The Spoilers

I

Warren was ushered into Hellier’s office in Wardour Street after passing successfully a hierarchy of secretaries, each more svelte than the last. When he finally penetrated into the inner sanctum, Hellier said, ‘I really didn’t expect to see you, Doctor. I expected I’d have to chase you. Sit down.’

Warren came to the point abruptly. ‘You mentioned unlimited funds, but I take that to be a figure of speech. How unlimited?’

‘I’m pretty well breeched,’ said Hellier with a smile. ‘How much do you want?’

‘We’ll come to that. I’d better outline the problem so that you can get an idea of its magnitude. When you’ve absorbed that you might decide you can’t afford it.’

‘Well see,’ said Hellier. His smile broadened.

Warren laid down a folder. ‘You were right when you said I had particular knowledge, but I warn you I don’t have much — two names and a place — and all the rest is rumour.’ He smiled sourly. ‘It isn’t ethics that has kept me from going to the police — it’s the sheer lack of hard facts.’

‘Leaving aside your three facts, what about the rumour? I’ve made some damned important decisions on nothing but rumour, and I’ve told you I get paid for making the right decisions.’

Warren shrugged. ‘It’s all a bit misty — just stuff I’ve picked up in Soho. I spend a lot of time in Soho — in the West End generally — it’s where most of my patients hang out. It’s convenient for the all-night chemist in Piccadilly,’ he said sardonically.

‘I’ve seen them lining up,’ said Hellier.

‘In 1968 a drug ring was smashed in France — a big one. You must realize that the heroin coming into Britain is just a small leakage from the more profitable American trade. This particular gang was smuggling to the States in large quantities, but when the ring was smashed we felt the effects here. The boys were running around like chickens with their heads chopped off — the illegal supply had stopped dead.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Hellier. ‘Are you implying that to stop the trade into Britain it would be necessary to do the same for the States?’

‘That’s virtually the position if you attack it at the source, which would be the best way. One automatically implies the other. I told you the problem was big.’

‘The ramifications are more extensive than I thought,’ admitted Hellier. He shrugged. ‘Not that I’m chauvinistic about it; as you say, it’s an international problem.’

Hellier still did not seem to be disturbed about the probable cost to his pocket, so Warren went on: ‘I think the best way of outlining the current rumours is to look at the problem backwards, so to speak — beginning at the American end. A typical addict in New York will buy his shot from a pusher as a “sixteenth” — meaning a sixteenth of an ounce. He must buy it from a pusher because he can’t get it legally, as in England. That jerks up the price, and his sixteenth will cost him somewhere between six and seven dollars. His average need will be two shots a day.’

Hellier’s mind jerked into gear almost visibly. After a moment he said, ‘There must be a devil of a lot of heroin going into the States.’

‘Not much,’ said Warren. ‘Not in absolute bulk. I daresay the illegal intake is somewhere between two and three tons a year. You see, the heroin as sold to the addict is diluted with an inert soluble filler, usually lactose — milk sugar. Depending on whether he’s being cheated — and he usually is — the percentage of heroin will range from one-half to two per cent. I think you could take a general average of one per cent.’

Hellier was figuring again. He drew forward a sheet of paper and began to calculate. ‘If there’s a sixteen-hundredth of an ounce of pure heroin in a shot, and the addict pays, say, $6.50...’ He stopped short. ‘Hell, that’s over $10,000 an ounce!’

‘Very profitable,’ agreed Warren. ‘It’s big business over there. A pound of heroin at the point of consumption is worth about $170,000. Of course, that’s not all profit — the problem is to get it to the consumer. Heroin is ultimately derived from the opium poppy, papaver somniferum, which is not grown in the States for obvious reasons. There’s a chain of production — from the growing of the poppy to raw opium; from the opium to morphine; from morphine to heroin.’

‘What’s the actual cost of production?’ asked Hellier.

‘Not much,’ said Warren. ‘But that’s not the issue. At the point of consumption in the States a pound of heroin is worth $170,000; at the point of the wholesaler inside the States it’s worth $50,000; at any point outside the States it’s worth $20,000. And if you go right back along the chain you can buy illicit raw opium in the Middle East for $50 a pound.’

‘That tells me two things,’ said Hellier thoughtfully. ‘There are high profits to be made at each stage — and the cost at any point is directly related to the risks involved in smuggling.’

‘That’s it,’ said Warren. ‘So far the trade has been fragmented, but rumour has it that a change is on the way. When the French gang was busted it left a vacuum and someone else is moving in — and moving in with a difference. The idea seems to be that this organization will cut out the middlemen — they’ll start with the growing of the poppy and end up with delivery inside the States of small lots in any given city. A guaranteed delivery on that basis should net them $50,000 a pound after expenses have been met. That last stage — getting the stuff into the States — is a high risk job.’

‘Vertical integration,’ said Hellier solemnly. ‘These people are taking hints from big business. Complete control of the product.’

‘If this comes off, and they can sew up the States, we can expect an accelerated inflow into Britain. The profits are much less, but they’re still there, and the boys won’t neglect the opportunity.’ Warren gestured with his hand. ‘But this is all rumour. I’ve put it together from a hundred whispers on the grapevine.’

Hellier laid his hands flat on the desk. ‘So now we come to your facts,’ he said intently.

‘I don’t know if you could dignify them by that name,’ said Warren tiredly. ‘Two names and a place. George Speering is a pharmaceutical chemist with a lousy reputation. He got into trouble last year in a drug case, and the Pharmaceutical Society hammered him. He was lucky to escape a jail sentence.’

‘They... er... unfrocked him?’

‘That’s right. This crowd will need a chemist and I heard his name mentioned. He’s still in England and I’m keeping an eye on him as well as I can, but I expect him to go abroad soon.’

‘Why soon? And how soon?’

Warren tapped the desk calendar. ‘The opium crop isn’t in yet, and it won’t be for a month. But morphine is best extracted from fresh opium, so as soon as this gang have enough of the stuff to work on then Speering will get busy.’

‘Perhaps we should keep a closer watch on Speering.’

Warren nodded. ‘He still seems to be taking it pretty easy at the moment. And he’s in funds, so he’s probably on a retainer. I agree he should be watched.’

‘And the other name?’ enquired Hellier.

‘Jeanette Delorme. I’ve never heard of her before. She sounds as though she could be French, but that doesn’t mean much in the Middle East, if that’s where she hangs out. But I don’t even know that. I don’t know anything about her at all. It was just a name that came up in connection with Speering.’

Hellier scribbled on a piece of paper. ‘Jeanette Delorme.’ He looked up. ‘And the place?’

‘Iran,’ said Warren briefly.

Hellier looked disappointed. ‘Well, that’s not much.’

‘I never said it was,’ said Warren irritatedly. ‘I thought of giving it to the police but, after all, what had I to give them?’

‘They could pass it on to Interpol. Maybe they could do something.’

‘You’ve been making too many television pictures,’ said Warren abrasively. ‘And believing them, at that! Interpol is merely an information centre and doesn’t initiate any executive work. Supposing the word was passed to the Iranian police. No police force is incorruptible, and I wouldn’t take any bets at all on the cops in the Middle East — although I hear the Iranians are better than most.’

‘I appreciate your point.’ Hellier was silent for a moment. ‘Our best bet would appear to be this man, Speering.’

‘Then you’re willing to go on with it on the basis of the little information I have?’

Hellier was surprised. ‘Of course!’

Warren took some papers from his file. ‘You might change your mind when you see these. It’s going to cost you a packet. You said I could pick a team. I’ve been making commitments on your behalf which you’ll have to honour.’ He pushed two sheets across the desk. ‘You’ll find the details there — who the men are, what they’ll cost, and some brief biographical details.’

Hellier scanned the papers rapidly and said abruptly, ‘I agree to these rates of pay. I also agree to the bonus of £5,000 paid to each man on the successful completion of the venture.’ He looked up. ‘No success — no bonus. Fair enough?’

‘Fair enough — but it depends on what you mean by success.’

‘I want this gang smashed,’ said Hellier in a harsh voice. ‘Smashed totally.’

Warren said wryly, ‘If we’re going to do anything at all that is implied.’ He pushed another paper across the desk. ‘But we haven’t come to my price.’

Hellier picked it up and, after a moment, said ‘Humph! What the devil do you want with a property in Soho? They come damned expensive.’

Warren explained, with feeling, the trouble the Soho Therapy Centre had run into. Hellier chuckled. ‘Yes, people are damned hypocrites. I’d have probably been the same before... well, never mind that.’ He got up and went to the window. ‘Would a place in Wardour Street do?’

‘That would be fine.’

‘The company has a place just across the road here. We were using it as a warehouse but that’s been discontinued. It’s empty now and a bit run down, but it may suit you.’ He returned to his desk. ‘We were going to sell it, but I’ll let you have it at a peppercorn rent and reimburse the company out of my own funds.’

Warren, who had not yet finished with him, nodded briefly and pushed yet another paper across the desk. ‘And that’s my bonus on the successful completion of the job.’ Ironically he emphasized the operative word in mockery of Hellier.

Hellier glanced at the wording and nearly blew up. ‘A twenty-bedroomed country house! What the devil’s this?’ He glared at Warren. ‘Your services come high, Doctor.’

‘You asked for blood,’ said Warren. ‘That’s a commodity with a high price. When we go into this we’ll come smack into opposition with a gang who’ll fight because the prize could run into millions. I think there’ll be blood shed somewhere along the line — either ours or theirs. You want the blood — you pay for it.’

‘By making you Lord of the Manor?’ asked Hellier cynically.

‘Not me — a man called Ben Bryan. He wants to establish a self-governing community for addicts; to get them out of circulation to start with, and to get them to act in a responsible manner. It’s an idea which has had fair results in the States.’

‘I see,’ said Hellier quietly. ‘All right; I accept that.’

He began to read the brief biographies of the team, and Warren said casually, ‘None of those people really know what they’re getting into. Suppose we come into possession of, say, a hundred pounds of heroin — that would be worth a lot of money. I don’t know whether I’d trust Andy Tozier with it — probably not. I certainly wouldn’t trust Johnny Follet.’

Hellier turned a page and, after a while, lifted his head. ‘Are you serious about this — about these men you’ve picked? Good God, half of them are villains and the other half incomprehensible.’

‘What kind of men did you expect?’ asked Warren. ‘This can’t be done by a crowd of flag-waving saints. But not one of those men is in it for the money — except Andy Tozier. They all have their own reasons.’ He took a sour look at himself and thought of Follet. ‘I discover I have an unexpected talent for blackmail and coercion.’

‘I can understand you picking Tozier — the professional soldier,’ said Hellier. ‘But Follet — a gambler?’

‘Johnny is a man of many parts. Apart from being a gambler he’s also a successful con man. He can think up ways of pulling money from your pocket faster than you can think up ways of stopping him. It seems to me that his talents could be used on other things than money.’

‘If you put it that way I suppose it seems reasonable,’ said Hellier in an unconvinced voice. ‘But this man, Abbot — a newspaperman, for God’s sake! I won’t have that.’

‘Yes, you will,’ said Warren flatly. ‘He’s on to us, anyway, and I’d rather have him working for us than against us. He was on my original list, but he dealt himself in regardless and it would be too risky to leave him out now. He’s got a good nose, better than any detective, and that’s something we need.’

‘I suppose that seems reasonable, too,’ said Hellier glumly. ‘But what doesn’t seem reasonable is this man, Parker. I can’t see anything here that’s of use to us.’

‘Dan’s the only really honest man among the lot of them,’ said Warren. He laughed. ‘Besides, he’s my insurance policy.’

II

Hellier propounded some of the philosophy of the film business. ‘Most countries — especially the poorer ones — like film companies. The boys at the top like us because we’re not too stingy with our bribes. The man in the street likes us because on location we pay exceptionally high rates, by local standards, for colourfully-dressed extras. We don’t mind because, when all’s said and done, we’re paying a damned sight less than we would at home.’

He hefted a large book, foolscap size and neatly bound. ‘This is a screen play we’ve had on the shelf for some time. About half the scenes are set in Iran. I’ve decided to resurrect it, and we’re going to make the film. You and your team will be employed by us. You’ll be an advance team sent out to Iran by us to scout out good locations — that gives you an excuse for turning up everywhere and anywhere. How does that suit you?’

‘I like it,’ said Warren. ‘It’s a good cover.’

‘You’ll be provided with vehicles and all the usual junk that goes with an advance team,’ said Hellier. ‘Give me a list of anything else you might need.’ He flicked through the pages of the script. ‘Who knows? We might even make the picture,’ he said sardonically.

Andy Tozier approached Warren. ‘You’re keeping me too much in the dark,’ he complained. ‘I’d like to know what I’m getting into. I don’t know what to prepare for.’

‘Prepare for the worst,’ said Warren unhelpfully.

‘That’s no bloody answer. Is this going to be a military thing?’

Warren said carefully, ‘Let’s call it paramilitary.’

‘I see. A police action — with shooting.’

‘But unofficial,’ said Warren. ‘There might be shooting.’

Tozier stroked the edge of his jaw. ‘I don’t like that unofficial bit. And if I’m going to be shot at I’d like to have something handy to shoot back with. How do we arrange that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Warren. ‘I thought I’d leave that to you. You’re the expert.’ Tozier made a rude noise, and Warren said, ‘I don’t really know what we’re going to get into at the other end. It’s all a bit difficult.’

Tozier pondered. ‘What vehicles are they giving us?’

‘A couple of new Land-Rovers. They’ll be flown out to Iran with us. The country out there is pretty rough.’

‘And the equipment we’re getting. What does it consist of?’

‘It’s all part of our cover. There are some still cameras with a hell of a lot of lenses. A couple of 16-millimetre movie cameras. A video-tape outfit. A hell of a lot of stuff I can’t put a name to.’

‘Are there tripods with the movie cameras?’ Warren nodded, and Tozier said, ‘Okay, I’d like to have the Land-Rovers and all the equipment delivered to me as soon as possible. I might want to make a few modifications.’

‘You can have them tomorrow.’

‘And I’d like some boodle from this money mine you seem to have discovered — at least a thousand quid. My modifications come expensive.’

‘I’ll make it two thousand,’ said Warren equably. ‘You can have that tomorrow, too.’

‘Johnny Follet might be more useful than I thought,’ said Tozier thoughtfully. ‘He knows his weapons — he was in Korea.’

‘Was he? Then he’ll get on well with Dan Parker.’

Tozier jerked his head. ‘And who is Dan Parker?’

Warren grinned. ‘You’ll meet him sometime,’ he promised.

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Ben Bryan when Warren told him of what was happening.

‘And why would we need a psychiatrist?’ asked Warren.

Bryan grinned. ‘To inject a modicum of sanity. This is the craziest thing I’ve heard.’

‘If you join us you’ll be as mad as we are. Still, you might come in useful.’ He looked at Bryan speculatively, then said, ‘I think you’d better be in the main party. Mike Abbot can go with Parker.’

‘What’s he going to do?’

‘He’s our Trojan Horse — if we can find the Delorme woman — and that’s proving to be a hell of a problem. Hellier has a team in Paris going through birth certificates, pulling out all the Jeanette Delormes and running them down. They’ve found eight already. On the off chance she was born in Switzerland he has another team there.’

‘Supposing she was born in Martinique?’ asked Bryan.

‘We can only try the obvious first,’ said Warren. ‘Hellier’s investigators are good — I know because they did a bang-up job on me. Anyway, he’s spending money as though he has his own printing press. We’re already into him for over £70,000.’ He grinned. ‘Still, that’s only a couple of years’ upkeep on his yacht’

‘I’ve never heard of a rich man really keen to part with his money,’ said Bryan. ‘You must have knocked the props clean from under him. You made him take a look at himself — a good, clear-eyed look — and he didn’t like what he saw. I wish I could do the same to some of my patients. Perhaps you should change your profession.’

‘I have — I’m in the business of raising private armies.’

Everything seemed to happen at once.

It may have been luck or it may have been good investigative practice, but the Delorme woman was traced, not through the patient sifting of birth certificates, but from a pipeline into the French Sûreté. It seemed that Mike Abbot had a friend who had a friend who...

Hellier tossed a file over to Warren. ‘Read that and tell me what you think.’

Warren settled back in his chair and opened the folder.

He skipped the vital statistics in order to come to the meat of it.

Then followed what could only be described as a series of hypotheses.

There were a couple of smudgy photographs which had not survived the copying process at all well, but which showed a blonde of indeterminate age.

Warren blew out his cheeks. ‘What a hell-cat she must be.’ He tapped the folder. ‘I think this is the one — everything fits.’

‘I think so, too,’ said Hellier. ‘I’ve stopped everything else and narrowed it down to her. A man has already flown out to Beirut to pinpoint her.’

‘I hope someone has told him to be careful,’ said Warren.

‘He just has to find out where she lives and... er... her standing in the community. That shouldn’t be too risky. Then he pulls out and you take over.’

‘I’ll get Dan Parker out there as soon as we know something definite. Mike Abbot will support him — I’m not sure Dan could pull it off on his own. This might need the sophisticated touch. Oh, and we have a volunteer — Ben Bryan will be joining the Iran group.’

‘I’m glad to hear that Mr Bryan is going to earn his manor house,’ said Hellier, a shade acidly. ‘There’s still nothing on your man, Speering.’

‘He’ll make a move soon,’ said Warren with certainty. His confidence had risen because the dossier on Jeanette Delorme fitted in so tidily.

‘Well, the same thing applies. There’ll be an investigator with him all the way — probably on the same plane if he flies. Then you’ll take over.’

Speering moved two days later, and within twelve hours Warren, Tozier, Follet and Bryan were in the air in a chartered aircraft which also carried the two Land-Rovers. Parker and Abbot were already on their way to the Lebanon.

III

It was snowing in Tehran.

Follet shivered as the sharp wind cut through his jacket. ‘I thought this place was supposed to be hot.’ He looked out across the airport at the sheer wall of the Elburz Mountains and then up at the cold grey sky from which scudded a minor blizzard. ‘This is the Middle East?’ he asked doubtfully.

‘About as Middle as you can get,’ said Tozier. ‘Still, it’s March and we’re nearly five thousand feet above sea level.’

Follet turned up his collar and pulled the lapels close about his throat. ‘Where the hell is Warren?’

‘He’s clearing the vehicles and the gear through customs.’ He smiled grimly. The modifications he had made to the Land-Rovers were such that if they were discovered then all hell would break loose in the customs shed, and Warren and Bryan would find themselves tossed into jail without a quibble. But he had not told Warren what the modifications were, which was all to the good. True innocence is better than bluff when faced with the X-ray eye of the experienced customs official.

All the same he breathed more easily when Follet touched him on the shoulder and pointed. ‘Here they come,’ he said, and Tozier saw with relief a Land-Rover bearing down upon them. On its side it bore the neat legend: Regent Film Company. Advance Unit. The tension left him.

Warren poked his head through the side window. ‘Ben’s just behind me,’ he said. ‘One of you jump in.’

‘Did you have any trouble?’ asked Tozier.

Warren looked surprised. ‘No trouble at all.’

Tozier smiled and said nothing. He walked around to the back of the vehicle and stroked one of the metal struts which held up the canopy. Follet said, ‘Let me get in and out of this goddam wind. Where are we going?’

‘We’re booked in at the Royal Tehran Hilton. I don’t know where it is but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.’ He pointed to a minibus filling up with passengers, which had the name of the hotel on its side. ‘We just follow that.’

Follet got in and slammed the door. He looked broodingly at the alien scene, and said abruptly, ‘Just what in hell are we doing here, Warren?’

Warren glanced at the rear view mirror and saw that the other Land-Rover had arrived. ‘Following a man.’

‘Jeeze, you’re as close-mouthed as that strongarm man of yours. Or are you keeping him in the dark, too?’

‘You just do as you’re told, Johnny, and you’ll be all right,’ advised Warren.

‘I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I knew what I was supposed to do,’ grumbled Follet.

‘Your turn will come.’

Follet laughed unexpectedly. ‘You’re a funny one, Warren. Let me tell you something; I like you — I really do. You had me over a barrel; you offered me a thousand when you knew I’d take peanuts. Then you raised the bonus to five thousand when you didn’t have to. Why did you do that?’

Warren smiled. ‘The labourer is worthy of his hire. You’ll earn it.’

‘Maybe I will, but I don’t see how right now. Anyway, I just wanted to say I appreciated the gesture. You can depend on me — for anything reasonable, that is,’ he added hastily. ‘Tozier was talking about unreasonable things — like being shot at.’

‘You ought to have got used to that in Korea.’

‘You know,’ said Follet. ‘I never did. Funny the things a man can never get used to, isn’t it?’

The Royal Tehran Hilton was on the outskirts of the city, a caravanserai designed specifically for the oilmen and businessmen flocking into Iran under the impetus of the booming economy underwritten by the reforming regime of Mohammad Rezi Pahlevi, King of Kings and Light of the Aryans. It had not been an easy drive from the airport because of the propensity of the local inhabitants to regard a road as a race track. Several times Warren had been within an ace of serious trouble and when they reached the hotel he was sweating in spite of the cold.

They registered, and Warren found a message awaiting him. He waited until he was in his room before ripping open the envelope, and found but a single inscrutable line of writing: Your room — 7.30 p.m. Lane. He looked at his watch and decided he had just time to unpack.

At 7.29 there was a discreet knock. He opened the door and a man said, ‘Mr Warren? I believe you’re expecting me. My name is Lane.’

‘Come in, Mr Lane,’ said Warren, and held open the door wider. He studied Lane as he took off his coat; there was not much to the man — he could have been anybody — a virtue in a private detective.

Lane sat down. ‘Your man is staying here at the Hilton — his reservation is for a week. He’s here right now, if you want him.’

‘Not alone, I trust,’ said Warren.

‘That’s all right, Mr Warren; there are two of us on the job. He’s being watched.’ Lane shrugged. ‘But he won’t move — he likes to stay close to where the bottles are.’

‘He drinks a lot?’

‘He may not be an alcoholic, but he’s pushing it. He lives in the bar until it closes, then has a bottle sent to his room.’

Warren nodded. ‘What else can you tell me about Mr Speering?’

Lane took a notebook from his pocket. ‘He’s been getting around. I have a list of all this stuff written up which I’ll let you have, but I can tell it to you in five minutes.’ He flipped open the notebook. ‘He was met at the airport by one of the locals — an Iranian, I think — and brought here to the hotel. I wasn’t able to nail down the Iranian; we’d just arrived and we weren’t equipped,’ he said apologetically.

‘That’s all right.’

‘Anyway, we haven’t seen the Iranian since. Speering went out next day to a place on Mowlavi, near the railway station. I have the address here. He came out of there with a car or, rather, an American jeep. It isn’t a hire car, either — I’ve been trying to check on the registration, but that’s a bit difficult in a strange city like this one.’

‘Yes, it must be,’ said Warren.

‘He went from there to a firm of wholesale pharmaceutical chemists — name and address supplied — where he spent an hour and a half. Then back to the Hilton where he spent the rest of the day. That was yesterday. This morning he had a visitor — an American called John Eastman; that was up in his room. Eastman stayed all morning — three hours — then they had lunch in the Hilton dining-room.’

‘Any line on Eastman?’

Lane shook his head. ‘A full-time check on a man really takes four operatives — there are only two of us. We couldn’t do anything about Eastman without the risk of losing Speering. Our instructions were to stick to Speering.’ Lane consulted his notebook again. ‘Eastman left soon after lunch today, and Speering hasn’t moved since. He’s down in the bar right now. That’s the lot, Mr Warren.’

‘I think you’ve done well under the circumstances,’ said Warren. ‘I have some friends here; I’d like to let them get a look at Speering for future reference. Can that be arranged?’

‘Nothing easier,’ said Lane. ‘All you have to do is have a drink.’ He took out an envelope which he gave to Warren. ‘That’s all we have on Speering; registration number of his jeep, names and addresses of the places he’s been to in Tehran.’ He paused. ‘I understand that finishes our job — after I’ve pointed the man out.’

‘That’s right. That’s all you were asked to do.’

Lane seemed relieved. ‘This one’s been tricky,’ he confided. ‘I don’t have any trouble in London, and I’ve done jobs in Paris and Rome. But a Westerner here stands out like a sore thumb in some parts of the city and that makes following a man difficult. When do you want to see Speering?’

‘Why not now?’ said Warren. ‘I’ll collect my chaps.’

Before going into the bar Warren paused and said, ‘We’re here on business. Mr Lane will indicate unobtrusively the man we’ve come to see — and the operative word is see. Take a good look at him so that you’ll recognize him again anywhere — but don’t make it obvious. The idea is to see and not be seen. I suggest we split up.’

They crossed the foyer and went into the bar. Warren spotted Speering immediately and veered away from him. He had seen Speering on several occasions in London and, although he did not think he was known to Speering, it was best to make sure he was not observed. He turned his back on the room, leaned on the bar counter and ordered a drink.

The man next to him turned. ‘Hi, there!’

Warren nodded politely. ‘Good evening.’

‘You with IMEG?’ The man was American.

‘IMEG?’

The man laughed. ‘I guess not. I saw you were British and I guessed you might be with IMEG.’

‘I don’t even know what IMEG is,’ said Warren. He looked into the mirror at the back of the bar and saw Tozier sitting at a table and ordering a drink.

‘It’s just about the biggest thing to hit this rathole of a country,’ said the American. He was slightly drunk. ‘We’re reaming a forty-inch gas line right up the middle — Abadan right to the Russian border. Over six hundred million bucks’ worth. Money’s flowing like... like money.’ He laughed.

‘Indeed!’ said Warren. He was not very interested.

‘IMEG’s bossing the show — that’s you British. Me — I’m with Williams Brothers, who are doing the goddam work. Call that a fair division of labour?’

‘It sounds like a big job,’ said Warren evasively. He shifted his position and saw Follet at the other end of the bar.

‘The biggest.’ The American swallowed his drink. ‘But the guys who are going to take the cream are the Russkis. Christ, what a set-up! They’ll take Iranian gas at under two cents a therm, and they’ve pushed a line through to Trieste so they can sell Russian gas to the Italians at over three cents a therm. Don’t tell me those Bolshevik bastards aren’t good capitalists.’ He nudged Warren. ‘Have a drink.’

‘No, thanks,’ said Warren. ‘I’m expecting a friend.’

‘Aw, hell!’ The American looked at his watch. ‘I guess I’ve gotta eat, anyway. See you around.’

As he left, Tozier came up to the bar with his drink in his hand. ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘A lonely drunk.’

‘I’ve seen your man,’ said Tozier. ‘He looks like another drunk. What now?’

‘Now we don’t lose him.’

‘And then?’

Warren shrugged. ‘Then we find out what we find out.’ Tozier was silent for a while. He pulled out his cigarette case, lit a cigarette and blew out a long plume of smoke. ‘It’s not good enough, Nick. I don’t like acting in the dark.’

‘Sorry to hear it.’

‘You’ll be even sorrier when I pull out tomorrow.’ Warren turned his head sharply, and Tozier said, ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you can’t run this operation by keeping everything under wraps. How the hell can I do a job if I don’t know what I’m doing?’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way about it, Andy. Don’t you trust me?’

‘Oh, I trust you. The trouble is that you don’t trust me. So I’m pulling out, Nick — I’ll be back in London tomorrow night. You’ve got something on Johnny Follet, and you might have something on Ben Bryan for all I know. But I’m clean, Nick; I’m in this for honest reasons — just for the money.’

‘So stay and earn it.’

Tozier shook his head gently. ‘Not without knowing what I’m getting into — and why. I told you once that I like to have something to shoot back with if someone shoots at me. I also like to know why he’s shooting at me. Hell, I might approve of his reasons — I might even be on his side if I knew the score.’

Warren’s hand tightened on his glass. He was being pushed into a decision. ‘Andy, you do jobs for money. Would you smuggle dope for money?’

‘The problem has never come up,’ said Tozier reflectively. ‘Nobody has ever made the proposition. Are you asking me, Nick?’

‘Do I look like a dope smuggler?’ said Warren in disgust.

‘I don’t know,’ said Tozier. ‘I don’t know how a dope smuggler behaves. I do know that the straightest people get bent under pressure. You’ve been under pressure for quite some time, Nick; I’ve watched you struggling against it.’ He drained his glass. ‘Now that the question has arisen,’ he said, ‘the answer is no. I wouldn’t smuggle dope for money. And I think you’ve turned into a right son of a bitch, Nick; you’ve tried to con me into this thing and it hasn’t worked, has it?’

Warren blew out his cheeks and let the air escape in a long sigh. Internally he was cheering to the sound of trumpets. He grinned at Tozier. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Andy. Let me tell you about it — around the corner out of the sight of Speering.’

He took Tozier by the arm and steered him to a table and in five minutes had given him the gist of it. Tozier listened and a slightly stupefied expression appeared on his face. He said, ‘And that’s all you have to go on? Have you gone out of your mind?’

‘It’s not much,’ admitted Warren. ‘But it’s all we have.’

Suddenly, Tozier chuckled. ‘It’s just mad enough to be interesting. I’m sorry if I got things wrong just now, Nick; but you were being so bloody mysterious.’ He nodded ruefully. ‘I can see the position you were in — you can’t trust anyone in this racket. Okay, I’m with you.’

‘Thanks, Andy,’ said Warren quietly.

Tozier called up a waiter and ordered drinks. ‘Let’s get practical,’ he said. ‘You were right in one thing — I wouldn’t let a breath of this leak out to Johnny Follet. If there’s any money in it Johnny will want to cut his share, and he won’t be too particular how he does it. But all the same, he’s a good man to have along, and we can use him as long as you keep that stranglehold tight. What have you got on him, anyway?’

‘Does it matter?’

Tozier shrugged. ‘I suppose not. Now, what are your ideas on Speering?’

‘He’s come here to extract morphine from opium, I’m fairly sure of that,’ said Warren. ‘That’s why he went to a wholesale pharmaceutical firm yesterday. He was ordering supplies.’

‘What would he need?’

‘Pharmaceutical quality lime, methylene chloride, benzene, amyl alcohol and hydrochloric acid, plus a quantity of glassware.’ Warren paused. ‘I don’t know if he intends transforming the morphine into heroin here. If he does he’ll need acetic acid as well.’

Tozier frowned. ‘I don’t quite understand this. What’s the difference between morphine and heroin?’

The drinks arrived and Warren did not reply until the waiter had gone. ‘Morphine is an alkaloid extracted from opium by a relatively simple chemical process. Heroin is morphine with its molecular structure altered by an even simpler process.’ He grimaced. ‘That job could be done in a well-equipped kitchen.’

‘But what’s the difference?’

‘Well, heroin is the acetylated form of morphine. It’s soluble in water, which morphine is not, and since the human body mostly consists of water it gets to the spot faster. Various properties are accentuated and it’s a damned sight more addictive than morphine.’

Tozier leaned back. ‘So Speering is going to extract the morphine. But where? Here in Iran? And how is the morphine — or heroin — going to get to the coast? South to the Persian Gulf? Or across Iraq and Syria to the Mediterranean? We have to find out one hell of a lot of things, Nick.’

‘Yes,’ said Warren gloomily. ‘And there’s one big problem I can’t see past at all. It’s something I haven’t even discussed with Hellier.’

‘Oh! Well, you’d better spit it out.’

Warren said flatly, ‘There’s no opium in Iran.’

Tozier stared at him. ‘I thought all these Middle East countries were rotten with the stuff.’

‘They are — and so was Iran under the old Shah. But this new boy is a reformer.’ Warren leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Under the old Shah things went to hell in a bucket. He was running Iran on the lines of the old Roman Empire — in order to keep in sweet with the populace he kept the price of grain down to an artificial low level. That was a self-defeating policy because the farmers found they couldn’t make a living growing grain, so they planted poppies instead — a much more profitable crop. So there was less and less grain and more and more opium.’ He grimaced. ‘The old Shah didn’t mind because he created the Opium Monopoly; there was a government tax and he got a rake-off from every pound collected.’

‘A sweet story,’ said Tozier.

‘You haven’t heard the half of it. In 1936 Iranian opium production was 1,350 metric tons. World requirements of medicinal opium were 400 tons.’

Tozier jerked. ‘You mean the old bastard was smuggling the stuff.’

‘He didn’t need to,’ said Warren. ‘It wasn’t illegal. He was the law in Iran. He just sold the stuff to anyone who had the money to pay for it. He was on to a good thing, but all good things come to an end. He pushed his luck too far and was forced to abdicate. There was a provisional government for a while, and then the present Shah took over. Now, he was a really bright boy. He wanted to drag this woebegone country into the twentieth century by the scruff of its neck, but he found that you can’t have industrialism in a country where seventy-five per cent of the population are opium addicts. So he clamped down hard and fast, and I doubt if you can find an ounce of illegal opium in the country today.’

Tozier looked baffled. ‘Then what is Speering doing here?’

‘That’s the problem,’ said Warren blandly. ‘But I don’t propose asking him outright.’

‘No,’ said Tozier pensively. ‘But we stick to him closer than his shirt.’

A waiter came and and said enquiringly, ‘Mistair Warren?’

‘I’m Warren.’

‘A message for you, sair.’

‘Thank you,’ Warren raised his eyebrows at Tozier as he tipped the waiter. A minute later he said, ‘It’s from Lane. Speering has given up his reservation — he’s leaving tomorrow. Lane doesn’t know where he’s going, but his jeep has been serviced and there are water cans in the back. What do you suppose that means?’

‘He’s leaving Tehran,’ said Tozier with conviction. ‘I’d better get back to check on the trucks; I’d like to see if the radios are still in working order. We’ll leave separately — give me five minutes.’

Warren waited impatiently for the time to elapse, then got up and walked out of the bar. As he passed Speering he almost stopped out of sheer surprise. Speering was sitting with Johnny Follet and they were both tossing coins.

IV

Speering headed north-west from Tehran on the road to Qazvin. ‘You get ahead of him and I’ll stick behind,’ said Tozier to Warren. ‘We’ll have him like the meat in a sandwich. If he turns off the road I’ll get on to you on the blower.’

They had kept an all night watch on Speering’s jeep but it had been a waste of time. He had a leisurely breakfast and did not leave Tehran until ten, and with him was a sharp-featured Iranian as chauffeur. They trailed the jeep through thick traffic out of the city and once they were on the main road Warren put on a burst of speed, passed Speering, and then slowed down to keep a comfortable distance ahead. Follet, in the passenger seat, kept a sharp eye astern, using the second rear view mirror which was one of Tozier’s modifications.

To the right rose the snow-capped peaks of the Elburz Mountains but all around was a featureless plain, dusty and monotonous. The road was not particularly good as far as Warren could judge, but he had been educated to more exacting standards than the Iranian driver and he reflected that by Iranian standards it was probably excellent. After all, it was the main arterial highway to Tabriz.

As soon as he became accustomed to driving the Land-Rover he said to Follet abruptly, ‘You were talking to Speering last night. What about?’

‘Just passing the time of day,’ said Follet easily.

‘Don’t make a mistake, Johnny,’ said Warren softly. ‘You could get hurt — badly.’

‘Hell, it was nothing,’ protested Follet. ‘It wasn’t even my doing. He came over to me — what else was I expected to do besides talk to him?’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘This and that. Our jobs. I told him I was with Regent Films. You know — all this crap about the film we’re making. He said he worked for an oil company.’ He laughed. ‘I took some of his money off him, too.’

‘I saw you,’ said Warren acidly. ‘What did you use — a two-headed penny?’

Follet raised his hands in mock horror. ‘As God is my judge, I didn’t cheat him. You know that’s not my style. I didn’t have to, anyway; he was pretty near blind drunk.’ His eyes flicked up to the mirror. ‘Slow down a bit — we’re losing him.’

From Tehran to Qazvin was nearly a hundred miles and it was almost one o’clock when they neared the outskirts of the town. As they were driving through the loudspeaker crackled into life. ‘Calling Regent Two. Calling Regent Two. Over.’

Follet picked up the microphone and thumbed the switch. ‘You’re coming in fine, Regent One. Over.’

Tozier’s voice was thin and distorted. ‘Our man has stopped at a hotel. I think he’s feeding his face. Over.’

‘That’s a damned good idea; I’m hungry myself,’ said Follet, and raised an eyebrow at Warren.

‘We’ll pull off the road at the other side of town,’ said Warren. ‘Tell him that.’ He carried on until he was well past the outskirts of Qazvin and then pulled up on a hard shoulder. ‘There’s a hamper in the back,’ he said. ‘I gave Ben the job of quartermaster; let’s see how good he is.’

Warren felt better after chicken sandwiches and hot coffee from a flask, but Follet seemed gloomy. ‘What a crummy country,’ he said. ‘We’ve travelled a hundred miles and those goddam mountains haven’t changed an inch.’ He pointed to a string of laden camels coming down the road. ‘What’s the betting we end up on the back of a thing like that?’

‘We could do worse,’ said Warren thoughtfully. ‘I have the idea that these Land-Rovers are a shade too conspicuous for a shadowing job like this.’ He picked up a map. ‘I wonder where Speering is going.’

Follet looked over his shoulder. ‘The next town is Zanjan — another hundred goddam miles.’ He looked around. ‘Christ, isn’t this country horrible? Worse than Arizona.’

‘You’ve been there?’

‘Hell, I was born there. I got out by the time I was old enough to run away. I’m a city boy at heart. The bright lights for me.’ He hummed a phrase of Broadway Melody and reached forward and took a pack of cards from the dash shelf. ‘I’ll be going back, too, so I’d better keep in practice.’

Warren heard the crisp flick of the cards and glanced sideways to see Follet riffle-shuffle with unbelievable dexterity, something far removed from the amateur’s awkwardness. ‘I thought you said you didn’t cheat.’

‘I don’t — but I can if I have to. I’m a pretty fair card mechanic when I want to be.’ He grinned engagingly. It’s like this; if you have a piece of a casino like I have back in London, you don’t have to cheat — as long as the house has an edge. It’s the edge that counts, you see. You don’t suppose Monte Carlo gets by because of cheating, do you?’

It’s supposed to be an honest game.’

‘It’s one hundred per cent honest,’ said Follet stoutly. ‘As long as you have the percentages going for you then you’re all right and cheating isn’t necessary. I’ll show you what I mean because right now I feel lucky. On this road we’ve been meeting about twenty cars an hour — I’ll give you even money that in the next hour two of those cars will have the same last two digits in the registration number. Just a game to pass the time.’

Warren thought it out. There were a hundred possible numbers — 00 to 99. If Follet restricted it to twenty cars then it seemed that the odds were on Warren’s side. He said carefully, ‘For the first twenty cars you’re on.’

‘For a hundred pounds,’ said Follet calmly. ‘If I win you can add it to my bonus — if and when. Okay?’

Warren breathed hard, then said, ‘All right.’

The quiet hum from the loudspeaker altered as a carrier wave came on, and then Ben Bryan said, ‘Calling Regent Two. Our man is getting ready to move. Over.’

Warren unhooked the microphone. ‘Thanks, Regent One. We’ll get moving slowly and let him catch up. The grub was pretty good, Ben; you’re elected caterer for the duration. Over.’

The loudspeaker made a rude squawk and lapsed into silence. Warren grinned and pressed the self-starter. ‘Keep an eye to the rear, Johnny, and tell me when Speering shows up.’

Follet produced a pen. ‘You call the numbers — I’ll write them down. Don’t worry; I’ll keep an eye on Speering.’

The game served to while away the time. It was a monotonous drive on a monotonous road and it was something for Warren to do. With Follet keeping watch to the rear there was nothing for him to do except drive and to speed up or slow down at Follet’s instruction so as to keep a safe distance ahead of Speering. Besides he was tending to become sleepy and the game kept him awake.

He called out the numbers as the oncoming cars passed, and Follet scribbled them down. Although Follet’s attention was, in the main, directed towards Speering, Warren noticed that once in a while he would do a spot check of a number called. He smiled — Follet would never trust anyone. When fifteen numbers had been called without duplication Warren had high hopes of winning his hundred pounds and he became more interested — this was more than a way of passing the time.

On the eighteenth number Follet suddenly said, ‘That’s it — number five and number eighteen are the same — thirty-nine. You lose, Warren. You’ve just raised my bonus by a hundred.’ He put the pen back into his shirt pocket. ‘That was what is known as a proposition. Another name for it is a sucker bet. You didn’t have much of a chance.’

‘I don’t see it,’ said Warren.

Follet laughed. ‘That’s because you’re a mathematical ignoramus. You figured that because there were a hundred possibles and only twenty chances that the odds were four to one in your favour, and that I was a chump for offering evens. You were the chump because the odds were actually in my favour — no less than seven to one. It pays to understand mathematics.’

Warren thought it over. ‘I still don’t see it.’

‘Look at it this way. If I’d bet that a specific number would come up twice in the first twenty then I would have been a chump. But I didn’t. I said any two numbers in the first twenty would match.’

Warren frowned. He still did not get the point, but he had always been weak in mathematics. Follet said, ‘A proposition can be defined as a bet which looks good to the sucker but which is actually in favour of the smart guy who offers it. You dig into the holes and corners of mathematics — especially probability theory — and you’ll find dozens of propositions which the suckers fall for every time.’

‘You won’t catch me again,’ said Warren.

Follet chuckled. ‘Want to bet on it? It’s surprising how often a sucker comes back for more. Andy Tozier fell for that one, too. He’ll fall again — I’ll take the whole of his bonus from him before we’re through with this caper.’ He glanced at the mirror. ‘Slow down, will you? This road’s becoming twisty.’

They drove on and on until they came to Zanjan, and Follet said, ‘I see the jeep — I think he’s coming through.’ Two minutes later he said, ‘I’ve lost him.’

The radio broke into life with a crackle of mid-afternoon static caused, presumably, by the stormy weather over the mountains to the west. ‘...turned off to left... hotel... follow... Got that? Over.’

Follet clicked a switch ‘Speering turned off to the left by the hotel and you want us to follow. Is that it, Andy? Over.’

‘That’s it... quickly... out.’

Warren pulled to a halt, and Follet said, ‘I’ll take over — you look a bit beat.’

‘All right,’ said Warren. They changed seats and Warren stretched his shoulders and slumped in the passenger seat. He had been driving all day and the Land-Rover was a bit harder to handle than his saloon car. They went back into Zanjan and by the hotel found a road leading off to the west; it was signposted in Arabic script which Warren could make no sense of. Follet wheeled around and Warren grabbed the maps.

The new road deteriorated rapidly and, because it was heading into the mountains, became more sinuous and tricky. Follet drove a shade faster than was absolutely safe in an effort to catch up with Tozier and Bryan, and the vehicle bumped and shuddered. At last they caught a glimpse of a dust cloud ahead. ‘That should be Andy.’ After a while he said, ‘It’s Andy, all right.’ He eased the speed a little. ‘I’ll drop back a bit — we don’t want to eat his dust from here to hell-and-gone.’

As they drove deeper into the mountains their speed dropped. The road surface was very bad, ridged in bone-jarring corrugations and washed out in places where storm-swelled freshets had swept across. The gradients became steeper and the bends tighter, so much so that Follet was forced to use the extra-low gearing that is the speciality of the Land-Rover. The day wore on to its end.

Warren had the maps on his knee attached to a clipboard and kept his eye on the compass. They were heading westward all the time and, after checking the map again, he said, ‘We’re heading into Kurdistan.’ He knew that this was the traditional route for smuggling opium out of Iran into Syria and Jordan, and again he felt confident that he was right — this was more than a coincidence.

Follet turned another corner and drove down one of the few straight stretches of road. At this point the road clung to the side of a mountain with a sheer cliff on the right and an equally sheer drop on the left. ‘Look at that,’ he said jerkily and nodded across the valley.

The road crossed the valley and rose again to climb the side of the mountain on the other side. In the far distance a cloud of brick-red dust picked out by the sun indicated a speeding car. ‘That’s Speering,’ said Follet. ‘Andy is still in the valley bottom. If we can see Speering then he can see us. If he doesn’t know we’re following him then he’s blind or dead drunk.’

‘It can’t be helped,’ said Warren grimly. ‘That’s the way it is.’

‘You can tell me something,’ said Follet. ‘What the hell happens at sunset? Have you thought of that?’

Warren had thought of it and it had been worrying him. He looked at his watch and estimated that there was less than an hour to go. ‘We’ll keep going as far as we can,’ he said with no expression in his voice.

Which was not very far. Within half an hour they came upon the other Land-Rover parked by the roadside with Ben Bryan flagging them down. Just beyond him Tozier was standing, looking over the mountains. Follet halted and Warren leaned from the window. ‘What’s up, Ben?’

Bryan’s teeth showed white against his dusty face and the mountain wind whipped his hair. ‘He’s beaten us, Nick. Take a look over there where Andy is.’

Warren stepped down and followed him towards Tozier who turned and said, ‘You tell me which way he went.’

There were five possible exits from the rocky area on top of the plateau. ‘Five roads,’ said Tozier. ‘You tell me which one he picked.’

‘No tracks?’

‘The ground is hard where it isn’t naked rock.’ Tozier looked about. ‘This seems to be a main junction, but it isn’t on the map.’

‘The road we’ve been travelling on isn’t on the map, either,’ said Warren. He squatted and balanced the clipboard on his knee. ‘I reckon we’re about there.’ He made a small cross on the map. ‘About thirty miles inside Kurdistan.’ He stood up and walked to the edge of the road and gazed westward to where the setting sun fitfully illumined the storm clouds over the red mountains. ‘Speering could be heading clear to the Iraqi border.’

‘He won’t make it tonight,’ said Tozier. ‘Not on these roads in these mountains. What do we do, Nick?’

‘What the devil can we do?’ said Warren violently.

‘We’ve lost him right at the start of the game. It’s four to one against us that we pick the right road — a sucker bet.’ He suppressed his futile rage. ‘We can’t do much now. It’s nearly dark so we’d better make camp.’

Tozier nodded. ‘All right; but let’s do it out of sight of any of these roads.’

‘Why? What’s the point?’

‘No point, really.’ Tozier shrugged. ‘Just on general security principles. It gets to be a habit in my game.’

He walked towards the trucks leaving Warren in a depressed mood. We’ve blown it at this end, he thought; I hope to God that Mike and Dan have better luck. But he did not feel like betting on it — that would be another sucker bet.