The Girl From Peking

by George B Mair

  ‘Do you want to use the phone?’ Harry’s voice was still controlled but even now almost anything might happen.

  ‘And I’ll say you’re co-operating.’ Grant smiled for the first time. ‘But since this means you’ll rate high with both police and my own department our price goes high too. Deduct it from one million dollars and we break even. A million each way.’ He paused. ‘Though the black pearls should raise enough to show a dividend on the last twenty-four hours.’

  ‘And if I think the price is too high.’

  ‘Then your nest will go up in smoke when the police step in.’

  ‘But if I let you put the phone through?’

  ‘Then you stay in business!’ He glanced at Krystelle. ‘Was she with SATAN too?’

  The girl’s eyes were twinkling. ‘Sure was, David. Which was why I picked you up. David Grant doesn’t drop at a girl’s feet every day. And where David is there’s trouble. Harry sent me out to see what was going on when we heard the shooting. So I slapped on some make-up and blended into the background. The rest was easy.’

  Easy! Grant knew that it had been more than that. The girl had moved into action like the expert she was. And yet, somewhere along the line he must have done something to make her treat him good.

  He hesitated, almost thinking aloud. ‘And you’re also strictly private? SATAN forgotten?’

  She nodded. ‘But not David Grant.’

  Harry was watching them closely and even Frank was beginning to smile. ‘Anything I did?’ asked Grant.

  ‘When you cleaned up SATAN you cleaned up a bit of my life,’ she said.

  ‘Blackmail?’ Grant was counting seconds, but he was still curious.

  The girl kissed him while Harry stared with flat impassivity. ‘They had something on me and they used me badly.’

  Grant returned her kiss. ‘No hard feelings then?’

  ‘I told you I’ve got rid of a lot of bad memories,’ she said. ‘No hard feelings.’

  Harry lifted his guitar. The case was in a corner and he snibbed the locks before placing it in a cupboard built into the wall while Krystelle pressed herself against him. ‘Get us out of this and you’ve friends for life.’

  He lifted the phone and dialled a number. ‘Grant speaking.’

  The voice at the other end sounded tired. ‘Make it fast and simple.’

  Admiral Cooper had had a long long wait and Grant knew that the old man must, by now, be worried sick. ‘I’m with friends, sir. Harry, Frank and a young lady called Krystelle. Please advise that they are co-operating with me and get Pigalle cleared of police.’

  ‘Anyone else with you?’

  The Admiral sounded so bored that Grant knew he was more interested in the answer to that than to anything else. ‘Tania Monham.’

  ‘Then think again.’ The voice almost snarled through the receiver. ‘Tan-i-a Mon-ham is at the Ritz.’ The hyphenation proved that Admiral Cooper was becoming impatient.

  Grant hesitated. ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then please see that she stays there, sir.’ He knew that ‘alone’ meant only ‘not under open supervision’. But he knew too that the Ritz could be well covered. And that he would be there himself within the hour.

  ‘You know what you’re doing?’

  Grant nodded as he spoke. ‘For the first time in over a day . . . yes.’

  ‘When do I see you?’

  ‘I’ll bring my friends for coffee to the Meurice at eleven hundred hours. You may want to talk.’

  The Admiral began to sound more than usually formal. ‘I warned you that if you in-volved me in per-son-al explanations with top people you were out and that still stands. So, remembering that, is everything under control?’

  Grant looked at Harry, who nodded briefly. He was listening at an extension and his eyes were quietly confident. ‘Yes, sir,’ said Grant at last. ‘They are under control.’

  Harry nodded again when Grant hung up. ‘They are under control—or at least they will be in the immediate future.’ He glanced towards Frank. ‘Get three. Knives and guns, smoke bombs and tear gas. Pierre, Le-chat and Neige-blanche; he should do.’ He turned to Grant. ‘Niege-blanche he is a freak. Skin blenched whiter than parchment from hair line to neck. Some sort of skin disease. Krystelle gave him the nickname and he’s also an old SATAN man.’

  ‘No grievances?’ Grant had believed when he left Switzerland that sooner or later he would meet some of SATAN’s staff, and the 64,000 dollar question had always been the same. How would they react if they had ‘gone private’? Now he knew. And he should have known from the beginning. It proved that he had still a lot to learn. SATAN operatives had to live and SATAN had given them a job. But now they had another job and if that meant a readjustment of alliances then it was simply the way of business. As pros, the bigger men were above petty feuds. The only things which mattered to them were life and dollars.

  Harry shrugged his shoulders. ‘Entente cordiale! No grievances. Not so long as the cut is good. And I like this set-up. It puts us square with the law. Which can mean plenty if it ever comes to a show-down.’

  Frank had disappeared. Krystelle had pulled on her outdoor shoes and Tania was sitting, rigid, watching every move, listening to every word, and—if Grant knew her properly—figuring the way out. ‘Any objections if we take her with us?’

  Harry stroked his chin. ‘Why?’

  Tania knew nothing about the girl at the Ritz. If there was one. And the immediate future was anyone’s guess. ‘I’ll make myself responsible.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Harry was only mildly curious about the Admiral’s hint of a girl at the Ritz. So far as he was concerned that was Grant’s problem and Tania ceased to matter once they had lifted the tapes. But until then she was vital, and she might have lied.

  ‘A hunch,’ said Grant curtly. ‘She may come in handy.’

  ‘And she might try to scram.’ Harry still figured that Grant had reasons.

  ‘She won’t.’ Grant sounded confident when he turned to Tania. ‘French police work on the principle that no wanted person can ever leave the country. And they are generally right.’ His voice changed. ‘They also figure that it is justifiable homicide to bump a wanted person who had attempted or committed murder. Especially if the person who does the bumping has official status.’ He flashed his card. ‘This is my status. So keep right beside me. And if you move the wrong way you stop a 9 mm shell through your right knee joint. Which would be a pity.’

  Tania knew that he meant it: that if she played it his way she could escape. But she also knew that she was still going to play it her way and that if it was ‘a pity’ then the pity couldn’t be helped. She nodded politely. ‘It would be a pity.’

  Frank returned as she spoke. ‘Streets emptying. Le-chat says we can start moving.’

  Grant released the safety catch of the Biretta which Harry had offered and felt the tingling in his scalp which always preceded hot action. Harry eyed him curiously. ‘Know something. That scar above your eye goes white when you get tense.’

  It was a statement of fact, but Grant’s lips narrowed. ‘And you know something,’ he said at last. ‘You’re a lousy musician. You struck a C sharp when it ought to have been C natural and you missed up on the second last bar of Inquietacao. Fingering a shade clumsy.’

  And then they laughed. Krystelle smiled and Frank began to move. Grant plus Harry could fix anything and they sensed that this was the beginning of a long road which could lead to anywhere.

  In fact Grant and Harry had clicked.

  Chapter Thirteen – ‘A man looks so non-lovable with only his shirt’

  Frank led the way through five more houses and into a tunnel which ended near the dressing room of a strip-tease basement bar. They could hear the noise of music and of men laughing while Krystelle sauntered up a short flight of stairs. She now looked like any other Pigalle girl and paused near the tiny floor to light a cigarette. But she was counting heads, and when she returned five minu
tes later it was to Grant that she spoke. ‘There are two men who don’t look like tourists. They aren’t locals either and the barman says they’ve been here for over two hours. Visitors don’t stay that long because the show is lousy, but they seem to be sitting it out and they’ve twice had a visitor, someone who seems only to have dropped in for a word.’

  Grant lifted some props, a sombrero, a black cloak and a spanish guitar. ‘This one of your places?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Then fix things with the management and announce a new turn.’ He smiled broadly. It was a long time since he had strummed a guitar, but he figured he would still manage something like ‘Morphine Bill and Cocaine Sue’ which would raise a laugh!

  Harry watched Krystelle stick an artificial moustache on to Grant’s upper lip and daub his cheeks with powder. ‘Why you?’

  Grant chose his words carefully. It was important for Harry not to lose face but it was also important to show who was boss. Krystelle had slipped up when she delivered her message to the wrong man, and Grant had seen the spark of irritation which had flickered even in Frank’s eyes when she spoke. ‘I know some of these people. They might be strangers to you.’

  ‘And if their address is Peking, China?’

  ‘Then we cope.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Get two of your men to knock them cold. There could be a row about a girl.’ Grant glanced at Krystelle. ‘She could start it.’

  Harry methodically tuned the instrument while Grant finished dressing and Frank organised things programmewise. A red light then flashed in the dressing room. It was the signal for Krystelle. She sauntered upstairs and crossed towards the two men. They were in their middle forties and sitting alone at a small round table. She acted drink-taken and tripped as she passed. Her elbow caught one man on the side of the head, sending him sprawling while she screamed for help. Her language was atrocious and Grant could hear every word as he went up and began to sing. The girl was now fighting mad and demanding that the management do something about men who had insulted her.

  He continued to sing and waited for developments. No one had seen what had really happened. The locals knew when to keep out of things, but already a few tourists had begun to demand bills. For all that they knew gendarmes were already on the way!

  The men were strangers. One was slightly built and scarred by old smallpox, but smallpox didn’t figure much in Europe these days. He looked again and sauntered nearer to the corner where three waiters had already taken over. One had a chalk white face and Grant guessed that this was Neige-blanche. SATAN had trained its people to think fast and the man had needed only a short white coat. His hand flickered briefly and one man dropped, gasping. It was a short, sharp Karate to the kidney, and the same hand moved almost non-stop round to catch the other just below the angle of his jaw. He slumped against his chair and the ‘waiters’ caught him before he hit the floor. Seconds later they were carrying the unconscious men back-stage while a floor manager interrupted Grant’s ‘act’ to make an announcement. ‘Forgive, ladies and gentlemen. But there is no cause for alarm. Police are already on their way and these hooligans will be charged with breaking the peace.’ He nodded to Grant who raised his voice and broke into a Samba. Seconds later he turned to find Harry by his side, singing a beat style descant while two girls produced a horse-shoe of paper flowers and led people from the nearest table into an impromptu dance. More girls encouraged others to follow, and within minutes the place was filled with a snakelike procession of dancers. Harry broke off to speak into Grant’s ear. ‘You’re an atrocious singer but this should work. Make for the street and we’ll join an outside party. I’ve already got a couple up there with squeeze boxes. They can take over, and if your people have moved out we should be able to do what we want.’

  Grant nodded. ‘Si, Si. Si.’ And almost laughed aloud. Frank must have been busy plus behind the scenes, and Krystelle had organised the girls at faster than the double.

  Their procession hesitated near the door. But Frank with Krystelle pressed on from behind and two dozen remaining tourists decided to keep to the spirit of the thing. An Australian couple began to make the running and were leaping from step to step with slick precision when they reached Bd. de Clichy and began to dance on the sidewalk. Three more processions joined them and for the first time Grant had convincing proof of Harry’s power in Montmartre. The whole thing had been organised within minutes, yet now the entire area near the Place was filled with singing chains of dancing men and women. Nor was Harry any longer in the lead. Another stream had ‘samba-ed’ out of the rue des Martyrs and quietly taken over. One or two amiable gendarmes were watching, with batons twirling on black leather loops around their wrists, and tourists had begun to snap flash pictures while a group of les girls danced the can-can.

  Harry grabbed him by the arm. He was pulled into a club and the door was instantly blocked by a cluster of giggling females. They ran downstairs and Harry paused only at the cloakroom. ‘The others will meet us soon. Get rid of this and then let’s move.’

  They pulled off their moustaches, soused themselves clean and slicked hair while a girl brushed them down and laid two knives on a table. ‘Take one.’ Harry strapped a blade to his thigh and studied Grant while he balanced the other in his hand and then wrapped the edge in a handkerchief, thrust it into his inside pocket and allowed the horn hilt to nestle against his breast.

  ‘This way.’ Harry moved through the empty dance room to a stage, lifted a trap door set flush with the wood and dropped into a low corridor. It twisted for over a hundred metres and Grant guessed that it had once been part of an old sewer. Now it was clean and dry, but dank with foul air. They surfaced for a few steps inside a house, dipped again below street level and paused at last inside an office on rue Victor-Massé. Krystelle with Tania and Frank were waiting and Grant remembered that at least three gunmen would be covering the street.

  Frank glanced through the slats of a Venetian blind. ‘Car coming. It will pause at the door. Everyone inside. Le-chat and Pierre will cover us, but I think we’ve made it. There hasn’t been so much open air dancing since Liberation day. And then I was too young to enjoy it,’ he added sourly.

  A Mercedes halted with a screech of brakes as they opened the front door. Grant knew the street well from the old days. They were within almost shouting distance of where he had passed many a late hour at the old Bal Tabarin. And he recalled le can-can of another era. When it really had been le can-can! Now it was a farce.

  Krystelle moved first, and the Mercedes streaked into Avenue Trudaine. Ten minutes later they were cruising along Boulevard Haussmann, having made a detour from Sacré Cœur to Lycée Lamartine before cutting along rue La Fayette. And only then did Harry speak for the first time as he lit a cigarette and hummed one of the Piaf songs, interrupting it to say three words. ‘Frank is good.’

  The younger man studied a rear mirror and slowly relaxed. ‘Neige-blanche blocked the road when we crossed Dunkerque. Maybe a false alarm, but better safe than sorry.’ He paused. We were lucky at Dunkerque. Traffic less dense than usual. But of course it’s late. Thinning out now!’

  Grant felt Krystelle’s hand slip through his arm and her head rested against his shoulder. ‘What next, David?’ she whispered.

  He glanced towards Harry. ‘Drop me at Place Vendôme.’ Somehow or other Frank with Krystelle had manhandled even Tania into the car, and he looked at the girl who was now sitting motionless between Frank and the driver. ‘But she goes with me. One of your people can cover our rear and later perhaps you could drop into reception. Ask for Mlle. Monham and wait developments.’

  Harry continued to sing and Frank studied his finger tips. ‘You know what you’re doing? And you recall what the old boy said on that blower?’

  ‘Yes.’ Grant sounded abrupt but he wanted Harry’s mob out of that angle, though he also knew that Tania was hatching trouble. He was happier when she was in action. ‘Maybe you could lift these recor
dings before making the Ritz.’

  Harry reacted on the same wavelength. Sure, David. Now you’re talking sense. We’ll do that.’ He thrust the repeating revolver which looked like a Luger into an armpit holster. ‘A good weapon,’ he said at last. ‘Nice balance.’ And then he tapped Tania on the shoulder. ‘Just keep on being a good girl and you’ll come out of this intact. But I wouldn’t try anything with David. Savvy?’

  She nodded. Only one thing worried her. Why the Ritz?

  And then the Mercedes paused at rues Castiglione and St. Honoré. ‘Here,’ said Grant, and slipped out his Biretta. ‘Just move slowly, Tania. And when we get to the Ritz we’ll have a talk in your suite. Okay?’

  He hoped that ADSAD staff would be on duty at more than one nearby window, and that every man, woman or child in the hotel would have been double checked. He saw Harry lift a hand in farewell. Frank was watching the Place beyond and Krystelle blew him a kiss.

  Then they were alone. ‘I told you we would make it,’ he said curtly. ‘But it’s more than you deserve.’

  She walked one pace ahead of him and her voice was cold as ice. ‘I don’t accept favours. What you did was for yourself and it suited me to string along.’

  ‘I hope you told the truth about the tapes?’ Grant was unusually formal. ‘They won’t like it if you’ve been pulling fast ones.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Be like Harry. Just wait and see.’

  They had turned into the Place and lights were still flickering in the Ritz. A night porter smiled as they entered, and another escorted them to the elevator. He seemed vaguely puzzled. ‘Bothered about something?’ asked Grant curiously.

  The man gestured apologetically. ‘We are supposed to know everything which happens. But we must have missed seeing Madame go out again.’

  Tania paused in her step. ‘What do you mean?’

  Her eyes were wary and Grant urged her forward by the elbow. ‘Just a mistake. Forget it.’ But he hesitated at the door. ‘Key?’