“Have you ever seen him?”
“Yes. When Rosa was in the club, he came every night.”
“What does he look like?”
“He is a Portuguese: fat with a moustache.”
Malik stiffened.
“A Portuguese. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Malik got to his feet.
“You can go,” he said and crossed over to the steel safe that stood against the far wall.
Dieng looked helplessly at Ivan who waved him away. When he had gone, Ivan said, “What is it?”
Malik had opened the safe and now took from it a bulky folder. He carried the folder to the desk and sat down.
Ivan shrugged and poured himself a stiff drink of vodka.
“Something I remember reading in Carey’s dossier,” Malik said, going through the mass of papers in the folder.
Ivan drank the vodka and refilled his glass. He waited indifferently for some twenty minutes while Malik continued to read through the papers. Then Malik suddenly slapped the desk.
“Here it is!” he exclaimed. “In 1925, Carey worked as an engineer in an ice producing plant in Dakar owned by Enrico Fantaz, a Portuguese. The two men shared the same house in Dakar.” He looked at Ivan. “This Fantaz could be the man who financed Rosa’s trip to Paris. He could also know where Carey is hiding!”
“It is a long time ago. Is he still in Dakar?” Ivan asked.
Malik searched for the telephone book which he found under a pile of old newspapers. After checking, he said, “He’s not in the book.” He checked again. “But the ice plant is. Tomorrow we will go to Dakar and make inquiries.” He stared at Ivan, his face a little flushed, his mouth a cruel line. “This could be the beginning of the end of Carey.”
Janine came slowly awake from a relaxed, perfect sleep. She opened her eyes and flinched at the bright sunlight that made a warm pattern on the tiled floor. Then she lifted her arm and looked at the tiny watch on her wrist. It was two minutes after seven.
She turned her head and regarded Girland, lying by her side. He was sleeping, and she studied him, her eyes examining every feature of his face wondering what he really looked like under this obviously expert disguise. As if aware that someone was watching him, he moved uneasily, reached out and slid his arm around her, pulling her to him.
Janine relaxed against him, her hand resting lightly on his naked chest.
She had known many lovers in her life. Men were necessary to her. The physical act of love at intervals was as essential to her as food. But so often she had been disappointed. She had grown cynical of the selfishness of men. They took what they wanted without thought of her, leaving her more often than not unsatisfied and frustrated, but not Girland.
No other man she had known had made love to her the way Girland had last night. He seemed to know the exact tempo at which to raise her desires, how to stimulate her passion and to bring the act to a momentous dual climax. It had been a shattering magnificent experience, Janine thought, leaving her drained of energy, but satisfied and fusing her body with well being. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.
This experience she wanted again. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing something so unique, and not for the first time since she had begun to work for Dorey and later for the Russians she bitterly regretted getting involved in this dangerous and one-sided game.
It was not as if she needed the money. What she had told Girland was true. Her father, who had made a fortune on the Bourse, had left her well provided for. But she had been bored with her clothes, her money and the endless hours of nothing to do.
She had met John Dorey at a dinner party and she had liked him. During the conversation they had together, it came out that Janine had many important contacts. She was rich and popular. She was continually at the various foreign Embassies, attending dinners and cocktail parties. The fact that her mother was American, the fact that she was wealthy and beautiful and gay, gave her an entrée wherever she wanted to go.
A few days later, Dorey had invited her to dinner.
“I want to talk to you,” he had said. “There is something I might offer you if you are really as bored as you say you are.”
How eagerly she had agreed to work for him. She had little to do but circulate, listen to gossip, rumours, and to the know-alls, and send in weekly reports. It had been amusing for the first year, and then she began to get bored again. She wanted excitement, even danger, but Dorey would give her no important assignment. She was more useful doing what she did, he told her.
Then one afternoon she had a call from a man who said his name was Dupont. She had met him on a bâteau mouche one evening and they had sat side by side as the boat took them along the Seine and he had talked softly in guttural French: a lean, dark man with deep set eyes and high cheekbones. He seemed to know all about her. That she was bored was a pity, he said. Unless she did something out of the ordinary, Dorey would never promote her. Had she hostile feelings towards the Soviet Union?
Janine had no hostile feelings against any nation. She gathered information about Russia since Dorey needed it. No, she would have no objection to gather information about America if the Russians could use her. Why not? She was in this business for the fun of it and after all, France was her country. Perhaps the Russians could make better use of her talents. Could they?
And so, as the years moved by, Janine became more expert, more professional and more involved. It was Dupont who had given her the information with which she had exposed Nayland and Bronson. It had been cleverly arranged and Dorey was completely deceived. He sincerely believed that it was Janine’s cleverness and patient work that had exposed these two traitors: men who were no longer of any value to the Russians.
This began a new career for Janine. She now became Dorey’s top woman agent, and this was when the Russians began to put on pressure. They gave her assignments instead of accepting the scraps of information she had previously given them: dangerous and difficult assignments. She only refused once to do this kind of work.
Dupont had stared fixedly at her.
“Your safety is in our hands, Mademoiselle,” he had said. “Remember Nayland and Bronson: they too were double agents.”
So the fun and the excitement exploded in her face. This was now no longer a game. It was for real as O’Halloran had once said. She was trapped and there was no wriggling out.
The shrill note of the telephone interrupted her thoughts.
Girland was sleeping on the side of the bed where the telephone stood on the night table. As he began to stir, she hurriedly lay flat across him, pinning him down and snatched up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“My place at nine,” Malik said.
“But it’s too early,” Janine wailed. “I can’t.”
“At nine,” Malik repeated and hung up.
Girland, awake, ran his hand slowly down Janine’s long back. She rolled off him, sitting up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.
“Oh, damn!” she said. “I had forgotten. That was Hilda … my friend. We had arranged to go for a car drive. I have to meet her at nine.”
“Does she sing baritone in the choir?” Girland asked, lacing his fingers behind his head and smiling at her. “You know something? I thought Hilda sounded like a man.”
“Well, she isn’t! She just happens to have a cold.”
“Poor Hilda.” Girland suddenly reached out and took Janine in his arms. “Good morning, you beautiful, wonderful thing,” and he began to kiss her eyes very gently so that she shivered and clung to him. His lips moved to her neck and she suddenly shook her head, and tried to push him away.
“You mustn’t, darling. I’ve got to get up. You must go, really, John … no … oh, darling, please …”
His lips closed on hers and she suddenly relaxed, sighing, as she felt the desire in her catching fire. Her arms tightened around him, her fingers feeling the hard muscles of his back.
Later, they lay
side by side, looking at each other.
“Oh, it’s so good with you,” Janine said, lightly touching his face. “Nothing like this has happened to me before.”
Girland smiled.
“I’m glad … me too.” He sat up and looked at his watch. “It’s nearly eight. I’d better get back to my room.” She watched him slide out of bed and walk to where he had left his wrap.
“Tonight, John? Will you be with me again tonight?”
“Of course. I don’t know what’s happening today. But sometime tonight, I’ll be here. If I can, I’ll look for you at lunch time on the beach.”
When he had gone, she reluctantly got up and went into the bathroom. At twenty to nine, she went down to the reception lobby and then out onto the hotel terrace. She saw the black Cadillac, waiting. The tall African, his red fez at a jaunty angle, was chewing a strip of bamboo. She went down to him and he opened the car door, smiling broadly at her, giving her a little bow.
The drive to the bungalow took some twenty minutes, and during this time, she wondered what Malik wanted. She felt nervous and ill at ease. She would have been still more nervous if she had known that Jack Kerman who had driven out to the hotel and had arrived at half past eight had seen her get into the Cadillac. He hesitated about following her, but decided it would be too dangerous. Janine was a professional. She would quickly know that she was being followed. He was content to take the licence number of the car, and then getting into his hired Simca, he drove rapidly back to Dakar.
The Cadillac pulled up outside the bungalow and leaving the car, Janine walked up the steps and into the lobby.
Malik was waiting for her. They walked together into the main room.
“Where was Girland last night?” Malik asked, sitting down. “Did he tell you?”
“He said he spent the evening with business men drinking and talking,” Janine said.
“He spent the evening at the Florida nightclub with a coloured woman who is a friend of Madame Foucher,” Malik said. “You see? Do you need further proof that this man is not only Girland but is now working for Radnitz?”
Feeling cold, Janine said nothing.
“I have news,” Malik went on. “It is now unnecessary for you to sleep with Girland tonight as arranged. I am almost certain we can find Carey without him. I shall know in a few minutes.”
Janine looked sharply at him. “What has happened then?”
“I am sure Carey must have a contact here. I am sure too Girland is also trying to find this contact. It will be through the contact that he will find Carey. I am now pretty sure who the contact is: a man called Enrico Fantaz. Years ago Carey and he were friends. He …” He paused as Ivan came in. “Well?”
“Fantaz retired from the ice factory last year,” Ivan said, looking at Janine, then looking away. “He now lives on L’Ile de Gorée, a small island three kilometres from the port of Dakar. The name of his villa is Mon Repose.”
“How do you get to this island?”
“There is a regular ferry service. It takes only thirty-five minutes to get there,” Ivan said and drawing up a chair, he sat down, his small sensual eyes going to Janine’s legs.
“We will go there this morning,” Malik said.
“Not both of us,” Ivan said. “One of us. This may not be the man we want. It is unwise we should be seen together. I will go. I will take with me four good men. It is unlikely he will be willing to tell us what we want to know. It’ll be a matter of persuasion.”
“Yes. All right, Ivan, you go then.” Malik looked at his watch. “When does the boat leave?”
“I’ll take the eleven-thirty boat. I haven’t time to catch the ten o’clock.” He got to his feet, dragging his eyes away from Janine. “We could have found some luck at last.”
When he had gone, Malik said, “If this man tells us where Carey is hiding, then we will get rid of Girland. You will suggest to Girland you both go for a drive. You will bring him here. Tell him it is where your girl friend lives. It’ll be a very simple matter then to get rid of him.”
Janine felt a cold clutch of fear at her heart.
“I’ll do what I can,” she said and stood up.
Malik looked at her, his green eyes probing, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“And Kerman?” Malik asked. “Last night when you telephoned you seemed to think he was suspicious of you.”
“Yes, but I may have been mistaken,” Janine said, opening and shutting her handbag nervously. “He asked so many questions. I told you. He is dangerous.”
Malik’s thin lips twisted into a smile.
“So am I. One thing at a time. First, we get rid of Girland, then Kerman. The vultures can look forward to a feast.”
Back at the hotel, Girland had a leisurely breakfast, and then went out onto the balcony to consider what he would do with himself that day.
First, he thought about Janine. She was a remarkable woman, but he was a little uneasy about her. The look she had given him just before he left her warned him she might be falling in love with him. That wouldn’t do. Girland had no intention of getting too involved with any woman. To him the act of love was a mutual appreciation of the senses. There had been times when women had become possessive and difficult, but the majority of them were content to give themselves to him for an hour’s enjoyment, sensing that he was never to be captured.
Impatiently, he switched his mind away from Janine and instead, he thought of Radnitz. This was the third morning since his arrival and Radnitz would be getting impatient. It was too dangerous to put a call through to Paris. Maybe he had better send a cable. If he sent it from the Dakar Post Office it could not be traced. Then there was Rosa’s father. Girland wondered if he would get any information from this man. He doubted it. Seeing him could do more harm than good. But what other lead had he? There was Awa, of course. She might find out who this mysterious Enrico was. Perhaps he had better wait another day just in case she did come up with something.
Just after ten, as he was deciding to go down to the beach, the telephone bell rang. Wondering who it could be, he picked up the receiver.
“A call for you, sir,” the operator told him. “Hold on a minute, please.”
He heard clicking on the line, then Awa’s sing-song voice.
“Mr. John? Is that you?” She sounded excited.
“That’s right. It’s Awa, isn’t it?”
He heard her giggle.
“I found him like I said I would, Mr. John. I know where he lives.”
“You mean our Portuguese friend?”
“Yes. I got talking to the girls last night and one of them said her boy friend knew him. So I went on my bicycle this morning and he told me. I had to give him a hundred francs, Mr. John.”
“That’s all right. I’ll let you have it back. Who is he and where is he?”
“I will take you to him.” The telephone exploded into excited giggles. “Then you can give me the money you promised me.”
“All right, but when?”
“Can you come now?”
“Yes, but where?”
“Meet me at the railway station. I am phoning from there. I’ll wait for you. You’ll have the money you promised me with you, won’t you, Mr. John?”
“I’ll have it. See you in half an hour.” He hung up. For a moment he stood thinking, then he unlocked the closet and took out his suitcase. He opened the false bottom and took out the .45 automatic. From another pocket in the case, he took a short, efficient looking silencer. He checked the gun to see it was loaded, then he buckled on the holster and adjusted the gun. He put on his jacket and examined himself in the mirror. The gun made a slight bulge under the thin coat, but it wasn’t too obvious that he was armed.
He looked in his wallet to make sure he had enough money, then leaving his room, he hurried down the corridor towards the lift.
Jack Kerman pulled up outside the American Embassy, parked his car and entered the building. He asked the doorman for Lieutenant
Ambler who was Captain O’Halloran’s opposite number in Dakar.
Five minutes later, Kerman was seated before a big desk.
Ambler was a powerfully built, youngish man with an alert, clean-shaven face. His steady grey eyes regarded Kerman’s crumpled suit, his dusty shoes, his string of a necktie with disapproval.
“Yes, we know about you,” Ambler said. “We had a cable from Dorey. What can I do for you?”
“I want to know who owns a car with this licence number,” Kerman said, laying a scrap of paper on the desk. “Can you fix that for me?”
“Oh, sure.” Ambler reached for the telephone. He asked to be connected with Police Headquarters. He spoke to someone, held on while he lit a cigarette, then said, “Fine. Thanks. Yes, I’ve got it,” and hung up. To Kerman: “It’s a hire car rented from the Lotus Car Agency.”
“Can you find out who rented it?”
“Yeah. These people know us.” Again Ambler reached for the telephone. After a short conversation, he said, “Thanks. What? Oh, no; it’s just routine,” and replaced the receiver. “The car was hired for a month by Wilhelm Jenson, a Danish tourist. He’s staying at a furnished villa just outside Rufisque.”
“Jenson … a Dane?”
“Yeah. He had a Danish passport.”
“Would you know where this furnished villa is?”
Ambler got to his feet and crossed over to a large scale map of Dakar and district that was pinned to the wall.
Kerman joined him.
“There it is,” Ambler said and pointed. “About twenty kilometres the other side of Rufisque, up this lane.”
Kerman returned to his chair.
“You get any fresh dope on this woman Rosa?”
“Nothing new. All we were able to find out about her is she worked at the Florida Club.”
“Yep … Dorey told me.” Kerman paused, then went on. “Any Russians arrived recently?”
Ambler looked sharply at him.
“Not as far as we know. Why?”
“Just got the idea the Russians might be interested in this thing. I could be wrong. Janine Daulnay been to see you yet?”
This is For Real Page 13
