This is For Real

by James Hadley Chase

  A fat, cheerful looking African woman with a wrinkled face was pounding millet with a heavy wooden pole. Girland guessed she must be Momar’s wife. Two young African women peered at him from the shelter of one of the huts and then withdrew, giggling into the darkness.

  He found some shade and squatted down, watching Tessa walk over to the big hut and enter, Momar came over to him carrying a glass of orange squash that Girland accepted gratefully. There was a long pause. Girland kept waving away the flies, wondering how long he would have to remain in this hell-hole.

  After a ten minute wait, Tessa came to the entrance of the hut and beckoned to him. He got to his feet, aware of a feeling of growing excitement. Now at last, he thought as he joined her, he was to come face to face with Robert Henry Carey.

  “Go in,” she said quietly. “He is waiting for you.”

  He moved past her into the airless, sweltering hut. It was some moments before his eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting that filtered through the straw roof and he saw a man sitting on a low stretcher type of bed, an upturned wooden chest that served as a table before him.

  Girland paused, staring at the man. He was wearing a patched bush shirt that seemed too big for his bony frame and frayed, stained khaki trousers. His face was pale and almost skull-like in its thinness. The sunken eyes looked feverish, the mouth was a tightly drawn line, but Girland knew this shadow of a man was Carey. He remembered the photograph Rosa had shown him. During the short time since the photograph had been taken, Carey had lost a lot of flesh and looked much more ill.

  “Girland?” The voice was low and strengthless.

  “Yes.” Girland moved forward and held out his hand. “I came as fast as I could.”

  Bony, dry fingers touched his hand for a brief moment, then Carey let his hand drop limply back in his lap.

  “Sit down.”

  Girland looked around, found a small wooden stool and lowered himself carefully onto it.

  “I thought Rossland would be coming,” Carey said, his feverish eyes examining Girland.

  “Rossland’s dead,” Girland said. “I’ve taken his place.”

  “So Rossland’s dead.” Carey passed his bony fingers across his forehead. “Well, we all have to come to it. How did he die?”

  Girland was reluctant to mention Radnitz. He said quietly, “He was found strangled. No one knows who killed him.”

  Carey lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug.

  “I liked Rossland. He wasn’t clever and I didn’t ever trust him, but there was something about him that was likeable.” He looked up at Girland. “Rossland said you were his best man. You have a face of a man who can be trusted. I remember thinking that when I first met you. I believe in first impressions.”

  Girland moved uncomfortably. He didn’t say anything.

  “How did Dorey react when Rosa told him about me?”

  “He told me to come out here at once and make contact with you.”

  “Did he pay the girl the money? I told Enrico he wouldn’t. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money to Dorey. Did he really pay her?”

  “I don’t know,” Girland wasn’t going to involve himself in too many lies.

  “She is a shrewd girl for an African. He must have paid her otherwise she wouldn’t have told him about me.” “I guess so.”

  “Did you come back with her?”

  “I started to come back with her. She was shot dead at the airport.”

  Carey lowered his head and stared down at his hands. There was a long pause.

  “Rossland and then Rosa?” he said finally. “How is it Radnitz allowed you to come out here?”

  “Radnitz? Why bring him into this?” Girland asked, his voice sharpening.

  “There is no one else who would kill like that. Even the Russians wouldn’t have done it. Doesn’t Dorey know about Radnitz? Don’t you know?”

  “I hadn’t even heard of Radnitz a couple of weeks ago. Rossland mentioned him, but he didn’t go into details.”

  “What did Rossland say about him?” Carey suddenly looked up. There was an expression on his wasted face that made Girland think of an Impressionistic portrait of the Prophet he had seen in the window of a Paris art gallery.

  “He said something about Radnitz looking for you,” Girland said cautiously. “We were talking in a car and I was driving. I didn’t pay much attention.” He wondered uneasily how much longer he could go on lying convincingly. “Why is Radnitz looking for you?”

  “I did a deal with him: a Faust and the devil kind of deal,” Carey said. “Radnitz never trusts anyone. He is afraid I will blackmail him.”

  Girland thought of the deal he had made with Radnitz. “Could you take that further?” he said, “or isn’t it my business?”

  “For you to understand this thing, I must take it further. Five years ago, I was a successful agent working for the American government. Someone high up had the smart idea that I should defect to Russia, learn all their secrets and then defect again to America, plus the secrets. Everyone seemed to have confidence in me and the idea except me. However, I was finally persuaded. Somehow Radnitz got to hear what was being planned. He is a man who gets to hear State secrets without difficulty. The night before I left for Moscow, he came to my apartment.” Carey hesitated. When he continued his voice was so low Girland had to lean forward to hear what he was saying. “Radnitz wanted to get hold of certain papers relating to a man whose name was Henrich Kunzli which were held by the Soviet Secret Service. He thought once I was in Moscow, I could get hold of these papers. He offered me three million dollars in exchange for the papers. I was tempted by this enormous sum and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t make such a deal with him. I agreed. He paid into my bank account ten thousand dollars as a goodwill gesture: the rest of the money was to be paid when I handed the papers to him. It took me nearly four years to get them and when I did get them, I found out what kind of man I had made a deal with. I found out that Radnitz and Kunzli were one and the same: as evil a man as you could imagine.” “How … evil?” Girland asked.

  “The papers he wanted were contracts signed by him and the Nazi and Japanese Governments, contracts that dealt with the manufacture of soap, fertilisers and gun powder. That seems harmless enough, doesn’t it? But in the contracts the Nazis and the Japs agreed to supply the raw materials for these products. The raw materials were the bones, the hair, the fat and the teeth of the murdered millions from concentration camps. Radnitz laid the foundation of his fortune by turning into money the dead bodies of Jews and other victims of the Nazis and the Japanese. The Russians had found these contracts and they were holding them until the time was ripe to use them as a blackmail weapon against Radnitz. Among the papers is Kunzli’s dossier. This man has used his enormous wealth in dozens of ways to the detriment of the free world. It was he who sold weapons that began the first trouble in North Vietnam. He started the Congo affair. He encouraged the Hungarians in their suicidal attempt to cast off the Russians. The list is endless. I have the contracts and the dossier on micro-film. When I left Moscow, I left the originals still in the Russian’s hands. I now want the micro-film to go to Dorey. It will be the finish of Radnitz.”

  Girland felt his mouth was dry. The salty sweat that trickled from his forehead made his eyes smart. He felt deflated. If what Carey said was true, and he couldn’t doubt him, then he, like Carey, couldn’t take Radnitz’s money.

  “I have several films for Dorey,” Carey went on. “During the years I was in Moscow, I didn’t waste my time. Among the many important things, I have a list of thirty-five Russian agents working in France and America: among them is Dorey’s special pet … Janine Daulnay.”

  “Why didn’t you give them to Rosa? She could have taken them to Dorey.”

  “Radnitz knows I am somewhere in Senegal as the Russians do. I could not trust Rosa. Radnitz had only to offer her a large sum of money and she would have made a deal with him. I am glad you have come, Girland. You wouldn’t make a
deal with Radnitz.”

  Girland shrugged. All along he had planned to double cross Radnitz, but he had had hopes of laying his hands on the fifty thousand dollars Radnitz had promised him. Well, it wasn’t to be. Now he had the tricky task of getting out of Senegal and reaching Dorey. He wondered how Dorey would treat him.

  “It won’t be easy,” he said. “Apart from Radnitz, the Russians also know you are in the bush.”

  Carey nodded.

  “Every day they get closer. I know they are very close now. The sooner you go, the safer for you. I have everything ready for you. Momar will guide you out of the bush. If you can reach the American Embassy they will give you protection to get to Paris. I want you to take Tessa with you. She should never have come out here. That fool Fantaz lost his head.”

  “And you? You’ll come with us too?”

  “I intend to stay here. I am not strong enough to face the journey.”

  Girland looked sharply at him.

  “Do you think Tessa will leave you here? I don’t.”

  “Oh, she will.” Carey drew in a long breath of weariness. “Don’t let her fall into Radnitz’s or the Russians’ hands. A bullet is cleaner and better than that. You understand?”

  Girland frowned.

  “You’re putting a lot of responsibility on me, aren’t you? I’d rather travel alone.”

  “Then how is she to get away? I’m relying on you, Girland.” With a painful effort, he stood up and walked to the end of the hut. “Perhaps you could help me? The films are buried here … an unsafe place to hide them, but after all the trouble I have taken, I could not bear them out of my sight.”

  Girland joined Carey. When Carey showed him a patch of loose sand, Girland knelt down and scooped the sand away. In a few seconds, he lifted a small tin box out of the sand and stood up.

  “Not much to show for four years’ dangerous work, is it?” Carey said, “but in place of quantity, it has great quality. Don’t wait about, Girland. I would be glad if you would prepare Tessa. Tell her I wish her to go with you. She’s a sensible girl.” He paused, then went on, “I don’t expect to live much longer … a week or two, not more. I have here,” he touched his body, “a killer that is much surer than Radnitz. Tell her that. She’ll understand.”

  “You’ll have to tell her yourself,” Girland said. “I’ll take her with me if she’ll go, but I’m not going to force her. It’s up to you to convince her. I’ll leave in ten minutes.”

  “Very well. You are right, of course. I’ll convince her,” Carey said and held out his hand. “Goodbye, Girland, and good luck.”

  Girland put his hand into Carey’s dry, bony grip.

  “I too nearly made a deal with Radnitz,” he said. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but you may as well know. That makes two of us.”

  Carey nodded.

  “I knew about that,” he said quietly. “That’s why I was frank with you. Fantaz’s nephew was here early this morning. He told me about these two men. Schwartz has worked for Radnitz for years. I recognised his description. Money is a temptation, isn’t it,” and he smiled.

  “Yes,” Girland said. “You can trust me, Carey.”

  “I know. Goodbye.”

  Girland went out of the hut into the blinding heat and the flies. He paused, blinking, then seeing Tessa sitting in the shade, he walked over to her.

  “I have what I want,” he said as she jumped to her feet. “We’ll be leaving in ten minutes. Your father wants to speak to you.”

  As Tessa started towards the big hut, there came a loud bang of a gunshot. She came to an abrupt halt and stood staring at a wisp of smoke that drifted through the open door of the hut.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They had been driving now for the past half hour. From time to time, Girland glanced at Tessa. Her stony expression and the shocked look in her eyes warned him to keep silent.

  As she had begun to run towards the hut after the shot, he had realised what had happened and had caught her wrist.

  “Don’t go in!” he had said sharply. “He had come to the end of his road. He was dying fast anyway. I’ll go.”

  She had turned to stare at him, horror in her eyes.

  “You mean he’s – he’s shot himself?”

  “Wait here.”

  Leaving her in the hot sunshine, Girland had gone into the hut. He came out again a few minutes later, carrying an automatic pistol he had picked up by Carey’s side. Carey had lived efficiently and he had died efficiently. He had made no mistake. The bullet had killed him instantly.

  Girland nodded to Tessa who turned away, hiding her face in her hands.

  The Africans stood uneasily at the doors of their huts and stared at Girland. Old Momar walked slowly to the big hut and peered in, then he walked with dignity over to his sons and spoke to them.

  Girland waited until he had finished, then he joined him.

  “We must leave at once,” he said. “It is dangerous for Mademoiselle to stay here. Get the car and be ready to leave in five minutes.”

  Momar nodded and went through the gateway and over to where the car was hidden.

  Girland moved over to Tessa who was looking towards the big hut, a lost expression in her eyes.

  “We’re leaving,” he said gently. “He wanted you to leave with me. They’ll take care of him.” He knew Carey hadn’t hesitated to hasten his death so that Tessa would leave, but he didn’t tell her so. “Come on … let’s go.”

  Momar’s wife came over carrying a water skin and a bag containing food. The old African was weeping. No one spoke. Girland took the water skin and the bag and then catching hold of Tessa’s arm, he drew her towards the gate.

  She pulled away from him, but she went with him across the hot sand to where the Deux Chevaux was waiting.

  Under the shade of a tree, Momar’s sons were digging a grave. The two men didn’t look around as Tessa got into the car, Girland handed Momar who was already in the car the bag and the water skin, then he climbed in beside Tessa.

  Now, after thirty minutes of driving, they came to a water hole around which were some two hundred goats and cattle.

  Momar leaned forward.

  “I will speak with these men,” he said.

  Tessa pulled up and Girland got out to let Momar out. He stood watching the old African walk over to the three Africans tending the herd and salute them. They talked together. One elderly African kept pointing to the east. He seemed agitated.

  Momar came back. There was an expression on his face that brought Girland alert.

  “What is it?”

  “They say they have seen three armed Arabs: strangers with rifles about two miles to the east. That is our direction.” “They are sure about the rifles?”

  “They are sure.”

  “We must avoid them. How do we do that?”

  “To the east is the quickest way. We can go north and then make a circle to the east, but it will take time and the ground is very bad.”

  “We must avoid these men,” Girland wasn’t going to risk matching his Colt automatic against three rifles.

  They got back into the car.

  Tessa said, “Arabs in pay of the Russians?”

  “I guess so. Anyway, we mustn’t take chances. Let’s go.”

  Momar showed Tessa the direction and again she sent the little car banging and bumping over the sand.

  They soon found that Momar was right about the ground being bad. They hadn’t driven more than ten kilometres before the sand became so loose the rear wheels of the car began to slide and Tessa had difficulty with the steering.

  “Like me to take over?” Girland asked.

  “Not yet.” She wrestled with the steering wheel and suddenly the engine stalled and the car stopped. “Oh, damn!”

  Girland and Momar got out. The rear wheels were hub deep in the sand. Sweating, they lifted the wheels onto more solid ground and by pushing frantically once again got the car moving, but Tessa was afraid to stop and the two men had to
run after it.

  A hundred metres ahead was solid ground again and Tessa was able to stop. As Girland approached the car, he heard something like an angry bee zip past his head. This was followed by a distant rifle shot. He spun around, his hand flying to his gun. A half a mile to his right was a clump of trees. He caught a glimpse of something white in the trees and saw a flash of flame as the half hidden gunman fired again. This time Girland didn’t hear the zip of the bullet. He lifted his automatic, then lowered it, the distance was too great.

  He heard a scream and he spun around to see Tessa, out of the car, running towards him.

  “Momar!” she screamed. “Look!”

  Momar had been to Girland’s left and behind him. The old man was lying face down in the sand.

  Both Girland and Tessa reached him together. Girland turned him over and then let the lifeless body drop back.

  Again the rifle cracked and a spurt of sand less than a metre from Tessa showed the accuracy of the shooting.

  Girland grabbed Tessa by her arm and began rushing her back to the car.

  “We can’t leave him!” she protested, trying to shake Girland off. “We can’t leave him!”

  He bundled her into the car, then sliding under the driving wheel, he started the engine and cautiously engaged gear. As he let in the clutch, the wheels slipped, but bit and the car began to move. Using the gas pedal as if it were made of glass, Girland gradually built up speed until once more they were jolting and bumping over the sand.

  He heard the rifle crack again. He kept driving, aware that Tessa was hunched up in her seat, her hands covering her face, crying quietly.

  If only this cursed bush wasn’t so flat, he thought. That sniper up in his tree can watch us for kilometres. He’ll know which way we are heading.

  Girland suddenly felt a cold empty feeling of fear. Which way were they heading? Up to now, Momar had directed Tessa, and Girland had blindly accepted the way. Now he realised every bush, shrub and tree looked alike. There was no road. They could be driving in circles for all he knew.