Not My Thing

9

Jamison’s executive jet touched down at the Zurich airport at 09.30.

The previous afternoon he had told Smyth to alert his pilot to be ready to take off for Switzerland, and for Smyth to book a suite at the Baur au Lac hotel, and to alert Maurice Felder, the President of the Swiss branch of the Jamison Computer Organization, that he wished to see him, immediately he arrived.

Jamison was met by one of the senior executives who carried his bag, saw him through the douane and to the Rolls Royce that the hotel used to meet VIP clients.

He was received at the hotel with obsequious bows and conducted to a suite overlooking the lake. Having shaved, showered and changed, Jamison went down to the hotel entrance where the Rolls drove him to the sumptuous offices of the Corporation.

Maurice Felder, the President, received him with a warm handshake.

‘Most unexpected, Mr Jamison,’ he said as Jamison sat down. ‘A very pleasant, and gratifying surprise.’

Felder was a tall bulky man in his late fifties, always immaculately dressed, balding and, as Jamison knew, one of the shrewdest and most knowledgeable Swiss in the country. What Felder didn’t know about big business, industry, banking and big money wasn’t worth knowing.

‘I have a personal problem,’ Jamison said abruptly. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about Banque Bovay. What can you tell me?’

As Felder sat behind his desk, he lifted his bushy eyebrows.

‘A small, private bank. There are, of course, a number of these in Zurich, Bern, Basle and Geneva. These small banks give individual service, don’t ask awkward questions and extend the recognized banking secrecy to foreigners. This particular bank has been in the hands of the Bovay family for the past fifty years. Henri Bovay who had been running the bank for the past twenty years has just retired. His son, Paul, has taken his place. I understand that Henri Bovay suffered a stroke, and now has nothing to do with the bank. Paul Bovay seems to be doing a good job. The bank, in a small way, is prosperous. Its assets are acceptable.’ Felder paused and regarded Jamison. ‘Is this the kind of information you need, Mr Jamison?’

‘When did the son take over the bank?’

‘Only last month.’

‘Tell me more about the father.’

Felder, aware that he had an important board meeting in twenty minutes’ time, smiled his humourless Swiss smile.

‘Perhaps you would be good enough first to tell me what the problem is, Mr Jamison, and why you are interested in a small concern like the Bovay Bank. I could then give you direct information without wasting your time.’

‘Or wasting your time,’ Jamison said with a nod of approval. All his dealings with Felder had been excellent. Felder was one of the few men that Jamison considered a top-class executive.

Felder lifted his fat hands.

‘Yes, Mr Jamison. I have a board meeting.’

‘Right. Here’s the problem. My wife has been kidnapped.’

Felder stiffened.

‘I am sorry to hear this, Mr Jamison. So…?’

‘The ransom of five million dollars is to be paid to the Bovay Bank. The kidnapper whose name is Ernie Kling has an account at this bank. Kling is an American citizen. Unless the ransom is paid, he tells me he will murder my wife. He has given me his account number at the Bovay Bank. I need to prove to him that this sum has been paid into his account before my wife is set free.’

Felder sat for a long moment, pulling at his underlip, then he picked up the telephone receiver that connected him with his secretary.

‘The board meeting is to be cancelled,’ he said. ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed,’ and he hung up. ‘Yes, Mr Jamison, this is a problem.’ He looked directly at Jamison. ‘Tell me your thinking.’

‘I want my wife free,’ Jamison lied.

Felder nodded.

‘Of course.’

‘But I’m damned if I’m going to pay this kidnapper five million dollars,’ Jamison went on.

Felder again nodded.

‘There is always a solution to any problem. May I ask you to leave this with me? I believe you are staying at the Baur au Lac?’

‘Yes.’

‘I suggest we meet there for dinner tonight,’ Felder said. ‘Would eight o’clock be convenient?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have this man Kling’s account number at the Bovay Bank?’

‘I have it.’ Jamison took from his wallet the scrap of paper Kling had given him. It was in a plastic envelope. He passed the envelope to Felder who wrote down the number, then returned the envelope to Jamison.

‘By this evening, I hope to have found a satisfactory solution.’ Felder got to his feet. ‘Please be patient, Mr Jamison, this isn’t going to be easy, and I will need a little time.’

‘I understand. Thank you, Felder.’ Jamison got to his feet. ‘I have every confidence in you.’ Then, lying, Jamison went on, ‘I don’t have to tell you that my wife’s life must not be at risk.’

‘That, of course, is understood. As you are here, would you care to inspect the factory? I can arrange a conducted tour.’

‘No!’ Jamison barked. ‘I’m not in the mood. Then at eight o’clock tonight.’ Shaking hands, he left.

Felder sat at his desk and snatched up the telephone receiver.

‘Get me Mr Paul Bovay of the Bovay Bank,’ he told his secretary.

Lepski burst into Chief of Police Terrell’s office and slid to a standstill.

‘Chief! I’ve found her!’ he bawled.

Terrell, with a mass of papers on his desk, looked up with barely suppressed impatience and regarded Lepski. ‘Found who?’ he asked.

‘Mrs Jamison! Who else?’

Terrell pushed back his chair.

‘You have found Mrs Jamison?’

‘I got a hunch,’ Lepski said, loosening his tie. ‘I’m willing to bet she’s stashed away in Lucy Loveheart’s whore-house!’

Terrell rubbed his nose.

‘Sit down, Tom. Take it easy,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’

Briefly, Lepski made his report. How he had seen Lucan leave the brothel, how he had this hunch, how he had sat outside the brothel and seen the slim Vietnamese drive down to the garage, how he had seen the elevator go to the top floor.

‘This Viet left about an hour later and went marketing. I followed him,’ Lepski went on. ‘He bought a chicken and various herbs and a pack of rice, then he returned to the whore-house. So it’s my bet that Mrs Jamison is there.’

‘You don’t know she’s there. Okay, it looks good, but neither of us know she’s there, do we, Tom?’

Lepski made a noise like a circular saw hitting a knot of wood.

‘So what? We get a warrant and raid the place. We find Mrs Jamison! Or we don’t... so what?’

‘Tom, you are a good cop,’ Terrell said, ‘but you don’t know a thing about the politics of this city. There are three judges here who could sign a warrant, but they won’t for the simple fact they are Loveheart’s weekly clients. The Mayor is also her client. We can not, repeat can not, raid Loveheart’s whore-house. I’m not saying you are wrong, but if Mrs Jamison isn’t there you and I will be retired. Make no mistake about that. Lucy has too much clout going for her. So forget it! We wait until the ransom is paid and Mrs Jamison is safe, then we’ll grab Lucan, this tough and the Viet, but we stay still until then.’

With a grunt of disgust, Lepski got to his feet and stamped out of Terrell’s office.

Having had a three-pill sleep, Lucan came awake, and his thoughts immediately turned to the lush girl next door. He shaved, showered and put on swim-shorts. He decided he would invite her to have a swim, then take her to lunch, then soften her up with sweet talk, and by the evening she should be a push-over.

Flexing his muscles, he left his cabin and rapped on Beryl’s cabin door. There was a pause, then the door opened and, to Lucan’s startled dismay, he found himself confronted by a tall, powerfully built man who gave him a wide, friendly smile.

‘I’m Jack Shaddock,’ Howard Jackson said, and reaching out, grabbed Lucan’s hand in a vice-like grip and shook it. I guess you’re Julian Lucan.’ He released Lucan’s half paralysed hand. ‘My little wife tells me you were good enough to feed her last night. Thanks a million. My wife likes to eat.’ Jackson gave a booming laugh. ‘I’ve just arrived. Some place, huh?’

All Lucan’s erotic thoughts about getting Beryl into his bed faded. He forced a smile.

‘Just being neighbourly. I thought as she was on her own, she’d like a swim. Well, that’s okay. I guess I’ll take off.’

‘Yeah,’ Jackson said. ‘We won’t be staying long. I’ve a big deal on.’ The two men stared at each other. Jackson’s smile was less friendly. ‘See you around,’ he went on, and closed the door.

As Lucan, feeling utterly frustrated, walked down to the sea, he experienced an odd uneasiness. He shrugged this off, telling himself it was due to his frustration. As he waded into the sea, he tried to cheer himself up by thinking there were still lots of women around.

It wasn’t until he was stretched out under the shade of a palm tree that this odd feeling of uneasiness returned. Then suddenly a cold shiver ran down his back.

When he had been confronted by this man who called himself Jack Shaddock, something at the back of his mind told Lucan he had seen this man before.

Lucan had a photographic memory for faces: this was part of his way of life. As he lay on the sand, a picture came into his mind of a big, powerfully built man striding down a street in Miami. Lucan had been talking to a black man who was trying to persuade him to help him handle his string of hustlers.

The black man nudged Lucan.

‘See that fink?’ he had said in a whisper. ‘Remember him. That’s Howard Jackson, the FBI agent in this town. You run up against him, and you run into trouble.’

That had been three years ago.

Lucan sat up, cold sweat oozing out of him.

Yes!

Jack Shaddock was Howard Jackson, an FBI agent!

His mind in utter panic, Lucan stared at the sea. It took him several minutes to get his panic under control. Beryl must be an FBI plant! This could only mean that the FBI suspected that he had something to do with the kidnapping, and they were watching him!

He got unsteadily to his feet and walked back to his cabin.

With the cabin door shut, Lucan went to the liquor-cabinet and poured himself a triple Scotch. Then he sat down. He drank and moaned to himself.

The FBI!

He moaned again. How could he have been so crazy as to have got himself involved with a man like Kling?

Greed, of course!

He had been mesmerized by the thought of owning five hundred thousand dollars.

What was a sum like that compared to his freedom? He knew if there was a slip-up, and with the FBI watching him, he could go behind bars for at least ten years!

He must leave at once! He would return to New York! He would find another old, fat woman who would keep him in luxury. Yes! He must leave at once!

Finishing his drink, he jumped to his feet and rushed into the bedroom. He dressed. Then it took him only half an hour to pack his many clothes in two suitcases.

To hell with five hundred thousand dollars! he kept telling himself.

Out! Out! Out!

For a brief moment, he paused, wondering if he should alert Kling that they were being watched by FBI agents. No! That could lead to complications. Kling might not let him go. To hell with him!

Lucan went out into the hot sunshine, looked furtively to right and left, then brought his car to the cabin.

Watched by Howard Jackson and Beryl, he threw his suitcases into the car’s trunk and drove to the reception desk. There he settled his check, saying he had to return home immediately, then he drove off.

‘Are you letting that creep get away?’ Beryl asked.

‘We can’t stop him,’ Jackson said. ‘So far, we have nothing on him. I guess he must have recognized me and has taken fright. After all, the big catch is the tough and the Vietnamese.’

A few minutes before 20.00, Maurice Felder arrived at the Baur au Lac hotel. He was immediately conducted to Sherman Jamison’s suite where he found Jamison pacing restlessly up and down the big living-room. He saw a table was laid for dinner, and this pleased Felder who liked good food.

‘Ah, there you are, Felder,’ Jamison said, shaking hands. ‘No doubt you have news for me. Dinner will be served at once, then we can talk.’

Even as he was speaking, there came a tap on the door, and two waiters pushed a trolley into the room.

‘A simple meal,’ Jamison said. ‘Smoked salmon, came d’agneau and cheese. I understand they have a bottle of Margaux ’61 which should be drinkable.’

The two men sat at the table. While eating the thick slices of smoked salmon, Felder, aware that Jamison didn’t want to talk about immediate business as the waiters remained in the room, talked about Zurich, the weather, the currency situation and the strengthening of the dollar. He was an expert at harmless small talk.

Jamison, who hadn’t eaten since he had flown from Paradise City, ate well. He grunted, nodded, but made no effort to contribute to Felder’s gentle flow of waffle.

Finally the meal ended. The waiters removed the dishes. It was then that Jamison came alive. He stared at Felder.

‘Now… what have you to tell me?’

‘I believe, Mr Jamison, with your approval, I have solved your problem,’ Felder said, relaxing back in an armchair and fingering the balloon glass of cognac the waiter had poured before leaving. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you that an American citizen, residing in the States, is not allowed to have an undeclared bank account in Switzerland. Further, although the Swiss banks will accept payments, they will not accept money that can be proved comes from criminal sources. This man Kling is a resident of the States and an American citizen. For the past five or six years, he has been using the Bovay Bank to pay in sums of money. Henri Bovay appears to be in debt to this man… some important favour, but we need not go into that. He has allowed Kling to pay in money without question of its origin. I have talked to Paul Bovay. He understands the problem. He is more than willing to co-operate.’ Felder paused to sip his excellent cognac. ‘I suggest, Mr Jamison, you pay into Kling’s account the five-million-dollar ransom demand. Bovay will notify Kling that the money has been placed to his credit.’

‘How will he do that?’ Jamison asked.

‘Naturally, Kling wouldn’t want an official receipt. Some letters with Swiss stamps are often examined by the American authorities. So it has been agreed between Henri Bovay and Kling that when money has been received into his account, he will receive a tourist postcard. In this case, he will get a postcard saying ‘Five of your friends are hoping to see you soon’ and signed with Bovay’s initials. That will tell Kling the five million has been paid into his account.’

Jamison nodded.

‘Then…?’

‘Bovay will then alert the Zurich police that he has received ransom money and the kidnapper will claim it. Kling will have to come to the bank to claim the money and he will be arrested.’ Felder paused, then went on, ‘By the time it takes Kling to fly to Zurich, he will have released Mrs Jamison, convinced he has the money, and she will be safe.’

‘No,’ Jamison thought, his face expressionless, ‘she will be dead, and I will be free to marry Tarnia.’

‘You are sure this postcard will convince Kling the money has been paid?’

‘Bovay tells me so,’ Felder said. ‘Yes, I think there is no doubt about that.’

‘Then I see no reason why my wife shouldn’t be released.’ Jamison sat back, thinking. Yes! he told himself, as soon as Kling got the postcard he would murder Shannon. He now wanted to be rid of Felder so he could take a long, earnest look at this dangerous and complicated situation.

‘You have done extremely well, Felder,’ he said, and got to his feet. ‘Thank you. I take it the Organization will advance the five million quickly?’

‘No problem, Mr Jamison. We have plenty of liquid assets.’ Felder felt he was being dismissed. He hurriedly swallowed the last of the cognac and got to his feet.

‘I suppose it will take a few days for the postcard to reach Kling?’ Jamison asked.

‘Oh no. It will be sent express. I would say not more than two days.’

‘Have it addressed to Kling at the Star Motel, Paradise City. Kling is staying there. Go ahead, Felder, don’t let us waste any time.’

The two men shook hands and Jamison ushered Felder from his suite.

He then sat down, lit a cigar and considered the situation.

Before leaving Zurich he had hit on what seemed to him to be a safe solution to avoid paying Kling.

Kling’s plan for the police to find Shannon’s dead body in the trunk of a stolen car, plus two hundred thousand dollars, should convince the police that the kidnapper, who must be an amateur, had panicked, killed Shannon and bolted, leaving the ransom.

If the police accepted that, then no suspicion could fall on either Kling or himself.

Once Kling was convinced that he (Jamison) had carried out his side of the bargain, and Kling had received the postcard from his Swiss bank, he, being the professional that he was, would carry out his part of the bargain.

But by murdering Shannon Kling would deliver himself into Jamison’s hands.

When Kling discovered he had been gypped of five million dollars, he would not dare carry out his threat to go to the District Attorney and report he had been hired by Jamison to kidnap Shannon and had done so, with no intention of harming her. Those tapes he had of his conversation with Jamison would no longer be incriminating unless Kling was prepared to face trial for murder. Jamison was sure that Kling, who had apparently no police record, would not risk being tried for murder. Kidnapping, yes, but murder, no! Even with the influence of the Mafia behind him, Kling would most certainly have to serve a lengthy prison sentence.

Jamison nodded, satisfied with his thinking.

He would now have to wait until the postcard arrived. Then he would see Kling again. Once he was sure Kling had murdered Shannon, he would tell Kling not to go to his Swiss bank to collect his money as the Swiss police would be waiting to arrest him. Kling would have to accept the fact that Jamison had outwitted him, and would fade out of the picture.

Jamison frowned.

But would Kling fade out of the picture?

Jamison reminded himself he was dealing with a ruthless, professional killer. When he told Kling that he wasn’t getting the money, he might fly into a rage, produce his gun and kill him.

Jamison thought about this. There was this unpleasant possibility. He must take precautions. He decided he would write out the whole account of his meeting with Lucan, his meeting with Kling, how Shannon’s murder had been arranged. He would include every detail. There would be no question of calling in a stenographer. He would have to do this himself.

Well, he told himself, he had all night. When the document was completed, he would send it to his attorney: To be opened in the event of my death. He would borrow a photocopy machine from the hotel and have a copy for Felder, and certainly a copy for Kling. That would mean he would not have to see Kling again.

He moved to the desk, sat down, found paper and in his small, neat handwriting began to write.

Ng Vee returned to the Star Motel a little after 13.00. He found Kling still in bed, still nursing his hangover, and in a surly mood.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Kling snarled.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Ng said. ‘I gave the lady lunch. Can I get you something?’

Kling glared at him.

‘She’s got food there, hasn’t she? What’s the matter with you? She’ll be dead in a few days, so what the hell?’

Ng flinched.

‘Can I get you something, sir?’

‘No. Leave me alone!’

Ng went into the kitchen and closed the door.

She’ll be dead in a few days!

Tonight he would go to Jamison’s villa and kill him. That was the solution. That was the only solution!

Sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, Ng thought back on the three hours he had spent with Shannon Jamison.

Wonderful, marvellous hours!

While he had been preparing lunch for her, she had come into the little kitchen and had talked, while she watched him cook. Little by little, she encouraged him to talk about himself. Her quiet, calm voice was a delight to him.

He told her about his life in Saigon, about his mother, and how his master had rescued him from starvation.

Shannon was careful not to inquire about this man who Ng called his master. She was now certain that this odd youth was desperately in love with her. She felt relief and confidence, sure she could rely on him.

She had insisted that he should share the meal with her, and as they sat opposite each other she had told him about her love for music, a little about her religious faith, and as the meal was finishing she told him she was unable to have a child and how disappointed her husband was.

Ng listened, enraptured that she should take him so much into her confidence. He nearly told her that her husband was planning her murder, but he refrained. This wasn’t the time. First, he had to get rid of Jamison, then he would set her free.

She had praised his cooking and when he had cleared the dishes, asking her to leave them, as he would return the following day, she touched his hand.

‘Thank you, Kim. You have been very kind to me.’

That night, after Kling had shaken off his hangover and had gone down to the Casino, Ng walked the two miles to Jamison’s villa.

Not knowing that Jamison was in Zurich, Ng spent four frustrating hours, hidden in Jamison’s garden, waiting and watching.

There were no lights showing in the lower rooms. He saw Smyth leave the villa and walk over to Conklin’s garage apartment.

Finally, he decided that Jamison wasn’t going to appear. He didn’t want his master to return and find him absent.

Well, tomorrow night, he thought, as he began the long hot walk back to the motel, he would try again.

This man must be killed!

The following morning, Kling was in a better mood. After demolishing eggs and waffles, he said to Ng, ‘Let’s go have a swim, kid.’

All Ng’s thoughts were now directed to Shannon.

‘I thought, sir, I would see the lady and prepare her lunch,’ he said, not looking at Kling.

Kling regarded him, suddenly suspicious.

‘What goes on, kid?’ he demanded. ‘You’re not falling for that woman, are you?’

Ng felt his mouth turn dry.

‘Oh, no, sir,’ he said, clearing the table. ‘I just thought…’

‘You prepare my lunch,’ Kling growled. ‘Never mind about her. She hasn’t long to live, and there’s food there. Come on. Let’s swim.’

She hasn’t long to live!

Ng nearly cried out. Controlling himself, he carried the dishes into the kitchen, then went to his room and put on swim-shorts.

The two men, watched by Howard Jackson from his cabin window, went down to the sea.

As Ng swam he told himself he must be very careful. On no account must his master know of his feelings for Shannon. So, when after lunch, Kling said he wanted to be driven to Key West to look at the scene, Ng, with sinking heart, kept his face expressionless. As he drove, he kept thinking of Shannon, wondering what she was doing, and wondering and hoping she wouldn’t be disappointed that he hadn’t visited her.

Kling, apparently enjoying himself, went around Key West, visited the usual tourists’ haunts while Ng went with him.

They didn’t return to the Star Motel until 19.00.

‘Quite an outing, kid,’ Kling said. ‘Well, me for a shower and I’ll go to the Casino. How about you? Want to come along?’

‘Thank you, sir, but I will stay here.’ Ng thought he must return to Jamison’s villa in the hope the man he planned to kill would be there.

‘Please yourself, kid,’ Kling said, and went into his bedroom.

Half an hour later, Kling, showered, shaved and wearing a lightweight suit, came into the living-room where Ng was polishing the dining-table.

‘I’m off,’ Kling said. ‘Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be late.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Kling started to move to the door, then paused.

With his evil grin, he said, ‘Give me the key of the Whipping room, kid. I think I’d better keep it,’ and he held out his hand.

Ng felt as if a fist of iron had hit him under his heart. Somehow, he managed to keep his face expressionless.

‘But, sir…’ he began, but Kling cut him short.

With a snarl in his voice, he barked, ‘Give it to me!’

Slowly Ng took the precious key from his pocket and Kling snatched it from him.

‘See you, kid,’ he said with his evil grin and, dropping the key into his pocket, he left the cabin.

For a long moment of despair Ng stood motionless. He had first planned to visit Shannon before going to Jamison s villa. Now Kling had taken the key, this visit would be impossible. But why had Kling demanded the key?

Ng groaned to himself. His master must have guessed he was in love with this lovely woman!

The only solution was to kill Jamison!

Leaving the cabin, he walked the two hot miles to Jamison’s villa, arriving in the dark.

He wasn’t to know that Jamison was in New York, having flown back from Zurich, and didn’t plan to return to Paradise City until the following day so Ng had another weary, frustrated wait for more than four hours without seeing Jamison.

The following morning, as Ng, who had spent a sleepless night, was preparing Kling’s breakfast, he hard a rap on the cabin door. He found one of the bus-boys who thrust a card at him.

‘For Mr Kling,’ the boy said. ‘Express.’

When the boy left, Ng stared at the card. He saw it had a Swiss stamp and a Zurich postmark.

Scrawled on the card was the message:

Five of your best friends are waiting to see you here.

Ng felt a chill run through him. What did this mean? Could it mean…? He shivered, then he heard Kling come out of his bedroom.

‘Sir,’ he said. ‘Something for you.’

Kling, who had spent a good evening on the beach with a plump redhead, was in a good mood. He took the card, read the message, then released a soft yell of triumph that made Ng stiffen.

‘Kid! We’re home!’ Kling said, and gave Ng a slight punch on his chest. ‘I’ve got the money! Kid! Can you believe it? I’m worth five million dollars! Five million dollars! You hear me?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ng felt so bad he wanted to throw up. ‘I’ll get your breakfast,’ and he went into the kitchen.

So his plan to save Shannon by killing Jamison was no more. Trembling, he served the two eggs and grilled ham on a plate and put it before Kling who was seated at the table, humming and rubbing his hands.

‘Let’s talk, kid,’ Kling said. ‘Sit down. Aren’t you eating anything?’

‘No, sir.’ His legs weak, Ng sat down at the table.

‘You’re a character, kid, but I like you,’ Kling said as he began to eat. ‘Remember when we first met? You dirty and starving? They’ve been good days since then together, haven’t they?’

Ng gulped.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You and I are going far, kid,’ Kling said. ‘I’ve got five million beautiful dollars! I’ll hire a yacht, and we’ll go together around the world. You’ll like that, won’t you?’

Ng leaned forward and poured coffee into Kling’s cup.

‘Kid, you have a job to do,’ Kling went on. ‘This evening, I want you to knock off a car with a big trunk. A Caddy would be fine.’ He munched the ham. ‘This is good, kid. You’re a great cook.’

Ng found he couldn’t speak. He sat motionless, horror in his heart.

‘You know, kid, I get the idea you’ve gone soft on this woman,’ Kling went on, cutting into the second egg. ‘Okay. It happens. So, all you have to do is to knock off a big car, and I’ll do the rest.’

‘You are not going to kill her, sir?’ Ng asked, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

Kling pushed aside his finished meal and began to butter toast.

‘Kid, you’re getting your lines crossed. You haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve already told you, so I’ll tell you again. I am a professional killer. I make a contract with some guy to knock off some guy or some woman. When I get paid, I do the job. So, okay, Jamison has paid me five million bucks. It is in my Swiss bank right now, so I carry out the contract. All I’m asking you to do is to knock off a car. I’ll do the rest. Got it?’

Watching Kling spread marmalade on his toast, Ng shivered.

No! This must not happen! A thought flashed through his mind. By casually getting up to begin to clear the table, he could kill Kling, but that was an impossible thought after what Kling had done for him and for his mother. There must be some other way to save this lovely woman.

His face expressionless, he said, ‘I understand, sir. When do you want the car?’

‘Tonight, around ten o’clock. I want you to put the car in Loveheart’s garage and leave the ignition key in the lock. That’s all. You leave the rest to me.’ Kling munched his toast. ‘Okay?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ng got to his feet and cleared the table and went into the kitchen.

The telephone bell rang. Frowning, Kling picked up the receiver.

‘Kling?’

Kling recognized Jamison’s barking voice.

‘Sure.’

‘The money is now in your bank,’ Jamison said. ‘You will now carry out our agreement?’

‘No problem.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight. How about the money to be left?’

‘I’ve arranged that. It will be in a briefcase at the American Express in the name of Hugh Pilby. They have been given instructions to give the briefcase to you without question.’

‘That’s fine. Around eleven tonight, I’ll call you and give you the number of the car. It’ll be parked in the Casino parking lot. Then it’s all yours.’

‘Right. I am relying on you,’ and Jamison hung up.

Getting to his feet, Kling went into the kitchen.

‘It’s all set, kid,’ he said. ‘When you knock off this car, park it by the elevator in Loveheart’s garage and leave the trunk lid open so I can spot it. As soon as the job’s done, we get out fast.’

Ng shuddered.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Okay. I’ve a little business to fix down town. You pack our stuff and be ready to leave late tonight. I’ll see you sometime this afternoon.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Kling suddenly frowned.

‘Hey! I haven’t seen that creep Lucan for a couple of days. Have you?’

‘No, sir.’

Kling paused for a long moment, thinking, then going to the telephone, he called the reception desk and asked to be connected to Lucan’s cabin.

‘Mr Lucan checked out two days ago,’ the girl told him. ‘He left no forwarding address.’

Kling replaced the receiver and stared thoughtfully out of the window.

Why? he wondered. What had caused Lucan to panic? Or maybe he hadn’t panicked, but had dropped out of sight until the Jamison woman had been fixed. That would be typical of a spineless creep like Lucan. Too bad for him! When the job was done, he would come whining for his money. By that time, Kling and Ng would be in Zurich, and Lucan would never see the money.

Leaving the cabin, Kling drove down to the American Express offices.

Ng, tormented, spent the day in the cabin. He kept thinking of Shannon. He thought of going to the Whipping room and forcing the lock, then getting her out, but he remembered the lock. It was one of those efficient locks such that when you turned the key, a steel bar shifted into slots, and the only way to get into the room would be to batter down the door with an axe. That could only be done with a great deal of noise. No! That wasn’t the solution! But he was determined to rescue Shannon.

As he began packing Kling’s clothes, he thought of him. He owed him so much! But the thought of Kling going into that room and murdering Shannon was more than he could bear. He would have to be disloyal! He knew he couldn’t persuade Kling not to do this dreadful thing, so he had to stop him!

He spent the rest of the afternoon, praying, asking for guidance. He was still praying when he heard Kling come into the cabin.

Hurriedly getting off his knees, he went into the living-room.

‘All fixed, kid,’ Kling said, putting a briefcase on the table. ‘Packing done?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Fine. Here’s the programme. We leave here around ten o’clock. I’ve checked us out. I’ve got flight tickets on the one A.M. to New York. We’ll spend the night there, and then fly on to Zurich. We can get something to eat on the plane. I’m going for a last swim. Coming?’

‘No, thank you, sir,’ Ng said. ‘I haven’t quite finished my own packing.’

‘Okay,’ and, going into his bedroom, Kling stripped off and put on a pair of swim-shorts that Ng had left out.

That kid thinks of everything, Kling thought. Then taking a towel, he walked down to the sea.

Three hours later it was dark.

‘I guess we’ll move,’ Kling said. He had been watching TV while Ng had remained in the kitchen.

Ng came into the living-room.

‘We’ll drive down to a car park. I’ll leave you there,’ Kling said, getting to his feet. ‘You may have a little trouble knocking off the right car. There’s a big car park near Loveheart’s joint. When I’ve dropped you, I’ll go to the car park and wait. I’ll give you half an hour, then I’ll leave our car in the park, and walk the rest of the way. You know what to do. Don’t forget to leave the lid of the trunk half open and park close to the elevator, then you return to our car and wait for me.’

Ng drew in a shuddering breath.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Put our cases in our car now, kid,’ Kling said, ‘and we’ll go.’

He waited until Ng, carrying the suitcases, had gone out into the darkness, then he took from his pocket a short length of electric cable. At the ends of the cable were small wood handles: the favourite killing weapon used by the Mafia. He tested the handles, then, satisfied, he returned the garotte to his pocket.

Leaving the lights on in the living-room, he went out to join Ng who was already sitting in the car.

It so happened that Howard Jackson and Beryl were seated at the table, eating sandwiches. They didn’t see Ng place the bags in the car’s trunk, but they heard the car start up.

Jackson kicked back his chair and went to the window in time to see the red rear lights of Kling’s car shoot away down the sandy road. He stepped out into the hot, humid night, moved to where he could see Kling’s cabin. He saw the sitting-room window, curtains drawn, was showing lights.

He returned to where Beryl was finishing her sandwich.

‘He’s gone out for the evening, leaving the Viet,’ he said, and sitting down, picked up another sandwich.

Detective 1st Grade Tom Lepski sat in his car outside the Casino in the dreary hope there would be some action. The time was 22.15.

Lepski had had an unexpectedly good chicken-on-the-spit dinner that, more by luck than judgement, Carroll had cooked to perfection. The apple pie wasn’t all it should be, but after cutting away most of the burnt crust Lepski had enjoyed it.

As he sat in his seat, relaxed, he thought of Shannon Jamison’s kidnapping. The biggest sensation ever in Paradise City, and yet Chief of Police Terrell refused to make a move.

Lepski was certain that Shannon Jamison was holed up in Lucy Loveheart’s flesh emporium, and yet, because all the top-shots of the city patronized the place, the police were prohibited to raid it!

As soon as the ransom is paid, then we move in fast.

Lepski snorted. When the hell was the ransom going to be paid? Jamison had said he would alert Terrell once he had his wife back, then, possibly, it would be too late to catch the kidnappers.

Bored with staring bleakly at the Casino entrance, watching the rich get out of their cars and enter, eager to lose their money, Lepski decided to drive down to the harbour where there just might be some action.

He started his car and drove slowly through the dense traffic down to where the rich moored their luxury yachts.

He parked in the shadows, sat back, lit a cigarette and surveyed the scene. At this time, there was a lot of activity: tourists gaping at the yachts and motor cruisers, parties going on deck with men in tuxedos and women flashing their diamonds, eating, drinking and talking at the top of their voices.

He switched on his two-way radio.

‘Charlie? Tom. I’m down by the harbour. Any action?’

‘Not your kind, Tom,’ Tanner replied. ‘We’ve just had an alert that a car belonging to Mr van Roberts was stolen twenty minutes ago.’

‘Cars!’ Lepski moaned. ‘Some goddamn kid! Okay, let’s have it. I’ll watch for it.’

‘Dark red Caddy. No. PC5544.’

‘Okay.’ Lepski scribbled the number down on a pad. ‘I’ll watch out.’

‘All patrols have been alerted. Mr van Roberts is VIP and he’s hopping mad.’

‘Yeah, who isn’t VIP except you and me?’ Lepski snorted and switched off.

He went back to staring at the crowds on the waterfront.

For the past twenty minutes, Kling had been sitting in his car in the parking lot near Lucy Loveheart’s residence, smoking and waiting. His eyes constantly went to his watch.

While he waited, he thought of what he would do with five million dollars. He grinned to himself. For the first time in his dangerous life, he would be worth real money. He wondered how the kid was getting on. He would get a car and deliver it according to Kling’s instructions. Kling had no doubt about that. Not once had the kid taken a wrong step. It was odd that he seemed to have turned a bit soft about the woman, but that didn’t matter. The kid was young. When they reached Zurich and had collected the money, Kling would see if he could fix the kid up with some chick. That’s what the kid needed: to screw and be screwed. It would make all the difference to the kid’s outlook.

Kling again looked at his watch. Time to go! He slid out of his car. He paused to check that he had the key to the Whipping room, then he put his hand inside his other pocket and fingered the garotte. It would be quick, and no mess, he thought, as he set off along the sidewalk, keeping in the shadows.

Checking that no one was observing him, he walked quickly down the ramp to the underground garage that was lit by one overhead lamp.

Parked a few yards from the elevator was a glittering red Cadillac with the lid of the trunk half open.

Kling nodded to himself. Nice work, kid, he thought. Very nice work.

He pressed the down button of the elevator and when the cage arrived, he stepped in and thumbed the top floor button.

When the elevator came to a stop, Kling took out the garotte. He stepped into the passage and looked up and down the dimly lit corridor, listened, then moved over to the door of the Whipping room.

Silently he inserted the key and turned it gently, then eased open the door.

The sound of a Mozart concerto from the radio greeted him. He slid forward, leaving the door ajar, the garotte dangling in his fingers.

He saw her, sitting with her back to him, intent on the music, and his evil smile lit up.

Too easy! he thought, and moved like a phantom towards her. The garotte now a loop, ready to drop over her head.

Then steel-like fingers closed around the back of his neck. He felt a rush of blood to his head. He made an effort to claw away the fingers, then blackness descended, and he fell forward with a thump on the carpet.

With a scream, Shannon sprang to her feet and turned. She saw the Vietnamese youth staring down at a man who lay face down.

She began to back away, suppressing another scream.

‘Quick, ma’am!’ Ng gasped. ‘I am getting you out of here! Please come with me! We have only a few minutes before he recovers. Quick!’

Shannon, seeing the tragic expression on Ng’s face, immediately realizing he had come to rescue her, went to him.

Taking her by the wrist, he hurried her to the elevator. In the garage, he got her into the stolen Cadillac, slid under the steering-wheel and started the engine. He swept around and drove fast up the ramp onto the street.

‘Don’t say anything, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Listen, please. This is a stolen car. By now they will be looking for it. I haven’t much time.’

‘Oh, Kim!’ Shannon gasped. ‘I knew you would help me!’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ng said. ‘I had to help you.’ He swung the car onto a side street that led down to the water-front.

‘Was that man your master?’ Shannon asked.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Ng caught his breath in a sob. ‘I have been disloyal. It’s something I can’t live with. I must tell you, ma’am. Don’t go home. Go to a true friend, but don’t go home.’

He found himself on the water-front. He had only a vague idea of the geography of the city and, seeing the crowded quay, he slowed the car to a crawl.

‘I don’t understand what you are saying, Kim.’

‘We must talk.’ ‘Ng saw a parking space and edged the big car between two other cars and cut the engine. He turned to look at her, his face showing suffering and tear marks. ‘Ma’am, please believe me. It was your husband who wanted to get rid of you. He hired my master to murder you. He paid five million dollars.’

‘Oh, no!’ Shannon gasped.

‘Please, believe me,’ Ng said and gripped her wrist. ‘You must keep away from him! He wants a child! Go to some friend who you can trust, but don’t go home. You understand?’

Shannon felt an icy chill run through her. Thinking of the last time she had talked to her husband, seeing his ruthless face, she realized this wasn’t fantasy.

Somewhere safe? Meg Clayton!

While they were talking, Lepski shifted his eyes to a newly parked car, then stiffened.

Red Caddy. No. PC 5544.

Goddamn it! he thought. Here’s the stolen car! He leaned forward and peered through his windshield. He saw there was a man and a woman, sitting side by side in the front seat.

Action at last!

He reached for his two-way radio.

‘Charlie! That Caddy is parked on quay eight. Man and woman in it. Block all exits to the quay. I’m investigating.’

‘Will do,’ Tanner said and switched off.

Lepski eased his gun in its holster, then, leaving his jacket hanging open, he slid out of his car and threaded his way through the tourists to the Cadillac. He arrived at the driver’s open window and immediately recognized Ng. His gun jumped into his hand.

‘Police,’ he growled in his cop voice. ‘Come on out, both of you, and come carefully.’

Ng looked at Shannon.

‘Ma’am, please remember what I said. Don’t go home,’ and, opening the car door, he got out.

‘You too!’ Lepski snapped.

Shannon got out of the car and, moving swiftly, came around to join Ng.

There came the sound of police sirens as patrol cars converged on the quay.

Moving between Ng and Lepski, Shannon said quietly, ‘I am Mrs Sherman Jamison. I have been kidnapped. This young man has rescued me.’

Lepski gaped at her.

‘You’re Mrs Jamison?’

‘Yes.’

He stared at her, and then recognized her. He had often seen photographs of her in the press.

Two police cars, their blue lamps flashing, came from either end of the quay and men spilled out.

Lepski suddenly realized the Vietnamese was no longer there. With a movement as quick as a lizard, Ng had jumped towards the harbour wall, and with another jump, as Lepski raised his gun, there was a splash of water.

Ng swam under water until he was clear of the yachts, then he surfaced and trod water, looking for the last time at Shannon who was standing motionless, her hands covering her face.

God bless you, ma’am, he thought, then let himself sink into the oily water. The debris from the yachts closed over him.

Kling recovered consciousness to find himself lying on the plush carpet of the Whipping room. His brain immediately became alive. Staggering to his feet, he looked around, but he knew Shannon Jamison had gone and the kid had gone with her. He stood still for some moments until he felt himself again, then, snarling, he searched the apartment, not expecting to find the two there, but he looked.

Again he paused to think. So the little bastard, after serving him like a slave with his ‘No problem, sir’ had double-crossed him because he had fallen for a woman!

Snatching up the garotte from the floor, Kling left the Whipping room, shutting the door, but leaving the key in the lock.

He rode down in the elevator to the garage and saw the stolen Cadillac had gone. Ng wouldn’t get far. The cops would spot the car, and he’d go away in the slammer for at least ten years. Serve the little bastard right!

Kling’s one thought now was to get out. To hell with Jamison! He told himself that he had to get to Zurich. He had his flight reservations, his clothes and two hundred thousand dollars from Jamison in his car.

He ran up the ramp of the garage and in a few minutes he was driving fast to the Miami airport.

It wasn’t until he had checked in and boarded the New York flight, that he settled himself in his first-class seat and relaxed.

Zurich, here I come! he thought and grinned. He would collect the five million dollars and drop out of sight. As the plane took off, he began to hum softly. Five million dollars! he was thinking, but he wasn’t to know that three Swiss detectives were sitting in the entrance hall of the Bovay Bank waiting to arrest him.

Jamison sat at his desk. He kept looking at his watch. The time was 23.15. Why no word from Kling? Had something gone wrong? He felt confident, now that Kling had proof the money was in his bank, he would murder Shannon. Why this exasperating wait? He felt his heart beating unevenly and he forced himself to remain patient.

There came a tap on the door, and he barked, ‘Come in!’

Smyth came in and placed a letter before him.

‘An express, sir, just come in.’

Jamison looked at the letter and saw the Italian stamps. At last! A letter from Tarnia.

‘Thank you, Smyth. Get me sandwiches. I will be up late.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ Smyth bowed and left the room. He went into the pantry and prepared two chicken and ham sandwiches and two smoked-salmon sandwiches. He added a few leaves of fresh lettuce, then carried the plate to Jamison’s study.

He stood in the open doorway, staring.

Jamison, still in his chair, was lying face down across the desk.

‘Sir!’ Smyth exclaimed. ‘Is something wrong?’

Jamison didn’t move.

Putting down the silver plate, Smyth went to him. He saw in a moment that Jamison was dead, and he also saw, clutched in Jamison’s fingers, a letter.

Shocked, Smyth took the letter from the dead man’s hand. He hesitated for a long moment, then read the letter.