1965 - This is for Real

by James Hadley Chase

  “I will.”

  “Bon voyage.”

  With a wave of his hand, Kerman ran up the stairs and disappeared from her sight.

  She finished her drink and lit a cigarette. She sat thinking for five minutes or so, her face expressionless, her eyes cloudy, then she got to her feet and returned to her room.

  The time by her watch was twenty-five minutes past six.

  It was time to call Malik.

  She sat staring at the telephone, aware of fear in her heart It was some minutes before she forced herself to pick up the receiver. She gave Malik's number and waited, Malik came on the line.

  “Yes?”

  The sound of the deep voice made Janine flinch.

  “I have seen Mr. Gilchrist,” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual. “I asked him to the party tonight, but he can't come. He has a business date which he can't break. I thought it better not to try and persuade him. He will be very happy to come tomorrow night so I have arranged to come with him at eight tomorrow.”

  There was a pause on the line, and she drew in a long, shuddering breath.

  “I said tonight,” Malik said softly.

  “I know, but he can't come tonight.”

  Again that pause, then he said, “Well, never mind. We're wasting time, but tomorrow night will have to do. I've sent the car for you. It will be outside the hotel by now. I have something to talk to you about,” and the line went dead.

  She sat there, holding the receiver, her body cold, her heart thumping and her mouth dry. Slowly, she replaced the receiver, got up and walked to the window.

  The black Cadillac stood before the hotel. The African chauffeur, his fez at a jaunty angle, was chewing on a bamboo stick.

  She went to her closet and took a handbag from it. She unscrewed the ornamental knob on the clasp of the bag and shook from the hollow recess a tiny glass phial, no bigger than the nail of her little finger. She held it up to the light. It was filled with a colourless fluid and she wondered if the fluid had gone stale. She had had it some time. Dorey had given it to her.

  “You better have this,” he had said. “It's part of the equipment. One never knows. If you're unlucky ever to get into a really bad spot, crush the phial between your teeth. You'll be dead in seconds.”

  She put the phial in her mouth and with her finger, she lodged the phial between her gum and the inside of her cheek.

  It felt quite comfortable there and looking at her white frightened face in the mirror, she could see no telltale sign that the phial was hidden in her mouth.

  Then picking up her bag, she went out of her room and locked the door. Walking briskly, her head held high, she made for the lift.

  Borg blew out his fat cheeks and let the air escape in a whistle of boredom. He was standing by the open window of his room, looking down on the drive-in to the hotel. He had been standing there, watching the arrival of various cars for the past half hour.

  “There's a black Caddy just come in.” he said to Schwartz who was sitting away from the window, smoking and reading a newspaper. “Some job! The wog driving it is wearing a goddamn fez! Now, I wonder what I'd look like in one of those gimmicks. Think I'll buy myself one. It'd kill my piece of tail.”

  Schwartz turned a page of the newspaper. He wasn't listening. Borg growled at him,

  “I could do with a drink. You coming?”

  “No,” Schwartz said.

  “Well, I'm going. I'll be in the bar...” Borg broke off and leaned forward to stare out of the window. “Goddamn it! There he is! Here, quick!”

  The urgency in his voice brought Schwartz out of his chair and to his side. The two men peered out of the window.

  They saw Girland walk down the steps of the hotel, cross to a D.S. Citroen, slide under the driving wheel and then the car moved swiftly away and headed towards Dakar.

  “What do you know?” Borg said in disgust. “Why didn't that damn wog tell him we were here?”

  “How do you know he didn't?” Schwartz's eyes still followed the Citroen as it moved swiftly along the stretch of Autoroute.

  Borg looked suspiciously at him. “Think he's double-crossing us?”

  “How do I know?”

  Borg hesitated, then shrugged.

  “No use sticking around here. Come on, for Pete's sake, let's have a drink.”

  Schwartz folded his newspaper and the two men took the lift down to the reception lobby.

  The clerk who Borg had spoken to wasn't behind the desk.

  Borg asked one of the porters where the bar was. He and Schwartz went down the stairs and into the bar. Borg ordered a double whisky on the rocks and Schwartz a beer.

  As Borg was finishing his drink, a porter came around calling, “Mr. Gilchrist, please. Telephone.”

  Borg got to his feet.

  “Stick around,” he said to Schwartz and walked casually up to the reception lobby. He saw one of the clerks holding a telephone receiver and looking around the lobby. Borg moved up to the desk and pretended to be examining a selection of Postcards in a rack on the counter.

  The clerk said into the receiver. “I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Gilchrist has gone out.” He listened, then said. “Hold on a moment, sir, I'll see.” He reached for a pad and thumbed back a few pages.

  “Yes sir, there is a message. Mr. Gilchrist will be in the bar of La Croix du Sud this evening. That's right,” and the clerk hung up.

  Borg wandered over to the doorman.

  “What's La Croix du Sud?”

  “A hotel in Dakar, sir.”

  “I want to go there. Get me a taxi.”

  “Certainly, sir. It'll be here in five minutes.”

  “I’ll be in the bar,” Borg said and hurried back to where Schwartz was waiting. Borg signalled to the waiter to bring him another drink, then said to Schwartz, “Girland got a call just now. He's on his way to a hotel in Dakar. I've ordered a taxi. You want another beer?”

  Schwartz shook his head.

  Borg waited impatiently until the waiter brought this drink and he paid the check. Then swallowing the drink in a gulp, he led the way up the stairs back into the lobby.

  The two men stood on the top of the steps in the fading evening sun until the taxi arrived. Having tipped the doorman, Borg climbed into the taxi, followed by Schwartz. He told the driver where to go and sat back, mopping his sweating face.

  ***

  As Girland entered the bar of La Croix du Sud, an African pageboy was wandering around the bar calling, “Mr. Gilchrist, please. Telephone.”

  “That's me.” Girland said, going up to the boy. He dropped a franc piece into the boy's hand.

  “First booth on the left, sir.” the boy told him and pointed.

  Girland shut himself in the booth and lifted the receiver. “Hello? This is Gilchrist.”

  “Ah. Mr. Gilchrist.” Girland recognised Fantaz's husky, effeminate voice. “I was beginning to think I had missed you. It would be interesting if we had another little talk. You have a car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you come to Diourbel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. You will be most careful? You know what I mean? As you enter the town, you will see on your left a large open space with trees. A yellow Fiat will be waiting. Shall we say nine o'clock, Mr. Gilchrist?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. Until then, Mr. Gilchrist.”

  Girland returned to the bar. Glancing at his watch, he saw he had time for a quick dinner and another drink.

  He was sitting up at the bar, drinking whisky, when a familiar voice said, “Hello, palsy: long time no see.”

  He turned to find Borg grinning at him. Behind Borg, was Schwartz.

  ***

  As Jack Kerman left the N'Gor Hotel and was crossing to his car, he saw the black Cadillac come up the sweep of the drive and park before the entrance to the hotel.

  Without pausing, he continued to his car, unlocked the door and got in. He lowered the windows, lit a cigar
ette and waited, his eyes on the Cadillac.

  He didn't have long to wait before Janine appeared. The sun had set and it was difficult to see much of her in the fading light, but he was convinced that it was Janine. She got into the Cadillac, nodding to the driver who held the car door open for her. The driver slid under the driving wheel as Kerman started his car engine. He followed the Cadillac until it took the branch road to Rufisque.

  Then in case Janine suspected she was being followed, he continued on along the main road. As soon as the Cadillac was out of sight, he pulled up, U-turned and went after the Cadillac.

  As he drove he wondered if Janine would tell Malik she had orders to return to Paris, and if she did. how Malik would react

  He finally came to the sandy secondary road that Ambler had pointed out to him on the map. By the cloud of dust, slowly settling, he knew the Cadillac had passed this way recently. He pulled up and surveyed the scene. He would take no risks, he told himself. He wouldn't drive past the bungalow. He would wait. He backed the car off the road and into the bush. It would be dark soon and the car would be invisible if anyone passed.

  Getting out of the car, he sat with his back to a tree and settled himself to wait.

  Janine got out of the Cadillac as the driver opened the car door. During the drive to the bungalow, she had been asking herself why Malik had wanted to see her. Was he suspicious of her? Had she been seeing too much of Girland? Had he an idea that she planned to leave tomorrow? Trying to reassure herself, she thought probably he had a job for her.

  She walked into the hall, and then through to the big lounge.

  Malik, alone, was sitting in an easy chair. He was wearing an open neck white shirt and a well-fitting grey tropical suit.

  He had a pile of cables on a table beside him and he was decoding a cable which he held in his hand. He glanced up, nodded and waved to a chair.

  “I won't be long,” he said.

  Gripping her handbag, Janine waited. Minutes crawled by.

  Malik worked steadily. Finally, after what seemed to Janine an eternity, he dropped the cable on the pile on the table and turned to stare at her. His green eyes were impersonal, his face expressionless.

  “So you talked to Girland and he couldn't come tonight,” he said. “Why couldn't he come?”

  “I told you. He said he had a business date.”

  “And did you guess what the business date was?”

  “Fantaz?”

  “Of course. He won't come here tomorrow night because he hopes by then to be with Carey.”

  Janine didn't say anything.

  “But he won't be with Carey because I have four men watching him and at a convenient moment, they will kill him.”

  Janine flinched inwardly, but she had enough control over herself to keep her face expressionless.

  “Will you be sorry?” Malik asked, continuing to stare at her.

  Janine stiffened.

  “Sorry? Why should I be?”

  The sudden evil in his eyes frightened her.

  “I just wondered. I would have thought you would have been sorry.” He got to his feet and crossed over to a cupboard.

  From it he took a tape recorder which he set on the table. He plugged the lead into the mains and switched the machine on.

  “This will amuse you,” he said. “It amused me.” He pressed the playback button, adjusted the volume knob and then moved away, his eyes on Janine's face.

  From the loudspeaker of the recorder, she heard herself say, “I know who you are. You are Mark Girland.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling the blood drain out of her face, her body turning cold.

  “All right.” she said. “Turn it off. I don't want to listen.”

  The loudspeaker was saying, “Well, go on. Let's hear more about this before I do any talking.”

  “No we'll listen to it. The sighs and moans at the end are very amusing,” Malik said.

  This was her end, Janine thought. How could she have been so stupidly careless not to check to see if her room had been bugged? She shut her ears to the sounds coming from the recorder. She didn't want to die. She was frightened of death, but she knew there was no mercy to hope for from Malik.

  She had betrayed him too thoroughly.

  Finally, she became aware that the recorder was silent, and she looked at Malik who stood by the recorder, watching her.

  “I am surprised,” he said. “you could have been so stupid to have fallen in love with a man incapable of love.” He shrugged. “Well, this is the end for you. In some ways, you have been useful, but we have never entirely trusted you. You have the mind of a whore. We have kept track of your various men friends. I felt sooner or later you would meet a man who would make a fool of you.” He looked at his watch. “Come with me.”

  Janine got to her feet.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she asked huskily.

  “You'll see. Follow me.”

  He turned and moved to the door.

  For one panic stricken moment, she had the urge to rush past him, out into the hall, through the doorway and into the darkness of the night, but she knew she wouldn't get even as far as the door. She would be helpless in the grip of this man.

  If she was going to die. she would try to die with dignity.

  Bracing herself, she followed him out of the room, across the hall and into a small bedroom. He stood aside to let her pass.

  There was only a bed in the middle of the room and an upright chair by the wall. The wooden shutters were locked across the windows.

  She stood by the bed trying to control the fluttering muscles in her legs. She kept her hands behind her so he couldn't see that her hands were trembling.

  He shut the door and leaned against it.

  “Take your clothes off, please,” he said in a quiet, polite voice.

  She stiffened, jerking up her head.

  “No!”

  “I have five Arab servants who work in the garden,” Malik said, his expression bored, “If you don't do what I ask, I will call these men who will take an unhealthy pleasure in stripping you naked. Please, undress.”

  Her tongue touched the glass phial and she hesitated.

  Should she use it now? Yet even at this moment, life was still precious to her. She hesitated and was lost. With shaking fingers, she undressed, looking at him from time to time, terrified that he could watch her with such bored, detached eyes. He was as impersonal as a doctor waiting to make an examination.

  When she stood naked before him, he pointed to the bed.

  “Lay on the bed, please.”

  She sat on the bed, her hands hiding her breasts and looked pleadingly up at him.

  “Can't you just shoot me? Do you have to do this to me? I have been useful to you. I...”

  “Lay flat, please.”

  As she dropped back on the pillow, he moved so swiftly she had no chance of realising what he was doing until it was done. Her ankles were locked into the rings of handcuffs attached to the bedposts and then as she tried to sit up screaming to him not to touch her, he fastened her wrists to the top of the bed.

  He moved away and looked down at her, spread-eagled on the bed.

  “I'll leave you now,” he said. “I'm late for an appointment. I have told my servants to make use of you in my absence. You've lived like a whore so you must be prepared to die like one.”

  She lay there, panting, fighting back the scream that rose in her throat.

  “There are seven of them,” he went on. “None of them are very clean. They know I will be away all night. No doubt they will tell their brothers and their cousins what is to be had in this room. You should have a very busy and disgusting night. I can't think of a more suitable way for you to end your love life, can you?”

  She closed her eyes.

  There was a long pause and then she heard the door shut.

  She made one hopeless and desperate effort to slip out of the handcuffs, but only succeeded in tightening them. She hea
rd a murmur of voices, then the sound of the Cadillac starting up then silence.

  As the door opened a few inches and a brown, rat like face appeared around the door and two black beady eyes alighted on her, she gave a shuddering sob and crushed the glass phial between her teeth.

  chapter ten

  Girland’s carefree grin, as he shook hands with Borg, masked a feeling of dismay. How had these two tracked him here? he wondered as he said, “Well, where did you drop from?” He ignored Schwartz who stared stonily at him. “Have you just arrived?”

  Borg got up on a stool beside Girland and signalled to the barman.

  “Gimme a big whisky on the rocks,” he ordered, then to Girland, “The boss is getting the ants. He wants to know what the hell you are doing.” He reached for his drink, nodded to Girland and drank. “Just what are you doing, palsy?”

  Girland said, “Do you think this is a good place to talk about that?”

  Borg looked around the room, saw a vacant table in a comer and nodded to it.

  “Over there do?”

  Girland got off his stool and the two men, carrying their drinks, crossed the room to the table and sat down. Schwartz joined them, pulling out a chair and sitting, he faced them.

  “I couldn't give Radnitz the full dope in a cable, and it wasn't safe to use the telephone.” Girland leaned forward and lowering his voice, went on, “the Russians are in on this. They have two agents right here in Dakar and they are watching every move I make... except the ones I don't want them to watch.”

  Berg's eyes bugged out.

  “You mean they know who you are?”

  “They know that all right, and they know I'm working for Radnitz. And another thing, Dorey's got a man out here too. He's on to me as well.”

  “So you're having fun, huh?”

  “You can call it that. The setup is tricky. I've found Carey's contact: a Portuguese. He imagines I'm working for Dorey. Tonight, I have a date with him and I think he'll take me to Carey.”

  “That's something!” Borg said excitedly. “That's what the boss wants, isn't it?”