theatre.

That was all he needed to see. He headed back for the vestibule, nodding his thanks to the dark-suited young man still guarding the other end of the hall, and came out on to the busy street. He was thinking automatically that there must be other ways in and out of the building. The movie theatre must have at least one emergency exit: even two? The pool, with its garden and colonnades along the waterfront view, had possibly an entrance of its own. The dining-room? After all, it was a public place, this municipal Casino—except for those who enjoyed high stakes in a
salle
kept
très privée
.