Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  We stopped in front of her door, and she fished in her small purse for the key. Silently she handed it to me. I opened the door and we went in. The elevator took us to the third floor and with the same key I opened the door into her apartment.

  As we walked into the living room she turned to me. “Would you like a drink?”

  I nodded, and she indicated a small portable bar. “You’ll find everything there. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She went into another room, and I poured myself a brandy. I took a sip and sat down on the couch. Something had gone wrong. I had blown it. Almost angrily I wondered what the hell was the matter with me.

  Marlene came back into the room. She had changed from her evening gown into black velvet hostess pajamas with a short bolero jacket that almost met the top of the flowing harem trousers. When she moved there was just the slightest hint of the fair soft flesh beneath. The black looked very well with her blond hair and blue Nordic eyes.

  “Très jolie.”

  Marlene didn’t answer. Instead she turned and poured a brandy for herself and sat down opposite me. She held up her glass. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” We both sipped at our brandy. Marlene lowered her glass, and her eyes met mine steadily. “I’m not angry,” she said quietly, “but why did you call me?”

  I looked at her without answering. I was beginning to wonder about that myself. It had been nothing but a stupid idea from the very beginning.

  “It wasn’t what you said over the phone,” she said. “I’m not a child. I know when a man is interested.”

  That was it. I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps in some naïve way I thought I would find the same frightened girl who had come to my house at Saint Tropez seven years ago. But this was not the same girl. She was a woman now, grown up, self-possessed, in many ways a completely different person than I had expected. She knew at least as much if not more than I did.

  “I’m sorry,” I said lamely. “I’ve got problems and I guess I haven’t been able to get them out of my mind.”

  “I know,” Marlene replied, “I read the papers.” She sipped again at her brandy. “But it wasn’t only that, was it? You’ve got all the symptoms of a man, as the Americans would put it, carrying a torch.”

  “That too.”

  “I thought so. I know the signs, I’ve walked that street myself. And you thought the best cure was another woman and since you happened to be in Paris you thought of me.” There was a strange sympathy in her eyes. “But it doesn’t work that way, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I know. I felt like that after Jeremy left. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I really was in love with him, you know. I should have realized it was impossible from the beginning. First it was his politics, then his family. But all the time it was really me. I’m German, and for some people the war will never be over.”

  She continued to speak in the same half-introspective way. “I was a child, not even eighteen when I married. Fritz, to me, was the hero I had always dreamed of—tall and handsome and rich. But I didn’t realize what he was really like. I didn’t know about his ‘boys,’ and the sickness in him that demanded he inflict pain before he could achieve even the mildest orgasm. So when Jeremy came along it was no wonder that I fell in love with him. To me Jeremy was simple, direct, and uncomplicated. There was only one thing on his mind. I became aware for the first time of my power as a woman and also of my own needs.”

  Marlene looked at me. “Does that sound strange? Truly I didn’t know until then. I had always blamed myself for my failure with Fritz. It had to be my fault, I thought; he told me so often enough.”

  A kind of stillness settled down upon us and in the silence Marlene got up and refilled our brandy glasses. Outside I heard the faint sound of the traffic on the circle around the nearby Arc de Triomphe.

  “Was it like that with you too?”

  “No,” I replied, “only the end result was the same.”

  Marlene’s eyes were searching. “Does she love you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then she’s a fool!” Marlene said vehemently. “What reason on earth could she have for not coming to you?”

  “You read the papers,” I said. “Her father’s name is Guayanos.”

  “Oh, so that’s it.”

  “Yes, and in a way that’s why I called you. The guns that are being smuggled into my country are coming from the former Von Kuppen factories in East Germany. If this influx is not stopped there will be a war and many innocent people will die. I’m trying to find a way to put an end to it. But I can’t until I learn who is paying for the guns. If I discover that, perhaps I can stop it. I was hoping you might know someone who could furnish me with that information.”

  “I don’t know.” Marlene hesitated. “It has been a long time.”

  “I’d be grateful for any bit of information you could give me,” I said. “I’ve seen enough of war for my lifetime.”

  “So have I,” she answered in a low voice. “I was a little girl in Berlin when the bombers came.”

  I didn’t speak.

  Marlene’s eyes grew somber and thoughtful. “There was a man, a Swiss named Braunschweiger. He lived in Zurich, and I remember meeting him several times with Fritz. Officially we had nothing to do with the factories in East Germany, of course. But he knew what was going on there and furnished Fritz with regular reports.”

  An edge of excitement began to form inside me. “Do you think he might talk to me?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t even know that he’s still alive.”

  “It’s worth trying. What’s his address?”

  “I don’t remember, Dax. It was all very hush-hush. I’m sure his name is not even listed in any of the city directories. But I do remember the house. It had odd-shaped gables over the windows. I think I might be able to find it.”

  “I have no right to ask you this after this evening, but would you come to Zurich with me and try to find it?”

  “You have every right,” Marlene said, looking directly at me. “If it weren’t for you I might never have gotten free of Fritz.”

  “Thank you,” I replied gratefully as I got to my feet. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I’ve made plane reservations.”

  Marlene got up out of her chair and came over to me. She looked into my face. “Today is already tomorrow, though tomorrow is a long way off. We are both here now, without illusions, empty and alone.”

  Perhaps it was the way Marlene said it but suddenly I saw in her what I had seen so many times in myself. The loneliness, the aching to touch, to share, the momentary need for another human being, the fear of the dark night. Or perhaps it was the female scent of her, the warmth emanating from her body, the glow of her flesh that not even velvet could hide. I put down my brandy glass and took her into my arms.

  She was strong, stronger than I had ever thought. But I used her strength and she used mine, until we lay together in each other’s arms completely spent. We were as secure in each other’s warmth as two animals sleeping in the night.

  185

  It took us three days to find the house. Three days of driving up and down streets, along wide avenues, and exploring side streets. Like every city in the world, Zurich had changed. Old landmarks were gone, new buildings stood in their place. In the end we found the house by accident.

  It was toward evening and already the chill of the night had come on. Marlene’s face looked tired from the strain. I leaned forward and tapped on the glass that separated us from the chauffeur. “Take us back to the hotel as quickly as possible.”

  I leaned back and lit a cigarette. It was like searching for the pin in a bale of hay. I closed my eyes to rest them for a few minutes when suddenly I felt her hand on my arm.

  “There!” Marlene said excitedly. “That street—I’m sure it’s the one!”

  I leaned forward and tapped on the glass. The driver pulled over to the curb. I turned to her. �
��Are you positive?”

  Marlene was looking out of the rear window. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly, “I thought it was.”

  My tiredness had suddenly disappeared. “Let’s make sure,” I replied opening the door, “let’s have a look.”

  The chauffeur got out and came around the car. “Wait here,” I said to him, taking Marlene’s arm.

  We walked back to the corner and stood looking down the street. It was a section that had once seen better days but seemed now to be devoted mostly to tourists’ pensions. “What do you think?”

  An excitement came into Marlene’s face. “I’m almost afraid to say, but it could be. I seem to remember that the house was set back farther from the sidewalk than the others. And look, there in the middle of the block, you can’t see one house because it is hidden by the others.”

  Marlene began to walk rapidly down the street. I followed her to the front of the house and together we stood staring at it. It was the house, all right. Gray stone and with odd gables shaped almost like a tricornered hat.

  “Let’s go.”

  I took her arm and we walked up to the front entrance. I pressed the bell and in a moment the door opened on an old woman dressed in a faded maid’s uniform. “Ja?”

  “Herr Braunschweiger?”

  She looked at us suspiciously. “Who is calling?”

  Unconsciously Marlene’s voice took on that authority that only the German upper class use with their servants. “Frau Marlene von Kuppen,” she answered icily.

  It was the Von Kuppen name that did it. The old woman all but collapsed, prostrating herself. She ushered us into a small waiting room, apologizing all the time for making us wait, and ran to fetch her master.

  I stepped back into the darkest corner when I heard heavy footsteps in the hall outside. The door opened and Braunschweiger came in, a big heavyset man in his late fifties. “Frau Von Kuppen,” he said, clicking his heels smartly and bowing to kiss her hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I am honored that you should remember.”

  “Herr Braunschweiger.”

  The slightly fatuous smile faded as I stepped out from the corner. “Herr Braunschweiger, may I present his exellency Herr Xenos, Corteguayan Ambassador to the United Nations?”

  “Your excellency,” he said stiffly, clicking and bowing.

  “Herr Braunschweiger.”

  He looked at Marlene. “I do not understand,” he said. “What is the purpose of this visit?”

  “Ambassador Xenos can explain it far better than I,” Marlene said. I noticed her stressing of the title. She knew what she was doing, for this obviously was a man impressed by titles.

  “Herr Braunschweiger,” I said, “I have certain important matters to discuss with you. Are we to talk standing in this uncomfortable little room?”

  The arrogant tone worked. “Of course not, your excellency. Please. Come upstairs to my office.”

  We followed Braunschweiger up the stairs. It was a large, old-fashioned sort of room decorated in massive wood furniture of the old Teutonic school, and there was a fire going in the small grate set into the wall. He showed us to chairs, then went behind his desk and sat down. His voice was almost servile as he said, “Now, what can I do for you?”

  I stared at him. “I want to know who is paying for the guns that the Von Kuppen factory in East Germany is shipping to my country.”

  Braunschweiger looked at me, then at Marlene, and finally back at me again. “There must be some mistake,” he said. “It is my understanding that the factory is manufacturing only agricultural equipment. Besides, I would know nothing about their operations. It has been years since I was associated with the Von Kuppen Fabrik.”

  I stared back at him. “How many years, Herr Braunschweiger?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Before the war? After?”

  “I don’t see why that is any of your concern, sir,” he answered stiffly, and got to his feet. “I see no purpose in continuing this discussion.”

  I remained in my chair, making my voice sound as threatening as possible. “We in the United Nations have access to a great deal of information which is not always given out to the public at large, or even to some of the governments concerned, Herr Braunschweiger. We know all about your former association with the Von Kuppen Fabrik. We also know much about your present affiliations.”

  I reached for a cigarette and slowly lit it to give him time to mull over what I had said. I casually let the smoke out as I continued to stare into his eyes. “We are not at this late date interested in raking over past history or bringing embarrassment to those who were involved in Von Kuppen. Particularly those who cooperate with us.”

  Fortunately Braunschweiger took the bait. “As a former manager of the plant, you must understand, I was in no way responsible for company policies. I was responsible only for production.”

  “But you were a member of the Nazi party,” I said quietly. It was a fairly safe assumption, since jobs such as his were not held by people who were not. “A very important member, actually, and as such in a position to know the purposes for which your product was intended.”

  Braunschweiger’s face paled. He knew as well as I that toward the end of the war it was his factory that had supplied ninety percent of the poison gas used at Dachau and Auschwitz. “I knew nothing,” he said stiffly. “I was merely an employee obeying orders.”

  “That sounds reasonable but of course you must realize that it is the exact defense offered by every defendant at the Nuremberg war trials.”

  “I am a Swiss citizen,” Braunschweiger replied sharply. “I am protected by the Swiss constitution.”

  I stared at him. “How long do you think your government would protect you if they learned you had sold out to the Nazis?”

  “They have done nothing to those who helped the Allies!”

  “I know,” I replied patiently, “but you made one grave error. You picked the wrong side, the side that lost.”

  Braunschweiger looked at me. He took off his glasses, then put them back on again. “It is impossible. Even if I wanted to give you such information I have no way of obtaining it.”

  “Too bad, Herr Braunschweiger,” I said, getting up. “You realize, of course, that we can force you to testify?” I returned to Marlene. “Come, Frau Von Kuppen,” I said formally, “it is useless to remain longer.”

  “Just a moment, your excellency!”

  I turned back to Herr Braunschweiger.

  “If I could manage to get you such information, this other business, it would be…” His words trailed off.

  “It will be forgotten,” I said. “No one need ever know.” Which wasn’t exactly accurate. I’d be willing to bet that no one could ever prove what I had managed to intuit.

  Herr Braunschweiger took off his glasses again and polished them vigorously with his handkerchief. “It will not be easy. It will take me a few days.”

  “This is Tuesday,” I replied. “My staff already has instructions to release our dossier on you Friday morning—unless they hear from me to the contrary.”

  “You will have the information you desire by Thursday night at the latest.”

  “I am staying at the Grande Hotel,” I said, and looked over at Marlene. “Come, Frau Von Kuppen.”

  Herr Braunschweiger was still standing stiffly at attention as we went out the door.

  Thursday morning Marlene stood looking over my shoulder as I read the report Herr Braunschweiger had sent by special messenger. She looked at me with a puzzled expression. “What does it mean?”

  “It means we go back to Paris,” I said grimly. If it meant what I thought it did, even Robert would not dare withhold the information he had denied me.

  186

  The press descended on us like a pack of wolves as we got off the plane at Orly. The French newspapers, with their nose for scandal, were out in force. The flashbulbs popped in our faces. One of the reporters waved a newspaper headline. It was France-Soir and
the bold black type sprawled all over the top half of the front page. Typically French, it could be read a block away.

  PLAYBOY-DIPLOMAT ON SWISS IDYLL

  WITH FORMER VON KUPPEN HEIRESS!

  I took Marlene’s arm and bulled my way through. I was more angry with myself than at them. I should have known what to expect. Things were difficult enough as it was, and this sort of publicity wasn’t going to make it any easier.

  Finally, when we were almost at the car, one persistent reporter planted himself firmly in front of us. “Are you and Mrs. Von Kuppen planning to marry?”

  I stared at him balefully without answering.

  “Then why did you go to Switzerland?”

  “To get my watch fixed, you idiot!” I said, roughly pushing him aside.

  Marlene got into the car and I followed. We pulled away from the curb and Fat Cat looked back at me from his seat beside the driver. “I have a cable for you.”

  I took the blue envelope from his hand and opened it. I had no trouble reading it. El Presidente hadn’t even bothered to put it into our simple code.

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN EUROPE STOP GET BACK TO NEW YORK STOP THIS IS NO TIME FOR UNA PARRANDA STOP.

  Una parranda. It had a peculiar meaning in our country. A wild party, an orgy. Angrily I crumpled the cablegram.

  Marlene looked at me with wide eyes. “Bad news?”

  “No,” I answered tersely. “It’s just that el Presidente is as bad as everybody else. He thinks I’ve been having a ball.”

  A faint hint of humor came into her eyes. “Well, I hope it hasn’t exactly been dull.”

  I looked at her and I had to smile. “No, much of it wasn’t bad at all.”

  “I thought so myself.” Marlene laughed. “I doubt that I’ll be able to walk for a week.”