The Vulcan Disaster

Chapter Eighteen

In her room she went modest on me. She’d been stark naked with me on the beach, and now when we got back to her suite of rooms, what did she do when she got out of that bikini she’d almost been wearing? She handed me a drink and stepped behind a curtain.

The big room we were in served her as bedroom and sitting room. She’d converted the second room into a painter’s studio and had let it become a comfortable mess, the way most painters’ studios are. This room was more like the rest of the house — First Empire, I guessed — and I ought not to have liked it any more than I did my suite or the rest of the house, which had a museumy feel I couldn’t get close to. But this was a room Vicki Weiner lived in, and she made the place livable. I’d been on the edge of being furious at her for her little stunt on the beach, using me to tickle her boyfriend’s temper; but now I found myself relaxing and feeling at home. Another chance for Vicki Weiner, I decided. And a few points for good vibes.

“Hey,” I said. “This Constantin guy. Just what’s his place here?”

“Oh,” she said. I could tell from the way her head and shoulders were moving that she was slipping into a bra and hooking it in the back. “He is a phony like the rest of us. He is supposed to be the pilot of the little launch that will take us to the Vulcan tomorrow when it anchors. With Alexandra away out of town so much, you can see that without other duties he would...” She shrugged.

“Yeah,” I said. “A captain without a ship.”

“Correct, Harry. Well, what he really is is the most recent one of Alexandra Komarova’s lovers to be... ah, put out to pasture. I have the right phrase?” I nodded. “I am not entirely surprised. He is not her usual type. She has fair taste in men sometimes. I don’t know. Perhaps she is changing. She has not been here in... oh, three months perhaps. I have heard nothing from her except impersonal cables. I am not looking forward to dealing with her again.”

“And Constantin? He went after you on the bounce?”

“Bounce? Oh, I see: the rebound. Yes. And just this once, like a fool, I let him talk me into a date on the beach. And... oh, Harry, I am so sorry I got you into this. Your chest... does it hurt terribly?”

“No worse than usual, I guess.” I was lying in my teeth all the way. “Now what do you have to tell me about Alexandra Komarova?”

“Alexandra? What do you want to know?” It’s funny how you can see someone’s face only, that way, and tell just what she’s doing. She’d be getting into a pants suit and she’d look terrific.

“Well, if as you say she maintains only a marginal interest in astrology, in occult things, why me? Why a whole string of guys like me?”

“Ah, Harry, the others were not like you. And Alexandra was more interested in, ah, spiritual matters once. More recently she has become more serious. Businesslike. Except when she uses drugs; then she grows amorous. Harry, did you send her your photo? With your dossier?”

“My resume? Yes, I did. Matter of fact, the ad stipulated full-length front and side views. Something about security matters, the way they put it. And when they told me what her father did for a living, well, I...” I let the Awful Truth dawn on my face. “Oh. That? You mean... me?”

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “This is no place for you. The Vulcan is an institution for the insane. It’s not too late to back out. A handsome man like you, you can always find another job, a real one. I’ll give you some names to call, people in Menton, Cannes...”

“No, no,” I said. I stuck a cynical smile on my face. “I’m here, and I think I’ll just stick around a bit just to find out what happens. Just for the hell of it. If it turns out to be too much to put up with, I’ll leave. I think about half my motivation for taking the job was just plain curiosity. You know, I’ve never been on a really big yacht before. And I’m curious. I know the rich, now. The kind of middle-aged money you find in Carmel, in Santa Barbara and Montecito. But these people... I’ve never had much to do with anyone like them. Something in me gets curious to see what the real prime movers of the world are like.”

She looked at me, her mouth frozen, one white tooth biting into one red lip. “Harry,” she said, “you are too much like me. We would not be good for each other.” She stepped out from behind the screen and widened my eyes for me a little. She was exquisite, in blinding white pants and halter and jacket and sandals. Wherever skin showed, the white set it off deliciously. I tipped my highball glass at her, drank.

“Well, why worry about that either?” I said. “If we are a pair of adventurers the only excuse for that line of work is enjoying it. You look great. Let’s go do a bit of enjoying.” I held a hand out for her to shake, but she turned away. I put my hands on her brown arms and spun her back around again. “What’s the matter?” I said.

“Oh, Harry, halfway through my little act this afternoon I realized what a fool I was being, playing with you like that. You are not a man to be played with. And most certainly not by me. I was thinking what a mess I’d made of things in the last year or so.”

“Here?” I said. “So leave. Nothing easier.”

“No, no, I have obligations. I’ve gotten in over my head in something.” She bit that full red lip of hers again. “I have to work my way back out again. My own way.”

“I don’t know,” I said. I smiled and kissed her lightly on the tip of that perfect little nose. “I’ll have to take your word for that. In the meantime, the boat comes in tomorrow. We have tonight. I am new to Nice. I know nothing of the area. You can show me around. We can have a good dinner: candles, seafood, wine. I...”

“Oh, Harry, my dear,” she said. “It would be such fun. But I... I have an appointment later this evening. It is important, and...”

“You couldn’t call this person? And reschedule?”

There was a new light in her eyes as she pondered that one. “Perhaps I could. We could leave early, and take a nice drive — I know such a lovely place here in the Old Town, small and quiet. The oysters just went out of season, but... oh, you’d love it, I know you would...” Now it was her turn to step up on tiptoe and kiss me lightly. “Yes, yes, Harry. Look, you go dress. I’ll have my little car brought up from the garage...” I was still working on placing that accent. “I’ll meet you up front in... say ten minutes? Fifteen? Fifteen it is.” As I went out I looked back; she had the house phone under her chin, and the smile she gave me was warm, almost shy.

Her “little car” was a gorgeous classic Morgan, one of the kind with the wooden chassis we won’t allow for sale in the U.S., and I did some discreet coveting, right up to the moment common sense stepped in and reminded me I wasn’t “home” — if that’s what Washington was to me after all these years — often enough to justify owning even a classic car. When I figured that out, I stopped thinking about cars and started thinking about what I was doing.

Not that beautiful women aren’t their own excuse for doing things. But I was here for a reason and it wouldn’t do to forget that the job came first. I pondered the ifs, ands and buts, and decided I could justify getting involved with Vicki on the grounds of her being close to Alexandra. Maybe I could get her to keep an ear cocked for idle conversation, and report back to me? I know it sounds crass, but that sort of thinking comes with the job.

Vicki seemed happy and vivacious. Only every so often I’d see a sort of shadow cross her face — and it’d put ten years on her age each time — only to be wiped out by that warm smile I was getting, more and more often now.

Dinner was, as she’d said, in the Old Town — the winding-streets, narrow-alleys part of town between the Paillon, the underground river that cuts the town in two, and the chateau on the hill above the port. And it was every bit as nice as she’d said it would be: perfect blue trout, a glorious salad and I still wish I’d written down the name of the wine. Soft light that just let us see each other’s eyes and hands, and small talk about what do you like, and what do you dislike, and I was almost beginning to forget the ache in my side and the messy job I was here to do.

And then she had to bring me back to earth. “Harry.” Both of those soft hands on the back of mine. “I have to do an errand in the neighborhood — that appointment I told you about. You will forgive me, won’t you? Please? I’ll be a half hour at most. Harry...”

And what could I do but help her into her jacket and show her out into the narrow little street promising to meet her at the car in forty minutes?

There’d been one thing I hadn’t lied to her about and that was the fact that I have an insatiable curiosity. The next thing I knew, I was scurrying silently through the dark streets after her, under the white arches of clean sheets hanging across the little alleyways from third-floor windows, down a stone staircase and, finally, up an outside wall to a stone balcony overlooking the window in which she sat silhouetted, talking to someone I couldn’t see.

“...No, there’s no one by that name. Look, how many times do I have to tell you? I... please, let my arm go, you’re hurting me...”

I couldn’t make out the other person’s voice. It was a man; that was all I could tell.

“...Look, you’re going to have to let me go sometime. I’m no good to you this way. I... I’ve got to live my own life...”

There was a sound below me.

I froze.

The building I’d climbed up the side of had looked empty: dark and dusty and abandoned, for all I could see. It was situated across a narrow alley from the room Vicki was in; all the lights were out below me.

There was somebody down there, though.

Had I been followed? I didn’t know. But if I’d picked up a tail back at the restaurant, and hadn’t noticed it until now, I was losing my touch.

Across from me the girl was saying, “...I don’t care. I just can’t go through with it any more. I’m a nervous wreck as it is. I...”

I was beginning to want to sneak a look over the edge at what was happening down there. That wouldn’t have been smart. The dim light shining through her window, across the narrow alley, was just enough to pick out my face for the benefit of anyone below me looking up. I cursed myself for leaving Wilhelmina at home, but managed to salvage one pat on the back from the reassuring presence of Hugo, his razor-sharp length safe in its scabbard on my forearm, under my shirt.

There was more than one person down there. There was...

I forgot what Vicki was saying for a moment. There was a sharp intake of breath down below and then a strangled gasp. I sneaked a look over the edge. There was a dim light coming from one of the windows: somebody with a flashlight down in one of the rooms, flashing its flickering beam around the room.

I slipped Hugo out of his sheath and wormed my way over the edge of the little balcony, letting myself down slowly to the next balcony. One floor down, I could hear somebody grunt, low and guttural; he was lugging something across the room. I took a deep breath and eased myself over the edge again. I let myself down staying in the shadows as much as possible and finally my feet touched the stone wall of the balcony.

I faltered just once. It was enough to save me. There was a short phfft from the door, and a 7mm bullet, silenced, whizzed past my face. If I hadn’t slipped — well, there are times when it doesn’t pay to be perfect.

I hit the floor and rolled. The guy with the gun was crouched in the door opening, and, fool that he was, still had the flashlight on, waist high, in the hand that wasn’t holding the gun.

I came out of the roll full of bounce and didn’t give him time to react. If I’d known who it was — if I’d thought about it — I think I’d have cut him up then sat there watching while he slowly bled to death. I put my little friend Hugo up between two ribs and gave him a vicious shove, right into heart muscle. It took all the strength I had, but Hugo went in all the way until the hilt stopped on a rib. The guy went straight down. Dead.

I stepped aside, grabbed his flashlight, and took a look at him. I shoved his corpse out of the way, and shone the flash around the room. It picked out approximately what I’d expected to find, once I’d found my bearings. The muscleman, Constantin, was lying on the floor, his chest a mass of red. I guessed I must have missed the sound of the silencer that first time, under the other sounds of the evening; the only time those things make much in the way of noise is when they’re aimed right at you. I let the flash play over his body and found something else I’d expected to find. The loosened clothing; the splash of dark blood on his belly...

I shone the light once again on the face of the man I’d killed. What a fluke, I was thinking. Poor stupid Constantin had tailed me, just wanting to put a dent in my nose for doing what looked like stealing his girl. Somehow he’d gotten between me and the much deadlier tail I’d picked up on the way down here, and had been mistaken for me.

Wouldn’t he have looked at Constantin’s face, and seen it wasn’t me? Wouldn’t... I looked at the man’s face, hard and brutal even in death. No; maybe not. Not with a crazy like Zvy. Well, it was the last time he’d apply that little tattoo of his to anybody, the miserable bastard.

I flipped off the flash. “There’s one of the bastards, Fred,” I said under my breath. Maybe I’d have said more, maybe not. The next interruption made it all academic anyhow.

“Leon, look out! You...”

The words were Vicki’s, and they came from that upstairs window across the way. That was all she had a chance to get out; the rest was buried under the roar of a large and powerful handgun. Once. Twice. Then silence.