Labrey stiffened.
'She won't come... she's difficult.'
'She is to come. Arrange it.' The snap in Malik's voice warned Labrey there was to be no farther argument. 'How will I recognise her?'
'She has blonde hair down to her shoulders. I will tell her to carry a copy of Paris Match.'
'Very well. She is to be waiting outside Hertz Rental car office at Orly at 01.15 hrs. Your ticket to Munich will be at Air France's information desk. You understand what you have to do and where to meet me?'
'Yes. Then tomorrow,' and Malik hung up.
Labrey stood for a long moment in the kiosk, then bracing himself, he walked back to where Vi was eating onion soup.
He sat down and began on his own onion soup.
She looked up, lifting her eyebrows.
'Now what's happening?'
He told her that she was to meet Malik at Orly and fly with him to Munich. Vi stared at him, blood leaving her face.
'No! I won't do it!' she said, pushing aside the soup.
Labrey expected this reaction. He shrugged and went on eating.
'All right,' he said, without looking at her. 'I've warned you. If you won't do it... you take the consequences. They never take no for an answer... you either do what you are told or you get the treatment.'
Vi shivered.
'Eat up!' Labrey said. 'You told me you were hungry.'
'Paul! How could you do this to me?' she said, tears in her eyes. 'How could you?'
Labrey stared at her coldly.
'I've done nothing.' He stirred the soup as he continued to stare at her. 'You went after Girland. If you hadn't such hot pants for any man with money you wouldn't be in this mess. Don't blame me. But you went after him, now you have a hook in your mouth. It won't and can't come out. I'm sorry for you. You either do what you are told or you'll get the treatment.'
'I'll go to the police!’ Vi said desperately. 'They'll protect me!'
'Do you think so?' Labrey shrugged and finished his soup. 'Okay, go ahead and tell them. What can they do? Do you imagine they will give you a flic to walk behind you for months? You can't get away. You're hooked. You either do what they tell you or they will peel the skin off your face or shove a wedge between your legs.'
Vi sat for a long moment, her eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists on the table, then she pushed back her chair and got up.
'I'll go back and pack a bag,' she said. ‘I can't eat any more.'
When she had gone, Labrey grimaced. He too had lost his appetite. When the waiter brought him a steak, he waved it away.
chapter five
Mary Sherman was tall and elegant: a woman in her early forties. She looked as if she had stepped out of a Beaton photograph: immaculately dressed by Balmain, she was extremely conscious that before long she would be the First Lady of the United States. She was a shrewd, cold and calculating woman with a burning ambition for her husband and herself. She had a cold, magnetic charm. She seemed to have an irresistible interest in people who felt, when they met her, that their cares were her cares: it was a trick that served her husband well.
As Sherman came into the big, comfortable lounge, Mary was at her desk, writing a letter. She turned, looked inquiringly at him with those blue, impersonal eyes and then got to her feet.
'Henry! I've been waiting.' She moved to him and kissed his unshaven cheek with a little grimace of disapproval. 'Was it all right? What happened?'
During the drive back to Washington from Kennedy airport, Sherman had got rid of his false moustache, but he had retained the heavy sun goggles. He had picked up his car which he had left at the airport, but his return hadn't been so lucky as his leaving. As he had come in through the back entrance to his imposing house, Morgan, one of the F.B.I, agents responsible for his security, had stepped out of the shadows. The two men had confronted each other, genuine horror in Morgan's eyes.
Sherman realised Morgan's position and he gave him his wide, easy smile, strictly reserved for the people who might vote for him.
'I felt like a breath of fresh air, Morgan,' he said, 'so I slipped out. I'm feeling fine now.' He put his hand on Morgan's arm, patting it as he had patted so many arms of possible voters. 'Naughty of me ... I'm sorry. Let's keep it between ourselves, huh?' Then before the horrified agent could protest, Sherman had left him and had entered the house.
'Morgan spotted me as I was coming in,' Sherman said, stripping off his overcoat, 'but it's more than his job's worth to report it.' He dropped wearily into an arm chair.' Sit down, Mary... let me tell you.'
She sat by his side.
'Have you found her?'
'Not yet.' Sherman went on to tell her about his talk with Dorey and what Dorey was doing.
Mary listened to this, her eyes incredulous.
'You mean there is only this ex-agent looking for her?' she exclaimed. 'This is ridiculous, Henry! Why didn't you consult the police?'
'And make this official?' Sherman shook his head. 'Use your brains! We have no choice but to hope Dorey's man will find her.'
'A crook! Henry!'
He looked at her.
'We have to find her, Mary... this man will find her'
She made a savage little movement with her hands.
'And then ... what?'
'It is possible he will be able to persuade her...'
'Oh, for God's sake! Persuade her? Gillian? How can any man persuade a little fiend like that!' She got to her feet and began to move around the big room, beating her fists together. 'Can’t you realise she is determined to ruin us! Why did I have to produce such a child! Listen, Henry . . . you must give up the election. At least, if you withdraw, we can keep our social life intact, but once those filthy films get into the wrong hands ... how can we face anyone and who would want to see us again?'
Sherman got wearily to his feet. He crossed over to the telephone, consulted his pocket address book, then dialled Dorey's home number in Paris.
'Who are you calling?' Mary demanded shrilly.
'Dorey. He may have news for us.'
Dorey was in bed, asleep, when the sound of the telephone bell woke him. He became instantly awake and alert.
'Is that you, Dorey?' He recognised Sherman's voice.
'Yes ... you've got back all right?'
'All right... have you any news for me?'
'Yes... some good... some bad. I must be careful. We are talking over an open line.' There was a pause, then he went on, 'You remember Uncle Joe?'
Sherman stiffened.
'Of course ... what is this, John?'
'His nephews are now interested. Mr Cain was recognised as he left Orly. Joe's nephews know Mr Cain and I met.'
Sherman's face went slack with shock. Watching him, Mary jumped to her feet in alarm.
'What is it, Henry?'
He waved her to silence.
'Do they know about the movie?' he asked Dorey.
'I don't think so, but they are curious. My man has been alerted.'
'Well, go on... what else?'
'My man is going to Garmisch ... he should be on his way in an hour or so,' Dorey said. 'He has received information that the party you are interested in is there.'
'Garmisch... Germany? Are you sure?'
'Yes. The party is staying at the Alpenhoff Hotel'
'Do you think your man can handle this?'
'If he can't, no one can.'
'Then I suppose I must accept this situation . . . I'm not happy about it, but I am relying on you.'
‘I will do my best, sir.' Dorey's voice sounded flat. Sherman's obvious lack of confidence hurt him. 'I will telephone you again,' and he hung up.
Sherman slowly replaced the receiver and then turned and looked at Mary.
'A Russian agent recognised me at Orly and now the Russians are on to this.'
Mary's hand went to her mouth; her face became waxen.
'You mean they know about these filthy films?'
'Not yet, but they are inv
estigating. This man Girland has located Gillian at the Alpenhoff Hotel, Garmisch.'
'Garmisch? What is she doing there?'
Sherman shrugged impatiently.
'How do I know? Girland is on his way there now.'
Mary suddenly pounded her clenched fists on the back of the settee.
'What can a man like that do? God! I wish the little bitch was dead!'
Sherman shifted uneasily.
'You'd better know, Mary... I ran into Radnitz in Paris of course, he recognised me.'
Mary stared at him, her steel-blue eyes widening.
'Radnitz? He recognised you?'
'Yes. It was one of those things... I told him what was happening.'
'You mean you told him about Gillian and these filthy films?'
'I had no alternative.'
Mary dropped onto the settee.
'Henry! Radnitz only thinks about this contract! You were mad to have told him. Now he will blackmail you!'
Sherman looked patiently at her.
'You're being stupid. Radnitz can't expect the contract unless I am President. He is ready to help me.' He crossed to the cocktail cabinet, made himself a stiff whisky and soda, then came and sat down again.
'Radnitz help you?' Mary's voice was shrill. 'You can't believe a man like that would help anyone!'
'Mary . . . just a moment ago you said you wished Gillian was dead... do you mean that?' Sherman asked, not looking at her.
She sensed the question was serious. For a long moment, she sat still, her fact expressionless.
Finally, she said, 'If she was dead, you would become the President of the United States. If she remains alive and continues to blackmail us, you won't become the President... so ... yes ... I suppose I do wish she was dead.'
Sherman stared down at his hands.
'Radnitz said the same thing. He said he could arrange it. I -1 told him to go ahead ... I was worked up, but before he takes action, I wanted to talk to you... then if you agree, I have to tell him where to find her.' He stroked the back of his neck, staring out of the window. 'He knows where she is, of course. He knows everything, but if I tell him she is at the Alpenhoff Hotel at Garmisch, he will know this is my okay for him to get rid of her.'
Mary leaned forward, her eyes glittering.
'Well, what are you waiting for?' she demanded. 'We have fought and fought to come this far. Why should our ambitions and our way of life be ruined because we have been unlucky enough to have spawned this hateful, spiteful animal. Call Radnitz and tell him where she is!'
Sherman moved in his chair. His shaking hands went over his sweating face.
'She is our daughter, Mary.'
'Call him!'
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Sherman shook his head.
'No! We can't do this, Mary. We can't!'
'And the Russians? Suppose they find out about this degenerate animal? We can't allow ourselves to be blackmailed by such a creature. She must be silenced!'
Sherman made a helpless gesture.
'Suppose we wait until Girland finds her. He might just possibly talk some sense into her.' He got to his feet. 'I'm going to bed.'
'Yes...' Mary looked strangely at him. Her eyes were remote. 'The Alpenhoff Hotel, Garmisch... you said?'
'Yes.'
'And where is Radnitz?'
Sherman hesitated.
'Georges V, Paris.' He looked away from her. 'Why do you ask?'
'Go to bed, Henry,' Mary said quietly. 'You need your rest'.
Sherman hesitated again, then moved to the door. He paused and looked at her. Her cold, hard eyes fixed his.
'Go to bed, Henry,' she repeated.
Sherman left the lounge. He moved slowly like an old man moving to his bed, directed by his nurse. She listened to him mount the stairs and the slight creak of the floorboards as he moved into his bedroom.
For some time, she sat staring out of the window, watching the sun rising, heralding a new day. Her face was stony, only the glitter in her eyes hinted at the turmoil that was going on in her mind.
Finally, she reached for the telephone. She asked the operator to connect her with Georges V hotel, Paris.
* * *
A black Thunderbird drew up under the canopy of the Georges V hotel and the doorman stepped forward to open the car door.
Lu Silk slid out.
'Park it... I won't be long,' he said curtly and walked into the lobby. He crossed to the concierge who was standing behind his desk.
'Mr Radnitz,' Silk said.
The concierge had seen Silk several times. He knew him to be a man who didn't tip and was disagreeable to the staff.
The concierge inclined his head coldly, picked up a telephone receiver, spoke briefly, then said to Silk, 'Fourth floor, monsieur, suite 457.'
Silk sneered at him.
'As if I didn't know.' He turned and walked towards the elevators.
Lu Silk (see 'Believed Violent') was Herman Radnitz's professional killer: a tall, lean man in his early forties with a hatchet-shaped face, a glass left eye and a white scar running down the side of his left cheek. His crew-cut hair was white. He wore a dark flannel suit that fitted him well, and he carried a black slouch hat in his hand. He had worked for Radnitz now for some years. When Radnitz wished to get rid of anyone troublesome, he called for Silk. For $ 15,000 as a killing fee and $30,000 as a yearly retainer whether he worked or not, Lu Silk made a satisfactory living.
He arrived on the fourth floor and rang the bell of suite 457. The door was opened by Ko-Yu, Radnitz's Japanese servant and chauffeur.
'Hi,' Silk said as he entered. 'The old man waiting for me?'
Ko-Yu regarded Silk, his face expressionless, his manner distant.
'Mr Radnitz is expecting you.'
Silk went into the big, luxuriously furnished sitting-room where Radnitz was at his desk, dictating to his secretary, Fritz Kurt, a small, thin man who glanced up as Silk came in.
Radnitz broke off his dictation and waved Kurt away. There was a moment's pause while Kurt left the room, then Radnitz said, ‘I have work for you.'
‘That's easy to guess.' Silk was in awe of no man, and he never showed any respect when talking to Radnitz. He was the only member of Radnitz's staff who wasn't a yes-man. He sat down and crossed one leg over the other. 'Who is it this time?'
'You are ready to travel immediately?'
'Of course. I always keep a bag in the car. Where to?'
'Munich.' Radnitz opened a briefcase and took from it a bulky envelope. 'Here are your instructions with your ticket and travellers cheques. You are to get rid of two people. A girl: Gillian Sherman. A man: Pierre Rosnold. There is a photograph of the girl here, but I have no photograph of the man, but they will be together. This is important, Silk. You will receive thirty thousand dollars when I know they have been eliminated.'
Silk got up, crossed to the desk and took the envelope Radnitz was offering him. He returned to his chair, sat down and removed the contents of the envelope. He paused to study the photograph of Gillian Sherman. Her beauty had no effect on him. For more years than he could remember, Silk had lost interest in women. He read through two typewritten pages of instructions, then he looked up.
'I don't hit them until these films are recovered? How do I know when they are recovered?'
'This man Girland will get them. He will be constantly watched You don't have to worry about that. Your job is to get rid of these two when you are told to go ahead.'
'How do you want this arranged?'
Radnitz selected a cigar from a cedar, gold-topped box.
'An accident. . . perhaps a hunting accident?'
'The two of them?' Silk shook his head. 'No... one of them could be shot by mistake, but not two of them. The German police aren't stupid.'
Radnitz shrugged impatiently. Small details always bored him.
'I leave it to you. I have a place near Oberammergau. I have a good man there and I have already alerted him. He
will do everything that is necessary. His name is Count Hans von Goltz. You will be met at the Munich airport and taken to my place. By that time, von Goltz will have information for you. You need take no weapons. There is everything you may need at my place. I have some thirty good men who look after the estate. You can use them if you want them.'
Silk put the envelope in his pocket and got to his feet.
'I'd better get off if I'm to catch the 14.00 hr. plane.'
'Be careful of Girland,' Radnitz warned. 'He is dangerous.'
Silk showed his even white teeth in a vicious smile.
'I'll watch it,' he said and left the suite
Because Mary Sherman had forgotten to tell Radnitz that now the Russians were also involved in this hunt for the daughter of the future President, Silk left the Georges V hotel thinking he had only Girland to deal with. Had he known that he was to come up against not only Girland, but Malik as well, he would have been less confident he was on to easy money as he drove his Thunderbird towards Orly airport.
* * *
Feeling slightly jaded, Girland passed through the Customs barrier at the Munich airport and made his way across the big hall to the Hertz Rental car service. Seeing where he was going, Labrey who had been following him, paused. He had little money to spare. There was no question of his hiring a car. His Soviet masters were tight with money. He watched Girland as he talked to the girl clerk.
Girland showed his Hertz Credit Card and told the girl, a pretty blonde, he wanted a Mercedes 230.
'Yes, sir,' the girl said. 'How long will you need it, do you think?'
‘I don't know.' Girland found the girl attractive. 'It depends on how much I like your country. If it's as lovely as you are, I might spend the rest of my days here.'
The girl giggled and blushed.
'Shall we say... a week?'
'Leave it open ... I don't know.' Girland leaned on the counter while she completed the form, then he signed it.
'I'll get the car for you, sir.' She used the telephone and then hung up. 'In five minutes, sir.' She looked adoringly at him as she smiled. 'The exit door is to your right.'
1969 - The Whiff of Money Page 9
