Assignment Madeleine (3 page)

Georges Brumont ran into the dressing room a moment too late
to stop them.

Durell’s chest felt as if a ton of coal had been dropped on him.
His throat burned as he drew a deep breath and pushed himself up from the
floor. His hand was bleeding. Brumont barked questions at him and he waved to
the window, hut he didn’t bother to go there himself. He looked at the Sardelle
girl. The redhead was slumped on a pink-cushioned stool that somehow had
survived the wreckage. Her head was bent forward in her hands, and her long
hair screened her face.

Fred Hanson came in, followed by Madame Sofie.
Brumont, with a gun in his hand, pushed them angrily out into the corridor.

Durell went to the girl. “Are you all right, mademoiselle.”

"Yes. Merci.”

“Sit still,” he said. “You're quite safe now.”

“Take care of yourself,
m’sieu
,”
she said. “You bleed.”

Durell picked up a fragment of mirror and looked at himself.
There was a shallow cut across his forehead. He wondered what his opponent had
hit him with, but it wasn’t worth trying to figure out. He saw a small
washstand in a corner of the dressing room and he walked toward it, breathing
with care because of the pain in his ribs. He turned on the tap. The water
looked rusty. It felt
luke
-warm, but he put in the
rubber stopper and let the basin fill and then he dunked his head in it.
When he finished, he turned, bent forward to keep the water from dripping
on his clothes, and the girl handed him a coarse towel.

“You may need a doctor,
m’sieu
.”

“Hardly. You saw me in the salon with Brumont, didn’t you.

“Yes. It is you I am to talk to, according to Monsieur
Brumont.”

He nodded. “Durell is my name. Who were those men, and what
did they want from you?”

The girl shrugged. Shed had time to partly strip off the
trim woolen suit she had modeled in the salon, and her lingerie was black net
over golden skin. Durell saw that her large gray eyes were tipped up at the
outer corners, not by a cosmetic effect but by a faintly Oriental cast to her
features. The girl said, “They were Algerian terrorists.”

“Why do they trouble you? You knew they were about, didn’t
you? You were afraid even when you came out on the stage earlier.”

“I saw the one talking with Madame Sofie. The leader.
His gang hangs out in a certain café I know. I went there often with—I knew who
he was, that is all.”

“You went to this café with Charles L’Heureux, you mean.”

“Yes. It was my job. I was assigned to Charles L’Heureux.”

“I understand.” He looked at her deliberately, studying her figure.
She seemed totally unconcerned about her partial nudity. He said quietly,
"Put something on, please. Did Charley know these men?”

“Months ago, yes. Before he went back to Algiers.”

“Was he very friendly with them?”

“It is all in my reports to Brumont, Mr. Durell. Charley
said it was his job to be friendly with them. just as you know from Brumont
that it was my job to
he
friendly with Charley.”

“Did L’Heureux ever tell you exactly what his job was?”

“He admitted he was an agent for your government. He knew I
was assigned to him by Brumont. Once our cover identities were revealed, we had
a good laugh over it all.”

Durell felt in his pockets for a cigarette and decided not
to smoke. His mouth felt swollen, but his ribs no longer ached. He dabbed at
the cut on his forehead with the wet towel. The bleeding had stopped. He pushed
back his thick, wet hair. The girl was lying, he decided. No matter what sort
of a renegade L’Heureux might be, he wouldn’t have casually told this girl of
his job with Orrin Boston. He didn’t like the sound of it. There was something
evasive and difficult to define in the girl’s manner.

“L’Heureux no longer has friendly contacts with these
people, is that it?” he asked.

“They have sworn to kill him. He is on the rebels’ black
list.”

“Why?”

She shrugged smooth, golden shoulders, looked down at her
hands on her bare knees. “It is a political situation. The rebels are devoted
to terror and violence. Other Nationalist factions among the Moslems are
willing to compromise with France, but the rebels refuse. They have embarked on
a policy of assassination for anyone who dares discuss a settlement with
Frenchmen. They fancy Charles did something bad to them, but you waste your breath
if you ask me what it is. Brumont wished me to discover what Charles was u to,
but I failed on that. Nothing works out as we wish it would,
m’sieu
.”

“Their quarrel is with L’Heureux, not with you,” Durell
persisted. “Why should they attack you today like this?”

“They know me as Charles’
petite
amie
.”
The girl’s eyes were mocking, challenging. “They think I can lead them to
Charles—as if I would.” Her mouth curled scornfully. “I will not betray him,
m’sieu
, to them or to you.”

“You're in love with him?"

“It is the way of the world,
m’sieu
.
A woman in this business must be prepared to give herself to the enemy. In the
shadows sometimes one finds truth, in mockery one is surprised to learn
of sincerity. I let Charles have me, and I fell in love with him.” Her eyes
were level, candid. “I understand from Brumont that you are here to bring
Charles back to Paris. To justice. He is not a criminal. I do not believe the
charge against him. Perhaps my usefulness to Brumont is ended, but I am
convinced of this as the truth. When Charles returns, he will protect me from
any future attacks of these murderers.”

Durell picked up a red flannel robe from the floor and
handed it to her. “Your Charley won’t be protecting anyone,” he said. “Hell he
in jail.”

She shook her head and held the robe limply before her.

“You know what he did,” Durell added. “He murdered my best
friend. Please get dressed now.”

She sat down on the pink stool again. She was good, Durell
decided, very, very good. She had recovered outwardly from the shock of the
attack by the two terrorists, and now she exhibited dismay and denial of his
words, She began a swift defense of L'Heureux, then paused. Fear touched her
eyes; she hit her lip and was silent. Durell was unable to evaluate his
reaction to her.

Brumont and Hanson came back into the dressing room then.
Brumont looked like a fat, dark porpoise after his chase in the rain. He
touched his shaggy moustache with the middle finger of his left hand.

“No good. No good at all, M. Durell. They have flown.
There are alleys and all sorts of rundown cafés and bistros only a few steps
away. Monsieur Hanson thinks they got into a car, but I never laid eyes on
them, myself.” Brumont looked at Madeleine. “Do you know who they were,
cherie
?
”

She shook her head. She still stared at Durell. “There are
so many of them. I could not name these two in particular.”

“I see.” Brumont nodded. “Rest yourself, mademoiselle, and
be at ease. Monsieur Durell, may we speak privately?”

Durell followed the fat man out of the shattered dressing
room. Brumont led the way back to the salon, where the customers were answering
questions of two uniformed gendarmes. “This way,” Brumont said and opened a
door to Madame Sofie’s private office.

“If Sofie works for you,” Durell said, looking around
the plush, feminine decor of rococo pink and gold, “this place is bugged to a
fare-thee-well, I’ll bet.”

“Bugged,
m’sieu
?”

“You have microphones and tape recordings.”

Brumont smiled blandly. “But of course. Your people do the
same, do they not? But since the CIA and Paris Intelligence and the
Deuxieme
Bureau have always maintained cordial relations
and cooperate like true allies, there should be no objection.” There was irony
under the Frenchman’s smile. “In any case, although we are in private here, you
may guard your words as you will.”

“You don’t trust Hanson any more than I, then.”

Brumont shrugged and chose a small, vile Italian cigar from
a battered case and lit it with care. “It is not for me to criticize your
Embassy personnel. Hanson means well, but he always has the women on his mind.
Always. He is a young bull, and hulls must have their way, you understand. In
any case, he is merely liaison man between your organization and mine.”

“About Madeleine Sardelle,” Durell suggested. “Was this
attack on her a real one, or was it faked to throw our sympathy her way?”

“I do not know. L’Heureux might have arranged it, even from
his prison cell in Marbruk. He plays both ends against the middle, as you say.
An opportunist of the first water. It is unfortunate that in our business
we sometimes find it expedient to recruit the rascals and rogues with
expert knowledge of the local terrain, so to speak. Orrin Boston thought the
good might outweigh the evil in hiring L’Heureux. We gave him our dossier on
L’Heureux’ activities but he went ahead and utilized him, anyway. You feel
badly that L’Heureux murdered your friend, of course. And you have no wish to
help L’Heureux. Yet your job is to go to Marbruk and bring him back to your
Embassy here.”

Durell’s face was like stone. “I understand that.”

“It is important that we learn what L’Heureux was up to.”
Brumont looked at his crooked Italian cigar. “He has played the rebels against
the el-Abri forces in Marbruk—and it is our good fortune that both factions of
the criminal rebel movement fight each other as much as they war against
us. They are all gangsters, supplied by arms from Tunis and Cairo. They fight
like savages, perpetrating medieval horrors against friendly Moslems and French
settlers alike. I could tell you tales of their tortures, their adamant refusal
to negotiate—” Brumont interrupted himself, “One loses one’s perspective in
emotion in this matter. I apologize,
m’sieu
.”

“It is understandable. What do we do with the girl?”

“She will go with you to Algeria,” Brumont said flatly. “We
know that she is frightened and alone here in Paris. We know she is in love
with your suspect, and hence not to be considered dependable. Perhaps this
kidnap attempt—if it was that—may make her more reliable to us. She has been
trustworthy in the past. Perhaps she will see the truth about her Charley,
inevitably. You understand, I have not given her any cause to think we no
longer trust her.”

“But she's intelligent,” Durell objected. “She must know she
is suspect in your department now.”

“Of course. It is a game we play.”

“Then why not restrain her and keep her in Paris until I
return with L’Heureux?” Durell asked.

“She is partly Algerian, you know. She will be useful, as
long as you keep your eyes open and aware of her potential weakness. She has
begged me to keep her on.”

“She’s partly Moslem?”

“Her father was a Legionnaire in the old days. Her mother
was Algerian. She is a product of the
bidonvilles
—the native tin-can villages in the slums. But a
beautiful product, as you have observed.”

“Beautiful enough. Like a leopard in the night.”

“And intelligent. She knows much about the rebels. But love
makes a woman lose her perspective, unfortunately. In custody here in Pans, she
reports nothing to us. Traveling with you, she may reveal much more. It will be
like carrying a hot coal in your hand, but it may prove to be worth the price.”

Durell matched the Frenchman’s bland look. He sensed a
sardonic note in the man’s comments on cooperation. and remembering past
cross-purposes of foreign policy, he wondered how far he could trust
Deuxieme
Bureau in relation to the information he needed.
The primary rule for any agent was to trust no one, accept nothing on face
value, and be on guard against everything. Brumont was an old hand, an expert.
Durell had no illusions about him, but he respected the man and liked him.

“I’ll consult with my people about it, he said. And find
out if they really want L’Heureux returned here. For my part, your Army people
in Marbruk can stand him up against a wall and shoot him out of hand, if the
evidence is correct and he killed Boston.”

“But we do not know anything for certain,” Brumont objected.
“And then we would lose what lies in L’Heureux’ head about the rebels. You
understand how important it is to know all we can about them. “

Durell nodded. “The girl still troubles me, though.”

“I have arranged passage for both of you on the plane
leaving at seventeen hours for Algiers. ”

“Just what have you told her about me?”

“Only that you are L’Heureux superior sent to investigate the
serious charges against Nothing more.”

“Even that may he too much.”

Brumont spread his fat hands. An intelligent woman must he
given some grains of truth in the pill she must swallow.”

“She will never trust me,” Durell objected.

“No. Do not expect her to. It is the game we play, to become
knowledgeable at the expense of the enemy. ‘We lie, cheat, steal, and kill. We
do these things as a bookkeeper does his additions every day.”

Durell made no final decision. A gendarme knocked on
the door and reported to Brumont that the search for the gunmen had failed.
Durell returned to the main salon. The fashion show was over, and the big room
was deserted. He lit a cigarette and touched the slightly pulsing bruise on his
forehead. His head ached. It was one o'clock, and Deirdre would be waiting
around the corner at Jacques’ bistro.

He had more than one reason to visit Jacques, however.

Chapter Four

MADELELNE SARDELLE was waiting in her dressing room when he
returned there. The girl had propped up one of the larger fragments of broken
mirror and was combing her long red hair. She did not pause or turn when he
entered. Her pale gray eyes met Durell’s in the mirror and she nodded, and
Durell closed the door behind him. She had changed into a slim tailored suit,
and a tan raincoat was at hand.