Die Rich Die Happy c-2

by James Munro

  "He didn't die," said Craig.

  "You will finish him then?" Craig shook his head. "You are a very strange man."

  "I he no more than other men, and I keep my bargains."

  "Yes," she said. "I believe that now."

  "There are many Englishmen who do the same," said

  Craig.

  That I believe also."

  "Come to England with us then," said Craig. The girl hesitated, then slowly, reluctantly, shook her head. "First I must speak with my father," she said. "But how can you do that?"

  "In an airplane. You must put me on an airplane to Aden. After that it will be easy."

  "Aden has British troops."

  "I do not fear them," she said.

  Craig turned to Naxos. "We'd better go," he said. "Athens first. Put Selina on an Aden flight. Then London."

  "What about him?" said Naxos, and gestured at Dyton-Blease.

  "See if there's a doctor on the island," said Craig. "He'll need a doctor—for a long, long time." He pushed himself forward, moving slowly now, for he was near exhaustion, and the ache had come back to his neck. Pia went to him at once, holding his hand tight in hers. Craig grinned at her.

  "I told you," he said. "There's always a chance."

  They would go back to the ship now, and he would talk to Andrews.

  ««4

  But Andrews had gone. One of Dyton-Blease's boats was missing too, and a great deal of Naxos's money. Grierson found that out when he talked to the captain. Then he went to Craig's cabin to report. Craig had just bathed, and was now in front of a mirror, slowly, luxuriously shaving, the bruise on his neck an exotic purple against the hard brown of his skin. On the bed, Pia lay watching him, a sheet pulled casually across her body, settling lightly on its rich and rounded contours. Grierson tried not to look too closely, and failed.

  "Come in," said Craig. "Have a drink." Pia pouted. Craig saw her expression in the mirror. "He's a friend of mine," he said. "He saves my life from time to time."

  Pia smiled enchantingly, and reached a smooth-rounded arm out toward an ice bucket. The sheet started to slip, and Grierson willed himself not to look.

  "This is business," he said.

  "Andrews?"

  "He's scarpered," said Grierson. "Vanished. There's money gone too."

  Craig rubbed aftershave lotion on his face, then turned to take the glass that Pia held out to him. There was a glass for Grierson too, with not nearly so much champagne in it. Craig grinned, and handed it to Grierson.

  T wonder who hired Andrews?" he mused.

  Pia's fingers dug into his thigh, and he sat beside her, rubbed her scented shoulder. Grierson gulped down his champagne, and put down the glass.

  "Well, I really must trot along," he said.

  "Must you?" Craig was looking at the girl's mouth. She was shaping words in Italian that made him forget Andrews, Loomis, even the ache in his neck.

  "I'm afraid I must," said Grierson.

  "Cheerioh then," said Craig. "Please don't bang the—"

  Grierson banged the door.

  · « ·

  In Athens, Craig took a subdued Selina to the airport in Naxos's Mercedes, but he noticed that she wore European clothes with a chic elegance that was quite new. On the drive from Piraeus she spoke for the first time about the fight with Dyton-Blease, and how she had come to realize that the big man had lied to her when it was too late, and how she had used the fight to think and scheme her way out, back to her father. And then Craig had won, and it had not been necessary to find a way of killing the big man.

  "You think you could have killed him?" Craig asked.

  "Oh yes," she said. "My brothers taught me the way." She was perfectly serious.

  "Selina," Craig said. "Who was the man in your country who told you about the British?"

  I'm sorry," she said. "I promised my father I wouldn't

  tell."

  "What's Dyton-Blease's first name? Is it Bernard?"

  Tf you know," said Selina, looking straight ahead. "Why do you ask?"

  The car reached the airport, and, because it was Naxos's car, drove straight out to the waiting plane. Craig and Selina got out, and she shook hands with him, very seriously.

  Take care, Craig," she said. "I want very much to see you again."

  But the air hostess looked nervous, the engines began their first whining scream, and she turned to run up the steps. Craig would have liked to have gone after her, to wish her luck, but it was too late. He turned back to the car. A slim, dapper man in a tourist seat, a man with the face of an English aristocrat, lowered the "Instructions to Passengers" pamphlet he had held in front of his face. The airplane taxied to the runway.

  a a b

  Loomis said: "You haven't done badly so far."

  Craig and Grierson waited. There was bound to be more to it than that.

  "You missed Andrews, of course, but you got rid of Dyton-Blease very nicely, and you persuaded Naxos to come here. All on the credit side. On the other hand you"—he stared at Grierson—"very nearly got arrested for murder, and you"—the stare intensified on Craig—"left Dyton-Blease alive. That's one loose end too many."

  Craig said: "When I hit him, I thought he had to die.

  I thought it was inevitable. He must be built out of rock."

  Tt runs in the family," said Loomis. "I used to be that way myself."

  "He's a relative of yours?"

  "Not really," Loomis said. "A seventh cousin nine times removed, or something. But it's in his blood the same as it was in mine. Strength and viciousness and the need to fight. He tried to join Intelligence once—not that he knew I was in it. I turned him down. Knew too much about him, d'you see? It would have been better if you'd finished him, Craig."

  "I couldn't," Craig said. "Not when the fight was over." Loomis left it at once.

  "That leaves Swyven and this Count de Tavel feller. The little yellow brothers did a conversion job on him in Indochina. And this Trottia."

  "They'll be in Venice," Grierson said.

  'Then I'll have to get 'em out," said Loomis. "One of 'em anyway. Find out what they're up to. You better leave that bit to me." He glowered at Craig. "There's this Busoni person too," he said. "You reckon she's clean?"

  Craig said: "Yes." The word was a hard, flat barrier to further discussion. Loomis bashed straight through it.

  "Because if she isn't, she's a damn sight too close to you," he said. 'The way you go on, Craig, it's a wonder you can stand up."

  "She's clean," said Craig. "She was too scared to be anything else."

  "Scared of what?"

  "Being killed," said Craig. "And me being killed. Lay off her."

  Loomis shrugged. "You know the score," he said. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

  "You could have warned me about Andrews too," Craig said. "Just to make a job of it. Who got him for us, anyway?"

  "M.I.5 chap in Aden found him. Distressed British Subject and all that. He passed on some very juicy stuff— small, but promising."

  "Where from?" Grierson asked.

  "Russia," Loomis said. "He picked up a ship in Odessa in 1962. Took it over to China for demolition. He kept his eyes and ears open. The stuff was good. M.I.5 thought they might use him. They signed him up and sent him on to us when I was away in Greece. I've had a word with them about that. All they can say is I keep on telling them I'm shorthanded. Nobody's that shorthanded, not even us. They should have known he was too good to be a new boy."

  "Did he get any Chinese stuff?" Craig asked.

  "No," said Loomis. "He said their security was too

  good."

  "How did he get to Aden?" Grierson asked.

  "Jumped ship. He was mixed up in dope smuggling. M.I.5 checked. It was true enough. They thought that meant they had him on ice." Loomis laughed, a short, crazy bark like that of an impassioned sea lion's.

  "Dope from China?" Craig asked, and Loomis nodded. 'The Zaarb lot are being backed by China."

  "Go
on," said Loomis.

  "I think it's possible Andrews could be Schiebel." 'That's crazy," Grierson said.

  Loomis said: "I don't think it is. There's too much that fits, and it's all too bloody neat."

  'There's another thing you'd better know," Craig said. 'The man who went out to the Haram and told Selina's father what lying bastards the British were—that was Dyton-Blease."

  "You're sure?" asked Loomis. Craig nodded.

  "Selina told me herself. At least I tricked it out of her."

  "What made you think of him?" Loomis asked.

  "He fitted. Big man, big warrior. And she had a way of looking at fiim. When we had that first fight and he beat the hell out of me, she knew it was going to happen. She knew exactiy how he worked."

  Loomis beamed indulgently at him and slapped him on the back.

  "You know, Craig, you're not just a pretty face after all," he said.

  a a a

  Selina never reached her father. Schiebel picked her up before she had passed through Zaarb. It was easy enough for him. He could call up all the talent he needed, and the police were trained not to look, even if there was any noise. They even provided Schiebel with killers. Selina picked up her two servants in Aden, and rode across the frontier without trouble. Schiebel followed, and found his private army wait-

  ing for him in Zaarb's capital, Port Sufi. Selina had ordered a suite of rooms in Port Sufi's one decent hotel, which was packed with oilmen, and Albanian attaches with the shoulders and manners of underprivileged wrestlers, and Chinese technical advisers who always traveled in pairs and carried handguns that were a Chinese imitation of a Czechoslovak .32.

  Schiebel's men attacked Selina's suite at 12:30, while the Albanians and Chinese snored in stolid obedience. By 12:33 both Selina's servants and one of Schiebel's men were dead, another dying from the knife Selina had used—until Schiebel took it from her, and struck her hard across the mouth, left and right. Her eyes never left him, never ceased to hate.

  I'm sorry about that, princess," Schiebel said, "but these oafs were really fond of the man. I can't think why."

  The Arab who held Selina passed his hands over her body, and spoke to his friends. They nodded, and a stubby finger hooked into the neck of her gown, pulled and ripped to reveal her olive-gold body. The hand moved again to enjoy the firm young flesh, and Schiebel shook his head. The hand at once was still.

  "These men are boors," said Schiebel. "They propose to—how shall I put it?—enjoy you beside the bodies of their friends, and yours. They seem to find it appropriate in some way."

  "I can't stop them," said Selina.

  "No. Only I can do that. The experience might be good for you—in my terms, that is. It might teach you submission. On the other hand, it might make you even more determined to kill me."

  T doubt that," Selina said.

  "In any case," said Schiebel, "I think I might save that pleasure for myself." He pushed the gown aside, let it fall back. "When we have more time of course."

  "It would be better if you killed me now. It's the only chance you've got."

  "No," said Schiebel. T have many chances. What do you suppose your father would do if he knew you were in this embarrassing predicament? I greatly fear he would come here to kill me, don't you?—which is exactly what these good people want." He nodded at the Arabs. "I want your help, princess. It will be better if you give it willingly, and keep your father out of this."

  He said in Arabic: "Let her go," and she was freed at once. She took up a patterned robe, and let it hang from her shoulders to cover her body.

  "What am I to do?" she asked.

  "I want you to come to England with me," said Schiebel, "so that I can keep an eye on you. You'll be returned to your father if you both behave."

  "Why England?"

  "I want Naxos back with us where he belongs," said Schiebel. "We need his vote, princess." And I need you for bait, he thought. Who else could draw Craig away?

  » Chapter 17 *

  Craig rested, and spent time with Pia in his flat in Regent's Park. Naxos stayed in a nursing home that Loomis provided for Sir Matthew Chinn. Naxos worried about his wife, and Loomis brooded about luring Swyven back out of Venice. Grierson devoted his life to finding out about Swyven, and always it came back to the same thing: at prep school, public school, and university, in his six weeks in the army and six months in the Foreign Office, his travels in Arabia and tantrums in dress shops, to one principle he held true. Swyven loved his mommy, and nobody else. Loomis frowned, and rang up Sir Matthew, and frowned again, and sent Grierson away, and brooded again, and told Miss Figgis what to do about Craig.

  Craig was teaching Pia how to speak Greek and drink tea. She found both processes very funny, and laughed a great deal, and so did Craig. He looked alert and fit, and ten years younger than on his return from Greece. He also looked very slightly restless, and Pia had seen this already, and was worried by it. When the phone rang, she scooped it up at once, said "Just a moment, please," and handed it to Craig.

  "There is a woman called Figgis to speak to you," she said, and frowned. "She does not sound like a Figgis."

  "Who?" said Craig, and took the phone. "Craig here." he listened to the sultry purr and said: "Yes. Of course. Where is it? Now? Okay." He put the phone down. "I've got to see Fhp Naxos," he said.

  "Blondes," said Pia. She said it the way Rommel might have said "Montgomery."

  "She's ill," said Craig. "In a nursing home."

  "Okay," said Pia. "I'll come with you."

  "No," said Craig. "You can't, love. This is business." He thought hard. "Look," he said, "why don't you give Grierson a ring? He knows a lot of theater people. Tell him I said he should show you around."

  "Are you getting rid of me?" she asked.

  T have a job to do," he said, and kissed her. T don't want you just to sit around and get bored."

  He kissed her again, put on his jacket, and was gone. Pia stared at the door, and didn't doubt for a moment that her time with Craig was at an end, yet she remained dry-eyed. To weep would have been an impossible self-indulgence. She dialed Grierson's number instead.

  » « »

  Sir Matthew said: "She's talked about you rather a lot. She thinks she owes you an apology, and she wants to make it now."

  "It isn't necessary," Craig said.

  "I've no doubt," said Sir Matthew, "but she thinks it is, and I'm prepared to indulge that. The withdrawal symptoms from heroin can be quite appalling. From time to time she thinks she is going to die—not in any melodramatic sense, you understand. She genuinely beheves it."

  "Is she like that now?" said Craig.

  "No," Sir Matthew said. "At the moment I have her sedated. But I can't do that all the time. Her only real hope is psychotherapy, but she has to rest from that from time to time. She's led a very odd life. You know about that?" Craig nodded. "The oddest thing is she still wants it."

  Craig said: "Are you going to cure her?"

  I'm going to have to," Sir Matthew said. 'Tour friend Loomis insists on it. Come on."

  Craig had expected a bed, and a white-faced, writhing figure in a hospital gown. Instead he saw Philippa in a cherry-pink dress, in a flounced and chintzy room that belonged to a thirties drawing-room comedy. She sat on a sofa, her feet tucked up beneath her, and sipped tea from a Spode cup. Her color was delicate and beautiful, and her impossibly golden hair gleamed. Only her eyes looked dark and shadowed. "John, my dear," she said. "Come in. Have some tea or a drink or something."

  Craig went to a drinks trolley like a cinema organ, and mixed Scotch and ginger ale.

  "Come and sit beside me," said Fhp, and Craig moved toward her.

  Sir Matthew sat, neatly, precisely, in a chair nearby, and produced a notebook.

  "Just talk quite naturally," he said. "Forget I'm here."

  Fhp scowled at him, and turned her back; the procedure seemed a familiar one to both of them.

  "He's terrible really," said Fhp, "but I ha
ve to be nice to him. He means well."

  I'm sure he does," said Craig.

  "I had to see you, John," she said. "I've had so much on my mind and I've been ill—and I'm so mixed-up I don't know where to start."

  Craig sipped his Scotch.

  "You're deliberately prevaricating," Sir Matthew said. "You asked Mr. Craig here so that you could apologize. Why not do so?"

  "Oh you," said Fhp, and turned to Craig, touched his hand.

  "It's true though," she said. "I do want to apologize. I've done such dreadful things." "Surely not?" said Craig.

  "But you know I did. I had the steward give you that dreadful suntan oil—" She giggled. "It was so funny."

  Craig felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

  'Trottia got it for me. He said it would turn you bright blue, like one of your Ancient Britons or something. But you didn't use it, did you?"

  Craig shook his head. "Why did you want to do

  that?"

  "I didn't. Not really. But Nikki, the steward, said he couldn't get me any white stuff—heroin, you know—unless we got you out of the way first. He said you'd stop him. And I did need it so."

  "But your husband said he thought Nikki worked for me."

  "Harry can be pretty stupid sometimes," said Flip. "I guess he never looked at you properly. You never peddled dope in your life."

  "That's nothing to apologize for," Craig said. "It never happened."

  "There's something else as well," said Flip. "I knew that Harry was going to fool you at Venice. I should have told you about that. I know I should. I keep having these nightmares."

  'Tell us about them," Sir Matthew said.

  "I keep dreaming I'm in a room—like a big gym or something. You're there in your fancy dress costume, and so is Pia Busoni. And there are other people too. Harry, and an Arab girl who looks like a queen or something. And there's another man there, a big man. You had to fight him. He was a friend of Harry's, but Harry didn't like me to see him. He kept me out of the way. Except this one time."

  "And what happened? In the dream I mean."

  "I don't know. I couldn't look," said Flip.

  "I know," Craig said. "I won. I'm here, aren't I?"

  "Hey," said Flip. "Hey that's right. Oh, I feel awful." Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes.