‘Or decide they’ve got to make a god out of their own image.’
‘And you want this man removed?’
‘Before his book reaches any publisher. Because ideas can’t be killed after they’ve been put into print, and the more an establishment tries to stamp on them the better they thrive. The New Testament is still said to be the best seller of all time yet it was stamped on good and hard during early years.
‘Or Marx! Marx and Lenin won’t go out of print either if the world is allowed to evolve naturally without any more emotional diarrhoea.
‘Mao’s little red book changed the face of China in spite of an establishment which gave the young revolutionaries a suppression routine plus plus when his ideas were beginning to penetrate the masses way back in the forties.
‘So we don’t want history to repeat itself. The man I have in mind must go before any carbon copies of his manuscripts start to float around the world.’
‘Any background information?’
‘Yes. Born 1917. Family name Brandt. Christian name Marius. Only son of a Czech Jewess and Sudeten German father. Educated Prague and London School of Economics. Caught out in London when Czechoslovakia invaded and became free-lance journalist. After fall of France went underground in Paris and next heard of as interpreter with Allied Occupation Forces on the Rhine. Mother died in a gas chamber around 1942 and father killed by a Czech partisan during summer 1940. Posted to Moscow as foreign correspondent of a minor Lebanese newspaper with global syndication contacts through which most of the profit comes, but after five years in Moscow Brandt seemed to disappear. There are rumours that he lived for a while in Peking before things got too sensitive, that he then did a stretch in Japan and that he rounded off an Asiatic pilgrimage with months in Vientian, Hanoi, Katmandu, Old Delhi, Isfahan and Baghdad. Which is an odd schedule by any standards. Even for a fuddly-duddy amateur mystic.
‘Anyhow, he followed that by collecting a degree in sociology and another in social anthropology in the United States, published a few provocative, but not significant books, and finally came to roost in Turkey during the latter part of sixty-nine.’
Grant began to see a glimmer of light. ‘Istanbul?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because Miss Sidders taped the name of the man who caused their accident. Mark Goodenough. And a telex from the deputy DG says that Goodenough left Paris with a man in his middle forties on the night that Juin was killed. They flew schedule to Nice and then by charter to Istanbul.’
‘So you’ll be starting in Istanbul? But a word or two more. Brandt has collected a sort of court. Let me explain how it works. Three men cover Asia. Another three deal with Europe. Four come from America and there are two mixed race Africans. Total twelve. Each of these men is apparently above suspicion in his own backyard or anywhere else, but they use fall-guys in an enormous number of operations all angled towards getting the public used to really breakthrough-tradition ideas.
‘For example. One feeds out “facts” to self-appointed do-gooders in support of the abortion league, and after a year or two society accepts that abortion on demand is a good thing.
‘Another leads the anti-porn league from behind the scenes and heats up a so-called purity drive knowing well that porn is about the corniest thing ever thought up by man, that it eases a lot of tensions and that anyhow most of society likes it: even if it won’t say so. Well, the porn idea has now been sold. Brandt knows that it will gel more solidly after some calculated opposition. And since porn, per se, hurts nobody and is fundamentally a good thing, once society accepts it as the in-concept, minds will begin to get conditioned towards accepting the next steps, like group marriage, abolition of formal monogamy and so forth.
‘One of the Asiatics handles arms deals and was probably behind some shipments of Central European equipment to Ireland in ’71 even if he made sure that it was caught en route in Holland. Because the idea was only to resurrect old insecurities about the red terror at a time when the reds were trying to persuade the rest of the world that they were changing basic policy. Indeed that was only one of many similar incidents ranging from south-east Asia through Pakistan and India to the South American Embassy kidnappings . . . always attributed to the “reds.” And timed to promote that global sense of insecurity which is essential for launching big new ideas.
‘An American citizen copes with our colour problems, and on one hand finances black militants while still arranging rape of white women by blacks or contriving letters to the press about segregation in schools. Doing, in fact, a nice allover job in promoting colour tensions at all levels.
‘An Englishman deals with slanted press hand-outs covering offbeat angles on the scientific world of tomorrow, and is already getting people familiar with the idea of memory transplants or genetic surgery.
‘And need I go on? Brandt’s twelve “wise men” are better organised than the Mafia and never meet as a group. Difficult!’
‘A question, sir. How did you get on to this?’
Alvis lit his final cigar of the evening. ‘Luck. One of the four Americans got a coronary when driving through Washington and one of our people ran into him from behind. The ten million to one fluke! The man was critically ill and our fellow opened his wallet to get name and address. The only clue was a letter inside and it read like trouble, so he pocketed the darned thing when the police arrived and handed it over to his superiors. Photocopies were taken and the original restored to the wallet in hospital where the invalid was still under intensive care.
‘I suppose a heart attack dulls the senses for a while. Anyhow the guy never seemed concerned about the situation and left hospital six weeks later in quite good shape. In fact he’s still alive, but so far as we can make out, off the Brandt active list.
‘Anyhow the letter listed suggestions from Brandt to be used as might be practicable over the new few months and you can guess the rest. I have an excellent personal relationship with a permanent official who rates high in Ankara and through him we were able to collect random samples of Brandt’s incoming and outgoing mail. Photocopies, of course, were filed and make interesting reading. Especially given hind-sight!
‘Ultimately we got all twelve names and addresses and began to appreciate what was going on. The next phase, however, was much more difficult. Brandt does his own typing and has no secretary. He doesn’t even use a tape and he isn’t married. But he does have a middle-aged French housekeeper. The object of the exercise was to put her on the sick list and infiltrate a locum with the help of my Turkish friend. So we doctored some fish which she bought one day at the local market and within twenty-four hours she and Brandt were in hospital with suspect typhoid. So we switched tactics, and instead of trying to contrive entry of a temporary house-help got two very expert staff men in as officials from the Department of Health, ostensibly to check possible sources of contamination.’
The old man sipped his lemon thoughtfully. ‘I don’t understand what went wrong. They seem to have had the house to themselves and approaches were guarded. Anyhow the end came when one of my men rushed out clutching his camera, staggered along the road for a hundred metres or so and then collapsed. He was dead when they picked him up and his friend hasn’t been seen since.
‘I needn’t tell you that the house was practically torn apart, but nothing fractionally suspicious was discovered. Now, with hind-sight, I imagine that someone like your man Mark Goodenough must have been inside, but we got the press to accept a murder story and hoped that Brandt didn’t become nervous.
‘Anyhow, he must have decided it was safe to stay, because when he and his housekeeper left hospital they took up the threads where they had left off, while we quit interfering in case they had figured ways to check. All in all the heat has now been off for so long that Brandt must be feeling relaxed. But we haven’t been wasting time, because there were seventy-two pix to be studied and it is a good thing for us that our man got away with his camera still loaded. The pix were pages
73 to 144 of Brandt’s book, so obviously our man must have left the place in a big hurry not to have taken the first cassette with him as well.
‘But we can’t ask him questions. And the best quacks haven’t been able to get any slant on what killed him.’
‘So Brandt knows that someone caught up with his work. Whom would he rate as top suspect?’ asked Grant.
‘A cassette with pix of pages 1 to 72 was left in the house. Brandt may think no more were taken. And the photographer is dead. But you do remember Ferguson who escaped the guillotine in Paris around 1968.[4] Well, he operated, as you may recall, on the fringe of S.A.T.A.N. and we know from references in one of Brandt’s letters to an English contact that Ferguson mentioned your name in a report sent to Brandt from the West Indies before he died during that quite ghastly fight on St. Thomas.
‘Which is another coincidence, David. Because, as I recall, you were at school with Ferguson, an evil man if ever there was one. Well, you can thank Ferguson when your ghosts meet, for Brandt having a shrewd idea about who might have been gunning for him. And bad luck that! Because you had nothing to do with it. Still he must have identified your organisation and rated it important enough to launch a blitz. You are almost certainly alive at this point in time only because of luck. Your good luck!
‘So I imagine there may be one or two worried men in Istanbul right now. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to have a look-see?’
‘Come off it, sir,’ said Grant. ‘You would never send me to Istanbul on a job with these implications unless you had more evidence. I’ve got it clear that you want Brandt removed. But you seem pretty sure that he knocked off our own friends. Please don’t have reservations. We’d all prefer to know the whole story. Even if you’ve got something nasty up your sleeve.’
‘Not exactly nasty, David, but annoying.’ Alvis stubbed out his cigar with curious, vicious, finality. ‘Figured you might be at risk, so I arranged a checkover of your flat in Paris today. It had been artistically primed with explosives at all key points. I’m told that it was controlled by a device motivated by a radio signal. Your people correctly assumed that nothing would happen until you were known to be in the flat. Which presupposed a signal directed from a vantage point controlling a good view of the entrances, and if possible of your windows. The assumption—later proved to be correct—was that you would be given time to get into bed and that you would then be blown up. The number of “possible” vantage points was rather limited and an extremely efficient series of raids was carried out. Two men were arrested, but before being handcuffed one did manage to push a button. And I’m sorry, David, but you no longer have a flat in Paris. Fortunately, however, no one was killed.
‘The men were then interrogated. And you can understand that no one thought about things like Geneva Conventions or Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to would-be murderers. They got the full treatment and gave the names which mattered. One was Mark Goodenough, who is one of the Englishmen working for Brandt, and the other was Hugo Falconer, an Amer-Asian also on the list of Brandt’s disciples. So the tie-up is quite complete.’
Grant prepared to break up the meeting. ‘We’ll think things over, sir, and have a word tomorrow. But if you can let us have Brandt’s Istanbul address that will be a help. The question of access to his house interests me.’
‘And you’ll cope?’
Krystelle held out her hand. ‘We’ll cope. sir. And thanks for being so kind.’
‘And you, young lady?’ Alvis kissed Moogie lightly on the cheek. ‘I’ve enjoyed watching you while I was talking.’
She bowed very formally. ‘I am sure David and Krystelle will help me to do well. And I am proud to have met such a charming friend of my father.’
‘This man Falconer,’ said Grant.
‘Not on file. Maybe turn out unimportant. Goodenough and Brandt have priority. The Falcolners will be out of a job and disappear if you fix the big man. But keep out of sight. Go underground. Moogie’s house might be better than the hotel. Okay? And there’s the Brandt address.’
A thought crossed Krystelle’s mind on the way home. ‘How come we took five or six hours the other night?’
‘I wanted to deceive you,’ said Moogie. ‘It’s only an hour or so if traffic is reasonable.’
Tom was waiting with freshly brewed tea and they returned on the stroke of midnight to the suite. ‘So much to think over,’ said Moogie. ‘I don’t quite understand what it is all about.’
‘And we’ve had enough talking.’ Krystelle was unusually quiet. ‘This is a time for unwinding. You gotta learn the habit. Ah bin soaking up facts for around two hours and I’m about mentally drunk on facts. Now we let ’em soak in. By tomorrow answers should begin to click up to the surface. We’ll figure something, honey. But now, for crissake let’s just unwind. Switch on the tape. Ah feels like dancing. You ever try the limbo, Moogie?’
‘But I’m not very good.’
Krystelle flexed her knees and leaned back, grinning. ‘You be the bar, chicken, and stand feet apart. Every time ah get underneath yo’ crutch spread ’em further. Got the idea? Same as lowering the bar. An’ ah’ll bet ah get down to eleven inches.’ She glanced towards Grant. ‘Sit back and enjoy the show, David. Or else have another bath, but if ah don’ get rid of some surplus energy honest to God ah’ll scream the house down.’ She was undressing while she talked and jigging in rhythm to Yellow Bird, which was the first West Indian song on the tape she had chosen. ‘You too, doll. But clozeses get in the way an’ right now David needs a big release. So let’s see what a coupla swinging concubines can do to bring an uptight guy back to normal.’
Grant was bathing when Krystelle became serious and tried to explain. ‘You cain’t be expected to understand, Moogie. But we came out here for a break and we’ve jumped into sorrow. Now that guy Alvis is important and we’ve got to accept what he says, so David’s started thinking. And ah know how he ticks. He’s reacting bad because he’s white hot angry, which is why his women are going to distract his attention. See? Ah’ve never known him so quiet. All he does is listen, and a guy in his job cain’t operate as a good insurance risk unless he’s got the world sharp in focus. Which means keeping his cool. So we’re going to give him the treatment. A real live show from a coupla concubines who got what it takes. Right?’
Moogie was puzzled. ‘You want to pretend we’re Lesbians?’
Krystelle shook her head impatiently. ‘No, honey. Just a nice show with lots of laughs.’
‘I don’t understand. Do you want me to make love to him?’
‘Ah don’t give an Amer-Asiatic rhapsody in dark blue whether you make love to him or not. Least not if you’re just thinking of screwing him into Nirvanah. Might be good for him, and that’s got nothing to do with love making. Do anything you like, but get him into shape, for tomorrow’s gonna see David take off for Turkey with one idea in mind. And this is the one routine which might help get him back on the level. We don’t stop till he laughs. Make him laugh and you’ve a friend in me for life. Laughter gets rid of tension so start switching on.’
‘You don’t mind if I, what did you say, send him into Nirvanah?’
‘I only mind one thing,’ snapped Krystelle briefly. ‘Don’t let him fall in love with you.’
‘I might have fallen in love with him already.’ Moogie’s voice was very soft.
‘Your problem! But maybe a good thing if it helps you to do your stuff properly.’
‘And I think he likes me. I believe I could even take him away from you.’
‘Maybe yes. Maybe no. But sure he likes you.’ Krystelle decided to treat it off-hand. ‘You make the grade because you’re nearly as efficient as we are when it comes to playing poker: and because you look like the average man’s dream of Heaven. Correction. Superman’s idea of paradise. Though that cuts no ice with me from a strictly personal angle. But it might affect David slightly. Then you got initiative. And don’t forget when you slipped in beside him he kidded sleep. David
and I got no secrets. He’s a one-woman man.’
‘Well, I want him to like me.’ The younger girl looked oddly helpless. ‘I keep thinking of him as “family.” Yet another bit of me wants him as a man. Though I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’
Krystelle became more gentle. ‘We all got split personalities at times. And ah don’t mind what you do with David so long’s it makes him happy. But let’s start with laughing. Huh?’
Grant returned to find the two girls in full swing. Moogie was standing, legs wide apart, while Krystelle danced the limbo to the tune of Sam Lord followed by King Ja-Ja. Not once did her breasts even quiver against Moogie’s thighs or knees, and she finished with less than the thickness of a hand between her body and the floor.
Moogie was good. But not good enough to compare, and writhed the limbo to a non-stop stream of cracks from Krystelle about her seized-up joints which made Grant laugh in spite of himself. But his first belly-laugh came when Krystelle gave an imitation of an English tourist trying to date a bar girl, played off the cuff by Moogie, in a Kowloon discothèque.
Moogie turned out to be an expert with cards and removed thirty dollars from Grant at ‘find the lady.’ She was also an artist, and using phosphorescent paint sprawled a dragon across Krystelle’s belly using the navel as eye.
With lights off Krystelle did an oriental dance which almost brought the thing to life and they all ended covered with psychedelic designs which shimmered grotesquely as they danced a conga round the room.
‘First in the shower sleeps in the centre,’ said Moogie and dived for the bath house.
Half an hour later she pressed a bell and Tom appeared with drinks. ‘My own mixture. It is very good after a dance.’
Paradise Spells Danger Page 7
