This is For Real (21 page)

“I’ll take care of it, sir, and thank you.”

As Girland was leaving the lobby, he saw Janine, wearing a lemon coloured sleeveless frock come out of the lift and make her way down to the bar. He hesitated, then with an irritated shake of his head, he left the hotel and crossed to where he parked his car.

Janine found Kerman sitting in the shade on the terrace, drinking beer. He grinned at her as he got to his feet.

“Hello there,” he said. “What will you drink?”

“Oh, I suppose a gin and tonic.” She sat down.

When Kerman had given the order to the waiter, he said casually, “No one on the four o’clock plane?”

“No.”

“I have a message for you.”

The waiter set down her drink and went away. Janine, a little tense, was staring at Kerman who seemed quite at his ease.

“A message for me?”

“I was in the Embassy this afternoon when Dorey called.” Kerman paused to drink some of his beer, noting that Janine’s hand had turned into fists. “He wants you back. A job’s come up he wants you to handle. He’s sending a replacement out here by tomorrow’s plane. He wants you back in Paris tomorrow. Okay?”

“If I can get a reservation.”

“I’ve fixed that.” Kerman put an Air France envelope on the table. “There’s your ticket. All you have to do is to pack.”

“Well, all right. I’ll be sorry to leave. It’s not been a very satisfactory job, has it?” Janine sipped her drink.

This was working out better than she had thought. Even if Kerman had told Dorey she was a double agent, she was sure they had no real proof. She was equally sure she could handle Dorey. She had always been able to talk him into her way of thinking.

“No, it’s been a waste of time,” Kerman said. “I have an idea we’ll never find out what that woman wanted to sell. Just another foul up.”

“Are you staying on?” she asked, looking at him over the rim of her glass.

“For a few more days. I have nothing to work on, but you know Dorey … he expects miracles.” He got to his feet. “Well, I’ll be moving. When you see Dorey tell him I’m wasting my time out here and I’d just as soon be back in Paris.”

“I will.”

“Bon voyage.”

With a wave of his hand, Kerman ran up the stairs and disappeared from her sight.

She finished her drink and lit a cigarette. She sat thinking for five minutes or so, her face expressionless, her eyes cloudy, then she got to her feet and returned to her room.

The time by her watch was twenty-five minutes past six. It was time to call Malik.

She sat staring at the telephone, aware of fear in her heart. It was some minutes before she forced herself to pick up the receiver. She gave Malik’s number and waited.

Malik came on the line.

“Yes?”

The sound of the deep voice made Janine flinch.

“I have seen Mr. Gilchrist,” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual. “I asked him to the party tonight, but he can’t come. He has a business date which he can’t break. I thought it better not to try and persuade him. He will be very happy to come tomorrow night so I have arranged to come with him at eight tomorrow.”

There was a pause on the line, and she drew in a long, shuddering breath.

“I said tonight,” Malik said softly.

“I know, but he can’t come tonight.”

Again that pause, then he said, “Well, never mind. We’re wasting time, but tomorrow night will have to do. I’ve sent the car for you. It will be outside the hotel by now. I have something to talk to you about,” and the line went dead.

She sat there, holding the receiver, her body cold, her heart thumping and her mouth dry. Slowly, she replaced the receiver, got up and walked to the window.

The black Cadillac stood before the hotel. The African chauffeur, his fez at a jaunty angle, was chewing on a bamboo stick.

She went to her closet and took a handbag from it. She unscrewed the ornamental knob on the clasp of the bag and shook from the hollow recess a tiny glass phial, no bigger than the nail of her little finger. She held it up to the light. It was filled with a colourless fluid and she wondered if the fluid had gone stale. She had had it some time. Dorey had given it to her.

“You better have this,” he had said. “It’s part of the equipment. One never knows. If you’re unlucky ever to get into a really bad spot, crush the phial between your teeth. You’ll be dead in seconds.”

She put the phial in her mouth and with her finger, she lodged the phial between her gum and the inside of her cheek. It felt quite comfortable there and looking at her white frightened face in the mirror, she could see no telltale sign that the phial was hidden in her mouth.

Then picking up her bag, she went out of her room and locked the door. Walking briskly, her head held high, she made for the lift.

Borg blew out his fat cheeks and let the air escape in a whistle of boredom. He was standing by the open window of his room, looking down on the drive-in to the hotel. He had been standing there, watching the arrival of various cars for the past half hour.

“There’s a black Caddy just come in,” he said to Schwartz who was sitting away from the window, smoking and reading a newspaper. “Some job! The guy driving it is wearing a goddamn fez! Now, I wonder what I’d look like in one of those gimmicks. Think I’ll buy myself one. It’d kill my piece of tail.”

Schwartz turned a page of the newspaper. He wasn’t listening.

Borg growled at him.

“I could do with a drink. You coming?”

“No,” Schwartz said.

“Well, I’m going. I’ll be in the bar …” Borg broke off and leaned forward to stare out of the window. “Goddamn it! There he is! Here, quick!”

The urgency in his voice brought Schwartz out of his chair and to his side. The two men peered out of the window.

They saw Girland walk down the steps of the hotel, cross to a D.S. Citroen, slide under the driving wheel and then the car moved swiftly away and headed towards Dakar.

“What do you know?” Borg said in disgust “Why didn’t that damn bloke tell him we were here?”

“How do you know he didn’t?” Schwartz’s eyes still followed the Citroen as it moved swiftly along the stretch of Autoroute.

Borg looked suspiciously at him.

“Think he’s double-crossing us?”

“How do I know?”

Borg hesitated, then shrugged.

“No use sticking around here. Come on, for Pete’s sake, let’s have a drink.”

Schwartz folded his newspaper and the two men took the lift down to the reception lobby.

The clerk who Borg had spoken to wasn’t behind the desk. Borg asked one of the porters where the bar was. He and Schwartz went down the stairs and into the bar. Borg ordered a double whisky on the rocks and Schwartz a beer.

As Borg was finishing his drink, a porter came around calling, “Mr. Gilchrist, please, Telephone.”

Borg got to his feet.

“Stick around,” he said to Schwartz and walked casually up to the reception lobby. He saw one of the clerks holding a telephone receiver and looking around the lobby. Borg moved up to the desk and pretended to be examining a selection of Postcards in a rack on the counter.

The clerk said into the receiver, “I’m sorry, sir, Mr. Gilchrist has gone out.” He listened, then said, “Hold on a moment, sir, I’ll see.” He reached for a pad and thumbed back a few pages. “Yes, sir, there is a message. Mr. Gilchrist will be in the bar of La Croix du Sud this evening. That’s right,” and the clerk hung up.

Borg wandered over to the doorman.

“What’s La Croix du Sud?”

“A hotel in Dakar, sir.”

“I want to go there. Get me a taxi.”

“Certainly, sir. It’ll be here in five minutes.”

“I’ll be in the bar,” Borg said and hurried back to where Schwartz was waiting. Borg signalled to the waiter to bring him another drink, then said to Schwartz, “Girland got a call just now. He’s on his way to a hotel in Dakar. I’ve ordered a taxi. You want another beer?”

Schwartz shook his head.

Borg waited impatiently until the waiter brought this drink and he paid the check. Then swallowing the drink in a gulp, he led the way up the stairs back into the lobby.

The two men stood on the top of the steps in the fading evening sun until the taxi arrived. Having tipped the doorman, Borg climbed into the taxi, followed by Schwartz. He told the driver where to go and sat back, mopping his sweating face.

As Girland entered the bar of La Croix du Sud, an African pageboy was wandering around the bar, calling, “Mr. Gilchirst, please. Telephone.”

“That’s me,” Girland said, going up to the boy. He dropped a franc piece into the boy’s hand.

“First booth on the left, sir,” the boy told him and pointed.

Girland shut himself in the booth and lifted the receiver.

“Hello? This is Gilchrist.”

“Ah, Mr. Gilchrist.” Girland recognised Fantaz’s husky, effeminate voice. “I was beginning to think I had missed you. It would be interesting if we had another little talk. You have a car?”

“Yes.”

“Could you come to Diourbel?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. You will be most careful? You know what I mean? As you enter the town, you will see on your left a large open space with trees. A yellow Fiat will be waiting. Shall we say nine o’clock, Mr. Gilchrist?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. Until then, Mr. Gilchrist.”

Girland returned to the bar. Glancing at his watch, he saw he had time for a quick dinner and another drink.

He was sitting up at the bar, drinking whisky, when a familiar voice said, “Hello, palsy: long time no see.”

He turned to find Borg grinning at him. Behind Borg, was Schwartz.

As Jack Kerman left the N’Gor Hotel and was crossing to his car, he saw the black Cadillac come up the sweep of the drive and park before the entrance to the hotel.

Without pausing, he continued to his car, unlocked the door and got in. He lowered the windows, lit a cigarette and waited, his eyes on the Cadillac.

He didn’t have long to wait before Janine appeared. The sun had set and it was difficult to see much of her in the fading light, but he was convinced that it was Janine. She got into the Cadillac, nodding to the driver who held the car door open for her. The driver slid under the driving wheel as Kerman started his car engine. He followed the Cadillac until it took the branch road to Rufisque.

Then in case Janine suspected she was being followed, he continued on along the main road. As soon as the Cadillac was out of sight, he pulled up, U-turned and went after the Cadillac.

As he drove he wondered if Janine would tell Malik she had orders to return to Paris, and if she did, how Malik would react.

He finally came to the sandy secondary road that Ambler had pointed out to him on the map. By the cloud of dust, slowly settling, he knew the Cadillac had passed this way recently. He pulled up and surveyed the scene. He would take no risks, he told himself. He wouldn’t drive past the bungalow. He would wait. He backed the car off the road and into the bush. It would be dark soon and the car would be invisible if anyone passed. Getting out of the car, he sat with his back to a tree and settled himself to wait.

Janine got out of the Cadillac as the driver opened the car door. During the drive to the bungalow, she had been asking herself why Malik had wanted to see her. Was he suspicious of her? Had she been seeing too much of Girland? Had he an idea that she planned to leave tomorrow? Trying to reassure herself, she thought probably he had a job for her.

She walked into the hall, and then through to the big lounge.

Malik, alone, was sitting in an easy chair. He was wearing an open neck white shirt and a well fitting grey tropical suit. He had a pile of cables on a table beside him and he was decoding a cable which he held in his hand. He glanced up, nodded and waved to a chair.

“I won’t be long,” he said.

Gripping her handbag, Janine waited. Minutes crawled by. Malik worked steadily. Finally, after what seemed to Janine an eternity, he dropped the cable on the pile on the table and turned to stare at her. His green eyes were impersonal, his face expressionless.

“So you talked to Girland and he couldn’t come tonight,” he said. “Why couldn’t he come?”

“I told you. He said he had a business date.”

“And did you guess what the business date was?”

“Fantaz?”

“Of course. He won’t come here tomorrow night because he hopes by then to be with Carey.”

Janine didn’t say anything.

“But he won’t be with Carey because I have four men watching him, and at a convenient moment, they will kill him.”

Janine flinched inwardly, but she had enough control over herself to keep her face expressionless.

“Will you be sorry?” Malik asked, continuing to stare at her.

Janine stiffened.

“Sorry? Why should I be?”

The sudden evil in his eyes frightened her.

“I just wondered. I would have thought you would have been sorry.” He got to his feet and crossed over to a cupboard. From it he took a tape recorder which he set on the table. He plugged the lead into the mains and switched the machine on. “This will amuse you,” he said. “It amused me.” He pressed the play-back button, adjusted the volume knob and then moved away, his eyes on Janine’s face.

From the loudspeaker of the recorder, she heard herself say, “I know who you are. You are Mark Girland.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the blood drain out of her face, her body turning cold.

“All right,” she said. ‘‘Turn it off. I don’t want to listen.”

The loudspeaker was saying, “Well, go on. Let’s hear more about this before I do any talking.”

“No, we’ll listen to it. The sighs and moans at the end are very amusing,” Malik said.

This was her end, Janine thought. How could she have been so stupidly careless not to check to see if her room had been bugged? She shut her ears to the sounds coming from the recorder. She didn’t want to die. She was frightened of death, but she knew there was no mercy to hope for from Malik. She had betrayed him too thoroughly.

Finally, she became aware that the recorder was silent, and she looked at Malik who stood by the recorder, watching her.