Live, Love, and Cry

by George B Mair

  The whole thing had gone without a hitch and the stuff had been dropped after nightfall. In fact, it had been too easy. No one had queried Carpenter’s credentials and Lou had believed that they had ‘got away with it’.

  The whole truth had only dawned after news of Carpenter’s disappearance had broken and when Carol Anne tied up the powder story with what she knew of Carpenter’s ‘fancy’ contraceptive.

  Neither Carol Anne nor Lou knew anything about Zero, and the authorities were inclined to believe that they were straightforward drug-addicts who dabbled in other vices but who had neither the guts or know-how to be of real value to any top-quality narcotic gang.

  Carpenter had been used only for what they could get out of him or because they knew that his anti-baby pills worked, and he had ‘come in handy’ for getting supplies of some of the more rare drugs. But in recent months his nerve had begun to crack and the Prestwick crowd had begun to feel that he was more risk than he was worth.

  Neither Carol Anne or Lou knew much about Greece, excepting that Lou occasionally smuggled some marihuana or opium through to the United Kingdom from Athens, where contacts acted as a clearing agency for dope coming in from the Near and Middle East en route to Western Europe.

  Grant guessed that Lou was only a small-time crook on the fringe of international drug-rings and used by a few, but he had admitted to earnings of over ten thousand American dollars in fees for smuggling drugs alone, and Carpenter had paid him one hundred sterling commission for the reservoir job.

  ‘All of which is very well, gentlemen,’ said the Premier, ‘but how much PENTER 15 remained in Edinburgh when your men took over?’

  The Chief Constable shrugged his shoulders. ‘None. Not one grain of powder, though Professor Juin says that when the fluid he was using is evaporated it dries to a white powder similar to that described by this report. So it can probably be used in two ways.’

  ‘And how much of the drug remains in Professor Juin’s possession?’

  Admiral Cooper shook his head. ‘Practically none. He had only twenty cubic centimetres to begin with and about half of that went to our labs in Paris. The other half is with the Medical Research Council and my people believe that it is too small in quantity to enable them to break down the secrets which matter.’

  ‘And Carpenter’s records?’

  ‘No trace in either house or university.’

  ‘But damn it, man, they must be somewhere,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘They can’t simply disappear.’

  ‘May I say a word,’ interrupted Lyveden, and the company looked at him with sudden silence. Sir Jonah was a First World War V.C. and had been an active Secret Service agent for the next twenty years. But during his later middle life he had settled into the routine of a Norfolk squire and allowed it to act as a front to half a dozen other activities which had brought him into contact with everyone who mattered in the Establishment. But, above all, he had remained in the Service, and for some years could have been described as liaison officer between the mature world of British Intelligence and the young organisation which was struggling for experience under NATO . . . and the Admiral. It was through him that Grant had been seconded to ADSAD, and even Admiral Cooper rated him as one of the most shrewd Europeans alive.

  ‘In my view,’ continued Sir Jonah, ‘this Zero fellow may well have removed Carpenter’s records along with the man himself. As I understand it, Carpenter’s bedroom was a sort of bed-sitting-room. It held a desk and two bookcases which seem to have been used as an overflow from his laboratories and study proper. We have heard that he followed Sir Winston’s habit of often working in bed, so it seems probable that SATAN’s men removed everything which looked like records at the same time that they did the actual kidnapping.’ He glanced at Grant. ‘Or am I wrong?’

  Grant hesitated; and then he remembered: the two men carrying Carpenter out of that room and the brief-case which one had slung over his wrist—the same brief-case which had been lying near a desk when he had undressed Carpenter and pulled on his pyjamas. And there had been a sheaf of papers bound with tape in a corner of the bookcase. He remembered it because the tape was dirty with stains and unusually broad. That too had disappeared when he returned to the room after Carpenter’s disappearance. Two details had escaped his mind in a chapter of life which was already less than three days old but which had become so cram-packed with incident that some highlights had been allowed to slip out of focus.

  ‘Carry on, David.’

  Sir Jonah’s deep voice broke the chain of thought and he nodded his head. ‘Correct, sir. There was a brief-case, and a roll of papers. Both have been taken.’

  The men listened, ears pricked, while he relived the drama of five tense minutes and described how Carpenter had been removed from his home. ‘And the girl?’ asked Admiral Cooper, who knew Grant better than any of them. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘At the Savoy.’ The words rasped out uncompromisingly, though Grant knew that there would be trouble. It was strictly against the rules for sworn agents to introduce outsiders—and especially women.

  Sir Jonah smiled slightly. ‘Waiting for your return?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Admiral lifted a hand. ‘My affair this, gentlemen. What did you have in mind, David?’

  Grant looked round the room. Did any man there fully realise what it meant if someone not on the pay-roll of SATAN knew the boss man by sight? Did they realise that it could only mean death? Did they think for one instant that Zero would allow the girl to continue living when she was a standing threat to his own security? Was Zero the sort of man to run the risk, no matter how slight, of a girl meeting him unexpectedly somewhere and knowing him for what he was, unless he had the tabs on her first? ‘Deirdre Carpenter is as good as dead,’ he ended, ‘unless, of course, I get in first.’

  Admiral Cooper had listened without enthusiasm. Grant could sometimes argue his way out of anything, but this time he would do as he was told. The stakes were too high to allow any side-issues and the girl could be protected by more men than Grant.

  ‘Possibly, sir,’ said Grant dryly, ‘but she might also be used as a lure. There isn’t one single clue in all you have discovered, even considering Mrs. Hunter’s grilling, which offers a glimmer of light as to either Zero’s hide-out or where he may have taken Carpenter. But,’ he added dryly, ‘if we make ourselves conspicuous it may drive him into action which could give us a chance to nail him with his pants down.’

  ‘How conspicuous?’ asked the Admiral flatly.

  The routine Grant had in mind was dangerous. But it was a risk worth taking. Zero knew his address. Every man in the room had proof of that because his flat had been watched for days during the Miss Turquoise affair.

  And it was long odds in favour that after the incident with Colonel Hunter each and every one had been watched. He would even have bet that his trips to Troon and Prestwick were now known to Zero and that SATAN knew of the flight to London. Possibly even of his visit to Downing Street.

  Nor was it likely that they had slipped up on the Savoy.

  From the instant that Zero had left Morningside with Carpenter drugged in the back of his car he could have had only one main idea in mind, and that to destroy the girl after he was certain that he had no further use for her.

  ‘Explain that in more detail,’ interrupted the Prime Minister.

  Grant forced a smile. ‘What does Zero want more than anything else? Surely that Carpenter will talk. But suppose Carpenter won’t talk, isn’t it possible that he might be able to screw out any information using the man’s daughter as hostage?’

  ‘I see.’ The Prime Minister ran a hand through his silvering hair. ‘Yes. Far-fetched but possible. Any comment, gentlemen?’

  ‘Only that it is typical Grant thinking, and perfectly likely to be on the mark.’ Sir Jonah sounded more relieved and was now relaxed in a chair with a whisky and soda. ‘But that means that we’ll need to keep you both shadowed, even if only for extra se
curity.’

  ‘No.’ Grant was flat definite. ‘But what we can do is to use an electronic bug similar to that we embedded in the leg of that man who was killed in Perth. If I carry one in my pocket you can get a beam on me from a safe distance. But you’ll want three cross-bearings, and none of them nearer than half a mile.’

  ‘Right.’ The Admiral sounded crisply satisfied. It was as good a way as any other round problems which were nearly insoluble and he knew that the thing could be brought over from Paris within a few hours. ‘So what’s your immediate programme?’

  Grant’s mind was racing far ahead. But first things first. The Admiral would need to get the electronic device over from Paris and delivered to the Savoy dining-room before the end of dinner. Which gave him about three hours flat. And he would leave the Savoy only after pick-up monitoring stations had tuned to the signal. Then it would be back to his flat for coffee and bed. After that only time would tell, but it was long odds that something would break before many days had passed. Both he and Deirdre were a constant threat to Zero’s personal security and the man could be relied on to move once his mind had been made up.

  ‘But all this depends on your assumption that Carpenter won’t talk,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘What makes you so sure that a dope-ridden pervert like Carpenter will have the guts to hold out against ordinary torture?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ snapped Grant. ‘But scientists can be fanatical about their discoveries and I don’t see a man of Carpenter’s known character being browbeaten even by Zero’s hatchet men. He sees himself getting a Nobel Prize for solving world overpopulation problems and he’ll still have hopes that his double life is known only to a few drug-addicts and loose women.’

  ‘But if he does talk? If he has already spoken?’ The Prime Minister was subdued. ‘That would mean that you might both be killed out of hand.’

  ‘That is so,’ said Grant quietly, ‘but one must accept risks of that sort. And take precautions, of course.’

  The Prime Minister was still not satisfied. ‘And you are sure that you can protect both yourself and the girl?’

  ‘No one can be sure about things like that,’ drawled Grant, ‘but one can be hopeful.’

  ‘And on what is your hope based?’

  ‘Zero has a long score to settle and I don’t believe he will kill me out of hand. The man is strictly professional but his vanity has been touched, and where he might simply rub out another individual who had only a nuisance value, the personal element between us is now so strong that I think he’ll want me to know who won in the end.’

  ‘Which gives you hope for yourself,’ said the Premier slowly, ‘but it could also mean that the girl might be killed.’

  ‘And can you suggest anything better?’ Admiral Cooper’s face had crinkled into the thousand graven lines of a walnut shell and his eyes were half closed as he studied both Grant and the Prime Minister. He loathed the whole set-up. Science had been getting out of hand for years. And now it was cutting away every foundation of security from beneath his entire organisation. But eccentric though Grant was, he belonged to a new generation and seemed able to play the new game in the new style, giving more than he took and instinctively ‘feeling’ his way through to a good end.

  Sir Jonah again interrupted. ‘David is right. Give him his head, sir. And let’s recap before the meeting breaks up.’

  The Prime Minister shrugged his shoulders. ‘Strictly speaking, this is your show, Admiral. Would you care to list the headlines again.’

  The old man lit his pipe and concealed himself behind a barrier of smoke. The situation was dead simple. Carpenter had been kidnapped by Zero. Zero represented an international criminal organisation operating against all governments for its own ends. In this case the end would be to secure Carpenter’s recipe for PENTER 15 and then sell it to some world power interested in reducing opposition population. But in spite of Grant having been able to arrest several top personalities in a drug-ring which operated on the fringe of international crime, none of them had been able to suggest where Carpenter might have been taken. That being so, and remembering that SATAN was extremely well organised, it followed that there was no real chance of getting Carpenter back alive unless the enemy could be tempted to show himself. And Grant’s theory was as likely to achieve this as anything else. Carpenter was a fanatic, He was obstinate and in good physical condition. The chances were that he would not talk. That being so, Zero would try to kill two birds with one stone and use Deirdre Carpenter to make her father open up.

  But Juin’s electronic device might save everything. And it avoided the need for any close shadowing, an imperative where experts like the staff of SATAN were concerned, men who could almost smell a shadow at a hundred paces. The Department would know what was happening and be able to trace Grant in the event of another kidnapping.

  Then again there was one overriding factor. No one knew anything about Zero’s hide-out and SATAN was a thorn in the flesh of civilisation, a nuisance which would have to be removed. So the Admiral was all for allowing his man a free hand. And that whatever happened, or wherever it might lead him. ‘After all,’ he ended cynically, ‘that’s what David Grant is paid for. To take risks which other men don’t fancy. And to solve problems which other men can’t handle.’

  The Prime Minister wound matters up. ‘Understand this, Doctor. Carpenter has to be returned. And with his records, if that be possible. But you are being given permission to use the girl only because of exceptional circumstances. So no undue chivalry. First things first. And remember that right now an alive Carpenter is more valuable to us than practically anything else on earth.’

  Grant bowed slightly and glanced around the room. The men were almost all friends, but not even Sir Jonah Lyveden could muster more than a faint smile as he raised his glass for the last time. ‘To success, young David. But keep alive if you can.’

  Chapter Thirteen – ‘Is the man mad?’

  Back at the Savoy, Deirdre was tired of waiting. ‘But I did what you said, David. No drinks. No phone. Not even a visit to the toilet. I kept in the public eye and now I’m bursting to powder my nose. So how about food?’

  They had to kill just over two more hours before Paris could deliver the all-important electronic device, and Grant played it safe, laying on a female attendant to accompany Deirdre to the wash-up.

  The dining-room was quiet and he was in the mood for a relaxed meal. ‘But simple,’ said Deirdre. ‘My tummy has been empty so long that I’ve almost lost my appetite.’

  In the end they settled for smoked trout and a half-bottle of Montrachet bottled in 1959, turtle soup lightened by a glass of Musigny and an entrecôte steak washed down with 1945 Château Margaux.

  ‘And apéritif, madame, sir?’ asked the wine steward.

  Grant smiled in anticipation. ‘A half-bottle of champagne, Ruinart Réservé Baron de Rothschild 1955, and some small chow.’

  Deirdre looked at him steadily. ‘Are you wanting to get me plastered?’

  He laughed. She had still to learn that good wine taken with a substantial and long-drawn-out meal was harmless as mother’s milk. ‘Moreover,’ he added, ‘we are going to have an 1880 Solera Malmsey with our sweet and a Green Chartreuse over coffee, after which we shall sleep like logs and be ready for anything tomorrow morning.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘But what if something happens before tomorrow morning? A night call from Zero or something like that?’

  ‘Then we’ll be all the more able to deal with him. But here’s the champagne. Cheers. And down with all villains.’

  Deirdre was more serious. ‘To us,’ she whispered, ‘and to lots of loving where it’s safe and warm and rich with gold mirrors, soft lights and thick carpets.’

  ‘And a huge bath next to the bedroom.’

  ‘With turquoise tiles and a wall-heater.’

  ‘And bath towels half an inch thick,’ laughed Grant as he watched her sparkling eyes.

  ‘Not forgetting
television in one corner,’ added Deirdre.

  ‘And bath cubes which make the water soft and creamy.’

  ‘With a loofah to rub my back.’

  ‘And a great big oval of soap which will get lost in the water,’ said Grant.

  ‘Plus a razor plug so that you can shave after you’ve washed me, and then rub your chin down my spine,’ grinned Deirdre. ‘But you mustn’t shave too close. Just nice. Leaving a little roughness so that I can know it’s a man.’ She lifted her glass. ‘To David beside me in the shower.’

  Grant frowned. ‘You didn’t say anything about a shower.’

  ‘Sure,’ she drawled. ‘After you soap me I stand under the shower and you make the water colder and colder and colder till I go gooseflesh.’

  He frowned slightly. ‘A chilly beginning for bed!’

  ‘But there’ll be an electric blanket,’ she whispered. ‘And we’ll lie on sheets which will make you want to be nice to me.’

  He hesitated and then fell in with her mood. ‘I’ll always want to be nice to you.’

  But it was the wrong thing to say and her face clouded over for a brief second. ‘Maybe. But you’ve known so many exciting women that perhaps I’ll not be able to hold you.’

  He tried to change the subject: or at least to fight on his own ground. But she had interested him. In fact he doubted if he knew the answer himself. What must a woman have in order to hold him?

  Deirdre placed her elbows squarely on the table. Her eyes were twinkling and there was the hint of a smile on her lips as she spoke.

  Above all she would have to be mysterious. So soon as he knew all her secrets he would lose interest. She would win only if she kept him on edge wondering what she might do next. For Grant variety must always be part of the spice of love and she would have to tantalise him with the skill of a conductor controlling his orchestra. Because Grant was really quite like an orchestra, with soft moods and clashes of drums, blazes of brass and the whisper of strings. The woman who held him would have to play on his mind: on his imagination: and she would have to be ready to fuse all his conflicting moods into the great symphony which was his life . . . when he cared to allow himself to be controlled.