1966 - You Have Yourself a Deal

by James Hadley Chase

  Dorey nodded. His thin face was puzzled.

  “She might have stayed with a friend. Seems odd no hotel has reported her missing or finding her luggage.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll keep at it.” O’Halloran got to his feet. “You are moving her from the hospital?”

  “She’s being moved right at this moment. I am expecting a call from Kerman to tell me she is safely on her way.”

  When Dorey finally got the call from Kerman, the call came as a considerable shock.

  * * *

  As Jo-Jo reached the bend in the stairway leading to the fourth floor, he heard voices. He paused abruptly and peered around the bend. He saw a soldier, his back turned to him, an automatic rifle in his hand. The sight of the armed man made Jo-Jo stiffen, and then his lips moved off his uneven yellow teeth in a grin.

  Well, at least he had found the right floor, he thought, but he wasn’t going to tangle with a man with an automatic rifle. He would have to go back to the fifth floor, get out onto the ledge and climb down to the fourth floor. By edging along the lower ledge and by looking into the various windows, he must, sooner or later, find this woman.

  Then he heard a man say, “Get the elevator open!”

  Again he leaned forward cautiously, and was in time to see a wheeled stretcher on which lay a blonde woman. The stretcher was being pushed by a tall, lean man wearing a shabby suit. He was followed by a man wearing the uniform of an American Colonel, a .45 automatic in his hand. Behind him came a white-faced nurse. The scared expression on her young face alerted Jo-Jo too late that something was wrong.

  While he was hesitating, the elevator doors swished open and the stretcher was pushed into the cage. In a few seconds, the other members of the party had entered and the door swished shut.

  As the elevator sank between the floors, Smernoff said to Girland, “Don’t start anything when we get to the lobby. If we have to, we’ll start shooting. There could be a massacre down there if you fool around. Just remember that.”

  Girland shrugged.

  “I’m not starting anything . . . why should I? You have got her: okay, you keep her.”

  Smernoff sneered at him.

  “Dorey must be a fool to use a weakling like you.”

  “Why, sure,” Girland said. “Who said Dorey was anything but a fool? Just don’t get rough. Take her away and leave me alone. Why should I care what happens to her? Dorey isn’t paying me that much.”

  Ginny gasped and stared at Girland who made a face at her.

  “And you, baby, you behave too,” he said. “This woman isn’t your responsibility. Don’t risk getting hurt. No one is worth getting hurt for.”

  The elevator doors opened and the party with the stretcher moved out into the lobby.

  The fat reception clerk blinked at them. Kordak had moved close to Ginny who remained by the stretcher. Smernoff said quietly to Girland, “Sign her out. You’ll be the first to get it in the back if you start something.”

  Girland walked across to the reception desk.

  “I’m taking my wife home. Do you want me to sign anything?” he said to the clerk.

  “Certainly.” The clerk gaped at Smernoff and then at Kordak and his automatic rifle. “What is all this?”

  “She’s a V.I.P.,” Girland said smoothly. “The American Army is interested in her.”

  Puzzled, the clerk gave him a form which Girland completed.

  Smernoff had moved to his side, his .45 now back in its holster, but Girland was aware of the automatic rifle.

  In a few moments the party moved out of the lobby and down the ramp to the waiting Citroen ambulance.

  Jack Kerman parked outside the hospital in a 3.8 Jaguar watched the sleeping woman being loaded into the ambulance. He saw Girland and a young nurse get into the ambulance, followed by a man in a Colonel’s uniform. Aha! trouble, he thought and switched on the radar scanner.

  As the ambulance began to move down the drive, the scanner warmed up. Then as Kerman started the car’s engine, a steady bleep-bleep came from the screen and he relaxed. At least Girland had given the woman the radio pill, he thought. He waited until the ambulance had turned the corner and began racing towards the Pont de Neuilly, then he engaged gear and manoeuvred the car from its parking place.

  * * *

  Sadu had seen the ambulance drive away and thought nothing of it. He was sitting, tense, waiting for Jo-Jo to appear to tell him the woman was dead. He was very uneasy. Nothing he would have liked better than to have driven away and to have left Jo-Jo to find his own way back, but suppose Jo-Jo had been seen?

  Suppose . . .? He grimaced. Lighting yet another cigarette, he looked out into the rain at the lighted entrance of the hospital.

  Jo-Jo had returned to the fifth floor. He knew he had failed and he was nervous. Yet-Sen had no patience with failures. This could be dangerous, Jo-Jo thought. His cunning mind was busy as he pressed the call button of the elevator. As he went down to the ground floor, he unscrewed the silencer from the gun and dropped it into his pocket. He shoved the gun down the waistband of his trousers. The cage of the elevator grounded and he darted out of it, moving like a swift black shadow, past the reception clerk and out into the rain. His movements were so fast the reception clerk, dozing at his desk, had only a blurred image of a man passing him and by the time he was sufficiently alert, Jo-Jo was scrambling into Sadu’s car.

  “Get moving!”

  Sadu started the engine and pulled out into the deserted boulevard. He began driving fast towards Place des Ternes.

  “What happened?” he asked, his eyes watching the rain soaked road.

  “The nurse lied,” Jo-Jo said. “I couldn’t find her. She wasn’t on the fifth floor.” He thought of the stretcher on which the sleeping woman had been wheeled into the elevator. This was something he would keep to himself. “The operation was badly planned. We must begin again tomorrow.”

  Sadu cursed. He slammed on the brakes and pulled up by the kerb.

  “Tomorrow? They told me she was to be dead by tomorrow! We’ll go back! You have got to find her!”

  Jo-Jo scratched the back of his dirty neck.

  “How? I can’t look in every room in the hospital. This is your funeral. Tell me where she is and I’ll do the job.”

  Sadu became desperate. This was his first important assignment and unless he succeeded, his status with Yet-Sen and more important with Pearl would be worthless. Besides, remembering what Pearl had said, his own life could be in danger.

  “We’ll go back,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “Somehow we will find her.”

  Jo-Jo hesitated, then decided he had better tell the truth.

  There was now no point in going back.

  “All right, don’t get so worked up. I messed it. They have taken her away. I saw them take her out on a stretcher.”

  Sadu twisted around in his seat.

  “Who took her away?” His voice was shrill.

  “The Americans,” Jo-Jo said sullenly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Don’t shout! I didn’t want trouble.”

  Cursing, Sadu slapped the thin, dirty face with the back of his hand.

  “You stinking little rat! We could have followed the ambulance. I saw it go, but didn’t know she was inside!”

  There was a moment of pause, than as Jo-Jo said nothing, Sadu started the car. He began driving at a reckless speed down the dark, rain swept road.

  Jo-Jo wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve. He resisted the urge to slam his knife into Sadu’s body. He said, “Where do you think you are going?”

  “Shut up!” Sadu snarled.

  Shrugging, Jo-Jo squirmed down in the bucket seat. This was his first failure. He was a little unnerved. His face smarted from the slap Sadu had given him. Well, that was something to be stored away. No one ever hit him without regretting it.

  Driving so fast that even Jo-Jo’s teeth were set on edge, Sadu arrived at his shop on the Rue de Rivoli in ten
minutes.

  He unlocked the glass door, motioned Jo-Jo to go ahead, then entered the dark little shop. They went around the counter and entered the living room.

  Pearl Kuo was sitting in an armchair, her small hands resting on her silken knees. She looked expectantly at Sadu as he came in.

  “He couldn’t find her!” Sadu said, sweat glistening on his face. “Now, the Americans have taken her away. This filthy little rat let them walk out with her and we’ve lost her! What am I to do?”

  Pearl rose to her feet, her eyes opening wide.

  “Tell me what happened?” she said to Jo-Jo who glared sullenly at her.

  He explained how the Nurse had lied and how he had lost time searching the fifth floor of the hospital.

  Sadu was horrified that Pearl was quite unmoved when Jo-Jo casually told her he had murdered the nurse.

  “How was I to know she was lying?” Jo-Jo concluded. “The operation was badly planned.”

  “Yes.” Pearl turned to Sadu. “You must tell Yet-Sen that the Americans had moved the woman before you arrived at the hospital. Tell him you are trying to locate her, and you will know where she has been taken by tomorrow morning, and you will then complete your mission.”

  “But how do I find out where she has been taken?” Sadu shouted, wiping his sweating face.

  “That I will see to. Tell Yet-Sen I have a contact who will know where she is and I have gone to talk to him.”

  Sadu stared at her suspiciously.

  “Who is this contact?”

  “This is something you need not know about, cheri. You must leave this to me.” She waved towards the telephone. “Call Yet-Sen. Is your car outside?”

  “Yes . . . where are you going?”

  She went into the bedroom, then came out, struggling into a white plastic mac.

  “Where are you going?” Sadu repeated angrily.

  “Please telephone Yet-Sen. I won’t be long,” and she was gone.

  * * *

  To say Girland was startled when he saw Malik standing by the Citroen ambulance would be an understatement, but he quickly recovered his poise.

  “Well! If it isn’t my old Comrade Malik,” he said. “I’ve had happy thoughts all this time I left you for dead months ago.”

  Malik eyed him over, his flat green eyes glittering.

  “I don’t die that easily,” he said. “Get in, and shut up!”

  Girland shrugged, glanced at Kordak who was covering him with the automatic rifle, then climbed into the ambulance.

  “You too,” Malik said to Ginny.

  As she moved to the ambulance, Girland leaned forward, offering her his hand, but she ignored him, getting into the ambulance and refusing his help.

  Smernoff got in the driving seat and Kordak beside him. Malik joined Girland in the back of the ambulance. As soon as the double doors had slammed shut, the ambulance took off, racing towards the Pont de Neuilly with its flasher in action and its horn honking its warning.

  Girland made himself comfortable. He said to Malik, “Don’t tell me you walked out of that hell hole. I really thought I had seen the last of you.”

  Malik leaned his broad shoulder against the padding of his seat.

  “You weren’t the only one with a helicopter,” he said, “but that’s past history.” He looked at the sleeping woman. “So you are supposed to be her husband? Where were you planning to take her, Girland?”

  “Dorey has a room set up for her at the Embassy,” Girland lied. “The idea of course, was for me to give her love and attention in the hope she would eventually talk. What do you intend to do with her, now you have got her?”

  “That’s my business,” Malik said.

  Girland regarded him with a humorous, sorrowful smile.

  “The trouble with you Russians is you take your jobs too seriously,” he said. “What’s going to happen to me? You know, Malik, we could do a deal. You haven’t my way with women. Suppose I continue to act as her husband and give you her information instead of Dorey? After all, America and Russia have a common enemy in China. I am sure I could get more out of her than you. You just haven’t the right touch. It would cost you a little, but that shouldn’t worry your people. I’ll cooperate with you for thirty thousand francs. What do you say?”

  Ginny, listening to this, gasped.

  “You are a horrible man!” she exclaimed, glaring at Girland. “How can you say such a thing?”

  Girland gave her his charming smile.

  “Will you please keep your pretty nose out of this? Who cares what you think?” He looked at Malik. “How about it, my Russian comrade? How about a deal?”

  Malik regarded him with contempt.

  “I would rather trust a rattlesnake than you, Girland. I can handle this woman. I don’t need you. What surprises me is that Dorey should use you.”

  “You’re right. It surprises me.” Girland laughed. “The trouble with Dorey is he is a romantic. He hasn’t learned to distrust anyone. Well, okay, if you’re sure we can’t make a deal, what’s going to happen to me?”

  By now the ambulance was racing along the broad AutoRoute de l’Ouest.

  “In a little while we stop and let you out,” Malik said. “You can then return to Dorey and tell him you have failed. But be careful, the next time we meet may not be so pleasant for you. I have no orders to kill you, but if we should meet again, then I could be tempted.”

  Girland gave an exaggerated shiver.

  “I’ll keep clear of you, Comrade. I wouldn’t want to put temptation in your way. And how about our pretty little nurse?”

  Malik glanced at Ginny and shrugged.

  “She can get out with you. Just for your information, after we have driven a few miles from the place we leave you, we change cars. You will be wasting your time trying to follow us.”

  “Why should I follow you?” Girland asked. “I’ve gone through the motions. I haven’t been successful. I have had some money so it is now Dorey’s funeral.”

  Malik drew in a long breath of exasperation. This attitude, this talk coming from an American agent infuriated and baffled him.

  He had always taken his work seriously and had been ready to sacrifice his life for the Cause. This man . . . Malik controlled his exploding temper. He knew about him . . . a man who thought only of himself.

  But thinking about Girland, as the ambulance roared along the AutoRoute, Malik felt a slight qualm. How much easier life would be, he thought wistfully, if he had this kind of philosophy of always putting yourself first and always thinking of money. He stared at Girland whose eyes were shut as he lolled in his seat, completely relaxed and humming the latest Beatles’ hit.

  Then Malik stiffened. Even to think this way was decadent, he reminded himself. Leaning forward, a snap in his voice, he told Smernoff to drive faster.

  * * *

  The time was 10.10 p.m. and Mahler’s 2nd Symphony was coming to a blazing end when the shrill, persistent ringing of the front door bell made Nicolas Wolfert start to his feet, his fat, dimpled face showing his irritation.

  Wolfert lived in a luxury apartment in Rue Singer: a penthouse that overlooked the old and soot-blackened roofs of Paris. He had bought this three-room apartment with the money he had inherited from his father, Joel Wolfert, who had been a successful merchant, selling American goods to the Chinese people. Joel Wolfert’s original idea had been to turn his business over to his son, but he found to his consternation that his son wished to be a scholar. After a longish period which had disappointed the father, Nicolas Wolfert emerged as one of the world’s experts on Chinese jade and a rare being who could write, read and speak several Chinese dialects fluently.

  His father dead, the fortune he had inherited wisely invested, Wolfert now made an acceptable living attending auctions, writing articles on jade and when necessary working for Dorey when Dorey needed advice on Chinese problems.

  Dorey had accepted this short, fat rather unattractive man as his Chinese expert. Wolfert, of cou
rse, had been screened by Security, but they had been so dazzled by his talents they hadn’t dug as deeply into his private life as they should. What would have worried Dorey had he known was Wolfert’s liking for Oriental women. His sexual activities, carefully concealed, would have made Dorey’s remaining hairs stand on end.

  Wolfert, muttering to himself, turned down his expensive Quad hi-fi set and walked across the priceless Persian carpet he had inherited from his father, down the broad corridor, the walls of which were decorated with priceless Chinese scrolls, also inherited from his father, to open his front door.

  The small figure, wrapped in a white plastic mac standing outside the door made his heart give a little jump.

  “Why, Pearl . . . it is Pearl, isn’t it?” He peered at the small, beautiful face. “What are you doing here? You’re wet. Come in.”

  Pearl’s red-rouged lips curved into a smile as she moved past him. Puzzled, but excited, Wolfert followed her into the living room. He hurriedly turned off the hi-fi set, then smiled uncertainly at her.

  He had met her some months ago at Chung Wu’s restaurant.

  She had been dining alone, and it seemed to him the obvious thing to do since she had smiled at him, to join her. He had been entranced by her flower-like beauty. She had been startlingly direct. After an excellent meal, she had said quietly, “When I am fortunate enough to meet a man like you, I wish to be held in his arms. I have a room. Shall we go?”

  Scarcely believing his good fortune, Wolfert had left with her.