Kisses From Satan

by George B Mair

  ‘That’s true enough in many cases,’ said Tomas softly, ‘but where there is real control in depth I can guarantee to make a man do anything. Even if it was against his own interests. My subjects can be made to kill their best friends if I want it so.’

  Zero smiled thinly. ‘Then let’s put Grant to a real test. Get hold of that ballerina woman and bring her here. We can spring her on him when he is supposed to be under the influence, and depending on how he reacts we’ll know where we stand.’

  Tomas slowly nodded. ‘Agreed. But I can absolutely guarantee that when he comes here he will be my own personal slave.’

  Zero touched the secretary on the arm. ‘Arrange for Tomas to enter the Clinique on Friday.’ He turned to Lloyd who was the Company’s hatchet man. ‘And arrange to pick up that woman some time next week.’

  ‘One other thing,’ said Lloyd quietly. ‘There is a rumour that three survivors from our aircraft have been jailed in a fortress in France and are being held incommunicado. If so,’ he added slowly, ‘we must ask ourselves how much they have divulged to other intelligence agencies.’

  ‘Is this fact or rumour?’ asked Zero, his deep blue eyes staring unwinkingly along the table.

  ‘Rumour,’ drawled Lloyd. ‘But there’s seldom black smoke without a red fire. And France is a good choice. Neither America nor London would accept risks of that sort. The thing stinks of a NATO conspiracy.’

  ‘Who tipped you off?’ Zero’s voice was subtly menacing.

  ‘I have men in both Paris and Marseilles with ears close to the ground. The leak is said to have come from a junior officer.’

  ‘Then find out more. Get the man’s name. Have him removed for questioning if necessary. But get him.’

  Lloyd nodded agreeably. ‘Sure.’

  Zero paused until the room had quivered to silence. Slowly and systematically he examined every face in front of him. The board stared back, flatly impersonal, but somehow subdued by the man’s very presence. For the first time they were sensing the full personality of the man they had chosen and at least three wished that the voting had been otherwise. The last inch of ash crumpled from Zero’s cigar and fell upon the carpeting below. ‘Have any of you any clue as to why Grant should have arranged to enter this particular clinique at this particular time? Why should it be suggested that he has an interest in Charles?’

  There was dead silence. And then he rapped the table impatiently. ‘When in doubt use your imagination and build from first principles. Charles spells race hatred. Washington must rate him as a high nuisance value. Is it possible that some attempt is going to be made to kill or discredit him?’

  Miller’s teeth flashed in a sudden unexpected smile. ‘Surely not, Leonardo! Uncle Sam doesn’t work that way. Probably he’s got a real health problem. Coincidence and nothin’ but.’

  ‘I might agree with you,’ said Nikolas Petrechevo, ‘if ADSAD agent 234 Stefanie Carmichael was not also in Geneva. But that tie up for myself spells action.’

  ‘And of what sort?’ snapped Coia.

  ‘Any sort.’ The Russian’s manner was very bland. He glanced at his wrist watch and then, unexpectedly the telephone buzzed. ‘For me,’ he said quietly. ‘I asked a man to call at fifteen hundred hours if he had anything to report.’ He lifted the phone and the others heard a crackle of noise which several recognised as Russian. And then he replaced the receiver. ‘Stefanie Carmichael is operating in association with a coloured girl who is listed on my files for the part she played during various domestic troubles within the United States of America last year. She is known to nourish a really positive hatred of Charles so I have noted her as a source of minor danger to one of our members. Considered as a solitary unit she is not important, but if Maria Suza were to be controlled by people like Stefanie Carmichael or David Grant then she could have a high rating indeed. Indeed she might even have to be removed.’

  Leonardo Coia smiled thinly. ‘You have a remarkable department, Nikolas. We would be lost without you. Take action as you think best. Just remember that we don’t want trouble and that Charles mustn’t be bothered by anything. His present work is much too important.’ He hesitated and his voice became very cold. ‘At the same time I would like to know why you delayed submitting information to our secretary until this afternoon.’

  The Russian carefully drew a line from one side of his paper to the other. ‘Because I do things in my own way, and also because certain developments are very recent. Grant’s summons from Spain to Paris, for example, and his arrival in Geneva.’

  ‘And you, Marsden?’ continued Coia gently. ‘Rumours are not facts, but this rumour concerning three prisoners in France ought to have been received by our secretary within the hour.’

  ‘As it was,’ drawled Lloyd. ‘I received final advice only this morning in Lausanne.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He turned again to the Russian. ‘You say that you do things your way. In future you will do them my way and thereby ensure the smooth running of our affairs.’

  The Russian paused in his scribbling. ‘I shall when I am completely certain that there is no leak within our own organisation.’

  There was an immediate silence.

  ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘certain people now know that we exist. They have even discovered enough of our previous chairman’s life to identify and kill him. Surely you must rate that as justification for continued top secrecy in all our intelligence work.’

  Coia looked at him carefully. He knew better than most that the old man seldom made mistakes and that he never started trouble without reason.

  ‘Whom do you suspect?’

  Nikolas looked steadily across the room. ‘We have all been normally careful in so far as my own information is concerned. With perhaps two exceptions,’ he added slowly. ‘Irfan here has been spending too much money on a woman. He is deeply involved with a Circassian beauty who is notorious for the demands she makes upon her lovers. It is at least possible that he has been . . . what you say . . . showing off. Perhaps . . . shooting a line . . . about his background. It is even possible that she is a Soviet agent. Indeed I suspect that she is, though I lack final proof.’

  All heads turned to the youngest man at the table. He was unexpectedly silent and his face was dead pan, but a tiny pulse was throbbing in his neck and Coia watched a spark of uneasiness quiver the flat calm of his eyes. ‘Well, Irfan. Any comments?’

  ‘I have said and done nothing disloyal.’ His voice was still high pitched but had gone strangely soft.

  ‘And your other suspect, Nikolas?’

  The Russian smiled. ‘I prefer not to say. Sometimes it is better to give a man some rope and then to hang him at leisure.’

  ‘Having warned him in advance just now.’

  ‘Not really,’ said the Russian. ‘He will be easy in his mind if he has a clear conscience. If not . . . poof . . . he may kill himself and save Marsden the trouble. Only time will tell. But I repeat that I have very little doubt that Irfan has been indiscreet. The possibility exists that he has papers which matter. Perhaps the woman has searched his belongings, or he may have kept a diary.’ His eyes narrowed as he studied the younger man, and then: ‘Have you?’ he said.

  The Armenian shook his head. ‘There is nothing on paper. I have said nothing. I have done nothing.’

  The older man thrust a hand into his pocket. ‘Then what is this?’

  It was a small brown leather notebook. ‘These are reminders of various recent financial transactions,’ said Irfan. ‘There is nothing in it which could be understood by anyone except myself.’

  ‘How wrong you are,’ said the Russian. His beard was suddenly pointing with excitement and his eyes danced with satisfaction. ‘A very good code indeed. But not good enough. My men broke it in three weeks. And it is a record of your own contacts with our previous chairman. He has even been referred to as Zero, and so far as we can gather it is a summary of all important conversations you have had with him over the past year. In fact it is an e
xtremely explosive record, because most of our own names have also been mentioned and since you have been a director for three years it is reasonable to suppose that the other two volumes still exist. If so, cher collègue, where are they?’

  ‘Have you a translation?’ Coia said.

  Petrechevo fumbled once more in an inside pocket and handed over a wad of flimsy papers. ‘Single spacing typescript and unpleasant to read, but more convenient to carry.’

  The Armenian suddenly stood up. ‘That diary never leaves my study. It is locked in my safe. How did you get it?’

  Coia smiled. ‘It is more important for you to answer questions. Why did you lie?’

  Irfan lit a cigarette. ‘I knew it was against the rules to write things down. But I didn’t think that that applied to a secret record kept in a special safe which can only be opened by experts.’

  ‘Like Soviet intelligence, or my own people, for example,’ said Nikolas.

  ‘But you must have known that you had done wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t have lied,’ snapped Coia. ‘Your story doesn’t stand up.’ He glanced towards Marsden. ‘This is your problem, Lloyd. Remove him.’

  The fat man had suddenly produced a gun and only Coia had seen him draw it from his side pocket. ‘Turn round, Irfan,’ he said quietly.

  The younger man moved his head almost automatically and Marsden thrust the muzzle against his temple. He was dead within seconds.

  ‘A very good silencer this.’ Lloyd had lifted a cushion and placed it under the man’s head which was trickling with blood. ‘Practically no noise at all. Almost like a snap of the fingers.’

  The secretary snapped a switch and called the sentries on a live intercom. ‘Get rid of this.’

  As the body was carried out of the room Lloyd turned to Zero. ‘We’ll fix it to look like suicide and leave him in the forest above Goldiwil. Quiet there, and a few days should pass before someone finds him.’

  Coia suddenly relaxed and the men saw tension almost melt from his eyes. ‘A bad beginning for a new job,’ he said softly, ‘but thanks again, Nikolas. And now let’s get on with our business. To recap . . . Miller enters the Clinique on Wednesday. Grant is booked in for Friday. Arrangements will be made to admit Tomas on Thursday. The coloured girl Maria Suza will be erased at your convenience and the immediate object of our exercise is to have Grant hypnotised by Tomas until he is in a fit state to give us the names of his associates in ADSAD. Meanwhile, his mistress, Maya Koren, will be kidnapped at a suitable time and brought here to use as may be required in testing the depth of Tomas’ influence over NATO’s Treble A One. All clear?’

  There was a rumble of agreement and then he rapped the table with his gavel. ‘Unless you hear to the contrary this meeting is therefore adjourned until two weeks as from today.’ He glanced at the Spaniard and smiled. ‘Good hunting, Tomas. But do not forget that Grant is tough and that he has some medical background. Do not assume that he will be an easy subject even for a man of your own skill.’

  Tomas shrugged his shoulders. ‘After two weeks Grant will be my slave.’

  But Nikolas had the last word as he pulled out two small brown books from a side pocket. ‘The other diaries,’ he said. ‘They, too, were in his safe.’

  Chapter Five – ‘That was the longest two hours I’ve ever known.’

  Grant had been in Geneva for several days and Maya was settled into their suite at the Rhône.

  For her half a loaf had become better than nothing.

  She had accepted a long morning’s delay in Paris while Grant checked up on ‘business matters’ at H.Q. And she had enjoyed their eight-hour run from Paris by N6 through Fontainebleau to Chagny and the final rise over the Col de St. Cergue to the Lakeside. But time was now running out and she had almost begun to count minutes.

  One evening had been lost while he dined with a silver-blonde houri at the Bavaria.

  An afternoon had gone as he disappeared into the mountains above Faucille leaving her to idle away the hours by the pool, and the thought reminded her of Spain where she had begun to improve upon her tan. Now it was deepening, and on the privacy of her balcony she could still lie stripped and see the magnolia cream of her flesh darken into walnut freshness.

  But her mind was at rest. He had told her that he was going to enter one of the most fashionable health farms in the world. A place where nothing could possibly happen to him. At least for this mission he would be safe. And she snuggled her chin against her knees as she almost purred with satisfaction. Professor Hancke was known even in Moscow. His patients were from the jet set and glossy magazines. The Professor himself was a familiar face to everyone in Western Europe. with his distinguished head and manners like a diplomat. She had even met him once after a reception at Lausanne and remembered his greying temples, the laughter lines around his eyes, his high forehead and military moustache. He had the gift of putting people at ease and had kissed her hand in the manner of the old world. David would be safe with him!

  She whisked some lipstick across her lips. And the rest would do him good. He took too much out of himself.

  A hand suddenly slipped over her shoulder. ‘David!’

  She kissed his fingers. ‘But I mustn’t ask you where you have been or about the girl.’

  He smiled. ‘Stefanie was in Geneva all afternoon. And it was business. But it’s almost finished now and tomorrow I’m off to the doctor.’

  ‘Almost?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve got a date after dinner. But it won’t take long. Say a couple of hours and then we’ll have a bottle of wine before bed.’

  ‘Champagne keeps me from sleeping.’

  ‘Then a Moselle.’

  ‘And where do I go tomorrow?’

  He lit a small cigar. The situation was complicated. He had passed the afternoon with Winona X and arrangements had been made to transfer Sultry Mbawa that evening to St. Julien just across the border. The girls couldn’t be too well hidden! Though Stefanie had co-operated well and soon all would be at strategic points within practical reach of the centrum. Two of them were now living with ADSAD contacts in the city—which cut out need to sign official registers or bring their names to the attention of the police, and only one—Maria Suza—had been placed in a pension near the B.I.T. Indeed he had already visited the Suza girl two days earlier, but it was hopeless trying to combine work with play. Maya would have to go home! Back to Paris. Or else to her villa in Spain.

  ‘The Chief only gave permission for you to be here until I went into the clinic,’ he said slowly. ‘And I’d feel easier in my mind if you were tucked away somewhere until this job is finished.’

  She saw that he was serious. ‘Where?’

  He watched the ash glow at the end of his cigar. Hunches were difficult to explain. But he had never felt satisfied ever since she had reminded him that ‘they’ could always get at him through her. She had been worried. And there had been the man on the motor scooter. ‘Go back to Paris,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll phone H.Q. and get them to keep an eye on you till this thing is over.’

  She nodded. It might be better that way. She knew him well enough to guess when work had begun to press. And she would be happy enough in Paris with her maids whether H.Q. put an outside guard on her or not. It was a civilised place and she had begun to feel that she ‘belonged.’

  ‘Then this will be our last night. Where do we dine?’

  He smiled. ‘On the left bank. At the Beam. It is quiet and you’ll like the white walls and crimson plush.’

  ‘Food?’

  ‘They specialise in gourmets and diplomats.’

  ‘Then I’m going to dress.’

  She wriggled out of her housecoat and unclipped her brassière. ‘What is it to be?’

  ‘The gold sari,’ he said at last.

  Her calf muscles tensed like ropes as she stood on tiptoe and lifted a flat shimmering bundle from a shelf. The golden threads enriched her colouring as she held it against her cheeks and her eyes danced with laughter
as she saw Grant tauten with expectation.

  It was moments like these which heightened her contentment. Proof that she could play with him as she wished. And she felt like teasing him to the limit. She allowed its long length to drop to the floor and then she wrapped part of it around her waist to mould her thighs like a skin yet leaving her naked breasts pouting towards him. The sari had fallen around her ankles and she looked like a pagan goddess rising from a plinth of gold. As she leaned backwards and pointed her arms high above her head the sari slowly wriggled down her limbs as Grant whipped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  ‘Half an hour,’ he said gruffly. He felt his senses rise with passion, and then, slowly, she dropped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. She sighed as her skin warmed against his tweed until writhing like a snake she sat up as the phone buzzed by the bedside.

  She could hear every word. He must be at St. Julien before eleven o’clock. The girl would be at the Savoyarde and Stefanie Carmichael would rendezvous with him at the bar.

  He replaced the receiver. ‘Well,’ said Maya quietly. ‘What girl?’

  ‘Part of the job.’

  She snuggled against his jacket. ‘And you can’t talk about it?’

  ‘No.’

  She hesitated. ‘But you are sure it is safe?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  She had begun to dress. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

  He lit another Por Larranaga Petit Corona. ‘Hunches again?’

  She paused. ‘No. Though sometimes a man on the terrace stares when he thinks I’m not looking and once I wondered if people had been through my drawers.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Toilet things seemed different. A sleeve was wrinkled in the wardrobe as though someone had lifted it out and been careless hanging it back.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There was cigarette ash near the door.’