He didn’t say much after that revelation and neither did I. We lapsed into silence and I was still mulling it over when we landed at Algiers.
The big Mercedes with the Arab chauffeur was waiting by the hangar as the Comanche taxied up and we were soon wafted luxuriously to the heights of Bouzarea overlooking Algiers. If the chauffeur was surprised at carrying a Targui he didn’t show it.
We stopped at the small door in the wall which opened as silently and mysteriously as before, and Paul and I walked towards the house. Hesther Raulier was still lying on the chaise-longue and might never have moved but that she was wearing a different dress. As we approached she put down her cigar and stood up.
Suddenly her monkey face cracked into a big grin and she laughed raucously. ‘Jesus, Stafford! What in hell do you think you’re doing? Auditioning for The Desert Song?’
She put me to bed fast and summoned the doctor who, apparently, was on tap immediately. She said, ‘Luke put a couple of words into his cable that meant something bad—stuff I hadn’t heard since the Revolution—so I got in Fahkri. He’s used to gunshot wounds and knows how to keep his mouth shut.’
Dr Fahkri examined my arm, asked how long ago it had happened, and then told me the bullet was still in there. He deadened the arm, sliced it open and took out the bullet, stitched it up again and put on a proper splint. I said to Hesther, ‘Better have him look at Paul. He took a bullet in the shoulder about a month ago.’
She spoke to Fahkri in Arabic and he nodded and went away, then she turned to me. ‘What happened out there?’
‘Kissack happened,’ I said. ‘He and a man called Lash—and four others.’ I gave her an edited version of what had happened, and ended up by saying, ‘I don’t know what we’d have done without Luke Byrne.’
‘Luke’s a good man,’ she said simply. ‘But what was it all about?’
‘Whatever set it off was in England. I suppose Paul really started the ball rolling but he triggered something, a sort of time bomb that was lying around for forty-two years. I’ve got a few questions to ask. If I find any answers I’ll let you know.’
‘You do that.’ She stood up. ‘You can’t go back to England dressed as a Targui.’
I shrugged. ‘Why not? London is full of Arabs these days, and nobody there could tell the difference.’
‘Nonsense. I’ll get a tailor in tomorrow and you’ll have a suit the day after. You and Paul both.’
We stayed in Algiers for four days, more so I could recuperate from Fahkri’s surgery than anything else. I lazed about and read the English newspapers that Hesther bought me so that I could catch up on the news. Everything was going to hell in a handcart, as usual.
Once, referring to Paul, she said, ‘That guy’s changed—changed a lot. He’s quieter and not as nervy.’
I grinned. ‘God knows why. What happened to him is enough to make anyone go screaming up the wall.’
On the fourth day we left on an Air Algérie flight to Orly. The interior of the plane was decorated in a tasteful shade of emerald green. Green may be the Arab colour but this plane had pictures of jaunting cars and scenes from Killarney because it had been bought second-hand from Aer Lingus. However, it got us to Orly all right and we transferred to the London flight.
An hour later we were at Heathrow. It was raining and it looked as though it had never stopped since I had left.
THIRTY-TWO
I had telephoned Heathrow from Orly and so there was a car waiting with a driver, since I could not drive a car with a broken arm. He drove us the short distance to the Post House Hotel and I told him to stick around while I booked in. There were reservations for Paul and me in adjoining rooms, so we went up and I got him settled.
Paul, of course, was dead broke—he hadn’t a penny—and that suited me fine because I wanted him immobilized. I didn’t give him any money, but said, ‘Paul, stay here until I get back. If you want anything, order it—it’s on the house. But don’t leave the hotel.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have things to do,’ I said uninformatively.
I went down to the lobby, cashed a sheaf of travellers’ cheques, picked up the driver, and gave him an address in Marlow. As we left the hotel-studded environs of Heathrow I reflected that the Post House was the ideal sort of anonymous caravanserai to hide Paul; I didn’t want his presence in England known yet, nor mine, either.
The car pulled up outside Jack Ellis’s house and I walked up and rang the doorbell. Judy Ellis opened it, looked at me uncertainly, and said, ‘Yes?’ interrogatively.
I had met Jack’s wife only three or four times. Stafford Security Consultants Ltd was not the kind of firm that drew wives into the business orbit; we had other ways of ensuring company loyalty, such as good pay. I said, ‘Is Jack in? I’m Max Stafford.’
‘Oh, I didn’t recognize you. Yes, he’s just got back. Come in.’ She held the door wide and let me into the hall while making all the usual excuses wives make when the boss drops in on an unexpected visit. The place didn’t look all that untidy to me. ‘Jack,’ she called. ‘Mr Stafford’s here.’
As I stood in the doorway of the living-room Ellis rose from an armchair, laying aside a newspaper. He looked at me questioningly. ‘Max?’
I was suddenly aware of the beard—now neatly trimmed by a barber Hesther had brought in, the light-coloured suit of a decidedly foreign cut, and the black silk sling which cradled my left arm. I suppose that to Jack it was a disguise. ‘Hello, Jack.’
‘Well, for God’s sake! Come in.’ He seemed glad to see me.
I was aware of Judy hovering in the background. ‘Er…this isn’t a social call, Jack. I want to talk to you.’
‘I hope to God it isn’t,’ he said. ‘And I want to talk to you. Where have you been? Come into my study.’
He hustled me away and I smiled pleasantly at Judy in passing. In the study he offered me a chair. ‘What’s wrong with the arm?’
‘Just broken.’ I smiled. ‘It only hurts when I laugh.’
‘God, I’m glad to see you. You just disappeared, and I didn’t know where to look. All hell’s been breaking loose.’
‘I’ve not been away long—just over a month,’ I said mildly. ‘You haven’t lost your grip in so short a time?’
‘If you want to put it that way, I suppose I have.’ His voice was grim. ‘But I never had much grip to begin with, did I?’
It was evident that something was griping him so I said, ‘Give me a drink, sit down and tell me all about it.’
He took a deep breath, then said, ‘Sorry.’ He left the room and returned with a tray on which were bottles and glasses. ‘Scotch okay?’ I nodded, and as he poured the drinks he said, ‘As soon as you left the whole character of the company changed.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, as a minor example, we’re now letting dogs out without handlers.’ He handed me a glass.
‘Starting with Electronomics,’ I suggested.
He looked at me in surprise. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Never mind. Go on.’
He sat down and looked broodingly into the glass which he held cradled in his hands. ‘The big thing is that we’re now up to our necks in industrial espionage. You’ve been away six weeks and I’m already running three penetration exercises.’
‘Are you, by God? On whose authority?’
‘Charlie Malleson twisted my arm.’
I stared at him. ‘Jack, you’re not there to take instructions from Charlie. He’s just the bloody accountant—a number juggler. You’re supposed to be standing in for me—running the operational side—and that doesn’t mean penetration operations. We’re in security; that’s what the name of the firm means. Now, how did Charlie twist your arm?’
Ellis shrugged. ‘He just told me to do it.’
‘Didn’t you squawk?’
‘Of course I bloody well squawked.’ His ire was rising. ‘But what the hell could I do? I’m not a shareholder, and he brou
ght Brinton in to back him up, and when the bosses say “Do!”, you do. Max, this last week I’ve been on the verge of quitting, but I held on in the hope that you’d come back.’ He stuck his finger out at me. ‘Any moment from now I’m going to get instructions to penetrate one of our own clients. That would be a laugh, wouldn’t it? Playing both ends against the middle. But it’s not what I joined the firm for.’
‘Not very ethical,’ I agreed. ‘Take it easy, Jack; we’ll sort this out. You say Charlie brought in Lord Brinton?’
‘The old bastard is in and out all the time now.’ Jack caught himself. ‘Sorry. I forgot he’s a friend of yours.’
‘Not particularly. You say he comes to the office frequently?’
‘Two or three times a week. He has himself driven two whole blocks in his Rolls-Royce.’
‘Does he have access to files?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Not through me. I don’t know about Charlie.’
‘Oh, we can’t have that.’ I thought about it for a moment, then said, ‘I talked about you to Charlie before I left. It was agreed that if you could handle my job then you’d be made managing director. That would entitle you to a parcel of shares because that’s the way we work. I was going to start operations in Europe—go for the multinationals. Didn’t Charlie say anything about this?’
‘Not a word.’
‘I see.’ I sipped my scotch. ‘This is a surprising development but it’s not what I came to see you about. Remember what we were doing just before I left?’
He nodded. ‘Looking for a half-wit called Billson.’
‘Well, I found him, and that led to other things. I want you to re-open the account of Michelmore, Veasey and Templeton, but do it quietly. Don’t open a formal file, and keep all details locked away from prying eyes.’
‘Same as before?’
‘Exactly the same as before. No one sees it—especially not Charlie or Brinton. Now, this is what I want you to do.’ As I reeled off my requirements Jack’s eyes got bigger. I ended up by saying, ‘Oh yes; and that analytical chemist must be a forensic type, able to go on to the stand in court as an expert witness.’
He looked up from the notebook in which he was scribbling. ‘Quite a packet.’
‘Yes. Now, don’t worry about what’s happening to the firm. Leave that in my hands and I’ll sort it out. Carry on as usual. One more thing, Jack; I’m not in England. You haven’t seen me tonight. I’ll arrive at the office unexpectedly one day. Okay?’
He grinned. ‘Catching them in the act?’
‘Something like that.’
I went away leaving Jack a great deal less troubled in the mind than when I’d arrived. I gave the driver Alix Aarvik’s address in Kensington and sat back wondering how that pair of cheapjack bastards thought they could get away with it. It was very puzzling because I was the majority shareholder.
Alix Aarvik was in and pleased to see me. As she ushered me in to the living-room she said, ‘Oh, you’ve hurt yourself.’
‘Not irrevocably. Have you been keeping well?’
‘I’m all right. Would you like coffee?’
‘Thank you.’
She was busily domestic for a few minutes, then she said, ‘I like your beard—it suits you.’ She suddenly blushed because she’d said something personal to a comparative stranger.
‘Thank you. I might keep it on that recommendation.’ I paused. ‘Miss Aarvik, I’ve found your brother.’ I raised my hand. ‘He’s quite well and undamaged and he’s back in England.’
She sat down with a bump. ‘Oh, thank God!’
‘Rather thank a man called Byrne; he got Paul out of most of the holes he got himself into. Paul will tell you about it.’
‘Where was he?’
I thought of Koudia and Atakor and the Tassili. ‘In North Africa. He found his father, Miss Aarvik.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I suppose the story will be breaking in the newspapers quite soon. A complete vindication, making nonsense of all the malicious speculation.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ she said. ‘But where is Paul now?’
I wondered whether or not to take her into my confidence. She was much more level-headed than Paul, but in the end I decided against it. The truth, if and when it came out, would be so explosive that the fewer in the know the better, and there must be no possible way of Paul getting to know it.
I said carefully, ‘Newspapermen in a hurry can be highly inaccurate. We’ll be holding a press conference in a few days’ time and Paul and I are honing our statements—making sure they’re just right I’d rather he wasn’t disturbed until then.’
She nodded understandingly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know Paul. That would be better.’
‘You may find that Paul has changed,’ I said. ‘He’s different’
‘How?’
I shrugged. ‘I think you’ll find that he’s a better man than he was.’
She thought about that for a moment but couldn’t make anything of it. ‘Were you with Paul when you found…the body?’
‘Yes, and so was Byrne. We helped Paul bury it.’ I neglected to say that we’d helped him twice.
‘Who is Byrne?’
I smiled. ‘A difficult man to describe. You could call him a white Targui, except that a lot of Tuareg are as white as we are. He says he used to be an American. A very fine man. Your brother owes him a lot.’
‘And you, too.’
I changed the subject. ‘Are you still with Andrew McGovern as his secretary?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’d like you to do me a favour. I’d like to meet him.’
‘That can be arranged,’ she said.
‘But not very easily the way I want to do it. I want to meet him not at his office, and without him knowing who I am. This is a matter of some discretion, an assignment on behalf of a client.’
‘That will be difficult,’ she said, and fell into thought. ‘His lunches are usually business affairs. Can’t you see him at his home?’
‘I’d rather not. I prefer not to take business into people’s homes.’ Considering that I’d just busted in on Jack Ellis and here I was in Alix Aarvik’s flat that was a non-starter, but she didn’t notice.
‘He has no lunch appointment for the day after tomorrow,’ she said. ‘On those occasions he hardly eats at all and, if it’s fine, he nearly always takes a walk in the gardens of Lincoln’s Inn. If it’s not raining he’ll probably be there. Would you know him if you saw him?’
‘Oh yes.’
She spread her hands. ‘Then, there you are.’
I made leave-taking motions, and she said, ‘When will I be seeing Paul?’
‘Oh, not long. A week, perhaps; not more than ten days.’ I thought that if I didn’t get what I wanted within ten days I probably wouldn’t get it at all.
I didn’t leave all the work to Ellis. For instance, I spent an interesting morning in the Public Records Office, and on my way to see McGovern I called in at Hatchard’s and browsed through the current edition of Whitaker’s Almanac. Although it told me what I wanted to know I bought it anyway as part of the dossier.
Eight days later I had all I needed. I primed Ellis to let me know the next time Lord Brinton visited the office, then sat waiting by the telephone.
THIRTY-THREE
I pressed the button in the lift and ascended to the floor which held the offices of Stafford Security Consultants Ltd. The girl travelling up with me was one of our junior typists; probably somebody had sent her out to buy a packet of cigarettes or a bar of chocolate or something illicit like that. She looked at me and turned away, then looked at me again as though I were someone she ought to recognize. It was the beard that did it.
I stepped into the familiar hallway, walked into Reception and straight on through towards my own office. Barbara the receptionist said, hastily, ‘Here, you can’t…’
I turned and grinned at her. ‘Don’t you recognize your own boss?’
I carried on, hearing, ‘Oh, Mr Stafford!’ I w
ent into my office and found Joyce hammering a typewriter. ‘Hi, Joyce; is Mr Ellis in?’
‘You’ve hurt your arm.’
‘And gone all hairy. I know. Is he in?’
‘Yes.’
I walked in on Ellis. ‘Morning, Jack. Got the rest of the bits and pieces?’
‘Yes.’ He unlocked the drawer of his desk. ‘The chemist’s report and the marriage certificate. It was 1937, not ‘36.’
I nodded. ‘There’d be a mourning period, of course.’
‘What’s this all about, Max?’
I unlocked my briefcase, using one hand, and he dropped the papers into it. ‘Better you don’t know. Is Brinton here?’
‘His Nibs is with Charlie.’
‘Right—stand by for fireworks.’
I walked in on Charlie cold, without announcement, ignoring the flapping of his secretary. He was sitting behind his desk and Brinton was in an armchair by his side. The armchair was new, but Brinton was noted for attending to his own creature comforts. If Charlie had seen fit to get an armchair then it meant Brinton was a frequent visitor.
Charlie looked up at me blankly, and then the penny dropped. ‘Max!’
‘Hello, Charlie.’ I nodded at Brinton. ‘Morning, my lord.’
‘Well, I’m damned!’ said Brinton. ‘Where did you spring from? I see you’ve hurt your arm. How did you do that?’
‘Skiing can be dangerous.’ A perfectly truthful statement, if not responsive to the question. I drew up a chair, sat down, and put the briefcase on the floor.
‘Where were you? Gstaad?’ Brinton was his old genial self but Charlie Malleson seemed tongue-tied and wore a hunted look.
I said, ‘I’ve been hearing some bloody funny stories about the company so I came back.’
Charlie’s eyes slid to Brinton who didn’t seem to notice. He still retained his smile as he said, ‘From Ellis, I suppose. Well, it’s true enough. We’ve made some changes to improve the profitability.’
‘Without my knowledge,’ I said coldly. ‘Or my consent.’
‘What’s the matter, Max?’ said Brinton. ‘Don’t you like money?’
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