Operation Manhunt

by Christopher Nicole

  “I gather your being invited on this trip was a bit of a surprise.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, I mean, I haven’t seen Daddy for three years.”

  “Was that when your mother and he separated?”

  “Oh, no. They separated ten years ago. He used to take me on a trip every summer. Marvelous holidays, they were, to Niagara, and down to Mexico, and one year we went to Europe. But then, three years ago, he stopped writing. I wrote to him, but he never replied. Mother and I thought maybe he was thinking of marrying again, or something like that. I was very sorry, of course, and I went on writing to him, without ever getting a reply, until suddenly last winter he answered and asked if I’d like to go on a cruise in a friend’s yacht.”

  “Last winter, did you say?”

  “Just after Christmas.”

  “And you have no idea what he has been doing these last three years?”

  “Well, no, but then I’ve never been quite sure what he did. Or does.”

  The door opened, and Brian O’Connor came in. “Comfortable, sweetheart? Lilian is seeing what she can raise in the way of clothes. And then you must have something to eat, and then, I think, a sedative is in order. But I know you want a bath first. I think we should leave her to it, Mr. Anders.”

  “Of course, Doctor. I’ll be up to say good-by, as I promised, Gerry.”

  He followed the doctor on to the gallery.

  “But you’re not planning on running off immediately, are you, Mr. Anders?” Brian O’Connor asked. “I’m sure twenty-four hours in bed would do you a lot of good, too.”

  “Believe me, Doctor, I’d like that very much. But I have to get Benny back to England. I suppose flights will be back to normal tomorrow morning?”

  Brian O’Connor’s smile was gentle. “I think this is something we will have to discuss, Mr. Anders. I’ve gained the impression that Benny does not really want to go to England.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Jonathan glanced along the gallery to where Stanley waited, a silent shadow of his master. It was dark now, and the bulbs glowed in the great chandelier which hung from the ceiling high above the entry hall. Outside, the forest hummed with noise, the croaking of the bullfrogs and the seething of the cicadas competing with the constant rustle of the trees.

  Brian O’Connor still smiled. “But Benny is something we have to discuss at our leisure. Right now we have to persuade Superintendent Courtney to go home and leave us to that leisure. He’s waiting to take your statement. But first of all, come and wash up. That efficient fellow Courtney has even got some clean clothes for you.”

  Jonathan followed him into another bathroom, showered and felt a hundred percent better, changed into ill-fitting but clean and dry shirt and pants. He brushed his hair, walked ahead of the doctor to the stairs. His brain raced, but it was in his interest as much as anyone’s to get rid of the police. “Where is he?”

  “In the drawing room,” O’Connor said. “And you will be careful, won’t you?”

  Jonathan nodded, went through the door indicated, found himself in a large room, also lit by a chandelier, fronted by French windows overlooking the lawn, while the wall opposite the windows was one vast mirror, not less than thirty feet wide and twelve feet high, which made the already deep room seem endless. But as with the rest of the house, the drawing room was quite inadequately furnished; in the exact center of the floor, beneath the chandelier, there was a square of carpet, and here was a settee and two chairs and a coffee table, looking in their loneliness very much like the interview spot in a television studio. Here waited Courtney. One of his constables sat beside him, an open notebook on his knees.

  The police officer stood up. “Come in, Mr. Anders. I am sorry to keep you on the go like this, but if we can just take your statement, then I won’t have to trouble you again. You mentioned you are in a hurry to get away.”

  “Well, yes, I am, as a matter of fact. How soon do you think I’ll be able to get a flight?”

  “The planes are never full at this time of the year,” Courtney said. “You won’t find an airline office open now, but if you drive up to Hampstead tomorrow morning, early, you will certainly get a seat to Barbados.”

  “You leave your passage and your transport to me, Jonathan,” O’Connor said. “Although, of course, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you feel like it. Now, do sit down, my dear fellow. Mr. Courtney really wants to know how you came to be on board the Sidewinder at all. It appears that young friend of yours, the photographer, Crater, went to the police last night and told them that you had been kidnaped. Always a rather emotional and romantic youth, young Crater.”

  “Yes,” Jonathan agreed.

  “I’ve explained it to the superintendent already, of course,” O’Connor continued. “About how you came on board to visit Gerry—Jonathan is an old school friend of my daughter’s, you see, Courtney—and she set off to show him over the ship. Then of course, Harman received that storm warning, and I’m afraid he rather lost his head and felt he had to get the schooner to sea. It was the first time he had ever been left in command, you see. The trouble was, Jon here had told his boatman to return to the shore. Perhaps you would go on from there, Jonathan?”

  Jonathan took his cue. “So there was no way for Harman to know I was still on board. Gerry and I were down in the storeroom at the time, and we couldn’t imagine what had happened when those engines started. We rushed up on deck, but Harman refused point-blank to turn back. As the doctor says, it was the first time he had been left in command, and he put his ship, and, of course, the lives of his captain and his employers, before any inconvenience to me. He offered to put me ashore as soon as possible and pay my passage back, so I decided not to push the point.” He grinned. “I’d wanted to take a trip in that ship, anyway. She was an absolute peach.”

  “Although you did not expect to end up swimming,” Courtney remarked. “I suppose, technically, you were kidnaped.”

  “I never thought of that one,” Brian O’Connor said.

  “However,” Courtney smiled. “I don’t suppose you will be preferring charges. And now, Mr. Anders, what about the tragedy itself?”

  “Well, I don’t suppose I can add much to what you already know. We were playing bridge when the alarm sounded. Then, as we told you earlier, we thought it could be gotten under control without too much trouble, but the pumps failed, there wasn’t the time to establish why, exactly, and the fire took hold. So we only had time to send the first message.”

  “And what about the death of Pete the sailor?”

  “I can’t really tell you anything about that.”

  “It all happened so quickly, in those big seas,” O’Connor said. “Jon was in the bows, and as we told you, poor Pete went over the stern.”

  “I see.” Courtney turned to the constable. “Have you got all that?”

  “Yes, sir.” The policeman handed him the notebook.

  “I wonder if you would just read this over, and then sign it, Mr. Anders?” Courtney asked.

  Jonathan glanced at the neat handwriting, and then at Brian O’Connor, who continued to smile blandly. He signed.

  “Thank you very much.” Courtney stood up. “Well, know you all want to have a good night’s rest, so I’ll be on my way. I imagine that fellow Edwards will be out first thing in the morning, Doctor. Would you like me to put him off?”

  “Do you think you could do that for me, Courtney? I really would like to rest.”

  “I’ll tell him he can come out with me tomorrow afternoon, when I return to take the statements from Miss O’Connor and Mr. Malthus. I hope they’ll both be feeling better.”

  “I’m sure they will.” O’Connor walked the two policemen to the front door, stood on the portico while they got into their car. Jonathan watched Stanley, waiting unobtrusively but very evident, by the door leading to the kitchen.

  “Well, Mr. Anders, now for some food, eh?” O’Connor waved the police car down the drive. “And a nice long chat.”
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  “I’m looking forward to that,” Jonathan agreed, and wondered why he felt so lonely. “What happened to Malthus? He was all right the last time I saw him.”

  “He suddenly fainted right away. Right where you’re standing. I suppose the excitement and the exhaustion finally proved too much for him. He never was very strong, you know. So I had to ask the superintendent to forgo the pleasure of talking with him until tomorrow. Courtney doesn’t mind; he trusts me, you see. Now come into the dining room, Mr. Anders. I think you handled that statement very well.” O’Connor opened double doors in the left-hand wall, showed Jonathan into a dining room every bit as large as the drawing room, but much more adequately furnished, with a mahogany sideboard along one wall, and a long table stretching the length of the room, presently covered with several white tablecloths laden with a perfectly Scottish high tea; everything from a ham salad to buttered scones and fruit cake. Phyllis Malthus and Benny were already here, also wearing obviously borrowed clothes, eating with tremendous enthusiasm. “Doesn’t that look good?”

  “Oh, it does,” Jonathan agreed, and sat down. “Where are all the others?”

  “Harman and Byrne are being looked after in the kitchen,” O’Connor explained. “And Strohm is busy. But I think we should have him down here. Stanley? Ask Captain Strohm to join us for tea, will you, with his, er, companion.”

  “Yes, sir, Dr. O’Connor.”

  “Ah, Lilian, there you are. Miss Geraldine in bed?”

  “And fast asleep like a baby, Doctor,” the woman said. “Now I got Mrs. Malthus’ bath ready.”

  “I think you should do as Lilian suggests, Phyllis. It’ll be an early night for all of us.”

  “Bed,” Phyllis Malthus said dreamily. “Oh, what a pleasant thought. But I must have Aristotle with me. He always sleeps in my bed. The poor dear would be just miserable anywhere else.”

  “See that Mrs. Malthus’ dog is taken upstairs,” Brian O’Connor said.

  Phyllis Malthus hesitated. “And you won’t be too hard on Jimmy, will you, Dr. O’Connor? I think he’s in a very confused state of mind.”

  “I’m sure he is, Phyllis. But we’ll straighten him out. Off you go, now. And you, Mr. Anders, what are you going to eat?” His personality filled the room. He was in complete control, surrounded by his own servants and in his own house. Jonathan no longer doubted that he would prove a very tough adversary, if he decided to prove an adversary.

  “That ham looks pretty good,” he said. “But I’m more tired than hungry. Tired and confused, like Malthus.”

  “Of course you are, my dear fellow. It’s been a confusing day, hasn’t it? Is the captain coming, Stanley?”

  “He will be down in a few minutes, Doctor.”

  “Then lock the doors, will you, and make sure that we are not interrupted, except by the captain, of course. Because we have a lot to discuss, haven’t we, Mr. Anders? General?”

  Benny drank tea. “Don’t tell me we have to go through all of that again, Doctor?”

  “Ah, but we only start to go through it now, Benny. Everything else that has happened has been preliminary to this discussion. Mr. Anders is more determined than ever to carry you off to England.”

  Benny sighed. “I know you have a job of work to do, and all that, Mr. Anders, but you can’t be successful all the time. Couldn’t you just go back to your employers and tell them I wasn’t around?”

  “I’m sure Mr. Anders could,” Brian O’Connor said. “But the real question we have to answer is, what would be best for you, Benny?”

  “Then there isn’t any further cause for argument,” Jonathan said. “General Pobrenski’s life is in danger every moment he is in the West Indies. Because everyone knows he is here now. And everyone includes the Russians.”

  “Oh, indeed, Mr. Anders, I’m quite sure you are right.” Brian O’Connor continued to smile. “But you don’t really suppose I would let anything happen to Benny now, not after protecting him to the best of my ability for six months?”

  “Six months?” Benny asked. “Have I really known you that long, Doctor?”

  “You have known me for two years, Vladimir,” Brian O’Connor said. “My dear fellow, who do you think got you out of Poland?”

  Jonathan, lifting a forkful of ham to his mouth, slowly put it back on his plate.

  Brian O’Connor chuckled. “Now that really shook you, Mr. Anders, and you’ve shown a remarkable ability to cope with a constantly changing situation, up to now. But it just shows what one can do, with a little care. By keeping myself in the background, letting others appear to lead, I avoided all suspicion that I might be, what would you say, Mr. Anders? The kingpin?”

  “You mean that every word on the schooner last night was so much double talk?” Jonathan asked.

  “Between Malthus and myself, yes. Of course it was not solely for your benefit, although if you had believed that James was a Federal agent and I merely in his employ it would have simplified matters. But no one on the ship except James and me knew our true relationship. Not even you, Vladimir.”

  “I trusted you, Dr. O’Connor,” Benny said.

  “You have always trusted me, Vladimir. I wish you’d get that through your head.”

  “Why?” Jonathan asked. “A man like you.”

  “A man like me, Mr. Anders? Now what makes you say that? Because you know I happen to have a brain, instead of an uncontrolled collection of little cells? Because I am handicapped by that terrible tag, intellectual? Now why shouldn’t a man be able to use his brains, and at the same time wish to live a life of excitement and adventure?”

  “No reason at all, Doctor. But men like you can usually find their excitement within, well, shall I say a more legitimate framework.”

  “The government, perhaps? The State Department? I’ve had governments, Mr. Anders. I suppose you could say I have become something of a middle-aged, intellectual anarchist. When I told Gerry that I decided to change the mainstream of my life following the breakdown of my marriage, I was speaking the absolute truth. I had been quite a successful psychiatrist, you know, had earned myself a great deal of money, and more important, an international reputation. And I had always kept clear of politics. So I had traveled all over the world, and more particularly, all over Europe, attending various conferences, meeting important people, always welcome because I represented sanity and neutrality in this age of conflicting ideologies. So it was this ease of movement, this international acceptance, which, if anything, improved when I officially retired, which made me investigate the possibilities of satisfying that craving for excitement I have always had, and at a profit to myself. Oh, yes, Mr. Anders, I know what I want. As a psychiatrist I can read myself with the greatest of ease. You might say that I am almost a schizophrenic, one half of my mind belonging to a cool-headed man of business, and the other belonging to an impulsive, romantic boy. But it is a good way to be.”

  “So you chose to become a sort of twentieth-century Pimpernel,” Jonathan suggested.

  “What a happy thought,” Brian O’Connor cried out in delight. “Do you know, I never actually considered myself in that light. Unfortunately, things are somewhat different now from 1793. Blakeney, that was his name, wasn’t it? Well, I seem to remember that he was equipped with apparently limitless financial resources, and also that he seemed able to enter and leave France virtually at will. Today it is not quite so easy. In fact, the business of getting anyone well known out of Eastern Europe is quite frightening in its complications.”

  “And you only deal in well-known people?”

  “I can only afford to deal in people who can pay my fee, and as it is difficult to accumulate money in Communist countries by playing the stock market or speculating in property, it follows that most of my clients are government people of some standing.”

  “Like Benny here.”

  “Like General Pobrenski, as you say. Unfortunately, due to his accident, poor Vladimir has become something of a liability. I have always dealt hon
estly with my clients, you see, required a ten percent down payment, and collected the balance of my fee when they have been safely delivered to wherever they wish to go. This has worked very well in the past because, although I will admit that I have done business with some rather odd characters from time to time, I have, of course, retained knowledge of their whereabouts until their fee was paid in full, and so I could always use my ultimate weapon, the threat of betrayal to Communist agents, should they attempt to break their contracts. Vladimir, here, is the first time anyone has tried amnesia. And do you know, Mr. Anders, so well has he memorized his role, if you’ll excuse the play upon words, that after six weeks on board that schooner, making not the slightest progress, I had just about come to the conclusion that his illness was perfectly genuine. But you exploded that misconception for me, in the Valley of Desolation. You have no idea how grateful I am.”

  “You’re all wrong about me, you know,” Benny said. “It was just a hunch. Believe me, it was just a hunch.”

  Brian O’Connor continued to smile. “You may continue the charade if it pleases you, Vladimir, but I would remind you that you still owe me twenty-two thousand, five hundred dollars.”

  “Twenty what?” Benny cried.

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars is my normal fee,” Brian O’Connor said.

  “I see you never intend to starve to death,” Jonathan remarked.

  “My dear Mr. Anders, I’ve explained to you that this is a very expensive business. And you do not imagine that I am in it alone? I happen to be the chairman of a group of businessmen, all of whom have contributed in a greater or lesser degree to the construction of our lifeline, and they all expect a return on their money. As a matter of fact, Vladimir, I am being rather generous to you, because, as you undoubtedly recall, the arrangement is that overdue payments carry interest at a rate of ten percent per month. Nor is this usury, you know, Mr. Anders. Figure it this way; we calculate on getting not less than twenty people out of Eastern Europe, or from other states—one could mention several in Africa, for instance, where living is not always acceptable—in the course of each year. This works out at one escape every two and a half weeks. And instead of attending to these other duties, I have been sitting on board that beastly yacht for six weeks. You really owe me something in the nature of seventy-five thousand dollars, Vladimir.”