‘Correct.’ Ling was sipping his coffee with meticulous daintiness, his little finger cocked in the air as he raised his cup, and with his slim hands moving expressively as he emphasized a point. His face was finely chiselled and his dark eyes could occasionally spark with humour, but in general he seemed content to let Grant develop the conversation. ‘And arrangements are now complete. Although I must say the Sheikh was suspicious when we first arrived.’
‘Price?’ asked Grant. ‘How does one value something which is unique?’
‘A good point, Dr. Grant,’ said Ling politely, ‘and I am quite willing to answer. Our host has a pleasant country. But there is no commerce, and slave-trading has become dangerous. The population is growing and soon there may not be enough food for everyone. But a new kind of economy could be developed given substantial capital and so he has accepted our offer of three million American dollars per thousand kilograms: or roughly one million pounds sterling per ton weight.’
Grant scribbled for a moment on the dust. The total was staggering: eleven hundred million pounds sterling for eleven hundred tons of riodorium; or around three thousand million American dollars for the meteorite. ‘Which will put our host into much the same income bracket as the oil millionaires of Saudi Arabia.’ The more he studied the figures, and the more he considered what he knew of China, the less he believed it. ‘And when do they see the colour of your money?’
Ling raised his eyebrows. ‘The first million deposit has already been lodged in Tangier. Indeed, I brought the bank’s receipt as evidence of our good faith and by way of introduction.’
‘Pounds or dollars?’
‘Dollars,’ said Ling curtly. ‘The balance will follow after we have delivered our first load of five tons to my government.’
‘A long flight for transport aircraft,’ said Grant sourly.
‘It will be taken by air to Tangier and then shipped elsewhere.’ Tangier! Grant smiled tensely. It was Ling’s first mistake. Or was it? ‘And why do you tell me all this?’
Ling paused for a second, the first time he hesitated. ‘Desert hospitality is generous, and our host agrees that you saved the life of his niece.
‘He also admires your strength and now he thinks you are a marvellous doctor. But, that apart, the young lady has told him that she wants to be your wife. Now I have talked only to make you talk and so reveal yourself to everyone for the fraud that you are.’
‘When did you touch down?’ Grant interrupted, still trying to piece together the timing of a complicated coincidence.
‘A few hours before the man called Sidi Achmet had reported your own expected arrival. He gave you an enthusiastic write-up, and at first our host would listen to nothing against you. But even when we had persuaded him and shown the newspaper story taken at Las Palmas he still insisted on making up his own mind about you.’
‘So you were here before us.’
‘Yes.’
‘And why, may I ask,’ continued Grant slowly, ‘did you bring Jacqueline de Massacré along?’
The Chinaman smiled blandly. ‘She had outlived her usefulness in Paris and was needed elsewhere.’
‘Meaning,’ Grant interrupted, ‘that my people had got on to her, or that she had slipped up somewhere.’ At least that was one more mystery solved.
Ling Tao paused. ‘If you wish,’ he said dryly. ‘But first she wanted to see the end of your career. You see,’ he added dryly, ‘she put up with your attentions only under orders. So one can understand her feelings for revenge. And she has earned the right to consideration.’
But if what Ling said was really true Grant decided to ignore it. No matter what Jacqueline might pretend to others she was a genuine nymphomaniac and no actress could have behaved as she had done unless she enjoyed it. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that you mentioned something about my being unlikely to return to Paris.’
‘That is so,’ Ling agreed. ‘You see, we have come to terms with our host even about this, because it seems that after your performance this morning you can do no wrong. For him a doctor in the hand is worth two in China. So he means to marry you off to his niece and keep you here. Trips, of course, to Las Palmas or anywhere else will be “out”, and since he now has ample money the local slave trade will stop. Meaning that there will be no reason for anyone to do business abroad. So it seems that you have found your Shangri La and that you will live happily in it for ever.’
His sarcasm was biting. A shot in the head was no doubt what they had had in mind and the Caid’s attitude must have been an unwanted hitch. But if Grant knew anything about China little or no more money would be seen and the whole set-up pointed towards some take-over bid which would end in tragedy.
‘This is your first visit?’
Grant’s voice was flatly unemotional, but Ling seemed to guess what he had in mind. ‘Yes. And, as you probably suspect, other planes will arrive before our mining operations can be completed. But none of that will affect you.’
Grant decided to rise to the bait. ‘Why?’
‘Because,’ said Ling politely, ‘you are going to be married tomorrow and while you are honeymooning some distance away from where we shall be working you will have the added security of guards picked from our host’s private army plus a few of my own men.’
Jacqueline de Massacré was looking at him with a flicker of mischief which seemed out of place. ‘If only your friends could see the mess you are in now, David. A real shot-gun marriage to a Bue Berber. What a come-down!’
Grant heard the Chinese interpreter translate every word. And then, moving with deceptive speed, the Caid unexpectedly darted across the patio, his hands forking viciously as he smacked Jacqueline on either cheek and held her under his left arm whilst he thrashed her rear with smacking cracks which made her scream with pain. ‘You will not insult my niece,’ said the Caid calmly when, at last, he dropped her to the ground and strode back to his place.
Even Ling smiled. ‘You deserved that,’ he said coldly. ‘You were unmannerly and childish, because whatever you may think about David Grant he is a brave man. And Miss Turquoise is entitled to respect.’
Grant remembered the strength of the Caid’s grip and guessed that the girl would sleep that night lying on her face. Whimpering with anger and pain she limped towards the door which opened through a wall on to the country away from the house, and as he glimpsed her expression when she closed it behind her he guessed that a new complication had been added to the mess.
Another thought crossed his mind and he turned to Ling Tao. It seemed strange that a highly trained agent with such an unusual background should have been assigned to himself.
Ling looked at him in surprise. ‘I told you that she was already working at SHAPE when you were posted there from England. We did not arrange for her to be your secretary. And I don’t mind admitting that we knew nothing of ADSAD until three weeks ago when the set-up came out by implication after studying your tapes.’ He hesitated. ‘You are quite finished? No more questions?’
‘None.’
Ling stood up and bowed towards the Caid. ‘I have kept my promise and spoken to Dr. Grant in public. You have heard what was said, and I must warn you again that I think he will try to make trouble and that he should be removed.’
The Sheikh whispered rapidly to his niece.
‘Come over,’ she said, ‘my uncle wants to talk to you.’ She spoke in Spanish and another man took over as interpreter. As Ling had said, the language problem was difficult. ‘He wants to see your eyes and hold your arm.’
Even Grant felt the dead silence around them as he held out his hand. The Berber’s face was placid but Grant winced as the man’s eyes bored into his brain as they stared at one another and the Sheikh grasped his wrist. ‘Did you come to steal this rock that the Chinaman has bought?’
Aniseeh interpreted swiftly, her words lagging only a phrase behind.
‘Yes. If you would not be prepared to do normal business and sell it.’ Grant guessed tha
t it was better to make no excuse.
‘Did you arrange to meet my niece so that you could use her to get here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you changed your plans when you arrived?’
‘Yes.’ Grant hesitated. ‘But I still hoped to negotiate something which would be fair to everyone.’
‘Well, tell us why you became honest?’
‘Because I had fallen in love with Aniseeh.’
The Berber looked at him curiously and as Grant listened to the girl translate he remembered that there is nothing in Arabic which conveyed exactly the same meaning. She gave it as wanting to live with her and share their bodies.
‘Do you still want to make her your wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘And will you promise on the Koran, by the memory of your father, by the lust you have for this woman and by your hope for eternity in Paradise that you will live here always, never attempting to return to your own country without my permission?’
‘I will from the moment that we are married.’ It was the best compromise Grant could figure out in a hair-split second when the slightest pause would raise doubts. At the same time he had to find a way round an oath which would be morally as binding as anything to which he had ever sworn in church or law-court.
The Berber turned to Ling. ‘This man is telling the truth. So tomorrow he will marry my niece and afterwards you can take away the rock.’
Ling bowed. ‘But he is a soldier and he has admitted that he is prepared to disobey orders. A man who can do this once can do it again. So I still say he should be shot.’
Farrachi smiled broadly. ‘I can use your money and I need his brain. The matter is finished.’ He turned to Grant. ‘I must talk with Ling Tao, so Aniseeh will take you to my own garden and later we will think about my sickness.’
Grant had been figuring odds against whilst the Caid was speaking to Ling Tao. There were six Chinese in the patio. Jacqueline was a seventh and it was a safe bet that there were others at the aircraft.
Aniseeh joined him as he nodded curtly to Ling Tao and returned to the house. It was their first moment alone since arriving at the oases and she paused to kiss him on the lips, her arms entwining round his neck with unexpected passion. ‘You are a brave man,’ she whispered. ‘And a clever man. And I love you.’
Chapter Sixteen – ‘So what do we do?’
Caid Farrachi’s private garden reminded Grant of Granada’s Alhambra, of the Generaliffe where jets of spouting water play over man-made streams banked with flowers and myrtle hedges. A kiosk of cement inlaid with yellow and blue tiles heightened the Moorish influence, while tame birds either strutted in the shade or splashed under spray, relieving the severity of a long gable, unbroken by any window, which ran along the full length of one side.
A thick carpet had been spread just outside the kiosk, but still in the shade, and a low table was set with fruit, honey-cake and pastries, cubes of nougat and a plate of thinly cut bread. A jug of tea simmered on a charcoal pot and there was a bowl of coarse sugar, refined locally, as Grant had discovered on the previous evening.
‘Will you be happy here?’ The girl was unusually reserved.
‘Forget it,’ snapped Grant. ‘What about my having tried to swindle you? And when did you find that my name was David?’
She smiled slightly. ‘A French magazine in Las Palmas had a good picture of Dr. David Grant with a girlfriend. So I got someone to translate and the article said that David Grant had been killed in Paris. It described his adventurous life and his friendship with a beautiful ballerina. And there was a picture of them both coming out of the Paris Opera House.’
That had been one of several dangers. Maya had become news and although it was part of his training never to give photographs he remembered how they had been caught napping going into his car that day. ‘So,’ he whispered softly, ‘that was why you were so unkind over dinner. You thought I was looking for a pick-up. But when you remembered that story you changed your mind and decided to find out what I was after.’ Photographs had let him down twice on this trip. It was a bad record.
Her eyes glowed with affection. ‘I fell in love with you when we were both thinking about gypsies. But after our first night together I became crazy about you.’
‘Why?’ he asked, laying his hand against her cheek and throbbing to the firmness of breasts taut against his leg.
She shivered and gently nibbled his finger. ‘I think because I saw that you were dangerous.’
She wriggled and again bit a knuckle. ‘I am jealous of every woman who has known you.’ Her voice hardened and she almost spat out the words. ‘I hate the girl you slept with in Paris, that woman my uncle thrashed.’ She drew her knees beneath her chin, clasping her ankles with fingers which trembled with rage. ‘I would just do almost anything for half an hour with her alone.’
‘Shall I tell you something?’ Grant knew that he would have to work fast. ‘Both Jacqueline and the Chinaman are lying. China hasn’t got half of the money which they have promised for that rock. If they scraped the bottom of the barrel they still couldn’t pay it without beggaring themselves.’
‘David.’ The girl seemed very far away. ‘Did she love you very well? Did she make you happy?’
He nodded. ‘She pleased me very much.’
‘But she didn’t love you. And she only did it to deceive you.’
‘So we’ve found out,’ said Grant dryly. ‘But she was clever and if you want to get the better of her the best thing we can do is upset their plans for swindling your family.’
‘Well, if she could please you so much without loving you, surely I can please you even more when I love you so much that it hurts even to talk about it.’ The girl’s thoughts were far away.
‘Then let’s not talk about it,’ whispered Grant. ‘Instead let’s eat and I’ll tell you a little about why these Chinese people want your rock and why I think they are lying when they say they will pay so much. After that you may find a way to annoy the Chinese girl.’
Miss Turquoise forced a smile. ‘Perhaps it would be better. Because if we talk about ourselves I’ll want you so much that I shall die.’ She lifted a banana and slowly began to peel off the skin. ‘We shall be matter-of-fact and you will tell me about China. And the girl,’ she added coldly.
‘And you will listen?’
‘This time I shall listen.’
Grant had a flair for potting news. Communism had failed to change human nature. Under the Czars many Russians had eaten no bread. Under Lenin they had occasionally been able to buy bread and during the later days of Stalin everyone had had enough bread, but under Mr. Khrushchev there were now plenty of nourishing sandwiches. From the blood of many millions Russia had created a way of living which was drawing nearer to the West and she was slowly directing her people towards a state socialism diluted by some expanding private enterprise.
But further away from China.
The Chinese had sometimes been unlucky. And, of course, their revolution was only a few years old. But even allowing for floods which had ruined crops and upset planning programmes China was still backward. Worse than the Soviets had ever been and little better than under the emperors. Even so, the government had been bitten by the Space Bug and wanted machines to ‘show face’. They had actually gone far enough for experts to be certain that some sort of rocket would be launched quite soon.
But one thing was absolutely certain. China couldn’t possibly pay hundreds of millions of dollars to anyone for anything, though it was true that she would lean backwards to block any sort of progress by her rivals. She might even throw out a bait of a million dollars to deceive a man who knew little about the outside world. But nothing would come of it. Not a dollar more would ever be paid to the bank in Tangier and they might be lucky to keep even the million that was there. In fact what proof did they have that anything had been banked at all? A scrap of paper, a receipt brought by Ling Tao himself. Anyone could steal official paper or scrawl
a signature and in this case it didn’t even need to be a forgery. What real proof was there that it meant anything?
And this business about Force X!
The more he thought about it, the more fishy the whole thing became.
Zero would never lose on a deal like that. Which meant that if Ling Tao’s story was true China had paid twice. Once for the tape-recordings, and once for the metal. It wasn’t possible.
And the girl could never have fixed these instruments in his flat.
But, if not, who else?
Ling! Could he and he alone be the double agent?
If so he could never afford to say so. No member of the organization would ever admit it in public or Force X would get him in the end.
But he could blame anything on a girl who was his own trained creature.
Which would make Ling a liar!
But why lie?
There could be only one answer.
He must be Zero’s man.
Ling the double agent.
Using Pekin to help Force X and not the other way about.
But if so where was Zero? His account with Grant had still to be squared. Was he at the aircraft? Or hiding on the oases?
His thoughts were running riot.
Where was the evidence for half of them?
Would Zero come to a godawful place like this?
He paused. He might too, at that.
He saw that the girl was staring at him and pulled himself back to stark reality. Convincing her that the whole set-up stank of highway robbery was enough on one plate for any man. To sell the story well enough to make her persuade the Mr. Big who mattered was even more.
In the end everything for the next twelve hours must depend on Uncle.
Uncle who liked money and hated Americans.
Speaking with deliberate emphasis he made his last point. Arrangements had been made for more Chinese to land and cut up the rock. What would happen if they arrived packed with soldiers who could take over the oases at gun-point?
Miss Turquoise Page 16
