You Have Yourself a Deal

Chapter Three

When Girland had left Dorey’s office, Dorey flicked down a switch on his intercom and said, “I’m ready now for Kerman.”

As he released the switch he leaned back in his chair and picked up another of the excellent sandwiches by his side. He ate it slowly, thinking this kind of situation was what he would like to be happening twenty-four hours of the day. The dull routine, the endless files, the official letters bored him, but when he had a free hand, money to spend, good agents and a problem that required shrewd planning, life really came alive.

A tap sounded on the door.

“Come on in,” he said and wiped his thin lips on his handkerchief.

Jack Kerman came in.

Dorey regarded this slightly built man as his most reliable outside agent. There was nothing spectacular about Kerman. Aged thirty-three, with alert humorous eyes and a crew cut, he made a respectable living running a garage in the Passy district. His partner, a fat cheerful man whose name was Jacques Cordey, had an idea that Kerman was an Agent for the C.I.A., but neither men ever discussed that possibility, and when Kerman went off periodically, Cordey carried on with the work of the garage and asked no questions. It was a convenient arrangement.

When Dorey was uneasy about the success of an operation, his mind turned automatically to Kerman. He had alerted him to come to the Embassy before Girland had arrived. Kerman had been waiting with his usual placid patience until he was sent for.

“Sit down, Jack,” Dorey said amiably. “Want a sandwich?”

Kerman came over to the big desk and lowered his slight frame into the lounging chair. He was wearing an old, well-worn sports coat that he had bought from Simpsons of Piccadilly when last he had been in London, and a pair of shabby, grey slacks. There was nothing showy about Kerman, but when you looked into the alert, rather ugly face and into the steady, dark eyes, you would reverse your opinion that he was just another rather unsuccessful man.

“Not for me, sir, thank you. I’ve had dinner,” he said and waited.

“We have Girland again,” Dorey said. “I didn’t want to use him but the situation is such I had no option.”

Kerman smiled.

“That means trouble, sir.”

“I know. I’ll put you in the picture.” Briefly, Dorey explained about Erica Olsen and the part he wanted Girland to play.

Kerman nodded his approval.

“It could work, sir. Yes... of course, Girland would be your only choice.”

“He’s downstairs in the car pool right now and he should be at the American hospital in half an hour. I want you to tail him, Jack. Don’t let him spot you. I wouldn’t want him to think I don’t trust him. It’s your job to help him if he runs into trouble.” Dorey slid a slip of paper across the desk. “This is a chit for a car. Get something fast. I’ll leave that to you. Girland has a radio pill to give to the woman. I hope he does give it to her. If he does, your job will be easy. Pick a car with a radar scanner. Keep in touch with me. We must not lose this woman. I have already warned Girland that the Soviet and Chinese will be after her. It is possible I have moved fast enough to beat them, but I could be kidding myself. You can call on as much help as you may need. Right now I am leaving this to you to handle on your own. O’Halloran’s men are too heavy-handed for this kind of job, but you may have to call them in. Don’t hesitate if you feel you have to. Girland has a 202 Mercedes, black, No. 888. Get over to the hospital as fast as you can.” Dorey slid a packet of one hundred francs across the desk. “This should hold you, Jack, but if you want more, let me know. You’ll follow him to Eze. Once there, providing you are certain he hasn’t been followed, you can safely leave him.” Dorey regarded Kerman. “You know what I like about you? You never ask for money. Girland never stops asking for it.”

Kerman grinned. He slid the money into his hip pocket.

“I make a living. Girland doesn’t and don’t make the mistake, sir, of thinking Girland isn’t a good man. In my reckoning, he’s the best you’ve got.”

Dorey pulled a wry face.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s good. The trouble with him is he always thinks of himself first.”

“As far as he is concerned, it’s a good philosophy.”

Dorey laughed.

“Get going, Jack. Let’s have some action.”

Ten minutes later, as Dorey was locking up his files, preparing to go home the door jerked open and O’Halloran came in. His red, fleshy face was dark with suppressed rage.

“Hello, Tim,” Dorey said mildly, recognising the danger signals. “What brings you here?”

“This punk Girland has put one of my best men in hospital!” O’Halloran grated, coming to rest before the big executive desk. “Now, look, sir...”

“All right, all right, calm down. What is all this?”

O’Halloran drew in a deep breath, took off his peak cap and sat down.

“One of my best men... he’s now in hospital with a broken collar bone and four fractured ribs.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mike O’Brien.”

Dorey looked startled.

“O’Brien? You surprise me. I thought he was your toughest boy. What do you mean? In hospital?”

“Girland threw him down a flight of stairs,” O’Halloran said, his face darkening.

“What in God’s name made him do that?”

“Well, I guess O’Brien and Bruckman acted a little rough. After all, Girland isn’t much, is he? My boys didn’t have to treat him like a V.I.P.”

Dorey smiled.

“Doesn’t sound as if Girland treated O’Brien as a V.I.P. either.”

“But O’Brien will be out of action for a couple of months!” O’Halloran exploded. “I want you to do something about this, sir! I’m not having one of my men treated this way!”

“I know O’Brien,” Dorey said quietly. “He is a fighting Mick. I must admit, Tim, this is good news to me. I was worrying that with Girland’s layoff, he had turned soft, but if he can take a toughie like O’Brien and put him in hospital, I think it is more than obvious I have picked the right man.”

O’Halloran cleared his throat, then suddenly grinned.

“Well, he certainly took the starch out of that Irish bastard,” he said, “but I must put it on record, sir, that I am objecting.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Dorey said gravely: “Girland is quite a character. Of course he needs watching, and I think he is thoroughly untrustworthy, but in certain circumstances, he is the best man we have. I have put Kerman on his tail. Kerman may need help. I have told him to call on you if he does. Was there anything else?”

O’Halloran rubbed his jaw, then shrugged. He had made his complaint. There was no point in taking it further. He said, “We have been checking on this woman. We have a report from Pekin that Kung’s mistress has been missing since June 23rd. A lone woman, matching Erica Olsen’s description, travelled by train from Pekin to the Hong Kong border. Two days later, she took a plane to Istanbul and stayed two days at the Hilton Hotel. She travelled under the name of Naomi Hill. She arrived in Paris eight days ago. One of the clerks at Orly has seen her photograph and confirms it is the woman. We lost her at Orly and picked her up two days later when she was found unconscious. I’m trying to find out where she stayed in Paris during these two days, but so far I’ve had no luck. When she was found she had no luggage nor a handbag. Hong Kong says when she arrived from Pekin, she had two heavy suitcases with her. So they must be somewhere. I can’t get a lead from Orly about her luggage. I’m having all the left luggage lockers checked. We could still come up with her suitcases, and this could be important.”

Dorey nodded. His thin face was puzzled.

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

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

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

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

As Jo-Jo reached the bend in the stairway leading to the fourth floor, he heard voices. He paused abruptly and peered around the bend. He saw a soldier, his back turned to him, an automatic rifle in his hand. The sight of the armed man made Jo-Jo stiffen, and then his lips moved off his uneven yellow teeth in a grin. Well, at least he had found the right floor, he thought, but he wasn’t going to tangle with a man with an automatic rifle. He would have to go back to the fifth floor, get out onto the ledge and climb down to the fourth floor. By edging along the lower ledge and by looking into the various windows, he must, sooner or later, find this woman.

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

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

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

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

Girland shrugged.

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

Smernoff sneered at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Girland walked across to the reception desk.

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

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

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

Puzzled, the clerk gave him a form which Girland completed. Smernoff had moved to his side, his .45 now back in its holster, but Girland was aware of the automatic rifle.

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

Jack Kerman parked outside the hospital in a 3.8 Jaguar watched the sleeping woman being loaded into the ambulance. He saw Girland and a young nurse get into the ambulance, followed by a man in a Colonel’s uniform.

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

Sadu had seen the ambulance drive away and thought nothing of it. He was sitting, tense, waiting for Jo-Jo to appear to tell him the woman was dead. He was very uneasy. Nothing he would have liked better than to have driven away and to have left Jo-Jo to find his own way back, but suppose Jo-Jo had been seen? Suppose...? He grimaced. Lighting yet another cigarette, he looked out into the rain at the lighted entrance of the hospital.

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

“Get moving!”

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

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

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

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

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

Jo-Jo scratched the back of his dirty neck.

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

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

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

Jo-Jo hesitated, then decided he had better tell the truth. There was now no point in going back.

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

Sadu twisted around in his seat.

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

“The Americans,” Jo-Jo said sullenly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Don’t shout! I didn’t want trouble.”

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

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

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

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

“Shut up!” Sadu snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

Pearl rose to her feet, her eyes opening wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sadu stared at her suspiciously.

“Who is this contact?”

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

“Yes... where are you going?”

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

“Where are you going?” Sadu repeated angrily.

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

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

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

Malik eyed him over, his flat green eyes glittering.

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

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

“You too,” Malik said to Ginny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my business,” Malik said.

Girland regarded him with a humorous, sorrowful smile.

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

Ginny, listening to this, gasped.

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

Girland gave her his charming smile.

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

Malik regarded him with contempt.

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

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

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

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

Girland gave an exaggerated shiver.

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

Malik glanced at Ginny and shrugged.

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

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

Malik drew in a long breath of exasperation. This attitude, this talk coming from an American agent infuriated and baffled him. He had always taken his work seriously and had been ready to sacrifice his life for the Cause. This man... Malik controlled his exploding temper. He knew about him... a man who thought only of himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scarcely believing his good fortune, Wolfert had left with her. They had gone to a small hotel in the Rue Castellane. The man behind the desk had given her a key. There was nothing to pay. Wolfert had seen a slight signal pass between the Vietnamese girl and the clerk but he was too excited to care. This could, he thought, as he followed the small hips up the stairs, be one of his most exciting adventures, and so it turned out to be.

Western women, he thought, as he walked out into the hot narrow street an hour later, exhausted, but satiated, knew nothing of the technique of love. Of course, they imagined they did. Some he had known were quite adept at pleasing a man, but when it came to an explosive fusion of bodies, the Eastern women were supreme.

He had met her three more times, and each time they had gone to the same hotel, then he had decided to make a change. Wolfert prided himself on variety. He ceased to go to Chung Wu’s restaurant. He found a Japanese air hostess at Orly whose technique charmed him. Then there was a serious Indian girl student at the Sorbonne, studying classical French... perhaps not quite so interesting, but at least amusing. Then there was the Thai girl. Even the thought of her made Wolfert wince. Inflicting pain on women nauseated him. This was something he couldn’t understand. He had quickly got rid of her, but the experience still slightly shocked him.

Until this moment, he had forgotten Pearl, and he was puzzled, but still confident in his charms to be unworried.

“It is a long time since we have met,” he said, watching her slip off her wet mac. “But how did you know I lived here?”

She moved with flowing grace to an armchair and sat on the edge of it. In her black cheongsam with the white silk pants showing, her black hair oiled with a lotus bud behind her ear, she made an entrancing picture.

“I want to know where Erica Olsen is,” she said softly.

Wolfert gaped at her. For a moment he didn’t think he had heard aright, then sudden alarm flowed through him.

“What do you mean? I... I don’t understand.”

“The woman in the American hospital. She has been moved,” Pearl said, her black almond-shaped eyes glittering at him. “You work for Dorey. My people must know where she is. You must tell me.”

Wolfert heaved himself to his feet. His fat face was flushed. He pointed a shaking finger at the door.

“Get out! I won’t have you here! Get out at once or I will call the police!”

She stared at him for a long moment, her face expressionless, then she opened her handbag and took out five glossy photographs.

“Please look at these. You may not wish your friends to have them. I could also send them to Mr. Dorey. Please look carefully at them.”

Wolfert gulped. He snatched the prints from her hand, examined them, turned white and shuddered. What he had never realised before was how disgustingly fat he had become. His nakedness revolted him. The blocked out face of the naked woman with him, he knew would be Pearl.

“I have no time to waste,” Pearl said. “I must know where this woman is. Where is she?”

Dropping the prints on the floor with a shudder of disgust, Wolfert said, “I don’t know. I know she was at the American hospital. If they have moved her, then I don’t know.”

“You must find out.”

“How can I?” Wolfert’s white face was flabby with fear. “Dorey wouldn’t tell me. You can see that? Of course, he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Then you must help me to find out.” She took from her handbag a small, flat box. “You will use this. It is a limpet microphone. All you have to do is to fix it under Dorey’s desk. We will do the rest. If it isn’t in place by tomorrow morning at ten o’clock at the latest, then these pictures will be circulated. I have many copies. You may keep those to remind you how urgent this is.”

She got up, slipped into her mac and quietly left the apartment.

Wolfert, his fiat body cold, stood motionless, his eyes on the box she had left him.

At the junction of the autoroute leading to Ville d’Avray, Smernoff reduced speed. It was now raining hard again and there was very little traffic.

Malik said, “All right... now.”

Smernoff stopped the ambulance.

“Get out, both of you,” Malik said, a snub-nosed automatic appearing in his hand. He waved the barrel first at Ginny and then at Girland.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” Girland said and opened the double doors of the ambulance. He paused to regard Malik, “Sure you don’t want to do a deal? It would be money well spent.”

“Get out!” Malik said angrily.

Ginny had already scrambled out and was standing miserably in the rain. Shrugging, Girland joined her. Malik slammed the doors shut and the ambulance took off again. In a few seconds its red taillights had disappeared.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Ginny exclaimed, her young face indignant and rain-wet. “Do you call yourself a man?”

“My mother thought so otherwise she wouldn’t have named me Mark,” Girland said lightly. “Damn this rain! Looks as if we are going to have a long walk back.”

“But aren’t you going to do something? This woman is being kidnapped! You’ve got to do something!”

“You suggest something,” Girland said in a bored voice. He grimaced as rain began to trickle inside his shirt collar. “I’m getting wet.”

“Stop a car and follow them!”

“Yes, that’s an idea.” Girland regarded her with a smile. “Do you think if we caught up with them we could do much? They have an automatic rifle and revolvers.”

Ginny seemed as if she was going to hit him.

“Then stop a car and tell the police!” she cried, stamping her foot on the sodden grass.

“All right... all right. Let’s stop a car then.”

Girland turned to stare down the long straight autoroute. He saw in the distance, approaching headlights. He began waving. The car roared past, sending a fine spray of rain and mud over him.

“The trouble with the French is they don’t care to stop on a dark road,” he explained. “But let’s try again. Here comes quite a fast job.” He moved slightly so that he was well in the centre of the first lane. “If this guy kills me, I hope you will send flowers.”

Headlights flashed on and Girland, ready to jump back to safety began to wave. Tyres screamed, the car slid into a skid, came out of it, then came to a stop a few metres beyond where Girland was standing.

“Well, at least he’s stopped,” Girland said. “I’ll talk to him.”

He ran towards the car which was now pulling off the road onto the grass verge.

Ginny, her white coat plastered against her by the rain, ran after him.

Jack Kerman leaned out of the car’s window and grinned at Girland.

“I was expecting them to drop you. Get in. The bleeps are coming through beautifully.”

Girland opened the rear door and bundled the girl into the back seat. Then he ran around the car and got in the front passenger’s seat. As Kerman sent the car shooting down the road, Girland leaned forward and examined the radar screen.

“Hey! Take it easy,” he said sharply. “They’re stopping. They’re probably changing cars. We don’t want to catch up with them.”

Kerman slowed. A car with a blasting horn, snarled past them so he again pulled off the road onto the grass verge.

After another look at the screen, Girland twisted around in his seat and smiled at Kerman.

“Long time no see,” he said and gripped Kerman’s hand. “So the old fox still has no confidence in me. He has to stick you on my tail.”

“Looks as if he had a reason,” Kerman said dryly. “You could have lost her.”

“That’s a fart,” Girland said, lighting a cigarette. “Remember Malik who we thought we had left for dead? He’s handling this. Believe it or not, he got out of that hell hole the same way as you got me out.”

Kerman whistled.

“I’ll have to alert Dorey. You sure it is Malik?”

“Come on, Jack, how could anyone mistake that big ape?”

The bleep on the scanner began to move again.

“Suppose you drive while I talk to Dorey?” Kerman said.

Girland jumped out, ran around while Kerman slid into the passenger’s seat. In a moment or so Girland had the car moving along the AutoRoute while Kerman called Dorey on the telephone.

Girland listened to the one sided conversation and grimaced. When Kerman put down the receiver, Girland said, “I bet the old goat laid an egg.”

“He’s pretty livid,” Kerman returned. “He’s holding you responsible. He wants to know if you want help. Do you want me to alert O’Halloran’s boys?”

“If he asks that, then he still leaves this to me,” Girland said sending the car storming down the rain swept road. “Well, that’s a point in my favour. No, tell him I can handle it.” He glanced at Kerman. “You coming along?”

“What do you think?”

Girland grinned.

“Okay, then tell him we can handle it.”

Kerman spoke to Dorey again. When he hung up, he said, “He doesn’t seem to like it. It’s my bet he’ll turn O’Halloran’s toughs loose.”

“Well, they have got to find us first,” Girland said.

Kerman was now watching the scanning screen. He said suddenly, “Stop! They’re coming back! Looks like they are returning to Paris and they are coming like a bomb!”

Girland stood on his brakes, stopped the car, reversed onto the grass as another car snarled by, its horn screaming a protest and in less than seconds, he was driving at a steady sixty kilometres an hour back towards Paris.

“Here they come,” Kerman said and moments later a Peugeot Estate Wagon swished past them at well over 120 kilometres an hour. Girland caught a glimpse of Malik’s silver head as the car roared past. He slightly accelerated, moving up to seventy-five kilometres an hour. The bleeps from the scanner were very loud.

“Our little friend at the back is strangely quiet,” he said to Kerman. “How is she getting on?”

Kerman looked over his shoulder at Ginny who was shivering.

“You all right, Nurse?”

“Yes.”

“She’s fine,” Kerman said to Girland, “but she looks cold.”

Girland laughed.

“That’s her long standing trouble. She was born cold. She even has doubts that I am a man.”

“Oh, I hate you!” Ginny said furiously.

“Careful, baby,” Girland said as he again sent the Jaguar surging forward. “It is said hate is cousin to love.”

The Peugeot Estate Wagon slowed and drove into the gate-guarded driveway of an old chateau on the main road through Malmaison. As the car pulled up, lights flashed on over the entrance and Merna Dorinska came down the worn steps to the car.

This woman, wearing a man’s red shirt tucked into black cotton slacks was slightly under six feet tall. Her age could have been anything from thirty to forty. Her black hair was plastered down over her dome-shaped skull and coiled in a small bun at the back of her thick neck. Her features seemed to have been chiselled out of stone: irregular, hard, flat nosed with paper-thin lips. Her big hands and her thick muscular limbs hinted that it had been a tossup whether she emerged from her mother’s body either as a boy or as a girl. Merna Dorinska was one of the Soviet’s most successful woman agents who like Malik had won through to the top by her complete dedication to the Cause, her utter ruthlessness and her needle-sharp intelligence.

Even Malik who hated her treated her with caution.

“Here’s your patient,” he said as he got out of the ambulance. “She is under sedation. She’ll be awake and ready for interrogation by nine or ten tomorrow morning.”

“Get her into the house,” Merna said. Her voice was hard and masculine. “Have you been followed?”

“Followed? What do you mean?” Malik snarled. Such a question infuriated him. He was convinced that women were inferior to men, but in the past, he had been forced to admit that this particular woman had proved herself superior to most of his men agents, but certainly not superior to himself.

Merna regarded him. Her dark-hooded eyes expressed her dislike for him.

“You are dealing with Dorey,” she said coldly. “He should not be underestimated.”

“I know who I am dealing with!” Malik said furiously. “Your job is to look after this woman! Don’t tell me things I know!”

Smernoff and Kordak carried the sleeping woman on the stretcher into the chateau.

Merna, by no means intimidated by Malik’s manner, said, “Then you had better get rid of this car. It could have been noticed.”

Malik resisted the vicious urge to slam his fist into the woman’s face.

“This is my operation!” he exploded. “Look after the woman! That’s your job!”

Merna stared steadily at him, her face expressionless, then she turned and with long swinging strides, walked up the steps and into the chateau. Malik, muttering, glared after her. But what she had said made sense, he decided. He must get rid of the car, but he hated her telling him.

Smernoff came down the steps.

“Now... what?”

“We’ll get rid of this car,” Malik said. “They can’t trace her here. Who, besides, Kordak, is guarding her?”

“Three of my best men. She’s safe.”

Malik hesitated. He remembered what Merna had said about Dorey. What did she know about Dorey? he asked himself. Dorey was old and a fool. He used men like Girland... a wastrel and a man always looking for a deal. He decided he could safely return to Paris, report to the Embassy and come back tomorrow morning to make this woman talk.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

As the Estate Wagon moved down the drive and onto the highway, he said, “Imagine that fool Girland wanted to make a deal... a deal with me!”

Smernoff grunted. He wondered at the slightly wistful note in Malik’s voice and looked sharply at him, then he shrugged.

Neither of them noticed the black Jaguar parked in a row of cars.

Girland nudged Kerman’s arm.

“There they go. Now let’s walk in and take her out.”