1969 - The Whiff of Money

by James Hadley Chase

  Using the barrel of his gun, he began to tap on the lower rung of the balcony rail. The silence, hanging over the Schloss, accentuated the sound.

  He tapped at irregular intervals. Tap-tap-tap. A long pause; then tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Silk heard the sound and stiffened to attention. He looked swiftly behind him as the sound came from that direction.

  He came out of his chair like a cat, gun in hand. Standing motionless, listening, he looked what he was: a vicious, professional killer. The tapping sound stopped, and there was silence, except for the scrape-scrape-scrape from the grandfather clock.

  A bird? Silk wondered. Water dripping?

  He waited, listened, then decided the sound was of no importance. He wiped his sweating face savagely with the back of his hand and again longed for a cigarette.

  Minutes dragged by. The pendulum ok the clock continued its soft irritating sound.

  Then the tapping began again.

  Silk looked out on to the sunlit terrace. A branch of a tree? No. The sound was too metallic for that. The sound was coming from outside. Silk moved to the open french windows.

  The tapping continued. Silk was now certain it was coming from the terrace. Someone out there? A trap? He edged closer to the window, paused to look back and through the half open door where he could see the stairs: nothing moved out there.

  The tapping stopped, and again silence closed in around Silk. He edged further forward. Nothing happened. He felt a surge of rage run through him, aware that he was jumpy and his nerves were crawling. Then just when he was deciding to return to his chair, the tapping began again.

  He remembered von Goltz had assured him that Girland was unarmed. He decided he had to investigate this sound.

  Moving like a black shadow, he stepped out on to the terrace, his gun ready.

  Malik saw him and tapped twice fast, then squirmed back out of sight.

  Girland heard the two quick taps and went down the stairs, fast and silently to the second floor. Now he could see the half open door leading into the living room and caught a glimpse of the empty chair, pulled near the doorway. He stepped back into the corridor.

  Silk looked up at the rows of balconies above him. He saw nothing suspicious. His nerves were now so taut that he became reckless with rage. He stepped right out on to the terrace where he had a good view of the balconies.

  Malik grinned and lifted his pistol. It was a difficult shot as the bars of the balcony obstructed his view.

  Silk saw the movement although he didn't see the pistol. He fired instantly. The bullet slammed against the concrete just below Malik's head, spraying splinters, one of which hit Malik across the bridge of his nose. He started back, and Silk, now knowing where his opponent was, dashed back into the living room.

  He had had enough of this cat and mouse business. He knew Girland had no gun and he knew he was on the third floor.

  He didn't hesitate. Rushing across the hall, he went up the stairs two at the time, not caring about the noise he was making.

  In the corridor on the second floor, Girland heard him coming and quickly stepped into a nearby room.

  Silk came pounding up the stairs. As he started up the next flight of stairs, Girland went after him. Halfway up the stairs, Silk heard him. He stopped short and spun around, but Girland was on him, grabbing at his ankles. Girland heaved and Silk went over his head to crash down the stairs, his gun flying out of his hand.

  Girland spun around and launched himself at Silk as Silk was struggling to his feet. Silk couldn't avoid the flying body and went down under Girland with a crash that set the weapons on the walls jangling.

  With strength that startled Girland, Silk threw him off and the two men rolled apart. Girland was first into action. He was half up and slamming himself down on Silk before Silk could raise himself. Girland chopped with the side of his hand, smashing down on the side of Silk's neck. Silk went out like a snuffed candle.

  Malik came leaping down the stairs as Girland bent over Silk. Seeing the blood on Malik's face, Girland asked, 'You hurt?'

  'It's nothing.' Malik wiped his face with his handkerchief. He stared down at Silk. 'Who is he?'

  'I wouldn't know... sweet looking specimen isn't he? You watch him. I'll get a curtain cord.'

  Girland went into one of the rooms and broke off a length of cord. He returned and bound Silk's hands behind his back and his ankles together.

  'Let's dump him out of the way.'

  They carried Silk's unconscious body into the room and put him on a bed.

  'He'll be out for an hour or so.' Girland tore off a piece of the dustsheet covering the bed and gagged Silk. 'Let's hunt up some food ... I' m starving. Hang on a moment, I'll get Gilly.'

  Ten minutes later, the three of them were sitting in the vast kitchen, hungrily eating cold chicken and thick slices of ham.

  'I have an idea,' Malik said as he began to demolish another slice of ham. 'We don't have to stay here until the messenger arrives. We can meet him at the Munich airport. Between the two of us we can persuade him to part with the films. We could be back in Paris by midnight.'

  'Too risky. We might not spot the messenger.'

  'I had a good look at him... I'll spot him.'

  'How about the electric fence?'

  Malik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  'We'll take a car... there are four of them in the garage, go down to the lodge, take it, turn off the current and we're on our way.'

  Girland considered this idea. He checked his watch. The next plane from Paris wouldn't arrive for another five hours.

  They had plenty of time.

  'Okay... we'll do it.' He turned to Gilly. 'Can you drive, baby?'

  'Of course... and don't call me baby!'

  Girland laughed.

  'Come on up and pack.' He turned to Malik. ‘Will you get the car?'

  Ten minutes later, Girland, carrying Gilly's bag and his own, followed by Gilly, ran down the steps to the waiting white Mercedes 200.

  'You drive,' Girland said to Gilly as he dumped the bags in the boot of the car.

  He and Malik got in the back. Gilly set the car in motion and drove down the long, twisting drive until Girland told her to stop,

  'We'll go the rest of the way on foot. When I whistle, come on down to the gates.'

  'Please be careful!' Gilly said. She was getting scared again.

  'Oh, sure...just relax and listen for my whistle.'

  He joined Malik, and together they went swiftly on down the drive. When in sight of the lodge, they paused.

  'I'll go around the back,' Malik said, drawing his gun. ‘Give me a couple of minutes.'

  But they need not have taken precautions for the three guards in the lodge were having lunch. They were absorbed in a vast meal of white sausages with a mustard sauce and sauerkraut.

  Girland kicked open the door and the three guards stared with stupefied eyes at his threatening gun. Malik joined him.

  ‘Turn the current off!' Malik snarled and the threat of his green eyes so scared the head guard that he scrambled to his feet and pulled down a lever on the wall.

  It took them a few minutes to tie each man securely to his chair, then Malik and Girland left the lodge.

  While Malik ran to open the big gates, Girland went up the drive and whistled piercingly.

  Later, as Girland drove the Mercedes into the crowded car park at the Munich airport, Gilly said, ‘There's the T.R.4.' She pointed to where the scarlet T.R.4 was parked among other cars.

  Malik, sitting in the back of the Mercedes, leaned forward.

  ‘I'll handle this,' he said. ‘The messenger may have seen you. He hasn't seen me. Here's what we do ...'

  * * *

  As the aircraft from Paris stopped at the arrival bay, Fritz Kirst reluctantly undid his safety belt. He wasn't pleased to be back, but it had certainly been marvellous luck to have been sent to Paris on such an easy mission. When he had arrived, the bank had been closed so he had the who
le evening and half the night to explore this city which he had never had the good fortune to visit before.

  Kirst had only been working for von Goltz for two years. He had a badly paid job as an assistant to the estate manager who constantly bullied him. Kirst was far from satisfied with his job and was planning to make a change as soon as something better came along. However, the Paris trip had made up for a lot of his past grievances, and although he had spent more money than he could afford, he told himself, as he walked through the Customs, that it had been worth it.

  A silver-haired giant of a man approached him.

  'Your name?'

  The snap in the voice and the cold green eyes brought Kirst to attention. He was so used to being snapped at by his superiors he reacted automatically.

  'Fritz Kirst, sir,' he said.

  Malik nodded.

  'Good . . . your master told me to pick you up. Follow me,' and without looking at Kirst, Malik, knowing the German weakness for obeying orders, turned on his heel and walked briskly to where the Mercedes was parked.

  Kirst, a little bewildered, had to break into a trot to keep up with him. Who was this man? he was asking himself. Why had the count sent him? But when he saw the count's car, his uneasiness disappeared. Malik was already at the wheel, and Kirst had to scramble in as Malik eased the car out of the parking bay.

  As Malik drove out on to the main road, Kirst said timidly, 'Excuse me, sir, but...'

  'I don't like people talking to me when I'm driving!' Malik snapped. Kirst placed his briefcase on his knees and sat back, snubbed and silent.

  This big man certainly could handle a car, he thought as Malik whipped the Mercedes through the traffic with expert ease. They quickly left Munich behind. As they reached the highway to Garmisch, Kirst happened to look in the offside wing mirror. He stared... stared again, then stiffened.

  Right behind the Mercedes was a small scarlet car. Kirst immediately recognised the driver and the girl beside him.

  They were the two the count was keeping prisoners at the Schloss, and that car! It was the car he had been ordered to leave at the airport!

  Sweat broke out on his face. He looked wildly at Malik who glared at him so evilly Kirst shuddered.

  'Sit still and keep quiet!' Malik snarled.

  Some way down the busy highway, there was a left turn: a narrow country road leading to a distant farmhouse. Malik slowed, swung the car down the road, drove until he reached a bend that would put the car out of sight from the highway and pulled up.

  'You have a packet from a Paris bank I want,' Malik said. 'Give it to me!'

  The T.R.4 pulled up behind the Mercedes and Girland slid out. He came to the offside door of the Mercedes and looked through the open window at Kirst.

  'Has he given it to you?'

  'Not yet... but he will.'

  Kirst hesitated for only a second, then with shaking hands, he opened the briefcase and took from it a square-shaped, sealed packet. Malik took it from him and examined it.

  Girland quietly slid his gun from his hip pocket. He didn't trust Malik. He kept the gun down by his side, but the movement hadn't escaped Malik who looked up, stared at him and grinned.

  'You take after me... you trust nobody,' he said and reaching across Kirst, he thrust the packet at Girland who took it with his left hand.

  'I apologise ... force of habit,' Girland said and put the gun back into his hip pocket. He went over to Gilly who was waiting in the T.R.4. 'Is this it?' he asked showing her the packet.

  'Yes,' Gilly said and made a quick snatch at it, but Girland was too quick for her. She looked pleadingly at him. 'Please give it to me... it's mine!'

  Girland shook his head.

  'Don't let's go all over this again, Gilly. You gave me your word. This goes to your father.'

  She went white.

  'No! Please! I couldn't live knowing he had seen those films! If you give them to him, I’ll kill myself! I swear I will!'

  Girland studied her.

  'But, Gilly, shouldn't you have thought of this before you made them? After all, you were going to send them to his enemies, weren't you?'

  'Of course not! Please believe me! I was bluffing. Of course I wasn't going to send them to them. I can't bear to think of anyone seeing them!'

  'Oh come on, Gilly. You've already sent one spool to your father.'

  'I didn't! It was Pierre! He sent it and then told me afterwards! I could have killed him! Besides, these ...' She caught her breath in a sob. 'They - they are much worse. I can't bear anyone seeing them. Don't you understand? I didn't know what I was doing as you or anyone else wouldn't have if you had had as much L.S.D. as I had.' Tears began to run down her face. 'You can't do this to me!'

  Girland regarded the packet in his hand, then looked at her.

  'This little lot is worth ten thousand dollars to me. Why should I care what it does to you?'

  She hid her face in her hands and began to sob violently, rocking herself to and fro: a picture of misery. Girland became aware that Malik had got out of the Mercedes and was watching him curiously.

  Still holding the packet in his hand, Girland said, 'What are we going to do with our friend?'

  'Tie him up and dump him here,' Malik said. 'Someone will find him. It'll give us time to get back to the airport and catch the Paris plane if we hurry.'

  Girland looked at Gilly who was rocking herself backwards and forwards and he shook his head.

  'Gilly... cut the act. It's good, but it doesn't convince me. You are like a lot of people . . . when they are on top, they're fine. When the cards fall wrong, they snivel I don't believe Rosnold was behind this. I think you were and now, without him, you've lost your guts. Here... take them.' He placed the packet on the hood of the T.R.4. Turning, he went to the Mercedes and took from the boot, Gilly's suitcase. This he dropped behind the driving seat of the T.R.4.

  Gilly continued to sob, her face hidden in her hands.

  Girland regarded her, grimaced, then shrugged. He walked back to the Mercedes.

  'Let's drive further up the road to the next bend,' he said, getting into the car.

  'You're forgetting the packet,' Malik said as he slid under the driving wheel.

  'Don't be so obvious, Comrade,' Girland said. 'Let's move.'

  Malik drove to the next bend and then pulled up. He told Kirst to get out. While he was tying Kirst's trembling hands behind his back, Girland lit a cigarette. He heard the T.R.4 start up.

  Malik looked at him.

  'She's going.'

  'Yes.'

  'She's taken the packet.'

  'Yes.'

  Malik tied Kirst's ankles together, then picking him up, dropped him over the hedge.

  'I thought you were interested in money, Girland,' he said. 'Wasn't Dorey going to pay you for those films?'

  'So he said.' Girland got into the passenger's seat of the car. 'Come on... let's move.'

  With a puzzled expression, Malik started the car, reversed and headed down to the highway.

  Although Malik drove fast, Girland saw no sign of the scarlet T.R.4. Gilly was driving even faster.

  * * *

  There were only six other passengers on the last flight to Paris and Girland and Malik sat together, away from the others.

  Both men were silent: both occupied with their thoughts.

  Girland said suddenly, 'You won't tell me unless you want to, Malik, but there's no harm in asking. Just why did you give up those films? I was anticipating trouble. With them, you could have made a big hit with your people. They wouldn't have hesitated to use them and Sherman would have been sunk. Have you lost interest in your work?'

  Malik stared broodingly down at his big hands. For some moments, Girland thought he wasn't going to reply, then he said, 'At last I'm following your example. Ever since I began working for security, I've never considered my own interests whereas you have always put yourself first and your job second. Now I've decided to do just that. As long as Kovski is in power
, I will never be allowed to return to the active field where I belong. Sitting at a desk, handling paper is death to me. This is my chance to destroy Kovski and I am taking it. Once he is destroyed, I will get back to the active field. He turned his head and his flat green eyes searched Girland's face. ‘Then you and I will be enemies again.'

  'Maybe we won't meet again,' Girland said, shrugging. 'It's only because Dorey keeps tempting me with money that I fall for his cockeyed assignments. He may get tired of it. How are you fixing Comrade Kovski?’

  Again Malik took his time before answering. Finally he said, 'When I report tomorrow, I will tell him you destroyed the films before I could get them. I will remind him that if he had acted on my suggestion and had cabled the American airport police that Sherman was returning on a false passport, Sherman would have been ruined by now . . . that the films meant nothing. We could have prevented Sherman becoming President by sending this cable. This Kovski stupidly refused to do. I will then tell him that a tape recording of our conversation is on its way to Moscow.' Malik looked down at his hands and smiled evilly. 'That will be the moment... when he realises what I have done... that I shall enjoy.'

  Girland nodded.

  'I can imagine. Dorey will be pleased.'

  Malik shrugged his heavy shoulders.

  'Many people will be pleased.' He looked at his watch. 'We will be landing in a few minutes. We must not be seen together. Drina will be on duty at the airport. Will you go first? I will follow after you when Drina is telephoning that you are back.'

  'That's okay.'

  As the plane began its descent, Malik looked directly at Girland.