‘And all confirmed by lights?’
Mikel Brandt stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Casual as usual, David! Though as usual quite right. Would you like to see her? The woman we caught, I mean?’
Grant forced himself to smile. ‘Why not, Mikel? And ask your boy to mix her a banana daiquiri. With fresh lime, of course. She’ll appreciate it.’
7
‘I’m buying you, Grant’
Krystelle was ushered into the Magnolia Suite by two men whom Grant hadn’t noticed before. One had a gun against her back, and although she had been slightly rumpled during what Grant guessed had been an expertly arranged kidnap she still managed to look as though she was arriving at a Savoy cocktail party.
She bowed slightly towards Brandt and flashed a smile which made Grant glow with satisfaction. One thing was for sure, if ever he went down and Krystelle was around they would go down in style and with her smile still radiating self-confidence to the end! She chose to speak normal English, which Grant interpreted as a sign that she was playing it cool but prepared to erupt when necessary. And no one knew better than Grant that when she did she would move like a wild cat. ‘Are you going to introduce me, David?’
Grant shook his head. ‘Not your type. A shifty con-man who hires other people to do his dirty work.’
Brandt flushed and then went suddenly pale. ‘What do you mean, con-man?’ The girl tensed with expectation David worked in a mysterious way, but he usually held most of the cards and knew how to throw his personality. The contempt in his voice would have rocked a stronger man than Brandt was likely to be.
Grant pointed to the house-boy and spoke in reasonable Castilian Spanish. ‘Have the goodness to give the lady her daiquiri.’ He watched, while Krystelle, ignoring the men behind her, sat down near him and lifted the glass. ‘Ah yes. You were asking about con-men. Don’t you agree it’s a fair description?’
Brandt clipped his second cigar. ‘Carry on.’
‘I accept your story about the doped wine, bugs and cameras, and obviously that you picked up the last part of my contact with this young lady tonight or else she wouldn’t be here. I even accept that your own description of the dope incident as a “sick joke” is probably true, though you also hoped it would be useful as another lever to blackmail me. Forgetting, of course, that Krystelle wouldn’t be annoyed with anyone except yourself, that she would rate Petra’s behaviour as normal and that she knows about drugs. Anyhow orgies lost most of their news value several years ago and your video tape of the bedroom routine isn’t worth a dud peso.’
Grant ordered another clarito and realised when Brandt failed to interfere and place the order himself that initiative had begun to swing. ‘Then your story about the Middle East, Israeli Commandos and hunting war criminals is amateurish. The Israelis wouldn’t stage a major trial for a link-man on the Nazi-escape route even if your story had been true. They have too many other problems these days to enjoy the luxury of sidetracking from essentials. And as for raising interest in Germany, it wouldn’t rate more than a minor by-line.’
Krystelle saw Grant’s index finger twitch against his knee and rose to the cue. ‘You’ve been listing angles which don’t matter, David. I’d like to know the things which do. Can do?’
‘Can do,’ said Grant. ‘One of Petra’s strong-arm men tried to force me out of the Teak Suite against my will and must have been acting under orders, so I’m interested to know why she wanted me out so fast. I’m also interested that our host here wants me to kill both his wife and her brother. And finally it’s curious how everyone involved in this set-up has been twisting facts and lying right from the beginning.’
Brandt allowed himself to look faintly interested. ‘That phrase “everyone involved”?’
Grant felt that he could read the man’s mind. ‘Yes. Including Sureen and Helena Mauriac. All five of you.’
Krystelle noted his finger again begin to twitch. She had to play everything by ear, but Grant wouldn’t have tick-tacked her unless he believed that she could be relied on to feed the right questions. ‘What lies behind all this, David: the one thing which really matters?’
‘The fifth man,’ said Grant. ‘Fear of that fifth man in Manaos in 1942 has motivated everyone.’ He watched Brandt’s face register curiosity. ‘Oh, and another thing. Mikel tried to pull a bluff about Cyp’s wife having been killed and that was another lie, though someone may have made you carry a rifle, or even let off a blank in the direction of the house after you were caught. But the rest is fantasy. He also tried to sell a story about staff keeping him up to date with events by flashing code messages from that panel beside the door, but he forgot that curtains haven’t been drawn and that I could see reflections in the windows. I marked the one and only time a light flickered on the panel, and using hindsight that must have been to tell him that you had been picked up.’
He glanced towards Mikel Brandt. ‘You aren’t in any position to have police come here on any sort of investigation, so you were only trying to panic me into thinking that if I didn’t play ball my friend would be hurt. Well, I might, just might, have believed you if curtains had been drawn and I hadn’t been able to use the windows as a mirror. But you slipped up on detail and the whole story is nonsense.’
Grant’s finger was again twitching and Krystelle fed him the line which she felt might matter. ‘So where do we now go from here?’
‘Anywhere we wish. Mikel can’t hold us against our will, and since his blackmail levers aren’t worth a damn he’s not likely to interfere.’
Krystelle saw that Grant was going to force an issue. The more wholly reasonable he seemed to be the more likely it was that he would be poised to wreck the place, and she marked the only man who was holding a gun. But his attention had begun to wander and she estimated that between them David Grant and she could cope with the two patrols, one young house-boy and one man slouched deep into a chair.
‘That fifth man,’ said Brandt. ‘Would you care to say more?’
‘Not at present,’ said Grant.
‘And you aim to leave?’
‘Not immediately.’ Grant waved his arm round the suite. ‘Petra arranged for these to be my new quarters, and the bed is big enough for two. If Krystelle will forget having been brought here at gun-point we’ll talk things over and let you know what we decide in the morning.’
‘You act confident,’ said Brandt.
‘Naturally.’ Grant asked the boy to mix another clarito and smiled contentedly, although he knew that he was bluffing on one of the poorest hands in his life. ‘Would we have come here without taking precautions? You couldn’t explain away our deaths to people who might arrive at any time, not even if you could prove that we had been killed in an earthquake or struck by lightning. And if we aren’t here when they do call, or if we don’t contact them at the right times, they’ll tear your house, your businesses and yourself apart until they get the facts. So keep your cool, Mikel. We’ll have supper up here and give Bas an order later. Then maybe your wife can let Miss de Tourvel have a maid.’
Brandt began to laugh. Tears filled his eyes and the man with the gun abruptly snapped to attention while the house-boy stopped dead by a tray of empty glasses and the second patrol man’s right hand flashed inside his jacket. A throwing knife was poised in almost the same second and then Brandt wiped his cheeks. ‘You are extremely funny,’ he said. ‘Anyone listening might even think you were running things.’ His voice became edged with menace and the man’s whole personality changed. ‘I’m buying you, Grant, and I’ll keep my word. One hundred thousand bucks into any bank you name. But I still want my wife and Cyp killed. I want you to do it because I can’t afford even to be suspected, and I rely on you to fix things so that it looks like a political killing. Cyp once mentioned the Rio Death Squad, and with his history and political tendencies right now he could be a candidate for their attention, so why not make it look like the long arm of the law caught up with him at last?’
Krystelle smiled
when she saw the effort the man was making to control himself and how others in the room were reacting. The knife-man was watching every move, ready to throw at a split second’s notice, and the gun was covering Grant from a hand which was steady as a rock. Even the house-boy’s eyes were anxious, and she guessed that this was a Brandt mood-swing with which they were familiar. It was as though they knew, and knew without doubt, that if Grant refused they would be ordered to kill. ‘Say, David,’ she drawled, ‘why not think it over? A hundred grand sounds good to me.’
Mikel’s eyes were glowing with excitement and his pupils seemed large as any cat’s. She saw him take a deep breath, and then he smiled: a slow, satisfied smile of what seemed like expectation as he waited for Grant’s reaction.
Grant felt that he was closer to death than he had been on almost any other mission, and it was the more surprising because until seconds earlier everything had seemed controllable. ‘Okay. A hundred thousand U.S. dollars into my account in the Hong Kong Shanghai Bank, Victoria, Hong Kong. And then we can talk business.’
Mikel slumped back into his chair. ‘A good thing you were sensible, David. You know, I hate to be thwarted. And although I’m a reasonable man there’s got to be an end to everything. Cyp’s been in my hair for too long and my wife is crazy.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘Maybe not crazy. Maybe just cruel. A sort of pervert. In fact I’ll tell you something. She’s a Janus. Two faces. Maybe even three faces, so you’ll be doing the right thing. She’s better dead.’
Krystelle realised that tension in the room had begun to settle: the men who had picked her up were again relaxing and even the house-boy had continued to pour Brandt another drink. ‘You know best, Mr. Brandt,’ she said. ‘And we’ll do what you want.’
‘Not Mr. Brandt. Call me Mikel.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Happy days.’
‘Cheers,’ said Grant. ‘Now we’d better talk business. When do you want it done?’
‘Soon.’ Brandt eyed them suspiciously. ‘Very soon. Tonight even. You can trust me to bank the money tomorrow.’
‘I’m sure we can,’ said Krystelle, ‘but it doesn’t give us much time. A double killing needs preparation and you don’t want bodies found here.’
‘Why not?’ Brandt’s voice was hard with suspicion. ‘So long as it looks like a political thing nothing else matters. Put a skull and cross-bones on them like they do in Brazil. Make it look like a Death Squad job.’
‘They only operate in Rio,’ said Grant quietly. ‘And Krystelle’s right. We’ve got to set up a background before we can work. That needs planning. And we like to plan in private, since the less you know about it the better. The police might have to question you, and it’s better that you don’t know one single thing about anything. In fact,’ he added, ‘even that hundred thousand would take a lot of explaining if anyone got on to it. So it would be better if we took it in cash. No evidence of any money transaction then! Much safer all round.’
Brandt looked mildly surprised. ‘I don’t keep big money around the house. And there’s going to be no private planning. I’ve hired you to do a job, you’re getting well paid and I’m going to see that you earn it.’ He began to laugh again. ‘Funny how people think they can do what they like with me! But they can’t, you know.’ His voice became confidential. ‘Everybody lies about everything. Maybe even you are lying.’ He mopped his cheeks with a handkerchief while Krystelle saw the patrolmen once more snap to attention. ‘Maybe even I’m lying. Maybe you’ll never get that hundred grand at all. And wouldn’t that be funny too? Imagine a double killing with no payoff. Now don’t worry,’ he added quickly. ‘Tell you what! I’ll write a cheque! I’ll make it two hundred grand just to show I’m not mean. What’s a cheque anyhow? You might never cash it! But I forgot. You wanted cash. So how about cruzeiros? Old cruzeiros? I’ll give you ten million in notes any time. Now there’s an offer: ten million old cruzeiros or a hundred grand.’
Grant was very careful. ‘I got an idea Petra doesn’t like cruzeiros: old or new.’
Brandt smiled broadly and again daubed his cheeks with a black handkerchief. ‘You’re clever, David. My wife lost a lot of money with devaluations. She should have invested in escudos or marks. So she knew I was going to offer you cruzeiros, did she?’ His voice hardened. ‘And told you not to take them?’ His laugh filled the room and Grant saw the gunman tighten his grip on the black, vulcanite butt. ‘I shouldn’t have trusted you, David. But you gave yourself away talking about my wife and her cruzeiros. You were speaking about me behind my back and maybe I only heard part of it. You could have talked somewhere else and I didn’t know. Grant, you’re like all the rest. But I won’t kill you. Not yet. Just the girl and then we can think about you.’
Grant flashed into action as Brandt snapped an order in Spanish to the man with the knife and caught Krystelle round the thighs, throwing her to the ground while in the same movement his legs swept round in an arc and dropped both patrols before the gunman had time to fire. The knife flashed past her head and Grant saw it quiver against the plaster of one wall while Brandt drew his own gun and with deceptive speed covered them both before he could rise to his feet. ‘Just testing,’ said Brandt. ‘I wanted to see how fast you could move. Professionals in action. A new experience.’
‘May we stand up?’ said Krystelle thickly.
‘Why not?’ said Brandt. ‘Especially if you want to be shot. But just stay there if you’d rather remain alive.’
He spoke in Spanish to the house-boy and as the boy left the room Grant began to appreciate the set-up. Three others would arrive within minutes and until then Krystelle and he would be covered by two thugs prepared to kill on minimal provocation, while the knife-thrower would be waiting just one more chance to redeem himself. For such a professional Grant knew that to miss a target was the ultimate humiliation, and because of it the short, thick-set thug with podgy fingers and a smooth way with knives would be the most dangerous of all. Madmen, of course, were unpredictable, and he was certain that Mikel was, at best, a borderline psychotic. ‘You know something, Mikel,’ he said slowly, ‘you’re really good! I only know one man in Europe who could have moved faster than you did just now. I’ve even learned a few things myself. How to control a situation, for example. Not one pro in a hundred could dominate a room like you’re doing now, and if I didn’t know it was only fun and games I’d be worried. You’re terrific.’
Krystelle followed up fast. ‘And convincing, David. Which is where you slip up at times. People don’t believe you. But Mikel actually made me think it was for true.’ She took a big chance and reached for her cigarette case, flashing a beaming smile while she snecked it open. ‘Honest, Mikel, I could work with you.’ She threw him a cigarette. He caught it in his left hand, laid down his gun and fumbled for a Ronson while she lay on the floor with her own Sobranie dangling unlit from her mouth as though waiting for a light. The gunman’s eyes clouded with suspicion and the knife-man altered his grip ever so slightly on the point of his blade. Brandt lit his cigarette and automatically leaned forwards to offer her a light. She flashed the same broad smile. ‘Thanks, Mikel. So now that you’ve shown us you’re good as any pro can we get back to normal? I could go another daiquiri, but straight this time, no banana, and David’ll be wanting a clarito.’
Brandt looked puzzled and then he grinned. ‘Sure. Have a drink. But don’t forget that professionals don’t always have the advantage over amateurs like myself.’ He pointed to the pistol. ‘I’ve an hour of target practice twice a week and can draw as fast as Sammy Davis Junior. I just wanted to prove it hasn’t all been a waste of time. Though I must say I’m even better with a knife.’
Krystelle climbed slowly to her feet and laughed as she pointed to Grant still lying on the floor. ‘Up, David. Or do you like it down there?’
As she held out a hand and helped him to his feet both knew that this was the moment. Brandt’s gun was on the table and both patrolmen were once more that shade off-guard which mattered. He stood up with la
zy relaxation and when Krystelle squeezed his wrist they both moved in for the kill. Krystelle dropped the knife with a chop which slashed across the man’s forearm and made him scream with pain, while with the same forward leap she gripped him by the throat, flung his head viciously right and left, and then, forcing up every ounce of energy, lifted him with both hands from the floor, one hand under his chin and the other behind his head. His arms flailed helplessly around her and with a curious scream of triumph she twisted his chin up and to the right. Grant heard the man’s neck break while he watched his own man drop to the floor, felled by one superbly timed straight right to the point of the jaw. One hundred and seventy pounds of weight lay behind it, but weight caught up into a rippling series of controlled movements which amplified power into a sledge-hammer violence delivered at short range. Grant had followed the blow through in a straight dive towards Brandt who had been half-blinded by Krystelle’s cigarette exploding in his face. A whiff of tear gas tickled his nostrils as he picked up Brandt’s own gun and then reached for the gunman’s which had fallen on to a chair. A silencer had been fitted along both and neither he nor Krystelle could afford to take any more chances. He shot the man straight through the skull and then dropped Brandt with the same karate cut which had stopped even Roca.
Krystelle allowed her own kill to slither to the floor and then looked round the room. Grant was rubbing his knuckles and Brandt semi-conscious. She pricked for a few seconds like an animal sounding for trouble and then blew Grant a kiss. ‘What now, David? But man! Does Mikel need a shrink? As mad as they make them! Why didn’t you tell me?’
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