Kisses From Satan

by George B Mair

  ‘Why?’ asked Grant frigidly.

  ‘Because,’ said the inspector as he rose to go, ‘we shall then have to decide which of you to arrest. And maybe’—he waved his hands expressively—‘maybe we shall end by arresting you both.’

  Chapter Twelve – ‘Be very careful when we meet again.’

  ‘A word, Doctor Grant.’

  Grant recognised the voice and looked round to see Hancke standing behind him. The Professor had slipped in almost unnoticed while he dozed after breakfast on the divan. Now he was killing time. Waiting for Martinez to make an advance. But so far as he knew the man was still asleep. ‘Yes?’ The Professor was immaculate in charcoal grey and bow tie. But Grant guessed that he was raging angry. ‘Sit down, sir. You seem to be having trouble.’

  ‘I seem!’ Hancke raised his eyebrows sarcastically. ‘That comes strangely from a man who may be suspected of at least one murder.’

  Grant eyed him coldly. ‘A clear conscience is a good defence.’

  ‘And you have a clear conscience?’

  ‘Sure.’

  The Professor stared at him with clinical impartiality. ‘It is only fair to tell you that I suspect a little of Professor Juin’s full range of activities. I have occasionally co-operated with him in solving unusual problems with unusual people. We are close friends and sometimes his guard is down when we are together. So you will forgive me if I say that I also have reservations about your own activities. You came here because Juin asked me to go over you. He especially asked that you have a chalet in our Petit-cercle. And I can’t help wondering why. Did he know that these other men would also be there? Was he contriving to have you all put together in one of the most sheltered parts of my grounds?’

  Grant shook his head. ‘I’m strictly anti-social. I only wanted to be away from the ordinary flow of patients.’

  Hancke stared at him curiously. ‘Hardly anti-social, Doctor. In fact, you seem to have many odd friends.’

  ‘Not really. The Negro girls were strictly casual contacts. Stefanie Carmichael, the silver blonde, of whom no doubt the inspector has told you, works with me in Paris.’

  ‘And you can shed no light on what happened last night?’

  ‘No.’ He hesitated for a moment and then risked a question. ‘They say that Martinez is still unconscious.’

  Hancke lifted a house phone and ordered coffee. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is he going to recover?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘Was he drugged or is he sick?’

  Hancke smiled gently. ‘Doctor Grant. I told you that I am a friend, and almost a colleague of Professor Juin. Every instinct I possess tells me that you are up to the neck in everything which has been going on and it amuses me that you should ask that question when I am morally certain that you drugged him yourself.’

  ‘Be sensible,’ snapped Grant. ‘I hardly knew the man.’

  ‘But you work for people who may know him very well. It is possible that you were acting on their behalf.’ He opened a briefcase and handed over a pile of newspapers. ‘These are Swiss. Think what is going to be printed in other places before tomorrow morning.’

  Grant glanced through them and whistled softly between his teeth. Headlines were scathing. Miller’s background had been given in detail, and his death in the company of two half-naked Negresses had even triggered off editorial comment. How much hypocrisy was there in anti-colour sentiment throughout the Americas? How could a man swallow his principles to satisfy his lusts? What was the world to think of fanatics who said one thing and might do another? Might others not also be tarred with the same brush? Was the apparent hatred of some people for Negroes a perversion born from subconscious desire?

  A few columnists found Miller’s death a good thing but others treated it as a sex story with overtones which were highlighted by some of the most near-the-bone pictures Grant had ever seen published in Central Europe.

  Though whatever way you looked at it Miller’s party had taken a bad knock. Frantic excuses had been offered during trans-Atlantic radio telephone interviews with some of his supporters, and none of them held water. It seemed as if the man’s life work would be finished.

  Only the Klan itself had refused to comment. There was even doubt as to whether or not Miller had been a member, but old stories about suspect Klan murders had been raked up in several dailies and the question was asked: is this revenge? Or was it poetic justice that the man should have been caught short in an orgy with two beautiful Negresses? Would Miller’s two faces ruin his own movement? Was there a second-in-command who could take his place? If not, then was it not a good thing for everyone that the man had died with such a blaze of publicity?

  One feature writer had nailed him as the chief force influencing the Klan to start operating abroad. If so, would his death produce a change in policy?

  But if it did not, and if the Ku Klux Klan decided to open branches in Europe, how many people would be influenced against joining now that the originator of the idea had himself shown that he liked both to eat his cake and have it? Miller had been like other dictators, one law for others and another for himself.

  On balance Grant guessed that since this was only a beginning the world press would work everything up to a climax of fury against Miller and all that he stood for before many days were over. Especially since there was no rival story in the offing, and certainly none with so many photographs which alone would sell out a normal edition within the hour.

  Both Winona and Sultry had played it cool, relying on pictures rather than words to put across what they wanted to say. But the time would soon come when journalists would be after their life story and the sooner they were out of Switzerland and back in Paris the better. They had used the names Mary James and Dinah Moses but Grant knew that it could only be a matter of hours before frontier checks proved that they were phoney.

  And then the balloon would go up. Unless ADSAD interfered at top level.

  But even so, the sooner the girls were out of Switzerland the better. And that would take a bit of organising. Especially since the police would already be suspicious, or might have impounded their passports. Of course, it did happen that people sometimes entered Switzerland without a passport entry at the frontier. And they could always stick to their story that immigration had been careless. But INTERPOL might be co-opted and for sure there would be an entry somewhere in Europe to show where they had checked in.

  The girls’ official story was that they had flown direct to Paris, and Grant hoped that the Admiral had managed to square that entry at the airport. If so, they would be finally in the clear. The Swiss police would be able to prove nothing and certainly no action would be taken by Washington, where the men who had conceived Operation Noah would cover up any differences in the emigration records at Kennedy Airport to the limit.

  Hancke had sipped his coffee and smoked three cigarettes while Grant studied the papers. ‘Any comment?’

  ‘A lot of free advertising for your Clinique.’

  The Professor flushed. ‘Of a type we could well do without. But at least the papers make it clear that Miller’s death has major political repercussions. And the way in which the thing has been staged . . .’

  ‘Staged?’ Grant sounded heavily sarcastic.

  ‘The circumstances under which it took place have even greater political and social significance. So, Doctor, you can hardly be surprised when I ask myself if everything has been fixed: if Miller was really killed by one of these recent toxins inducing spasm of arteries: and if the girls were introduced to destroy his reputation.’

  ‘I suppose it is possible?’ Grant tried to sound disinterested.

  ‘You suppose!’ Hancke was openly impatient. ‘A man of your background and intelligence knows that it is possible.’ He poured Grant another cup of coffee and refilled his own. ‘Let us be reasonable, Doctor. I run this very exclusive Clinique and it is important that everything is done with good taste and dignity. There must be no scan
dal. But my work takes me into contact with very many people from every conceivable walk of life and I often treat them by analysis.’ He paused. ‘I sometimes also use reinforcement to my psychotherapy and indulge in what some people call “truth drugs.” And so, you see, I get a comprehensive picture of world personalities which comes to few other men. I am their confidant: their father confessor. And I get to know a lot.’

  Grant eyed him warily. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that we shall cut out finesse and be quite blunt. Two of my patients have been on the opposite side of the fence from yourself. Your name is quite familiar to me and I know you to be agent Treble A One operating on behalf of a NATO department.’

  Grant almost subconsciously fumbled for a cigarette. He had never been fully able to give up the habit and tended to turn to them whenever trouble loomed ahead. ‘So?’

  ‘So I have no doubt whatsoever that you are responsible for everything which has happened. Especially since your Department has the resources of a genius like Professor Juin to provide the essential drugs to kill a man at almost any time you wish and yet contrive to pull wool over the eyes of ordinary medicos or lower echelon police authorities.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Hancke unwrapped a sugar lump and plopped it into his cup. ‘I also know that the style “treble” is given only to men who have killed, and who are willing to kill, in cold blood as part of a secret mission on behalf of their Department.’

  ‘And so?’

  ‘Since you are Treble A One you must rate as a very top man in this élite of killers.’

  Grant eyed him carefully. ‘You have been reading too many thrillers.’

  Hancke shook his head. ‘Truth is always much more strange than fiction.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘The fact is that you said so yourself.’

  Grant tensed and suddenly felt cold. ‘I what?’ His voice was husky and he felt his limbs unexpectedly heavy.

  ‘Yesterday morning Tomas Martinez succeeded in hypnotising you. He was highly successful and you told him almost everything we wished to know. If all had gone well he would again have hypnotised you today and you would have filled in the details which matter.’

  Grant was breathing heavily and his cigarette dropped from fingers which had suddenly become too clumsy to work properly. His speech had become thick and his legs refused to move.

  Hancke was watching him with quiet confidence. ‘But now you are having a touch of your own medicine. It was in the coffee which you have been unsuspectingly drinking, and in a short time you will fall asleep. But you ought to be able to understand me for at least another two minutes and I propose to tell you exactly how you stand.

  ‘We wish to know the names of your staff in ADSAD and exactly how the organisation operates. Since Martinez, my chief in these affairs, is out of action I am forced to take over myself and later today you will wake up in another place where we have more privacy.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘I told you that I have always had a great admiration for Miss Maya Koren. So I am sorry that she has been brought into disagreeable contact with big business. But she has been removed from her flat in Paris and is now under the control of our men in a house near the frontier.’

  Grant could hear every word and his senses seemed to have been sharpened by the drug.

  ‘My own departmental boffins will use two simple television stations. She will be taken in front of the camera in one place and you will be in front of them in another together, of course, with my superiors in this affair. It will be a sort of two-way link and you will then be asked a number of questions: what happened to Miller: why you did not kill the coloured girls as instructed by Martinez: why you were able to deceive him into believing that you were under his control: how ADSAD operates and who are its top people: what happened to Tomas Martinez and whether or not you were involved in the death of Tyler, one of our more important juniors. These and other questions will have to be answered frankly and in detail, otherwise Miss Koren will suffer.’

  He continued to sip his own coffee and lit another cigarette. ‘Miss Koren, of course, will hear everything which is going on and the two-way link will be effective from every angle. But from our own special point of view it will have one great advantage. You will be unable to take any action without our men on the other side being able to kill her at leisure. This two-way TV link-up has been used before where we were dealing with a tricky character who might, as a remote possibility, have been able to pull some rabbit out of the hat. But under these conditions it is quite impossible unless the subject is willing to sacrifice his friend some miles away, at an unknown address, and under the control of men like yourself who kill in cold blood in the way of business.’

  Grant was now sleepy. Hancke had faded into an indistinct blur and he felt himself slump backwards in his chair. His last memory was of a shimmering shape standing beside him and a voice whispering close to his ear. ‘You will remember everything quite clearly when you waken up. And I don’t intend to repeat instructions. So be very careful when we meet again otherwise Miss Koren will pay the price of your own folly.’

  Chapter Thirteen – ‘. . . The man who collected dirt.’

  Grant wakened in a small room. He was lying on a divan bed and no attempt had been made to tie him up.

  His watch showed that it was early evening. There were no windows, but a small light burned flush with the high ceiling. He guessed that the door would be locked, but when he touched the handle an electric shock jerked up his arm and threw him to the floor. His shoulder felt as though it had been kicked by a mule and his fingers were still tingling as he stood up and cautiously stretched himself. Hancke’s drug seemed to have had no side effects. There was no hangover and he felt unusually alert. But his mouth was dry and there was a decanter of orange juice on a small table in one corner.

  Hancke!

  Society’s witch doctor! Pride of the jet set and glossy magazines!

  But a recognised genius in his own fields. And a master hand at bluff to have deceived Juin—himself an expert in deception.

  Would the drink be safe? Hancke could use drugs with a finesse which was deadly and Grant decided to play it safe. He walked round the place and studied every inch of wall. It was cream painted with a white ceiling. The door was studded with imitations of period nails and the floor was warm with a thick fitted carpet.

  There was no trace of a two-way mirror, hidden lenses or spyholes. Ventilation appeared to be through a vent near the ceiling light and he guessed that they were leaving him alone.

  He sat down and counted his assets.

  They had taken him when he was wearing only slacks and a silk shirt, so the imitation Parker 51 with its mini-rocket would still be in Geneva. But he felt in his breast pocket and sighed gently with relief as his fingers closed round S.A.M. The noise which this electronic contraption could generate at a touch was beyond belief and at least it would be better than nothing.

  Matches! There were two boxes in his pockets, one with his special gas-filled heads. And then he furtively touched the heel of his right shoe. It began to pivot and his jaw set with satisfaction. That at least was one way out.

  Until he remembered.

  With Maya watching everything on a TV screen and men beside her ordered to bump her off if he set a foot wrong!

  It was a devilish idea. But practical enough, because transmission would seldom be used and chances against an amateur picking up the wave-length were remote. He guessed that it was reserved for emergencies and that they would never use it for longer than minutes on end.

  But it would have to be a powerful station to throw a signal any distance. And they had said she was still in France.

  Which was probably true since it was next door to impossible to get a person through a frontier against his will. Unless! He remembered Tyler. If he could be taken through under threats Maya might have been a cinch. So the girl could be in Switzerland.

  But where was he?

  And who wa
s Hancke working for? Was Hancke with SATAN? Or had he been bluffing when he said that Martinez ‘was his chief in these matters’? Could the man be a SATAN executive? If so they might have taken him to the house near Gstaad. And if so! He hardly dared to hope. The Admiral would surely have tipped off the Swiss Federal authorities to have it tapped. There had been plenty of time to pinpoint the address and if the boys were monitoring phone calls they might already have picked up enough to alert everyone who mattered.

  And Hancke couldn’t possibly have taken him to Gstaad without notifying them there of what was happening so there was bound to have been at least one phone call. And unless it had been given in code enough must have been said to start things moving.

  He looked at his hands. His ring would have to be recharged before it could kill and his Smith and Wesson had been left in a drawer at the Clinique, so it boiled down to a few gas headed matches and a gas bomb in his shoe because S.A.M. could only create a diversion and earn him the benefit of surprise.

  But what use would any of that be if they had Maya at gun-point fifty miles away and with all the time in the world to assess the situation before bumping her at leisure?

  Then would he talk?

  There was a chill ache gnawing at his stomach and he knew that he was on the hottest seat of his career. Either he opened up or Maya would get the works!

  It was as simple as that, and he weighed up every pro and con.

  There was still no final proof that he was up against SATAN but he knew of no other organisation with the resources for a coup like this. And Hancke had the sort of front which would make him invaluable to anyone like Zero who operated outside the law but thought in terms of millions.

  His set-up was perfect. A legal right to use truth drugs and even hypnosis.

  What a fortune could be made by a ruthless medico with enough know-how to use the information he could get from the world’s millionaires all under the influence of pentothal.