stopped him on the staircase; he would wait anotherfive and call the switchboard.
The telephone rang, the blaring, vibratingEuropean bell unnerving him. He reached for thephone on the table next to the couch; his breath wasshort and his hand trembled.
byes? Hello?’
Chew York calling, monsieur,” said the hoteloperator. “It’s your office. Should I cancel the calllisted for six-fifteen?”
“Yes, please. And thank you.”
“Mr. Converse?” The intense, high-pitched voicebelonged to Lawrence Talbot’s secretary.
“Hello, Jane.”
“Good God, we’ve been trying to reach you sinceten o’clock! Are you all right? We heard the newsthen, around ten. It’s all so horrible!”
“I’m fine, Jane. Thanks for your concern.”
“Mr. Talbot’s beside himself. He can’t believe it!”
“Don’t believe what they’re saying about Halliday.It’s not true. May I speak with Larry, please?”
“If he knew you were on the phone talking to me,I’d be fired.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Who’d write his letters?”
The secretary paused briefly, her voice calmerwhen she spoke. “Oh, God, Joel, you’re the end.After what you’ve been through, you still findsomething funny to say.”
“It’s easier, Jane. Let me have Bubba, will you?”
“You are the limit!”
Lawrence Talbot, senior partner of Talbot,Brooks and Simon, was a perfectly competentattorney, but his rise in law was as much due to hishaving been one of the few all-American footballplayers from Yale as from any prowess in thecourtroom. He was also a very decent human beingmore of a coordinating coach than the driving forceof a conservative yet highly competitive law firm. Hewas also eminently fair and fair-minded; he kept hisword. He was one of the reasons Joel had joined thefirm; another was Nathan Simon, a giant both of aman and of an attorney. Converse had learned moreabout the law from Nate Simon than from any otherlawyer or professor he had ever met. He felt closestto Nathan, yet Simon was the most difficult to getclose to; one approached this uniquely private manwith equal parts of fondness and reserve.
Lawrence Talbot burst over the phone. " GoodLord, I’m appalled! What can I say? What can Ido?”
“To begin with, strike that horseshitaboutHalliday. He was no more a drug connection thanNate Simon.”
“You haven’t heard, then? They’ve backed offon that. The story now is violent robbery; heresisted and the packets were stuffed under his shirtafter they shot him. I think Jack Halliday must haveburned the wires from San Francisco, threatened tobeat the crap out of the whole Swiss government….He played for Stanford, you know.”
“You’re too much, Bubba.”
“I never thought I’d enjoy hearing that from you,young man. I do now.”
“Young man and not so young, Larry. Clearsomething up for me, will you?”
“Whatever I can.”
“Anstett. Lucas Anstett. "
“We talked. Nathan and I listened, and he wasmost persuasive. We understand.”
“Do you?”
“Not the particulars certainly; he wouldn’telaborate. But we think you’re the best in the field,and granting his request wasn’t difficult.. T., B. andS. has the best, and when a judge like Anstettconfirms it through such a conversation, we have tocongratulate ourselves, don’t we?”
“Are you doing it because of his bench?”
“Christ, no. He even told us he’d be harder onus in Appeals if we agreed. He’s one rough cookiewhen he wants something. He tells you you’d beworse off if you give it to him.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Well, Nathan said something about billy goatshaving certain identifiable markings that were notremoved without a great deal of squealing, so weshould go along. Nathan frequently obfuscatesissues, but goddamnit, Joel, he’s usually right.”
“If you can take three hours to hear afive-minute summation,” said Converse.
“He’s always thinking, young man.”
“Young and not so young. Everything’s relative.”
“Your wife called…. Sorry, your ex-wife.”
“Oh?”
“Your name came up on the radio or televisionor something, and she wanted to know whathappened.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That we were trying to reach you. We didn’tknow any more than she did. She sounded veryupset.”
Call her and tell her I’m fine, will you, please?Do you have the number?”
Jane does.”
“I’ll be leaving, then.”
“On full pay,” said Talbot from New York.
“That’s not necessary, Larry. I’m being given agreat deal of money, so save the bookkeeping. I’ll beback in three or four weeks.”
“I could do that, but I won’t,” said the seniorpartner. “I know when I’ve got the best and I intendto hold him. We’ll bank it for you.” Talbot paused,then spoke quietly, urgently. “Joel, I have to ask you.Did this thing a few hours ago have anything to dowith the Anstett business?”
Converse gripped the telephone with such forcehis wrist and fingers ached. “Nothing whatsoever,Larry,” he said. “There’s no connection.”
Mykonos, the sun-drenched, whitewashed islandof the Cyclades, neighboring worshiper of Delos.Since Barbarossa’s conquest it had been host tosuccessive brigands of the sea who sailed on theMeltemi winds Turks, Russians, Cypriots, finallyGreeks placed and displaced over the centuries, asmall landmass alternately honored and forgottenuntil the arrival of sleek yachts and shining aircraft,symbols of a different age. Low-slungautomobiles Porsches, Maseratis, "Jaguars nowsped over the narrow roads past starch-whitewindmills and alabaster churches; a new type ofinhabitant had joined the laconic, tradition-boundresidents who made their livings from the sea andthe shops. Free-spirited youths of all ages, with theiropen shirts and tight pants, their sunburned skinsserving as foil for adornments of heavy gold, hadfound a new playground. And ancient Mykonos, oncea major port to the proud Phoenicians, had becomethe Saint-Tropez of the Aegean.
Converse had taken the first Swissair flight out ofGeneva to Athens, and from there a smaller Olympicplane to the island. Although he had lost an hour inthe time zones, it was barely four o’clock in theafternoon when the airport taxi
crawled through the streets of the hot, blinding-whiteharbor and pulled up in front of the smooth whiteentrance of the bank. It was on the waterfront, andthe crowds of flowered shirts and wild print dresses,and the sight of launches chopping over the gentlewaves toward the slips on the main pier, were proofthat the giant cruise ships far out in the harbor weremanaged by knowledgeable men. Mykonos was a daz-zling snare for tourists; money would be left on thewhitewashed island; the tavernas and the shops wouldbe full from early sunrise to burning twilight. Theoozo would flow and Greek fishermen’s caps woulddisappear from the shelves and appear on the swayingheads of suburbanites from Crosse Point and ShortHills. And when night came and the last efharisto andparacalo had been awkwardly uttered by the visitors,other games would begin the courtiers andcourtesans the beautiful, ageless, self-indulgentchildren of the blue Aegean, would start to play.Peals of laughter would be heard as drachmas werecounted and spent in amounts that would staggereven those who had opulent suites on the highestdecks of the most luxurious ships. Where Geneva wascon-, trary, Mykonos was accommodating in waysthe long-ago
Turks might have envied.
Joel had called the bank from the airport, notknowing its business hours, but knowing the name ofthe banker he was to contact. Kostas Laskaris greetedhim cautiously over the phone, making it clear that heexpected not only a passport that would clear aspectrograph but the original letter from A. PrestonHalliday with his signature, said signature to besubjected to a scanner, matching the signature thebank had been provided by the deceased Mr. A.Preston Halliday.
“We hear he was killed in Geneva. It is mostunfortunate,” Laskaris had said.
�
��I’ll tell his wife and children how your griefoverwhelms me.”
Converse paid the taxi and climbed the shortwhite steps of the entrance, carrying his suitcase andattache case, grateful that the door was opened by auniformed guard whose appearance brought to minda long-forgotten photograph of a mad sultan whowhipped his harem’s women in a courtyard when theyfailed to arouse him.
Kostas Laskaris was not at all whatJoel hadexpected from the brief, disconcerting conversationover the phone. He was a balding, pleasant-faced manin his late fifties, with warm
dark eyes, and relatively fluent in English butcertainly not comfortable with the language. His firstwords upon rising from his desk and indicating achair in front of it for Converse contradicted Joel’sprevious impression.
“I apologizefor what might have appeared as acallous statement on my part regarding Mr. Halliday.However, it ureas most unfortunate, and I don’tknow how else to phrase it. And it is difficult, sir, togrieve for a man one never knew.”
“I was out of line. Forget it, please.”
“You are most kind, but I am afraid I cannotforget the arrangements mandated by Mr. Hallidayand his associate here on Mykonos. I must have yourpassport and the letter, if you please?”
“Who is he?” asked Joel, reaching into his jacketpocket for his passport billfold; it contained theletter. “The associate, I mean.”
“You are an attorney, sir, and surely you areaware that the information you desire cannot begiven to you until the barriers have been leaped, asit were. At least, I think that’s right.”
“It’ll do. I just thought I’d try.” He took out hispassport and the letter, handing them to the banker.
Laskaris picked up his telephone and pressed abutton. He spoke in Greek and apparently asked forsomeone. Within seconds the door opened and astunning bronzed, dark-haired woman entered andwalked gracefully over to the desk. She raised herdowncast eyes and glanced at Joel, who knew thebanker was watching him closely. A sign fromConverse, an other glance from him directed atLaskaris and introduc tions would be forthcoming,accommodation tacitly promised, and a conceivablysignificant piece of information would be entered ina banker’s file. Joel offered no such sign; he wantedno such entry. A man did not pick up half a milliondollars for nodding his head, and then look for abonus. It did not signify stability; it signifiedsomething else.
Inconsequential banter about flights, customs andthe general deterioration of travel covered the nextten minutes, at which time his passport and the letterwere returned not by the striking, dark-hairedwoman but by a young, balletic blond Adonis. Thepleasant-faced Laskaris was not missing a trick; hewas perfectly willing to supply one, whichever routehis wealthy visitor required.
Converse looked into the Greek’s warm eyes, then
smiled, the smile developing into quiet laughter.Laskaris smiled back and shrugged, dismissing thebeachboy.
"I am chief manager of this branch, sir,” he saidas the door closed, “but I do not set the policies forthe entire bank. This is, after all, Mykonos.”
“And a great deal of money passes throughhere,” added Joel. “Which one did you bet on?”
“Neither,” replied Laskaris, shaking his head.“Only on exactly what you did. You’d be a foolotherwise, and I do not think you are a fool. Inaddition to being chief manager on the waterfront,I am also an excellent judge of character.”
“Is that why you were chosen as the intermediary?”
“No, that is not the reason. I am a friend of Mr.Halliday’s associate here on the island. His name isBeale, incidentally. Dr. Edward Beale…. You see,everything is in order.”
“A doctor?” asked Converse, leaning forwardand accepting his passport and the letter. “He’s adoctor?”
“Not a medical man, however,” clarifiedLaskaris. “He’s a scholar, a retired professor ofhistory from the United States. He has an adequatepension and he moved here from Rhodes severalmonths ago. A most interesting man, mostknowledgeable. I handle his financial affairs inwhich he is not very knowledgeable, but stillinteresting.”" The banker smiled again, shrugging.
“I hope so,” said Joel. “We have a great deal todiscuss..’
“That is not my concern, sir. Shall we get to thedisposition of the funds? How and where would youcare to have them paid?”
“A great deal in cash. I bought one of thosesensorized money belts in Geneva the batteries areguaranteed for a year. If it’s ripped off me, a tinysiren goes off that splits your eardrums. I’d likeAmerican currency for myself and the resttransferred.”
“Those belts are effective, sir, but not if you areunconscious, or if there is no one around to hearthem. Might I suggest traveler’s checks?”
“You could and you’d probably be right, but Idon’t think so. I may not care to write out asignature.”
“As you wish. The denominations for yourself,please?” said Laskaris, pencil in hand, pad below.“And where would you like the remainder to besent?”
“Is it possible,” asked Converse slowly, “to haveaccounts set up not in my name but accessible tome?”
"&Of course, sir. Frankly, it is often standard inMykonos as well as in Crete, Rhodes, Athens,Istanbul, and also much of Europe. A description iswired, accompanied by words written out in yourhandwriting another name, or numbers. One manI knew used nursery rhymes. And then they arematched. One must use a sophisticated bank, ofcourse.”
"Of course. Name a few.”
“Where?”
“In London, Paris, Bonn maybe Tel Aviv,” saidJoel, trying to remember Halliday’s words.
“Bonn is not easy; they are so inflexible. A wrongapostrophe and they summon whomever theyconsider their authorities…. Tel Aviv is simple;money is as freewheeling and as serpentine as theKnesset. London and Paris are standard and, ofcourse, their greed is overwhelming. You will beheavily taxed for the transfers because they know youwill not make an issue over covert funds. Veryproper, very mercenary, and very much thievery.”
“You know your banks, don’t you?”
“I’ve had experience, sir. Now, as to thedisbursements?
“I want a hundred thousand for myself nothinglarger than five-hundred-dollar bills. The rest youcan split up and tell me how I can get it if I need it.”
“It is not a difficult assignment, sir. Shall we startwriting names, or numbers or nursery rhymes?”
“Numbers,” said Converse. “I’m a lawyer. Namesand nursery rhymes are in dimensions I don’t want tothink about right now.”
“As you wish,” said the Greek, reaching for a pad.
"And here is Dr. Beale’s telephone number. Whenwe have concluded our business, you may callhim or not, as you wish It is not my concern.”
Dr. Edward Beale, resident of Mykonos, spokeover the telephone in measured words and the slow,thoughtful cadence of a scholar. Nothing was rushed;everything was deliberate.
“There is a beach more rocks than beach, andnot frequented at night about seven kilometersfrom the waterfront. Walk to it. Take the west roadalong the coast until you see the lights of severalbuoys riding the waves. Come down to the water’sedge. I’ll find you.”
* * *
The night clouds sped by, propelled byhigh-altitude winds, letting the moonlight penetraterapidly, sporadically, illuminating the desolatestretch of beach that was the meeting ground. Farout on the water, the red lamps of four buoysbobbed up and down. Joel climbed over the rocksand into the soft sand, making his way to the water’sedge; he could both see and hear the small waveslapping forward and receding. He lit a cigarette,assuming the flame would announce his presence. Itdid; in moments a voice came out of the darknessbehind him, but the greeting was hardly what he ex-pected from an elderly, retired scholar.
“Stay where you are and don’t move” was thefirst command, spoken with quiet authority. “Put thecigarette in your mouth and inhale, then raise yourarms and hold them straight out in front of you….Good. Now smoke, I want to see the smoke.”
“Christ, I’m choking!” shouted
Joel, coughing, asthe smoke, blown back by the ocean breeze, stunghis eyes. Then suddenly he felt the sharp, quickmovements of a hand stabbing about his clothes,reaching across his chest and up and down his legs.“What are you doing?” he cried, spitting the cigaretteout of his mouth involuntarily.
“You don’t have a weapon,” said the voice.
“Of course not!”
“I do. You may lower your arms and turn aroundnow.”
Converse spun, still coughing, and rubbed hiswatery eyes. “You crazy son of a bitch!”
“It’s a dreadful habit, those cigarettes. I’d givethem up if I were you. Outside of the terrible thingsthey do to your body, now you see how they can beused against you in other ways.”
Joel blinked and stared in front of him. Thepontificator was a slender, white-haired old man ofmedium height, standing very erect in what lookedlike a white canvas jacket and trousers. Hisface what could be seen of it in the intermittentmoonlight was deeply lined, and there was apartial smile on his lips. There was also a gun in hishand, held in a firm grip, levered at Converse’shead. “You’re Beale?” asked Joel. “Dr. EdwardBeale?”
“Yes. Are you calmed down now?”
“Considering the shock of your warm welcome, Iguess
“Good. I’ll put this away, then.” The scholar loweredthe
gun and knelt down on the sand next to a canvassatchel. He shoved the weapon inside and stood upagain. “I’m sorry, but I had to be certain.”
“Of what? Whether or not I was a commando?”
“Halliday’s dead. Could a substitute have beensent in your place? Someone to deal with an old manin Mykonos? If so, that person would most certainlyhave had a gun.”
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 5
