The Girl From Peking

by George B Mair

  She nodded and Grant guessed that she was trying to estimate a set up which must, from her angle, have been baffling. ‘I’m only sorry I failed.’

  ‘Forget that. We’ll start again where we left off. You’ve already told me how you managed to compromise the President. I’ve admitted that photographs are now with my own people and that I killed your camera man. But we were speaking about tapes when your hatchet men arrived. So take it from there. You’ve got some sort of spoken record which can be edited and dubbed on to movies. Right?’

  His eyes flickered the reply he wanted and he saw the girl begin to relax. ‘The tapes are safe. Not even you could get them.’

  ‘Where are they?’ Grant hoped only that her Morse would remain up to standard. Everything depended on how she read his message. It was essential that she should go through the motions of refusing to talk because it was his own bet that Frank or Harry would then use other methods to make her speak, and she would have to take at least some of the medicine before she broke down. Then—given luck—he would be able to take her away, outwit Harry by promising to do a deal and end by collecting not only the tapes but a safe exit for Tania as well. Everything now depended on the girl being able to read Morse—and trusting him.

  His eyes were working overtime and he was glad that Frank was sitting just behind him.

  ‘Refuse to talk until they turn on the heat.

  ‘Do as I say.

  ‘We’re two of a kind and I can save you.

  ‘Refuse to talk until they turn on the heat.

  ‘I’ll get you out safe.

  ‘Trust me for old time’s sake.

  ‘Tell the truth or we both may die.

  ‘But break at the right moment.’

  Frank’s voice broke out harsh beside him. ‘Are you just admiring or what else is cooking?’

  Grant looked at him coldly. ‘I’m wondering what to do. She won’t talk—short of something deadly.’

  Frank smiled thinly. ‘You think like Harry. She won’t crack. And she won’t be bluffed.’ He lit a cheroot. ‘Any ideas.’

  Grant turned back towards a stair which led to a door six feet above floor level. ‘None. How about you?’

  Frank’s shoulders hunched into a curious gesture of concentration. ‘We’ll have a word with Harry.’

  Krystelle was pouring drinks when Frank paused to close the panel. ‘David says she won’t talk.’

  Harry continued to strum the guitar, and his fingers raced up and down the strings in a complicated series of chords which twanged out on a minor key until he laid it down when Krystelle offered a glass. ‘Six of gin: five of Rom Bacardi: five of fresh lime and four pure orange plus one of five star brandy and six hours in the fridge. Then a squirt of soda and you’ve got something great. Try it with cheese.’

  The stuff looked like champagne but as Grant sipped he knew that it had the kick of a mule. ‘I think my people might buy.’

  Harry lifted his glass. ‘Cheers. But what odds?’

  ‘Twenty to one in favour.’

  ‘And in gold?’

  Grant stalled. ‘Gold takes a little handling. Say forty-eight hours from now and you would have to get the tapes.’

  Harry smiled, and there was a glint of genuine amusement in his eyes. ‘Understood.’

  ‘So maybe we could make the girl talk.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Or make her lead us to local Peking H.Q.’ Grant knew that he was verging on dangerous ground. ‘I can imagine she might take us there . . . given a little encouragement.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t think she would talk.’ Harry’s eyes hardened. ‘Make up your mind.’

  Grant forced himself to seem indifferent. ‘You might persuade her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Truth drugs. Hypnosis. Anything if she didn’t co-operate.’

  ‘Anything?’

  Grant guessed that the question was loaded but nodded agreement. ‘She’s obviously got to be forced.’

  ‘Then let’s force her.’ He rose, and Grant saw for the first time that he was over six feet in his stocking soles, that he had the lazy, controlled movements of an athlete, and that he moved with a minimum of effort. Harry was an exception to the rule. This was a vice king who rated physical fitness as more important than dollars.

  Harry seemed to read his thoughts. ‘A man’s a long time dead. I like to look after myself.’

  They returned to the Chinese room and Grant watched Krystelle tag along behind Frank. The girl had seldom been more than a few paces away from him and he had become alert to her every change of mood. But now she was tapping her thigh and the message was coming slow. ‘Keep it cool.’

  Frank spoke into an ivory coloured phone. ‘Bring Farouk.’ And then he turned to the girl. Tania was tiring and Grant knew that her body must be one continuous ache. Red weals had developed where ankles and wrists were anchored and her cheeks were pale. ‘We call him Farouk because he’s so thin. See? But he can move fast and you’ve got two chances.’

  Two men arrived as he spoke, and Grant tensed as he saw the lean, taut animal which trotted at their heels. The leopard was controlled by a chain and one of the men carried a gun, but Grant guessed that it had been trained to perfection. It was growling deeply, a husky, snarling noise which re-echoed against the low ceiling as it paused beside the low moat of running water. Harry stroked its ears and Frank laid a piece of raw meat on the floor beside Tania’s head. The beast looked expectantly and Grant waited for Tania’s first chance.

  ‘Just to show what Farouk can do I’m going to let him eat that meat. It’s enough to whet his appetite and then I’m going to ask you a question. If you tell us where to find these tapes Farouk goes back to his cage. But if you don’t you’ll be stripped and he’ll eat bits of you instead. All clear?’ Frank and he watched while the two ‘trainers’ still held the animal in check. They were waiting for the word and Grant realised that this sort of thing had happened before. ‘Or else,’ said Harry slowly, ‘you can tell us now and you won’t even feel what it’s like when Farouk jumps that little stream to rip a kilogramme of horseflesh to shreds beside your cheeks.’

  Grant guessed that Harry knew what he was doing and glanced at Krystelle. The girl had crouched beside the leopard and was stroking his quarters but Tania was looking only at himself and he risked a message. His eyes flickered for less than three seconds. ‘No.’

  She clenched her teeth while Harry grasped the chain, holding the lead just at the collar. ‘Talking?’

  She shook her head, but gasped in spite of self-control when the beast was released as Harry snapped a word into its ear and Farouk sprang across the water to land clean beside her. His teeth bared white against his red tongue and he bit into the bloody flesh. Farouk was hungry!

  Tania writhed to gain even an inch or two of space when she felt its coat against her neck. His chops were munching almost beside her hair, and a streak of blood had splashed against her ear. She was scared sick and Grant almost sighed as he heard Harry again snap out an order. The beast swallowed for another moment or so, stretched itself and walked back to the group. Grant saw the gun-man smile and heard an exchange between the trainers. ‘He’s learned it good now.’

  Harry looked again at the girl. ‘Now your last chance. If you say “no” we strip you and leave you to Farouk. You’ve got a ten second count down.’

  He glanced at his watch and Grant nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  ‘Sept.

  ‘Six.

  ‘Cinq.

  ‘Quatre.

  ‘Trois.’

  Grant saw his fingers tense as they gripped around Farouk’s collar and then the girl spoke. ‘Take him away. I’ll talk.’

  Frank nodded and Harry clipped on the chain. The two trainers returned to a door at floor level and Krystelle loosened the strait-jacket.

  ‘Just a gesture of good faith,’ said Harry. ‘But you go free only when you’ve told us everything.’

  ‘Free?’ Grant
raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Why not?’ Harry was now completely relaxed. ‘I don’t often kill for fun. And right now I’m not in the mood.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Talk.’

  She wriggled her abdomen. The jacket must have bitten hard. ‘I spoke to the Prime Minister while we were dancing and the transmitter was in my wrist watch. Our conversation was received in a car parked in Champs Élysées and the tapes should have been delivered by now to a man in Boul. Saint Michel.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A student. He has an address there where he will do the editing.’

  ‘How long will it take him?’

  She paused. ‘Maybe two or three days. It is difficult work.’

  ‘Why?’ Grant guessed that Harry knew all the answers, but that he was testing her. Just how much of a professional was she? He would want to know. And a lot might depend on the next few moments. He decided to leave it to Tania.

  ‘Please untie me,’ she said. ‘I’ll write down the name and address as soon as you’ve freed my right hand.’

  Harry glanced at Krystelle and the girl cut the cords with a tiny pair of scissors from her handbag. Tania scrawled a name and address on a page of Frank’s diary and then Harry nodded. ‘Okay. There will be something to drink upstairs and Frank’ll see you don’t get into trouble.’

  The girl rubbed her wrists. She was fumbling with the neck of her dress and adjusting her pearls when Harry paused. ‘These look good.’

  He hesitated again. ‘Real black?’

  Tania nodded.

  He unclipped them and stroked them gently. ‘Graded too.’ But as he fondled the two massive pearls in front his eyes narrowed. ‘Fake.’ He looked at her curiously and then fingered every pearl on the rope. ‘Only two fakes’ he said again. ‘But too smooth. An amateur job. The rest okay. Why?’

  She ignored Grant. ‘Bite them and see.’

  Harry dropped them into his pocket. ‘Cyanide or something! Cute idea, but that invitation has cost you. I don’t mix up business and I stick strictly to things on hand. If you had told the truth you would have got them back. But there was just a chance I might have taken a chance . . . and suffered. So now I’ll keep them and it’ll teach you not to try to pull fast ones.’ He pushed Grant forward by the elbow. ‘Relax. We’ll talk upstairs and see what else she knows. I want to learn something about editing tapes.’

  The man’s self-control was fantastic and Grant accepted that from beginning to end he had been master of the situation. Nothing could have been done to save anything.

  Krystelle poured more drinks and Tania lifted her glass. ‘Take it easy,’ said Harry softly. ‘That stuff kicks. Wait for coffee. Better for an empty stomach.’ He pushed across a bowl of potato crispies. ‘If you’re hungry start on these. Onion soup and a steak is on its way up.’

  Tania flopped on a divan. ‘You wanted to know about editing tapes. Can we finish business first?’

  ‘Sure.’ Harry sipped at his glass. ‘Farouk must have made an impression. You now seem very ready to talk.’

  The girl ignored him and Grant listened, fascinated, as she gave an off-the-cuff lecture which sounded convincing. Sound could be taped and then spliced, splintered even, multiplied in intensity, filtered and revved up to create almost anything. Most of the best selling discs had been made up by technicians who are now more important than even conductors or musicians. An instrument more expressive than any guitar or violin and called the ‘mixing console’ can turn sound into a swirling arsenal of noise which may eventually be mixed into something totally different from the original recording. ‘In fact,’ Tania said at one point, ‘over 70 per cent of the credit for any disc in the top ten must go to the technician . . . the Artist and Repertoire man . . . or A and R as he is called.’ And then she returned to the detail of her subject. Any tape could be segmented and re-recorded, or, if not up to standard even spliced into syllables or notes until a patch work has been created which defies detection. Whole words could be built up, syllable by syllable, until the final montage remained indetectable. The art of splicing was now so refined that ‘joins’ couldn’t even be heard by magnifying the sound to catch that roughness which had once marked the site of every join. ‘So,’ she ended, ‘all I really had to do was make the Minister use a few less common words or else words which could be used to build up other words and our own technicians would do the rest.’

  ‘Including dubbing on to movies,’ asked Grant.

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And where are these? Last time you mentioned them you only hinted Peking.’

  The girl was now working her way through a bowl of soup and Grant saw her use it to gain time. ‘They are still in China.’

  He paused. It was conceivably just true.

  And then Harry broke in. ‘Farouk’s cage is still handy and onion soup doesn’t look so good when it’s splashing about on the floor. So if you want him to rip you open just go on stalling. Peking would send everything to a distributing centre, and if your operative is in Boulevard Saint Michel then so are the movies. Just stick to the truth.’

  He looked at Grant with a half grin which suddenly made him seem five years younger. ‘Any comment?’

  Grant shook his head. It was his own bet that Tania had spun a story which would be mixture of fact and fantasy. Hard core essential would still be lacking and she was playing for time. This long lecture about sound mixing had only been a gambit calculated to win time.

  He tried to reconstruct events. It was now over twenty-four hours since he had dived out the window of Hôtel la Bruyère. And Tania had been caught within minutes. But he also knew that it had been only sheer bad luck which had made her leave the roof through a window light which opened into a house owned by one of Harry’s men. Investigation had then been a routine matter from Harry’s angle and it was only when Pigalle filled with both police and special division men that Harry had begun to take notice. It was only then that he had begun to sense dividends. But one thing and one thing only now mattered. Just how much privacy had Tania been allowed? And she had had no food. Not for twenty-four hours. So it was at least credible that the bug was still inside her. But if so both ADSAD and her own people would have located her. And if she was playing for time it had begun to look as though she was still hoping. Which could only mean that it really was still inside her. In fact, the more he thought about it the more it seemed clear that he had slipped up right from the beginning. Once Tania had been captured she would have realised that her best hope lay in fighting nature and leaving a chance for her own people to pinpoint her and organise a getaway. But Krystelle had said that Pigalle was still packed with police. Which would have made it difficult for anyone to operate—even with the facilities of Peking behind them!

  His mind was moving fast. At long last, he was back on course. He ought to have guessed this long ago. Because it must be for sure that Tania still carried the bug.

  Therefore it was only a matter of time until things happened.

  And his own people would also have marked her down.

  Which meant that there was soon going to be a battle. And probably sooner.

  Unless Harry’s house was impregnable. Which was about the only thing to explain delay.

  It was a toss up now how to play it, but the sensible way was to co-opt Harry and trust to luck.

  The man was a professional out for hard cash.

  And given the facts he might come down on Grant’s side.

  If he didn’t, it would, and soon, mean the end of at least one part of his empire. And Harry could also score points for co-operating with the police. Which might be important one day. While the department might very well cough up something solid for the tapes if and when Harry could find them.

  Though it would be more agreeable if Grant could pull that off himself. He took the plunge. ‘I want to go. The girl can come with me and I’ll fix things with my own people tomorrow.’

  Harry was politely cynical. ‘You’ve
been doing a lot of thinking. What did you think?’

  ‘We go to Boul. Saint Michel and collect.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘The girl and myself.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  Grant nodded. ‘Why not?’

  Frank was now standing by the stove and Grant saw his hand begin to move towards his arm-pit.

  ‘What’s the best way out?’

  Tania also rose to go but Krystelle pulled her back to the chair. ‘Wait,’ she said softly.

  Harry smiled. ‘You know me, Krystelle.’ And then he looked at Grant. ‘But you don’t. You’ve been smart. And I’ve let you handle things in your own way. The Morse was great. Real professional. And what better professional is there than David Grant? So get ready for a punch line. I was one of SATAN’s second circle. Not an executive, but pretty high up, and David Grant rated tops with SATAN. So we know all about Maison Candide and Rue Vaugirard. The woman who got herself blown up in the Ritz was a NATO intelligence executive and your own boss man is an Admiral who hates technology. I’ve read your record so you don’t just walk out of here like that. But you blew SATAN sky high and now I’ve got my own business so I’m strictly private, although I let you think that I slipped up once, when I gave you a clue to make you think that anyhow. Now remember this. We made a deal, and I’ve always operated clean. So go on from there.’

  Grant relaxed. Maybe it was better, after all, with the cards face up. And at least he would have the satisfaction of watching Harry react to a twist which would rock him to the core just when he thought he had the ball at his feet. He ended abruptly. ‘The girl’s live. She’s swallowed this bug and it is for sure that both parties have now got her pin-pointed to a few yards. If you want to miss a battle and co-operate then play it my way.’

  Harry stared at Grant for longer than Grant cared to remember while Frank openly drew his gun and stood with it dangling by his side. Both men were thinking fast but Grant knew that there could be only one decision. There was no way round the impasse created by two opposing teams ganged up outside and guided to the place by the transmitting gadget in Tania’s bowels.