‘Not much,’ said Michael, then broke into a broad grin. ‘Simply that the Valentine estate is yours on demand. You’re the one and only heir, you bloody gawk. Clive Valentine’s real name was Frederick Walker, and he was your father!’
9
So there never had been a marriage between the father and mother of Christopher Monte to be. Captain Frederick Walker of British Intelligence, tall, handsome; rakish, was definitely not the marrying kind. But still in the archives was a frantic letter to His Majesty’s wartime government from Miss Mary Shaw of Miami, explaining that a wedding had been promised, that under present circumstances it had to be arranged very soon, and asking Captain Walker’s address so that she could tell him this. Just that one letter with a terse note attached to it by some official – and possibly sympathetic – censor stating that its contents had been passed along to the party in question.
Added to which was the fact that on her newborn infant’s birth certificate, although she was already Mrs Victor Monte, the mother had entered Captain Walker’s name as father of the child, and had entered as well his cover address in Bermuda.
‘To cap it all,’ Michael said, ‘when you first hit the tennis limelight, Walker, who was then serving his time in Wormwood Scrubs, saw your picture in the papers and remarked to a warder that during the war he had fathered a child in Miami by a pretty little night club singer and had a feeling you were it. All the warders who dealt with him there had instructions to pass along anything of interest he said, and while that particular admission didn’t seem too relevant to Operation Cupid at the time we filed it anyhow. After his death, however, it suddenly became highly relevant. The warder’s deposition, your mother’s letter, and your birth certificate, Chancery told us, nicely established you as heir to the estate –’
He had dug up a bottle of Scotch by way of celebration, and, after pouring a generous dose into a tooth mug for Chris, was alternating between taking swigs from the bottle and clothing himself for the street.
‘I’m not much of a drinker really,’ he confessed. ‘No one in Operation Cupid is supposed to be a drinker, a doper, or passionately, sexual. Cold-bloodedly, yes, but not passionately. Anyhow, I think one of the most interesting aspects of this is that Walker, not Monte, was named on the birth certificate as your father. Knowing Italians pretty well, I’d say that this, along with the marriage itself, made Victor Monte rather an exceptional fellow. He was, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ said Chris and thought wonderingly of flat-footed, bad-tempered Papa Victor who had known all along about his adopted son’s bar sinister and never let it make any difference. ‘He was one hell of a good man.’ He took a long slug of Scotch in a silent toast to Papa Victor. ‘But who let the cat out of the bag?’ he asked. ‘How did Teodorescu and the rest of them find out about me after my father – after Walker died?’
‘Oh, that. Well, it seems that what he told the warder he also told his associates, because even while he was still very much alive they began to take a keen interest in you. Both Prendergast and Mookerjee, we learned through our mail cover, had asked press-clipping services to send them material about Christopher Monte, tennis star. They both knew Walker personally, and once they saw your pictures they must have been struck, as he was, by the uncanny resemblance between you two. Then they simply went to work and unearthed the same legal evidence of your parenthood we did.
‘Anyhow, after your father died intestate, leaving his fortune banked in the name of Frederick Walker, it was Prendergast, we believe, who sold the others a plan for getting hold of it. Not very original really, but a scheme that’s been used effectively more than once. All you need do is get some amenable girl to lure the victim into marrying her on one pretext or another, then you arrange his death in a contrived accident, and then you have the girl collect his estate as his widow. If the girl is a knowing partner to the conspiracy, she’s paid off with a piece of the estate. If she’s intended to be a victim also, you first make sure she wills her estate to you, then send her to the angels in her turn.
‘That, as we eventually determined, was your bride’s unwitting role. Am I right when I say you did make her your heir, while she made Prendergast hers?’
‘Yes,’ Chris said, ‘and I think you and your Operation Cupid stink. Knowing what you did, where did you come off to keep it from us? We could both have been killed before you got around to telling us about it.’
Michael did not seem the least put out by this. ‘I suppose you could, but from our point of view your vital function was to lead us, by whatever meandering route, to the gang’s number one man. Do you have any idea what racket they were engaged in?’
‘I’ve got more than an idea. They were counterfeiting money and shipping it all over the world in those books they put out.’
Michael looked momentarily startled, then nodded wisely. ‘So that explains the books and that knife on the floor when I walked in on you. You were going to dismember the books and see if you could lay your hands on some of the money to use as evidence against the gang.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then you were wasting your time, because the racket’s been closed down since Walker was in jail, for a long while, and counterfeiting money wasn’t its business anyhow.’
‘What was?’
‘Passports. Splendid, flawless facsimiles of the real thing as produced by almost any country you’d care to name, and worth far more than their weight in platinum. In your money, anywhere from five to ten thousand dollars each, depending on the prestige of the buyer and the nature of his business. An embezzler seeking a safe and happy clime might get a bargain rate. The head of some government’s large and prosperous espionage service which must continually supply its agents with false but convincing credentials would pay the premium rate. Passports share one thing in common with banknotes: they are uncommonly difficult to forge. Their paper, binding, type-faces – even the staples used on them – are not only unique to each country issuing them, but are additionally unique within the period of issuance. You can see what that means to a supplier able to promptly deliver absolutely guaranteed goods. That’s why that damn Society was a veritable passport mill for ten years. By our most conservative estimate, it was marketing between five hundred to a thousand false passports a year. Just a quick reckoning of its profits is enough to make your head swim.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Chris said, ‘but I don’t get it. I can see where a criminal wouldn’t care where he bought a passport like that, but when it comes to a country buying anything like that from an outfit in another country –’
‘Of course, but one of the neatest aspects of the racket was that no country knew it was importing the goods. Not for a long time anyhow, which is when the screams of rage were heard. The merchandise wasn’t shipped direct from the manufacturer. It was shipped to an agent of the Society who lived in the same country and held the same citizenship as the buyer. When the truth came out that the passport forging racket had become rather a monopoly centred here in London, there was panic on all fronts. I blush to admit it since I’m in a branch of espionage myself, but most espionage people tend to be rather solemn asses about their silly jobs. Every businessman today calmly accepts the fact that both he and his most bitter competitor are likely to be owned by the same monopoly, or, at the very least, that secret agreements about prices and such are quite in order between competitors. If the espionage chiefs involved had taken that tack, they would have simply set up their own sources of supply and let the matter drop right there. But since they are solemn asses and violently xenophobic into the bargain, they not only cut off all dealings with the Society, but set out to destroy it and make sure it has no rebirth. I’m letting you in on this for your own sake. Otherwise, you know just enough to arouse your curiosity, and if you were tempted to go around asking questions you’d be very badly hurt. You’re a nice chap really. I don’t see any necessity for your being hurt along with those who should be.’
‘Thanks,’ Chri
s said. ‘I wish I could say the same for you. And if you’re so damn objective and cynical about all this, what made you sign on for your job in the first place?’
‘The money. I couldn’t make near as much managing a fair-sized plant. What made you take a wife in the first place, Mr Monte?’
You couldn’t afford to serve a soft ball to this long-haired, pale-eyed, malevolently-smiling bastard, Chris thought. The return stung too hard when it caught you flush in the face.
‘Since you’re telling me so much,’ he said, ‘how about telling me why my shoes were searched both times I ran into your men? If that’s the way the passports were being delivered it seems a pretty easy job –’
‘No, don’t underestimate the opposition,’ Michael said. ‘You were right about one thing before. Counterfeiting wasn’t their business, but the books were their device for transporting what they did manufacture. A lovely device. Operation Cupid is totally hush-hush and a bit outside the law, of course. It wasn’t encouraged to call attention to itself by ripping apart highly moral books which were turned out almost as works of art. It would have been easy with dirty books or questionable literature, because then the customs and postal people would have had an excuse for cooperating with us. This way, they regarded us as dangerous nuisances. Worst of all, when Operation Cupid did take the chance on tearing apart one of the books now and then, nothing incriminating was found in it. Valentine was shrewd enough to use two dodges to keep us at bay. One was a code of some sort that would steer the real goods away from us; the other was a red herring dropped across the trail at intervals. We’d be tipped off to where we could lay hands on a courier transporting false passports, and the tip was always accurate. Four times in all we nabbed some poor devil who had such passports tucked away between shoe and sock, and it took a while to realize these were only shady, small-time yobs deliberately sacrificed to us. Anyhow before that discovery was made, it was written into our rule-book that the kind of search you underwent be made a standard order of procedure in dealing with anyone known to be a contact of the Society. In effect, you were a victim of bureaucracy. But if we could have come up with that code used in distributing the books –’
‘Except it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?’ Chris said. ‘Even so, didn’t you look at those index cards you took off me? The ones with the code on them?’
Michael had been buttoning his shirt, a bright green version of the orange-coloured velour. His fingers froze on the buttons. ‘You told me you used them for working out baseball pools.’
‘And you believed it?’ Chris said. He took pleasure in putting into it all the contempt he could. He had a feeling it was one of the few chances he’d ever get to pay back Operation Cupid in kind. ‘Even if you didn’t know I had swiped them from Prendergast, didn’t you or your people see that the initials on them match the ones you’d get from the Valentine Society’s book titles?’
‘But we never thought –’ Michael said, then shook his head angrily. ‘No, damn it, we should have at least done something about them. But we had word from an agent in Boston that you left them exposed to anyone’s view in your hotel room there, so we completely discounted their value. And according to your dossier, you do have a reputation as a heavy better on horses and so on. It made your explanation sound perfectly logical.’
He flung open a dresser drawer and handed Chris his passport, wallet, and papers. ‘Here, you’ll need these until you have your millions baled up and carted home. I’ll keep the cards, if you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t, but what good are they to you any more? You said The Valentine Society was finished off, didn’t you?’
‘No, I said it was closed down, which is quite different. It’s possible our patrol duty is the only thing which keeps it from opening up again. Certainly, the way it suddenly sprang to life and took concerted action to get hold of your father’s estate shows what it’s capable of. The feeling at H.Q. is that until Number One has been identified and rendered hors de combat we’ll have to stay on our very well-paid job. So far he hasn’t been. And his hungry cohorts are still very much intact.’
‘I know. I was wondering about that. Considering what you have on them, why are they?’
Michael slipped into his Carnaby Street jacket, ran his fingers through his hair, and was once again the familiar, transistor-carrying, curiously menacing Michael.
‘Let’s go down to your room,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you while you’re dressing. We really must move along. By now, my pal Castor’s let our superior know what’s happened here, and I’ll be expected to meet with the old duffer about it as soon as possible.’
He took sharp notice of Chris’s reaction as they walked past Baby’s door.
‘Did it hit you that hard?’ he asked. There was no sympathy in it, only a mild curiosity. ‘Don’t let it. An eye-fetching bird she was and all that, but a thorough-going bitch. After all, she was here to dig your grave, wasn’t she? Bit of a Lesbian too, I suspect. Did you get the whiff of it?’
‘No, I’m just not used to seeing people shot up, that’s all. Or the way you and your gang take it. What the hell are you all made of? Don’t you have any feelings?’
‘My dear fellow –’
‘Let’s skip the dear fellow. You’re not running for election in my precinct.’
‘Very well.’ Michael perched himself on the arm of Teodorescu’s massive lounging chair and watched Chris gather his scattered clothing together. ‘Then at the risk of forfeiting the goodwill of the only millionaire I am personally acquainted with, let me say, my dear chump, that you sound like something left over from a dead and buried generation. Surprising, too. You give the impression of being a bloody tough specimen when aroused, but when you’re faced with the bloody tough realities of our brave new world, you emerge as rather dewy-eyed, really. If your father had been like that he’d never have got into the business he did and flourished so lustily.’
‘How did he get into that business?’ Chris said.
‘Well, during the war, he was in Intelligence, and his job there had been to manufacture false documents for those who needed them in espionage or underground activities. That sort of work can have a bad effect on some people. Unless you’re extremely well-balanced, it gives you a rather distorted morality to take back into civilian life.’
‘What about the morality of Operation Cupid?’ Chris asked.
‘The lack of it, you mean. But there you are. If Walker hadn’t gone bad, Operation Cupid wouldn’t even have cause to exist. Our morality, or lack of it, is simply the answer to his. And if there were no guards demanding a show of passports at every border, Walker himself would never have reason to start his racket. You see? Given a whole monstrous chain of cause and effect, you can’t just put your finger on one small link in the middle of it and blame that one for the conditions that prevail. And as I’ve already demonstrated, one should always be bloody well careful about putting on moral airs. For example, now that you know where the money comes from, do you intend to renounce your inheritance?’
Chris slowly shook his head.
‘But there’s a difference,’ he said defensively. ‘I can’t exactly pinpoint it, but there is a difference.’
‘Or it’s important to believe there is, so you can spend the money with a clear conscience. Anyhow, compared to the wormy company he kept, Walker, at least, had a certain brash charm. The ones you’ve dealt with like Prendergast and Mookerjee and Teodorescu –’
‘Correction,’ Chris said.’ I’ve never even met Teodorescu.’
‘Of course you have. He was the imposing gent who showed up in Miami and gave such a convincing portrayal of Simon Warburton, solicitor.’
‘But that man was no Rumanian! He was British. I’ve never seen anybody more British.’
‘Because he is,’ Michael said. ‘True, beef-eating British. Good Lord, are you still on the other side of the looking-glass? Valentine was Frederick Walker. Teodorescu is Anthony Theodore Dancer. Sounds comical,
doesn’t it, Walker and Dancer, but it hasn’t got a smile from Operation Cupid for a long time. And Katia Danska is Katherine Dancer, Teodorescu’s sister. Her code name’s Medusa, by the way, which ought to give you the picture on the spot. She and Teodorescu were doing espionage for us in Mittel-Europa directly after the war, and they both went sour when temptation arose. Temptation, in this case, being a large sum offered for their help in routing some fugitive Nazi chieftains through to South America. Mookerjee was operating the South American end. Prendergast had served in your O.S.S. during the war and was apparently itching to put his professional training to profitable use in civilian life. And Henry Gardenhire, really a genius in his way although an incorrigible boozer, had been in Walker’s cadre in Intelligence doing the actual handiwork on the false documents. Behind them everywhere, of course, were various gangster and lumpen elements glad to be of service for the high price offered.
‘The only one who defied identification was Walker’s number one man, who is now number one of the whole organization in our book. When we caught up on Walker and let him see how much we knew about his racket, he himself discussed Number One quite freely as the man who had found the funds needed to set up the organization and who served as Walker’s adviser in its operation. He told us this almost as if challenging us to lay hands on the mystery man. He had a bloody mean sense of humour, your father did. He knew he had us stalemated and couldn’t resist jabbing the needle in to make us squirm.’
‘But if you had the goods on him –’
‘I know, I know, Mr Monte, but nations are not only xenophobic, paranoiac, and what have you, they are also delightfully sanctimonious. The condition on which Operation Cupid was founded and funded by nine different nations was that none of the State Department and Foreign Office and espionage bureau officials who had done business with The Valentine Society was ever to be exposed. It’s all right to buy your cannon at the same shop, you see, but not your false passports. Since Walker and his closest associates could blow the works wide open, it meant getting their cooperation in keeping the whole idiot business secret. So instead of a series of well-publicized trials for incompetence, followed by a series of government-rocking exposés and parliamentary crises around the world, it was agreed by all parties that Walker serve a short term in prison for some trumped-up offence and that his pals agree to keep their hands clean forever after, on their Boy Scout or Komsomol honour, as the case might be.
The Valentine Estate Page 24
