Try This One for Size

seven

Lu Bradey uttered a groan of despair as he saw Maggie Schultz enter the Kennedy airport check-in lobby, followed by a coloured porter pushing a trolley on which were two large suitcases and a blue vanity box.

He reached her in four long strides.

“What are you thinking of?” he demanded. “I told you to travel light for God’s sake!”

Maggie Schultz was something very special in women. She caused a male sensation wherever she went. Even now, with the check-in desk busy, male heads turned, and there were even a few suppressed whistles.

Maggie was not only beautiful in every possible way, but sex oozed from her the way treacle oozes from a can. Blonde, with thick silky hair, her body was so perfectly built fashion photographers, Playboy, Penthouse and, of course, porn specialists scrambled for her. Her face carried a please-help-me expression that raised male blood pressure.

“There you are, pet,” she cried, and throwing her arms around Bradey, gave him a kiss that caused the male audience to sigh with envy.

Bradey shoved her away.

“All this goddamn luggage! Didn’t I tell you...”

She put her hand over his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t expect me to walk around Switzerland naked, do you?”

“Okay, okay.” Bradey contained his exasperation. “Now you know what to do? Check in, take the box and go through the customs. If they ask questions tell them you are going to join friends in Geneva. Remember?”

“Yes, pet. Will this nice man take care of the rest of the luggage?”

“He’ll see you through the customs. I’ll meet you in the departure lounge.”

She kissed him again, then went over to the check-in desk and presented her ticket.

Bradey watched her finally join the queue for the baggage search.

The customs officer eyed Maggie as she came to rest before him. Man! he thought, what wouldn’t I give to drag this piece into my bed!

Maggie, reading his thoughts, gave him a big sexy smile.

“Tell me, handsome, are you married?” she asked.

The customs officer blinked, then grinned.

“Sure, I guess I am.”

“I’m so glad. You are going to search my baggage, aren’t you? Young bachelors always embarrass me. Us girls just have to take things with us, but a nice married man understands.” She presented him with a set of keys. “Do be kind and open the bags for me. I’m plain stupid with locks.”

Taking the keys, the customs officer leered at her.

“I bet you’re not stupid about other things, miss,” he said as the porter put the bags on the counter.

“Oh, I am. I’m just dizzy.” Maggie rolled her beautiful sea-green eyes. “My mother said I was born with a body, but no brains. Wasn’t that a terrible thing to say, but she was right.”

The customs officer unlocked the bags.

“I wouldn’t know, miss, but she was certainly right about one thing,” he said as he began to go through the contents of the bags, careful not to disarrange anything.

Bradey, standing at the end of the queue, watched all this. He could see Maggie was talking and talking and laughing and oozing sex, and he was glad he had brought her. He watched the customs officer open the vanity box, but as Maggie was still talking, his search was perfunctory. It occurred to Bradey that Maggie could certainly have smuggled out the icon had it been in the box. He told himself he must use Maggie’s sexual charms more often in the future.

He watched Maggie take the box, give the customs officer a wide smile and pass on to the departure lounge. The coloured porter took her bags and carried them away to the trolley waiting to be loaded.

Twenty minutes later, Bradey joined Maggie.

“He was the sweetest thing,” Maggie said. “Oh, I am so enjoying all this! And now Switzerland! Baby, this is the first time I have gone to Europe!”

At the age of thirteen, Maggie had seduced one of her school teachers who had gone to jail, and she had been put “into care.” She had run away six months later from the home, and was taken up by an elderly, rich man who liked young, pretty girls. He passed her off as his granddaughter. She had remained with him until she was fifteen, then bored with his constant demands, she took up with a coloured man who had a string of girls. She did a six months stint of street walking which she found dreary and unprofitable, not to say dangerous. She then moved to Florida where for the next two years she did “call girl” service and made a considerable amount of money which she spent, living in the kind of luxury which, at her age, satisfied her. She then met an advertising executive who immediately realized her potential. He took her to New York and introduced her to a number of his friends who got her assignments for fashion photography. She was in and out of their beds until she reached the age of twenty-one. Then she met Lu Bradey and fell in love with him: an experience that had never happened to her before. Bradey had explained to her that he was in the antique furniture business and had to do a lot of travelling, but it was okay with him if she liked to move into his West Side apartment and expect him when she saw him. He also advised her to continue with her fashion work as he was not rich enough to support the two of them. Love was such a wonderful thing to Maggie that she agreed. For the next six months she saw Bradey some ten times. He always seemed rushed. Maggie never asked questions. She was happy to see him when she saw him and she kept his apartment tidy, cooked for him when he returned home and continued to make good money with her free-lance modelling. Then suddenly he had telephoned her to say he was going to Switzerland and would she like to come with him? Nearly out of her mind with joy, Maggie screamed, “Try and stop me!”

He came around the following evening with her air ticket and the blue vanity box. This was the first present Bradey had ever given her and she smothered him with kisses. Bradey refrained from telling her the box wouldn’t remain in her possession for long.

The flight from New York to Geneva came up to Maggie’s expectations. They travelled first class, and Bradey, from long experience, quickly captured the attention of one of the air hostesses who kept them both supplied with champagne, canapés and later, dry vodka martinis.

Arriving at Geneva airport, Bradey left Maggie to go through the customs with her baggage and vanity box. He had with him a small overnight case and was quickly through the customs search. He then went over to the Hertz desk and organised a Mercedes car.

There was some delay before Maggie appeared.

“I don’t think I am going to like the Swiss,” she said. “The horrid man wouldn’t unlock my bags and made me take everything out.”

“The vanity box?”

“That too. Everyone was staring at my things. He was a horrid brute.”

“Never mind. The car’s waiting. Come on,” and signalling to a porter who piled the luggage on a trolley, Bradey conducted Maggie to where the Mercedes was parked. As he drove on to the autoroute and headed towards the city, he thought maybe Maggie’s sexual charms might not be so useful if he had ever to smuggle something through the Swiss customs.

On the other side of the Atlantic, in Paradise City, Claude Kendrick and Louis de Marney were discussing their future.

“With all this money, Claude my brave,” Louis was saying, “why not sell the Gallery and retire? Think of what you could do with almost three million dollars. Think of the life of freedom you will be able to enjoy. If the price is right, I would be willing to buy the Gallery from you with my share of the money. What do you think?”

“That you are out of your tiny mind,” Kendrick said. “You haven’t the first idea how much this gallery is worth. You? You couldn’t even run it without me.”

“Oh, I might.” Louis’s rat-like eyes hardened. “I’d be prepared to take the risk. How about half a million, pet?”

“This room alone is worth more than that,” Kendrick said, making a sweeping movement with his hand towards the pictures and the antiques. “Now, stop it, Louis or I will get cross with you. I have no intention of selling the gallery to you or anyone else. Tomorrow, I have to fly to Zurich. How I hate flying!”

“Have you made a will?” Louis asked, his expression cunning. “You must have! Think of all the dreadful accidents! Every day I read of air crashes!”

“If you don’t get out of this room immediately, I will throw something at you!” Kendrick exclaimed, his fat face flushing.

“I’m only trying to be helpful. There is no point in you getting into a tizz. You mustn’t excite yourself. It’s bad for your liver.”

As Kendrick reached for a heavy paperweight, Louis scuttled to the door and disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

Kendrick glowered at the door, then lighting a cigar, he thought of tomorrow. He had had reassuring news from Haddon. The Lepskis’ vanity box had passed through the French customs: The Lepskis and the Duvines were now in Monaco, and in another three days, they would be at the Montreux Palace hotel. Haddon had said that Lu Bradey would be at this hotel and he would get the box from Duvine, then would go to Zurich as soon as he could, meeting Kendrick at the Eden hotel. So far so good, but Kendrick was a pessimist. He never believed in infallibilities. Maybe the Swiss customs would check the box and find the icon. Maybe Bradey would have a car accident on his way from Montreux to Zurich. Maybe, and here Kendrick broke out into a cold sweat, his plane might plunge into the Atlantic. Life was never free of problems. Then maybe that dreadful man Radnitz might try to gyp him out of the three million dollars. When dealing with Radnitz, anything could happen. He took out his silk handkerchief and mopped his forehead. He would have been even more uneasy if he could have transported himself to the entrance to the Montreux Palace hotel right at that moment.

The uniformed porter ran down the steps to open the door of an Opel Rekord car as it pulled up outside the Montreux Palace hotel.

A tall, thin man with straw-coloured hair looked at the porter through the open car window.

“My bag’s in the boot,” he said curtly. “Do I park over there?”

“If you will, sir,” the porter said, went around to the back of the car and took out a large suitcase which was surprisingly light for its size.

Sergas Holtz drove into a parking slot, then getting out of the car, climbed the steps and walked over to the reception desk.

His uncle had given him a false passport in the name of Hans Richter which he handed to the reception clerk.

“Glad to have you here, sir,” the clerk said. “You are staying a few days?”

“Yes,” Holtz said curtly as the clerk filled in the police card which he handed to Holtz with a pen. Holtz signed his false name. “Friends of mine, Mr and Mrs Lepski, are arriving the day after tomorrow. What is the number of their room?”

The clerk consulted the register.

“Room 245, sir. You have room 249. It’s quite close.”

Once in his room, he locked the door, put the suitcase on the bed, opened it and took the vanity box from it. This he put in a closet, locked the door and dropped the key into his pocket.

He crossed to the window and looked down at the busy street below, then across the lake and to the range of mountains.

Well, he thought, I have arrived. Two days to wait, then action!

The drive down to the South of France on the long, monotonous autoroute du Sud had bored the Lepskis, although Carroll was too polite to say so, realising how the Duvines were trying to please, but Lepski made grumbling noises until she told him firmly to be quiet. They both had expected better things than this continuous flat countryside, the traffic congested, narrow-streeted towns and the dreary, dirty-looking little villages. Even the *** Pic hotel at Valence where they spent the night, Lepski found too goddamn fussy, and this time, after listening impatiently to Pierre who enthusiastically translated the luxe menu, he declared firmly he would have a steak, and gave Carroll his cop stare, challenging her to say otherwise. Seeing the danger signal, Carroll didn’t argue.

They had arrived at the Metropole hotel, Monte Carlo, the following afternoon. Here again, they were disillusioned. Carroll had read so much about the South of France with its constant sunshine, its villas, casinos, smart shops and quaint old towns. She found to her dismay Monte Carlo was cramped, over-built with half-empty high-risers and mainly fat old people moving along the sidewalks. The shops proved an anti-climax after the Paris shops.

In spite of Pierre working desperately, they found Monte Carlo a drag. By now even Carroll had had enough of the rich French cuisine, and she and Lepski would only eat BBQ chicken or steaks. This depressed the Duvines who were always prepared for an elaborate meal.

Lepski was amazed to find the streets of Monte Carlo deserted, except for parked cars, by 21.00. The only apparent nightlife was at the Casino. There, he found the aged fat women, gambling, with fat men hovering around them, depressing. There wasn’t a sexy-looking girl to be seen. Pierre had explained that the season was nearly over. Had Lepski come a month earlier, he would have seen plenty of glamour. Lepski didn’t believe him.

On the last night of their stay at the Metropole hotel after dining in the roof restaurant of the Hotel de Paris, Lepski and Carroll lay in the twin beds in their room. They had been so bored with the Casino which Pierre and Claudette had suggested after dinner, that they had opted for an early night as they would be driving to Montreux the following morning.

The Duvines, born gamblers, had gone to the Casino where they had lost, between them, over a thousand francs.

“Are you enjoying this trip?” Lepski asked abruptly.

Carroll hesitated. She believed in always telling the truth.

“Well, Tom, I thought it was going to be more exciting,” she said finally. “I loved Paris, and I’m glad to have come this far. I wouldn’t have known what it really is like if I hadn’t come, would I?”

“Yeah.” Lepski moved restlessly, “but if we hadn’t come, think of the money we could have saved.”

“It is my money, and I spend it how I like!” Carroll snapped.

“Sure, sure,” Lepski said hurriedly.

“You wait until we get to Switzerland. I’ve seen photos of the mountains and the lakes... marvellous!”

“Any night life there?”

“Of course!” Carroll said firmly, hoping there would be. “A place like Montreux will be alive with night life. There’s one thing you are forgetting, Tom, we have found two real, lovely friends. Claudette promised to write when I get home. She will be a pen pal.”

“Oh, yeah? There’s something about those two that bothers me.”

Carroll sat up.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a touch of the con-man about Pierre. He’s too goddamn smooth. I keep asking myself why he is taking all this trouble, spending money on us, driving us: two Americans out of the blue. I get a feeling before long he’ll try to sell us a gold-mine.”

“Lepski! You are utterly impossible! You have a horrid cop mind! If someone is nice and friendly to you, you immediately think he’s a crook! I’m ashamed of you!” Carroll declared furiously. “How do you imagine people make friends? Because they like each other! The Duvines like us, so they are our friends. Can’t you get that into your narrow cop mind?”

Lepski moaned. Here was another fight coming up that could last for hours, and he was tired.

“Okay, okay, baby. I guess it’s my cop training and my narrow mind,” he said, pulling up the sheet and settling lower in the bed. “Let’s sleep, huh? We have quite a trip ahead of us tomorrow.”

Carroll drew in an exasperated breath.

“It’s always ‘Okay, okay, baby,’ when you won’t discuss anything. Let me tell you, Lepski, the Duvines are marvellous people, and we are very, very lucky to have found them!”

Lepski made a soft snoring noise.

“Do you hear what I am saying?” Carroll demanded.

“Sure, baby. Sleep tight,” Lepski mumbled in a feigned sleepy voice and began to snore at volume.

Pierre and Claudette returned to the hotel soon after 01.30. They were both depressed at losing money at roulette.

In their room, after showers, they lay in the twin beds in the half-light of one bedside lamp.

“No luck tonight,” Pierre said gloomily.

“We can’t always win, my treasure,” Claudette said. “What worries me is the Lepskis are getting bored.”

“Americans! Most of them can’t adapt to the European way of life. Not much longer, sugar. On the 20th, we will be in Montreux. Lu will be there to give me the duplicate box. As soon as I get it, you will take the Lepskis on a boat trip. When Lu had given me the duplicate box, he takes off for Zurich to wait for me. As soon as he’s gone, I will switch boxes. When you return with the Lepskis, I will tell them I’ve had a cable saying my mother is dangerously ill and we must return to Paris immediately. Once we are shot of the Lepskis, we will drive to Zurich and get in touch with Radnitz.”

“But will we get shot of the Lepskis? Suppose they say they will return to Paris with us?”

Pierre frowned.

“A good point. We must find out what their plans are after Montreux. Let’s sell them on the idea of going to Gstaad. You do that, sugar. Talk to Carroll and tell her they can’t possibly leave Switzerland without seeing Gstaad.”

“Yes. Then, another thing, when we don’t arrive at the Eden, Zurich, Lu will know we’ve double-crossed him. He could make things difficult.”

There was a long silence while Pierre thought, then he said, “First things first. This is the general plan. Get the Lepskis thinking of Gstaad. I have to get the icon.”

Claudette leaned out of her bed and stroked Pierre’s hand.

“I hate twin beds.”

“There’s room in here with me,” Pierre said and threw back the blanket and sheet.

Claudette slid from her bed and into his, and wound her arms lovingly around him.

Lu Bradey and Maggie Schultz walked into the reception lobby of the Montreux Palace hotel, followed by a porter, carrying their luggage.

It was 11.30 on the 18th September: a bright, crisp autumn morning. Driving from Geneva, along the lakeside road, Maggie had been entranced by the view of Lake Léman, the mountains and the acres of vineyards. The entrance to the hotel also entranced her. She thought the luggage porter a dream, and the reception clerk out of this world.

“We are only staying two nights,” Bradey said as he handed the reception clerk the false passport Ed Haddon had given him in the name of Lewis Schultz.

“Yes, sir, I have your reservation.”

“I want to book a room for my friend who will be arriving on the afternoon of the 20th,” Bradey said. “Mr John Willis. He will be staying a few days.”

“Mr Willis? Certainly, sir. At this time we have plenty of room.” The clerk made a note.

“I believe you have Mr and Mrs Lepski booked in here on the 20th?”

“Mr and Mrs Lepski?” The clerk checked the register. “That is correct. They are with Mr and Mrs Duvine.”

“Mr Willis is an old friend. I would like him to be on their floor.”

The clerk checked, then nodded.

“Perfectly all right, sir. Room 251. Mr and Mrs Lepski will be occupying room 245. If you are leaving on the morning of the 20th, and Mr Willis will be arriving after lunch, you can have this room. Would that be convenient?”

“That’s fine.”

Sergas Holtz, sitting in the reception lobby, pretending to be reading The Herald Tribune, was very much alert. He had been sitting in the reception lobby for more than an hour, waiting developments. He had stiffened slightly as he saw the porter bring in the baggage of these arrivals. He saw the blue vanity box, the twin of the box he had locked in the closet in his room.

So this is Bradey, he thought. His uncle had explained to him that Bradey would arrive with a duplicate of the box and would give it to Duvine to switch with Lepski’s box. But who was this John Willis Bradey was talking about? Another complication?

Up in room 251, having tipped the porter, Bradey joined Maggie on the balcony.

“Isn’t this gorgeous!” Maggie exclaimed. “Oh, let’s explore! Look at that cute steamer! I’d love to go on it! What a cute little town!”

“Maggie,” Bradey said quietly. “Let’s sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Maggie looked at him, her eyes startled.

“Why, of course, sweetheart. Is something wrong?”

They re-entered the room and sat down.

“I am in the pipe-line to make a million dollars,” Bradey said, knowing money was his wisest opening move.

“A million dollars!” Maggie exclaimed. “You can’t mean it!”

“Look, baby, it’s better for you not to know anything about it, but it is a fact: one million dollars.” Bradey smiled. “How would you like to marry me?”

“You and a million dollars? Try and stop me! I’d adore it!”

Bradey suppressed a sigh. He wondered what her reaction would have been if he hadn’t mentioned the million dollars.

“Fine! As soon as we get home, baby, we’ll get married, but to get this money, I need your help.”

“You have only to tell me, Lu. Just tell me how I can help.”

“We leave here the day after tomorrow. We will drive along the lake road to Villeneuve: not far. There, I will leave you. You will take the car and drive to Zurich and stay at the Baur au Lac hotel. I will join you in less than a week.”

“Drive to Zurich?” Maggie’s voice shot up. “But, Lu, I couldn’t. I...”

“There’s nothing to it,” Bradey said patiently. He took from his wallet a folded piece of paper. “Here’s your route. It’s simple. Here’s a street plan showing you how to find the hotel. A room is reserved for you.” He pulled his chair closer. “Let’s go through it together.”

After a quarter of an hour, Maggie said doubtfully that she thought she could find her way.

“But can’t I stay with you?” she asked plaintively. “Must I go on my own?”

“If you want me and a million dollars, you have to go!” Bradey said, a snap in his voice.

“What will you do?”

“Earn a million dollars: something you don’t want to know about.” From his hip pocket, he took a wallet and handed it to her. “These are blank traveller’s cheques: worth fifteen thousand Swiss francs. Have yourself a ball in Zurich while you wait for me. Okay?”

“All this for me?”

“Yes, but you will have to take care of your hotel bill. Okay?”

Maggie gave a squeal of delight.

“You are the sweetest of the sweetest!”

“Fine.” Bradey nodded. “One more thing. The vanity box. I need that. When you are in Zurich, buy yourself another. Right?”

Maggie’s sea-green eyes popped wide open.

“Oh, no! It is the first present you have ever given me! I adore it! You can’t have it!”

Bradey had been anticipating her opposition. He gave her his con-smile.

“I need it, baby. Now, you and I will go out right now and we will go to one of the best watch shops and I will buy you a beautiful watch to make up for the vanity box; self-winding, solid gold with diamonds. How’s that?”

“Solid gold with diamonds, and I can buy another vanity box?”

Bradey smiled at her.

“That’s what the man said.”

Maggie jumped to her feet; her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Let’s go!” She rushed to the door, then paused. “Then can we go on that steamer?”

“We’ll even do that,” Bradey said.

They rode down in the elevator, and watched by Sergas Holtz, they walked out into the sunshine, arm in arm, and headed for the nearest Omega watch shop.

Happily for Bradey, Maggie was easy to please. She adored going to Evian on the steamer. She adored wandering down the narrow main street where the shops were. She peered at all the shop windows, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was adoring her new watch. Bradey, thinking of the million dollars he was going to earn, wandered with her, bored stupid.

In the evening they visited the Montreux casino and Maggie won twenty francs which sent her out of her mind with delight. He took her to Hazyland where they danced among the young, and Maggie caused wolf whistles which she loved. They had wild sex when they returned to their room and they slept.

The following morning, Bradey drove her to see Noel Coward’s old home. Maggie adored the mountains and the drive. She got out of the car, outside Coward’s entrance, to gape. Sitting in the car, Bradey, although his mind was occupied with the task ahead, watched her and told himself, he could do a hell of a lot worse than marrying this beauty.

After lunch at Le Cygne, the Montreux Palace hotel’s grillroom, Maggie pleaded to go on a steamer again. They took the trip to Lausanne and returned to the hotel in time for dinner.

So the day passed. Maggie declared she adored everything. As she lay in his arms, sleeping, Bradey thought of tomorrow. Duvine, with the Lepskis, would be arriving. He hoped they wouldn’t be late. This operation was a matter of timing. He slept badly that night.

To avoid the Italian customs and a major Swiss customs frontier, Duvine had driven via Grenoble, by-passing Geneva and driving along Lake Léman on the French side of the lake to the Swiss frontier outside St Gingolph.

The Lepskis, who had lived all their lives in Florida, had never seen mountains as big and as impressive as they saw on the route de Napoleon. Even Lepski was impressed. Carroll was ecstatic.

“Tom!” she cried. “Just look at this view! It’s worth the rest of our trip!”

Duvine sighed with relief. Well, at least, something was pleasing these difficult two.

“Well, yeah,” Lepski said grudgingly. “I guess it’s pretty good, but our Rocky mountains are as good.”

“Lepski! Since when have you ever seen the Rocky mountains? Don’t show your ignorance!” Carroll said scathingly.

“Well, we’ve got the Grand Canyon too,” Lepski said defensively. “That wants some beating.”

“Since when have you seen the Grand Canyon?”

Lepski made a noise like a fall of gravel, and Claudette broke in hurriedly. “We’ll be coming to Lake Léman. One side is Swiss, the other side is French. Isn’t that a nice arrangement?”

“How cute!” Carroll said. “You know, Claudette, I’m just loving all this.”

“When do we eat?” Lepski asked.

“There’s a little restaurant not far from here,” Duvine said. He had given up trying to please these two with good food. Why waste money on them, he reasoned to himself, when all they wanted was a goddamn steak?

Although the Duvines enjoyed their curried scampi, the Lepskis found their steaks tough.

“We should have brought along your mincer, baby,” Lepski said, chewing hard. “Then we could have had ground meat.”

Carroll told him to be quiet.

Half an hour’s drive would bring them to the Swiss frontier and Duvine, knowing it was the last hurdle to cross, had to control his uneasiness.

“Swiss officials can be awkward,” he said to Lepski as they drove along the lake road. “Leave them to me. I’ll tell them that you are a distinguished American police officer. They could make us open our bags. The trick with them is to give them a bone. We’ll stop at the next village and buy some Scotch which we will declare.”

Lepski brightened.

“Scotch? That’s a great idea!”

They stopped at a wine merchant just before the frontier, and bought two bottles of Scotch and two bottles of champagne.

“This should do it,” Duvine said, putting the bottles in the boot of the car. Looking at the luggage, seeing the blue vanity box very much in evidence, he was inspired to move it close to his own luggage and pull his and Claudette’s coats over it, leaving the Lepskis’ new-looking luggage exposed.

He got back into the car and drove down the narrow street leading to the French customs post. His hands were moist and his mouth was dry.

The French customs guard waved them through. They drove the few yards towards the Swiss customs post.

Two tall, grey-uniformed men moved out into the street.

“Leave all this to me,” Duvine said as he wound down his window.

Lepski became alert. His police training told him that Duvine was unnaturally tense, and this puzzled him. He wondered why Duvine was making such a thing of this. He told himself to relax. Duvine must know from experience what he was about. He handed Carroll’s and his passports to Duvine who, with his own, gave the guard a friendly nod and offered the passports.

The guard regarded him with cold, stony eyes, then stepping back, examined the passports. These, after a long scrutiny, he handed back.

“Have you anything to declare?” he asked in French.

“No, nothing. Two bottles of whisky and two champagne: nothing else,” Duvine said.

“Open your boot please.”

“What’s he say?” Lepski demanded, irritated that the conversation was in French.

“He wants me to open the boot,” Duvine told him as he got out of the car.

“Why?”

“They do,” Duvine said curtly, wishing to God Lepski would keep quiet.

He went around to the back of the car and opened the boot. To his dismay, Lepski also got out of the car and joined him.

“Which is the luggage of the American gentleman?” the guard asked.

“These two blue bags.”

“Please tell him to bring them to the customs’ house.”

Duvine turned to Lepski.

“They want to check your bags.”

“What the hell for?” Lepski took out his police warrant and shoved it under the guard’s nose. “Tell him who I am!”

Feeling a trickle of sweat run down his face, Duvine said, “This gentleman is a highly placed American police officer. He doesn’t want his bags disturbed.”

The guard examined Lepski’s police warrant and shield. From his expression, it made no impression on him.

“The gentleman doesn’t speak French or German?”

“No. He is American.”

“What’s he say?” Lepski demanded, and began to shuffle his feet as his temper rose.

The guard eyed him with interest. Lepski’s habitual war dance before his temper exploded was something new to the guard.

“The gentleman needs the toilet?” he asked Duvine.

“What’s he say?” Lepski demanded in his cop voice.

“He’s asking if you want to take a pee,” Duvine whispered. “He is puzzled by the way you are jumping up and down.”

With an effort Lepski controlled himself. He made a noise like an electric drill biting into a knot of wood. The guard took a step back and gaped at Lepski.

“Lepski! Stop making an exhibition of yourself!” Carroll exclaimed, sliding out of the car and joining them. “Do what the man says!”

The guard turned to Duvine.

“Please tell the gentleman that we have instructions to check all luggage owned by Americans. We regret the inconvenience, but those are our instructions.”

“I understand,” Duvine said, his shirt sticking to his back with cold sweat. “Do you need to search my baggage?”

“That will not be necessary.”

“What’s he say?” Lepski demanded.

Duvine explained.

“It won’t take long, Tom. Just go along with them.”

“Do it!” Carroll snapped. “Why must you always make a nuisance of yourself?”

Lepski clenched his fists, choked back an expletive, then said in a strangled voice, “Okay, okay, so let this jerk go through our goddamn bags! Why should I care?”

Duvine lifted out the two blue suitcases belonging to the Lepskis.

“Just these two?” the guard asked.

“The rest is mine,” Duvine said. He handed the cases to Lepski. “Take them in, Tom. It won’t take long,”

The guard handed Lepski back his police warrant, then leading the way, he conducted Lepski, carrying the two suitcases, to the customs house.

“He’s forgotten my vanity case!” Carroll cried.

Duvine very nearly slapped her.

“Forget it!” he whispered urgently. “Your perfume could cause trouble.”

“If you say so.” Carroll got back into the car. “Oh, I do wish Tom wasn’t so difficult!”

“He has so much character.” Claudette said, forcing a bright smile. “These Swiss! I do wish he hadn’t all this bother.”

“He really loves it,” Carroll said. “Don’t worry, honey, about him. It’ll be something he will bore his friends with when he gets home.”

Duvine joined Lepski in the customs house. He found him shaking hands with the Head official who spoke English.

This man, introducing himself as Hans Ulrich, was profuse with apologies.

“Mr Lepski,” he was saying, “it is this Russian icon affair. All our frontier posts have been instructed to search the luggage of all American visitors. My man was only doing his duty. Of course there is no need to check your baggage. I can’t remember when we ever had an American police officer pass through our frontier. Let me tell you it is a great privilege.” He turned to the guard. “Take Mr Lepski’s bags back to the car.”

Duvine closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of relief.

Leaving Lepski, now beaming, to talk to Ulrich, he followed the guard, took the two suitcases from him and put them in the boot, slamming the lid.

“What is happening?” Carroll demanded.

“Tom’s getting the VIP treatment. No problems,” Duvine said as he slid under the driving wheel.

He and Claudette exchanged quick glances.

The last hurdle had been crossed. The icon had arrived in Switzerland.

Now for Lu Bradey. Now for the switch. Then Radnitz.