The Python Project

by Victor Canning

  ‘For a dead man, you look very healthy.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘have you heard from your father recently?’

  ‘No. You are still playing around with that old business?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  I was disappointed. Freeman had got in touch with Jane Judd, and had paid Gloriana back and out of it had come Barcelona. I had hoped that Pelegrina might have made some semi-revealing communication to Letta.

  She kissed me again and this time slid into my lap. ‘Tonight, after I come back from the Scherezade, I make you come alive again and forget all this business. I give you a key so that you can come in and wait for me, yes?’

  With an effort I came back to the business in hand. ‘But you did lend money to your father for his last venture, didn’t you?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, and positively for the last time. I made that clear. He’s a man who can complicate people’s lives. I like mine straightforward. Just like now. You and me.’

  ‘You called him on the phone from Tripoli at the Villa La Sunata, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, to ask him what the hell he was up to. You went there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he is in trouble?’

  ‘Bad trouble.’

  ‘Something you can do nothing about?’

  ‘Would you want me to?’

  ‘Yes, if you could. After all, I am his daughter and, although he is such a stupid old fool, I have some feeling for him.’

  ‘You ever heard of a place called Tristan’s Bar or the Bar Tristan? Your father ever mentioned it? Or a place . . . house or something . . . whose initials might be V.V.?’

  ‘No. Such mystery. This, for you, is life, no? Always mysteries?’

  ‘It could be my death.’

  I said it lightly, but I don’t think if I said it seriously it would have got through to her. Her lips were nuzzling the side of my neck and I needed all my willpower to keep my natural anxiety in the foreground. Up above the window Lilith lazily adjusted a couple of coils and eyed me biliously.

  She didn’t know it but there was a prize guinea pig sitting down below her. Me. Manston had turned me loose, a human guinea pig, into an experiment which didn’t seem to have a hope of succeeding. And when it failed the chopping block would be waiting. It was this kind of thought that made it difficult for me to go along with Letta’s present mood. There’s nothing like worry to inhibit a man.

  Before I left, she gave me a key to the apartment. I took it. Why not? I might feel a different man by the evening.

  ‘You come and sit and have a drink,’ she said. ‘Always I am back by half past one.’ She had her hand on the door when she turned back and went to a bureau.

  She came back and held out the gold python bracelet.

  ‘You do me a favour?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I have had a telephone call from your Mrs Stankowski. She is staying at the Georges Cinq. We talk about the price for the bracelet but do not agree. You go and see her and get for me three thousand pounds. Then I give you 10 per cent. She is fond of you, no? She will not haggle with you—’ she smiled—‘and I do not mind if you humour her a little to get the right price.’

  I nodded and sighed. Women.

  Letta laughed, reached forward, kissed me and said, ‘But you do not humour her too much. She likes you, I know. When we talk over the phone she asked if I had seen you. She sounded worried about you.’

  So she might be. I had walked out of her flat, away from cold salmon, oysters, Montrachet and what could have been a pleasant aftermath, into limbo.

  *

  The thing about my kind of job which makes for the occasional success is the inability of the most intelligent human being, the Sutcliffe or Manston or Saraband Two types, to control or foresee every little circumstance that lurks on the fringe of a complicated affair. Somewhere somebody is going to make a mistake, and somewhere somebody is going to take advantage of it. Small things in the right place can have big potentials. Take a beer bottle, for instance; full of beer it has no room for anything else. Empty, well, it can be packed with all sorts of things. And master minds, thank the Lord, have occasional moods of uncritical acceptance like normal, uncomplicated people.

  I didn’t indulge in this piece of pretty ordinary philosophy as I was going to see Gloriana. It came afterwards. If I’d had any sense I’d have taken it a step or two further—but I suppose at that time, after leaving her, I mean, I was in a deep state of uncritical acceptance of life.

  Why I went to see her I don’t really know. I had time to waste until Olaf got in, and with time to waste I felt life was a vacuum unless I filled it. Though what I was going to do when Olaf got in I couldn’t think—except that I didn’t mean to hold his hand through any maudlin rum-drinking bout. I suppose, fundamentally, being a great believer in survival, I went to Gloriana to tidy up the python bracelet deal and make sure of my 10 per cent commission. Thinking about money, though it wasn’t any great sum, kept me from thinking about other things.

  At the Georges Cinq the reception clerk rang through and asked Mrs Stankowski if she could see a Mr Duncan Hilton about her brother. Mrs Stankowski said she would and up I went.

  Was she surprised to see me! Her beautiful cornflower blue eyes popped and she nearly dropped the dry martini she had just mixed for herself. We just stood there looking at one another. After the dusky, Oriental charm of Letta, she was the fresh, pink and white, red-gold and blue of frank, Anglo-Saxon womanhood, and I wondered what it was about me that, even in this present crisis, could always be happy with either, were the other dear charmer away.

  ‘You bastard—what happened to you!’

  She came to me, arms outstretched, making me feel like the sailor home from the sea and the hunter home from the hill. Her arms went round my neck and she kissed me, spilling dry martini down the back of my jacket. I didn’t mind. It was nice to be wanted. We let the kiss run for a bit and I smoothed the hollow of her back, appreciating the high-quality silk of the little shantung jacket she wore. After all, I had permission from Letta to humour her a little.

  Stepping back, I said, ‘I’m dead. This is Duncan Hilton. You never saw Rex Carver again after he left your apartment. Just be content with the new persona—and ask no questions.’

  She nodded, content for the moment, but in time I knew that the questions would come. I went over to the cocktail shaker, added more gin and poured myself a drink.

  She sat back on the settee, curled her legs under her and watched me. I had a curious feeling that she was waiting for something—perhaps for me to get a drink inside me before she felt ready to hand me whatever there was to hand.

  ‘This whole affair,’ she said, ‘is really something stinking big, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. What are you doing over here—apart from getting your bracelet back from Letta?’

  ‘My Treasury friend advised me to get out of England for a while. Go somewhere quiet and rest, he said.’

  ‘Paris is hardly quiet and rest.’

  ‘I’m going to Cannes.’

  That hardly qualified either, I thought, but I didn’t bother to say so.

  ‘What is it all about?’ she asked. ‘Something quite out of the ordinary? And that damned brother of mine mixed up in it. Though he’s a complete fool, he’s still my brother and I’m beginning to get very worried about him.’

  I sat beside her and smoothed the back of her hand. ‘Gentling’ they call it with animals. I had a feeling she needed it. She was all worked up. I pulled the python bracelet from my pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘Give me a cheque for three thousand pounds and it is yours. Letta won’t take a penny less.’

  ‘You’ve seen her?’

  ‘I had to. I’m her business agent.’

  She fingered the bracelet and then slipped it on her arm. ‘I’ll give you a cheque before you go.’

  That was unusual. No haggling. She clearly had something else on her mind.

 
; ‘What’s bothering you?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Come on, yes, you do. You’re as nervous as a kitten.’

  ‘Crap!’ She smiled.

  ‘Even that doesn’t sound as authentic as it used to.’

  ‘They gave you a rough time, didn’t they?’

  ‘The bruises don’t show when I’m dressed. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I suppose it’s because they wouldn’t tell me a damned thing about what’s behind all this. Go away and forget, they said.’

  ‘Then do it. Head for the sunshine at Cannes. The peace and calm of the five-star Carlton and the healing solitude of the Boulevard Croisette.’

  She sipped at what was left of her martini, eyeing me over the glass.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘have you heard from your secretary, Miss Wilkins?’

  I just stared at her.

  ‘Have you?’ she asked.

  ‘Why on earth should I? Heard from her from where? What’s Wilkins got to do with anything?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to make up my mind about, ever since you walked in here. You see, I was told to pass anything I got straight to them. You see . . . I only got it this morning. It was sent on with other mail from my London apartment. By the maid. Oh, hell . . . perhaps I oughtn’t to—’

  I took her glass from her and put it on a small table. Then I grabbed her arm.

  ‘Try starting at the beginning. And get this straight. You can trust me. You won’t be disobeying any order. I’m working for them. They’ve given me just a handful of days to bring home the bacon. If I don’t, then leaving aside my funeral arrangements, there’s going to be a lot of other work for the undertaker.’ I shook her arm. Putting it in words had brought a quick freeze in my stomach. ‘I’m in a fix. If you’ve got anything that will help—let’s hear it.’

  She got up, retrieved her glass, sipped, then walked away from me and stared at a Corot reproduction on the wall. Without looking at me, she said, ‘I’ll give you a cheque for the bracelet.’

  ‘I want more than that from you. If I have to squeeze it from you. Come on now.’

  Turning, her face worried, she said, ‘They were most emphatic about anything I got going straight to them.’

  ‘You’re scared of them. I don’t blame you. They scare me. But if you know anything it ought to come to me first. Hell, I’m the one who has been turned loose to do their work for them. Now tell me what all this is about Wilkins.’

  She came back, stood above me, and took the plunge. ‘I’ve had a letter from her,’ she said.

  I just looked at her.

  Then I heard myself say, ‘You’ve had a what?’

  ‘A letter. It’s on the desk over there. I was just going to send it off to them.’

  I got up, and as I walked to the desk, she said, ‘I got it this morning forwarded with the rest of my mail.’

  I went to the desk. There was an opened envelope lying on it. As I picked it up, I heard Gloriana pouring herself another drink behind me.

  It was a long envelope, foolscap size, addressed to her and marked Confidential, and it had a fancy Spanish stamp on it. Inside were two sheets of paper. One was ordinary cheap letter paper, and the other was a large piece of brown wrapping paper, torn off rough around two edges. I tackled the brown paper first, carrying it to the light of a table lamp. On it was written in block capitals:

  TO WHOEVER FINDS THIS—

  YOU WILL GET FIFTY POUNDS—8500 PESETAS —IF YOU SEND THIS LETTER TO MRS J. STANKOWSKI, EATON HOUSE, UPPER GROSVENOR STREET, LONDON, ENGLAND.

  YOU MUST TELL HER EXACTLY HOW AND WHERE YOU FOUND IT AND WHEN.

  MRS STANKOWSKI: WHEN YOU RECEIVE THIS AND ITS COVERING LETTER PLEASE GET IN TOUCH WITH MR CARVER. I AM DOING THE SAME THING IN BEER BOTTLES FOR HIM.

  WE ARE NOT NOW ALLOWED OUTSIDE, BUT THIS HOUSE IS ISOLATED AND NEAR THE SEA, EITHER SPAIN OR ONE OF THE SPANISH ISLANDS. B.D. IS HERE. TREATED WELL. I SEE ONLY A MAN CALLED PAULET AND A WOMAN —THERESE.

  TO WHOEVER FINDS THIS I SAY THIS IS NOT A JOKE. IT IS A VERY SERIOUS MATTER AND YOU WILL GET FIFTY POUNDS IF YOU SEND THIS TO MRS STANKOWSKI.

  It was signed, in her ordinary hand—Hilda Wilkins.

  The other letter, written in rather a schoolboyish hand, was also in English, and the address at the head was 7 Paseo Maritimo, San Antonio Abad, Ibiza, Islas de Baleares.

  Dear Lady,

  Very much I hope this no joke because I can be very useful for fifty pounds but would like it in the pesetas. I am student but work evenings in the San Antonio supermarket, chiefly washing bottles and opening crates. This letter I almost do not see, but am curious when I do. It is in a beer bottle, a large one, in two dozen returned for the consignment. Only we take back the bottles which are from us and they are for beer, mineral acqua and wines. It is good I find it because I am study the English language because there is so much tourism here and should hope one day to be in the hotel trade, not as waiter, but at the reception, perhaps rising to manager. So I hope this is serious about the fifty pounds (8500 pts). This I find yesterdays ago at 1800 hrs. Also, I find same kind of letter for Mr Carver and write him, also in London. This way, perhaps, it is permitted I get 17,000 pesetas?

  Your obedient servant, esteemed lady,

  José Bonifaz.

  The date on the letter was four days old.

  *

  I sat back and lit a cigarette. Gloriana came and put a fresh martini alongside me but said nothing. She was still probably wondering whether she had done the right thing. I was way past worrying about that. I had a nice warm feeling about Wilkins. What a girl. I could see her. Wilkins cooped up a prisoner. That was enough to make her mad anyway. She’d be in a filthy temper, but that wouldn’t stop her thinking and scheming. It would only put an edge on her brain. It would be hot and the prisoners would be supplied with beer. Big fat brown bottles that when empty would be cleared away, and finally carted back to the supermarket for a fresh supply; big, fat, empty beer bottles going back so that the consigne could be allowed on them. And they’d be brown bottles. Wilkins had used brown paper so that it wouldn’t show up when Paulet or Thérèse collected them. Oh, yes, she was my girl, all right. Tough, capable, bad-tempered Wilkins who never let anything in life get on top of her but a cold. Block letters to make her letter easy to read for a foreigner. And no wonder José Bonifaz preferred to be paid in pesetas—they would come to more than fifty pounds. . . . The other letter from Bonifaz to me was probably on my desk in London now. Since it would be marked ‘Confidential’ Mrs Burtenshaw would not have opened it. Everyone, Manston, Sutcliffe and myself, working from the outside in, and suddenly Wilkins coming up trumps, working from the inside out.

  Gloriana sat on the arm of my chair, and said, ‘Does it help?’

  ‘It’s going to. It’s got to.’

  She gave me a quizzical look. ‘You didn’t get a letter from Wilkins also? This José says he has written to you.’

  ‘It’s probably lying on my office desk unopened.’

  ‘Are you going to let them know?’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘You know. The Treasury man.’

  I stood up. ‘To hell with them. I’m not going to shout for them until I really have something to shout for. Do you know Ibiza?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘San Antonio?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a nice place spoiled by tourists. Jan and I spent a week there once. Don’t you think you ought to tell them? I mean, if it’s all so serious?’

  ‘Forget them.’

  She looked doubtful but she kept at it.

  ‘Is this Miss Wilkins being kept there . . . you know, against her wishes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And who’s B.D.?’

  I put my hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her blue eyes. ‘Look, I don’t want you to ask questions. The less you know, the better for you.’

  ‘You’re not going to keep me out of it—
are you forgetting my brother is probably there, in danger?’

  ‘You don’t care a damn for your brother.’

  ‘Not for some of the things he’s done. But I do care for him as a brother.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t want you mixed up in this. They’ve told you to go away and forget it all. Do that.’

  She shook her head. ‘You ought to tell them if it’s so serious.’

  ‘I’m going to—in good time. But first I want a chat with José Bonifaz, and I want to find out if there’s a Bar Tristan in San Antonio. Is there?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  I said, ‘I’ll keep these letters. You forget about them. And if I can possibly do anything about your brother I will.’ I put the letters in my pocket. ‘You’ve never received them. Your conscience is clear.’

  ‘And you’re going to Ibiza?’

  ‘As soon as I can get a flight. No hope today. But I ought to get off tomorrow.’

  I went up to her and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re doing the right thing. As soon as I have any positive information I’ll let the right people know about it.’

  If I told them too soon I knew what might happen. Somebody might try to put a stopper on it. The P.M. might not want to take any risks with his son. But if I wanted Wilkins back I had to take risks. By shouting for Manston now there was too much chance of some high-level decision blocking any further action.

  I began to move to the door.

  Gloriana said, ‘Don’t forget the cheque.’

  ‘What cheque?’

  ‘For that mercenary snake-charmer of yours. Don’t you want an excuse to go and see her again before you take off tomorrow?’

  ‘Well . . . I suppose it will help fill in time. I’ll give it to her this evening.’

  She grinned at me, raised a hand to touch her red-gold hair, and said, ‘Just try and keep things on a purely business level, otherwise you’ll spoil our beautiful friendship.’

  She moved to the bureau to write the cheque. As she wrote she said, ‘If you get any news about my brother, let me know. I’ll be at Cannes. Not at the Carlton—but the Reserve Miramar. Jan and I always stayed there.’