This is For Real (15 page)

“I thought if the woman slipped through our net, I’d pick her up here,” Janine said.

“That doesn’t sound as if you have much faith in O’Halloran.

You really thought she could get out of Paris?”

“I didn’t know, but if she did, then I would be here.”

“Well, since you are here, have you any leads?” Kerman shook a cigarette from a crumpled pack and lit it.

“Not yet.”

He rested his elbows on the counter and peered at her.

“Got any ideas what to look for?”

She moved uneasily. How she wished Dorey hadn’t sent this inquisitive little man out to Dakar.

“Not really. I was hoping this woman might …”

“Why don’t you tell the truth?” Kerman said with a grin. “Why don’t you admit you were fed up with Dorey and wanted a vacation?”

With an effort, she laughed.

“You can’t expect me to admit that, Jack. Anyway, it’s nice out here.”

“Girland wasn’t on your plane?”

The question was so unexpected, Janine slopped some of her drink. She was afraid to look at Kerman, aware he was watching her.

“Girland? I don’t understand. He’s dead,” she said, finally.

“That’s what Dorey thinks. Last seen, according to him, Girland was leaving the ‘Allo, Paris’ club with two of Radnitz’s thugs. Know what I think? I think Radnitz made Girland an offer. Girland has never had any money. Radnitz could easily buy him, especially if he offered him no other alternative but to follow Rossland. It’s my bet Girland is either here or he is coming here.”

Janine touched her dry lips with her tongue.

“Well, it’s an idea,” she said, staring at her drink. “I have a description of him. I’ll watch for him here.”

Kerman grimaced.

“What’s the matter with you tonight? I doubt if you would recognise him. Girland wouldn’t come here as himself. When he does come, his own mother won’t know him.”

Janine sipped her drink. Her heart was beating rapidly. Kerman was getting unpleasantly near the truth.

“What do you suggest then?” She forced herself to meet his probing stare.

“Any lone American business men in your hotel?”

“A number of them.”

“Any of them tried to get friendly with you?”

Janine swallowed, cleared her throat before saying, “Why, no … not yet.”

“Well, watch out. Girland has one weakness … pretty women.”

“I see.”

He finished his beer, sighed and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.

“Another thing … seen any Russians in your hotel?”

Janine’s heart contracted.

“Russians? I haven’t noticed any. What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about this set-up. This woman must have got hold of some vital secret. Don’t tell me Radnitz would have knocked her and Rossland off unless it was something really big. He’s just back from Moscow. I’m sure the Russians must know about it and we must take them into consideration. I’ll bet they are here now. Hence the question.”

“I see.” She felt it was an inadequate remark, but Kerman’s astuteness was now frightening her. “I’ll watch out.”

He gave her a thoughtful stare, nodded and finished his drink.

“Yeah, you do that. Well, let’s go to the hotel. I want to catch up with some sleep.”

“You’re not staying at the N’Gor, are you?”

“Why not?”

“I thought you would want to be more in the centre of things. I thought you would want to stay in Dakar. I can take care of this end. After all, the N’Gor is some kilometres from Dakar. If anything is going to happen, it’ll be in Dakar.”

“What makes you think that?” He swung around on his stool and regarded her quizzingly.

“Well, don’t you think so?” she said. “There’s nothing out here except the beach.”

“And American business men.” He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, maybe you’re right. I’ll make my headquarters in Dakar then. You watch the airport. Can I get a taxi?”

“Oh, yes.” She was now determined not to go with him to Dakar. She had had enough of him for the moment. “There’s a taxi rank outside.”

She went with him to the rank and he paused before getting into the taxi.

“I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow sometime. I’ll give you a call and let you know where I am. So long for now,” and giving her the same disturbing stare, he got in the taxi and was driven away.

She stood hesitating for some moments, then turning she reentered the airport and shut herself in a telephone kiosk.

She called Malik.

Arriving back at the hotel, Girland picked up his key and then walked down the stairs to the bar. There were several American business men, chinking and talking, in the bar, but he couldn’t see Janine. He guessed she had gone up to her room. He drank a Campari soda to quench his thirst, then took the lift to his room. He had a shower, then putting on a light dressing-gown, he walked out onto the balcony.

The full moon lit up the sea and the ornamental gardens below. With his hands on the balcony rail, he looked at the sea and was tempted to have a swim. He was trying to make up his mind if he could be bothered to take the lift down and then make the long walk to the sea, when he heard a movement on the next balcony to his.

The balconies were screened by a partition, but it was possible, by leaning forward to see around the partition. He listened, then heard someone sigh.

“Can’t you sleep?” he said, knowing Janine was out on her balcony.

“Oh, you’re back. No … it’s too hot to sleep.”

“I can’t understand why they haven’t air conditioning in an hotel of this standard.”

“They have in some rooms. Did you have a nice evening?”

“As I thought: pretty dull. Too many drinks and too much talk.”

There was a pause, then she said, “Seems silly for us to talk like this and not see each other.”

Girland lifted his eyebrows. He caught hold of the top of the partition, hoisted himself on the balcony rail and dropped lightly onto her balcony.

“That’s soon fixed, isn’t it?” he said, smiling at her.

“You might have killed yourself,” she said, looking up at him.

He sank into the other reclining chair, reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table and lit a cigarette.

“Isn’t that exactly what Juliet said to Romeo?”

She laughed. Then looking away from him, she stared up at the moon. There was a long pause while he watched her, then she said, “I envy men. They have everything so much their own way. They can do what they like and go where they like. A woman on her own is always suspect.”

“Do you think so? I wouldn’t have thought so these days. Fifty per cent of people travelling on their own today are women.”

“Old women.”

He studied her.

“Are you depressed about something?”

“No. It’s just that I’ve been sitting here, thinking. I suppose I felt lonely. I’m not good at being alone.”

She got to her feet and walked over the balcony rail. She stood, her hands on the rail, looking up at the moon. He watched her. He could see the outlines of her long legs through the thinness of her wrap. Silently he got up and walked over to her. He put his arms around her, his hands taking the weight of her breasts. She leaned against him and he bent and kissed the side of her neck. He felt her shiver, then she turned in his arms, offering him her lips.

There’s something wrong about this set-up, Kerman was thinking as the taxi rushed him along the empty Autoroute towards Dakar.

Why had Janine been so nervy? He had never seen her like this before. Why had she nearly upset her drink when he had mentioned Girland? Why had she lost colour when he had talked about the Russians?

There was something wrong. Why had she come out here? Dorey had told him he hadn’t sent her. He had said he was glad she had gone, but he hadn’t sent her. So why had she gone at her own expense? She knew how thorough O’Halloran was. She must have known the Senegalese woman hadn’t a hope of leaving Paris for Dakar. Yet she had said she had come out here to pick the woman up if she did slip through the net. It didn’t make sense to come all the way out here.

Kerman crossed and uncrossed his legs. Something was wrong, he repeated to himself. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. He had considerable respect for Dorey’s astuteness. Had Dorey purposely sent him out here to keep watch on Janine? Was Dorey losing faith in her at last?

Kerman told himself he had never really taken to Janine. He wondered thoughtfully if he were prejudiced against her because he had known at their first meeting he would never get anywhere with a woman like her. She had always been distant with him, not like the other women agents who worked for Dorey. She was, of course, in a class of her own, cool, off-hand and … well, admit it … with a suspicion of contempt for his bohemian way of life. Was this why he disliked her or was it something deeper than that? Was it that after years of experience in this racket, meeting agents, assessing their value, he had come to the conclusion that Janine Daulnay wasn’t entirely to be trusted?

He lit a cigarette, startled to realise that at last he had brought this thought up from his sub-conscious. Yes, that was it, he told himself. It’s not that she is aloof. The fact is I have never really trusted her! But why? We’ve worked off and on together for the past four years. She is Dorey’s favourite. He regards her as his best woman agent. What reason have I for not trusting her?

He could think of no reason why he shouldn’t trust her. She had pulled off several first-class jobs. It was she who had exposed Nayland who had been feeding the Russians with Top Secret information over a period of years. That had been one of the smartest and cleverest pieces of counter-espionage in the records of the Embassy.

Kerman flicked ash off his cigarette.

But wait, he thought, although exposing Nayland had been a brilliant piece of work, it had been spoilt by Nayland’s death. Had he really committed suicide or had he been conveniently silenced before he could be questioned?

Then there had been Bronson. She had exposed him too, but again, while trying to escape, Bronson had been silenced by a mysterious hit and run car: a car with false number plates and that had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Both Nayland and Bronson had done a lot of damage, but they were already suspected when Janine had exposed them. O’Halloran couldn’t have failed to have caught up with them in the end.

But then in fairness to Janine, she didn’t know these two men would be dead before they could be questioned. But it had been convenient for the Russians.

Convenient for the Russians.
Kerman’s eyes narrowed. Why had Janine lost colour when he asked her if she had seen any Russians at the N’Gor? Everyone had said it was bad luck that Janine’s work had been wasted. It was because she had exposed both Nayland and Bronson that Dorey had made her his leading woman agent. So it had been also convenient for Janine.

Kerman stiffened. The way his mind is working, he thought, it could make Janine a double agent. You’re getting fancy ideas or are you? Why is she so anxious for me to be away from the N’Gor? Is something going on there that she doesn’t want me to know about?

The taxi slowed down and the driver said, “Dakar just ahead, sir. Where to?”

“A decent central hotel,” Kerman said.

Well, all right, he said to himself as the taxi gathered speed, until I get a lead to the Foucher woman, it might pay off to watch Janine.

The taxi pulled up outside the Continental Hotel in rue Galan-dou-Diouf. An African porter came hurrying across the side-walk and collected Kerman’s hold-all as Kerman paid off the taxi. He followed the porter into the lobby.

He asked for a room and a bath and signed the register. Then crossing over to the Hall Porter he said he would want a hire-car without a chauffeur by eight o’clock the following morning. The Hall Porter told him that could easily be arranged and asked for his passport which Kerman gave him, then taking the lift, he reached the room which was air conditioned and pleasant on the second floor.

Taking off his coat, he began to unpack his bag, his mind very occupied.

Janine!

He just couldn’t believe she was involved with the Russians. You’re letting your mind run away with you, he thought, laying nylon shirts in a drawer. You’re too damned suspicious of everyone.

He pushed the empty hold-all into the closet and sat on the bed.

He would go out to the N’Gor Hotel tomorrow morning and take a look around.

The sooner he could put Janine in the clear, the better for his peace of mind.

Samba Dieng pulled up outside the bungalow type house and got out of his battered Deux Chevaux. Two tall Africans appeared out of the shadows and converged on him.

“It’s me,” he said uneasily. “Dieng. I have to report to Mr. Jenson.”

One of the Africans ran his big hands over Dieng’s clothes, making sure he had no gun, then led him into the bungalow.

Malik was sitting at the table, studying a map. Dieng paused in the doorway. A heavily-built man, completely bald with a savage, ruthless face made fiery red by drinking too much vodka stood behind Malik. He was known as Ivan. He was one of the best pistol shots in Russia. Malik and he made a team. One was always to be found with the other.

Malik looked at Dieng and motioned him to come to the table. Dieng came forward reluctantly. He was worried. He knew he hadn’t had a successful evening, but he was anxious now to receive the money Malik had promised him.

“Well?”

“I followed him as I was instructed,” Dieng said. “He drove to the Florida Club which is in rue Carnot. He spent the evening drinking and dancing, then he returned to the hotel.”

Malik studied the African, his evil green eyes glittering.

“Is that all?” he asked in his guttural French.

Dieng lifted his thin shoulders in a gesture of resignation.

“All Americans drink and dance when they visit Dakar, sir,” he said. “This one was no exception.”

“Who did he dance with?”

Dieng shifted his feet.

“A coloured girl. Her name is Awa.”

“She is there regularly?”

“Yes. She is one of the hostesses: a prostitute. She is always there.”