“O.K.”
“It will be lovely there this time of the year. Winter in Europe never appealed to me.”
Dax got out of bed and crossed the room.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m thirsty.” He went into the other room and came back and stood drinking a glass of water.
Sue Ann watched him for a moment. “Besides, I bet my family is dying to see what you’re like.” She began to laugh. “My sweet Southern proper cousins will go out of their minds. Wait until they see how you fill out a pair of swimming shorts. They’ll cream right in their cotton-pickin’ pants.”
The telephone began to ring as Dax put down the glass of water. “Who could that be?” Sue Ann asked. “Did you give anyone our number?”
“Only Fat Cat. I’ll answer it.” He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“It’s Fat Cat,” he whispered, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.
Sue Ann lit another cigarette and listened to his rapid Spanish without understanding a word. Idly she wondered how many languages he spoke. Mentally she ticked them off. Spanish, English, French, Italian, German. Suddenly she was very impressed. She had never been able to get past high-school French.
Dax put down the telephone and came over to the bed. “Our consulate in Paris has received an important letter for me from el Presidente.”
“Will they send it on to you?”
Dax shook his head. “They are under instructions to deliver it to me personally. Would you mind very much if we went over there to get it?”
“Of course not. I was thinking about picking up some new clothes. After all, how would it look if I came home without a trousseau?”
“Pretty bad.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“If we hurry we can make the late plane from Prestwick to London.”
“The honeymoon is over.”
Dax laughed.
She had a sudden idea. “Maybe it isn’t. They say a drive through France is very romantic. We could pick up your Ferrari and the letter in Paris.”
Dax shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Jeremy Hadley’s kid brother Kevin and a friend just borrowed it to drive to Italy. They had a couple of girls with them.”
Sue Ann had started to get out of bed but she stopped. “Girls?” she asked in a puzzled voice. “That’s a big joke.”
“What’s so funny about that? Boys will do it, you know.”
“I know, but not that kind of boy.” Then Sue Ann noticed the peculiar look on his face. “Didn’t you know?”
Dax shook his head silently.
“The kid’s a swingin’ fag.”
Dax watched her go into the bathroom and close the door. A moment later he heard the shower running and he glanced at the telephone indecisively, then picked up a cigarette. It was too late to call Madame Blanchette. She must have thought him a stupid fool for not warning her.
Jeremy should have told him; no wonder he had been so concerned about publicity. Dax drew on his cigarette thoughtfully. Sue Ann had to be wrong, he thought suddenly. They had been in Europe all summer and Madame Blanchette hadn’t said a word. Everything had to be all right or she would have found a way to let him know.
21
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what I can do.”
Dax looked at the cherubic little man with blue eyes. He seemed more the small store merchant than the man who had taken over when Sir Peter Vorilov died. He looked at the two bodyguards lounging silently but alertly against the wall. Then he turned and looked out the window.
Barry Baxter had taken over everything. Vorilov’s old house high on the hill looking down over Monaco, the city, the port, even the sea. He turned back to the American.
“I, too, am sorry, Mr. Baxter. Many men will continue to die needlessly.”
“I’m not responsible for that. I’m a businessman. I operate on a cash-and-carry basis. What is done with my merchandise is not my concern.”
“I will inform el Presidente of our discussions,” Dax said and got to his feet.
Baxter also rose. “You understand my position? If I were to begin selecting my customers I’d be taking sides. I can’t afford to do that.”
Dax turned to leave, and Baxter came around the desk and walked him toward the door. “Please inform his excellency that we have a complete line of counter-insurgency armament highly suitable for use in guerrilla warfare. And all in first-class condition.”
Dax nodded silently. As if by an invisible signal the door opened. Two additional bodyguards stood just outside. Dax turned to the American. “Good day, Mr. Baxter,” he said formally. He did not offer his hand.
“Good day, Mr. Xenos. If there is any other way I can be of help to you, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”
The door closed behind him and Dax walked thoughtfully through the spacious entrance hall to the front door. They could obviously expect no cooperation from Baxter. He had thought that from the very beginning. The shipments of arms would have to be stopped in some other way, perhaps before they got into the country. And that was the problem. It could not be coming in by small boats. The quantity was too great. Somehow the bandoleros must have found another way.
Dax went out into the driveway and his chauffeur opened the car door respectfully. He looked up at the sky. It had suddenly clouded over with heavy dark clouds racing up the coast from Italy. He squinted at them critically. There would be heavy rain tonight. It was like that on the Riviera in late September.
“Back to the hotel, monsieur?” the chauffeur asked.
“Oui,” Dax answered absently.
The car stopped a moment for the gatekeeper to open the iron gate. Slowly the car rolled through. Dax glanced back idly over his shoulder at the white stone columns and suddenly he sat upright in his seat.
It was Vorilov’s coat of arms still chiseled into the stone that reminded him of something. Once Sergei had mentioned that while he was secretary to Sir Peter he heard that Marcel was acting as the old man’s agent in Macao, that that was how he earned the money to buy the Japanese freighters.
He twisted in his seat and looked back speculatively at the white house on the hill. Marcel was always complaining that his ships returned to Corteguay light. Had he found a way to increase his cargo? It would be almost no effort for Marcel to bring in weapons; he had practically the freedom of the port. After all, his was the only line authorized to come into Corteguay and el Presidente himself was its largest stockholder.
***
It was near midnight by the time they finished their dinner, and the rain was pelting against the windows of the dining room in the casino overlooking the sea.
“I feel lucky tonight,” Sue Ann said.
Dax smiled. “They’re waiting for you.”
“Let me go to the little girls’ room. Then I’ll be ready to break the bank at Monte Carlo.”
Dax half rose from his chair until Sue Ann had walked away, then sat down again. He gestured and the waiter refilled his coffee cup. He was just raising the cup to his lips when the maître d’s voice came over his shoulder. “Monsieur Xenos?”
Dax looked up. “Oui?”
“There is a telephone call.”
Dax followed him across the room and went into the small booth. The phone was lying on the table. He picked it up. “Hello?”
An American voice came over the wire, slightly thin and metallic. “Mr. Xenos, this is Barry Baxter.”
“Yes, Mr. Baxter.” Dax’s voice was formal.
“You own a Ferrari with Paris plates?”
“Yes.”
Baxter hesitated a moment. “There’s been an accident on the Grand Corniche.”
“A bad one?”
“Bad enough. Two people were killed.”
Dax felt a chill settle over him. “Do you know who they were?”
“Not yet. I just picked it up over my police radio.”
“Where? I’d better get out there right away.”
&nbs
p; “You’ll never find it in this rain. I’ll be down there in ten minutes to pick you up.”
Slowly Dax put down the phone. Americans were strange. Where business was concerned they wouldn’t lift a finger to do you a favor, but the moment it was something personal it was quite another story. He went back to his table and quickly told Sue Ann.
“I’ll come with you,” she said.
“No, I want to attract as little attention as possible. You go on into the casino. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Somehow I don’t feel lucky any more.”
“Do as I say. It will be better than waiting around in the suite wondering what happened.”
***
As the big Rolls-Royce town car climbed the road to the Grand Corniche, Dax turned to Baxter. “Any later word?”
“No,” Baxter said. “But there wouldn’t be any. I told the chef de police we were on our way and he took the calls off the radio.”
Dax looked at Baxter. One thing was sure. He was not stupid. Automatically he had done what he knew Dax would have wanted him to do. The big car continued climbing the mountain. At last it reached the corniche and turned toward Nice. About sixteen kilometers out from Monte Carlo it turned off on a small road leading down to the sea.
“This is a shortcut down to the Moyenne Corniche,” Baxter said. “The accident occurred just around the next curve.”
The headlights picked up the police cars as they took the curve, and the big car slowed and came to a stop. The chef de police was at their door almost before it opened. “Monsieur Baxter?” he asked respectfully.
Baxter gestured to Dax. “C’est lui le patron de la Ferrari, Monsieur Xenos.”
The police chief looked at Dax with somber eyes. “I am afraid your car is a complete wreck, monsieur.”
“I am not concerned about the car,” Dax replied, getting out and starting off into the rain. The few policemen parted to let him through. The Ferrari lay on its side, its front completely telescoped against a tree. Slowly Dax walked around it. A body lay hanging down from behind the wheel, its arms outstretched along the seats.
A policeman’s torch came on behind Dax. “Il est mort.”
Dax leaned over. It was Kevin, there could be no mistake about it. His face was completely unmarked, but the eyes were wide open and staring. The police chief came up to stand next to him.
“He doesn’t seem to have a scratch,” Dax said. “What killed him?”
“Regardez.” The police chief pointed.
The boy’s groin beneath the steering wheel was a pool of already congealing blood. Dax turned back to the police chief. “But how? The steering wheel is intact.”
“He bled to death.” The police chief’s voice was flat and emotionless. “Come with me.”
Silently Dax followed him to a small clearing a little way from the front of the car. Another body was lying there on the grass, the rain already soaking through the torn coat and dress, the face covered by a handkerchief. The policeman knelt and lifted it. The face was a man’s face, dark and congested.
“It is not a girl.” The policeman’s voice was still emotionless, “C’est un transvestit de Juan-les-Pins. They had to be out of their minds to try a thing like that on such a road in this rain.”
Quietly Dax followed him back to Baxter’s car. Baxter took one look at his face and turned quickly, reaching into the car. He came out with a bottle of whiskey and a glass. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Gratefully Dax swallowed the whiskey. It burned its way down his throat. He took a deep breath. “Thank you. The accident is tragedy enough. I would appreciate it if none of the details got out.”
Baxter looked at him shrewdly. “It’s foolish to stand in the rain. Why don’t we get into the car and talk?”
The police chief sat on the jump seat, looking back at them. “The photographs have already been taken,” he said. “It is a requirement of the law.”
“I understand,” Baxter said, “but how unfortunate that no one realized the camera was broken.”
“The journalists will ask questions,” the policeman replied, “and my men do not make very much money.”
“Of course,” Dax answered, “we would not let them go unrewarded for their cooperation.”
The policeman thought for a moment, then nodded his head. “Bien, we will do as you wish. It is true as you say that the tragedy is great enough without enlargement.”
Suddenly Dax remembered about the senator’s brother. “When they left Paris there was another boy and girl with them.”
“There were only the two in the car, monsieur. My men have searched the area.”
“I have to locate the other boy,” Dax said. “They must have stopped somewhere while these two went on alone.”
“We will find them for you, monsieur.” The police chief got out of the car and walked over to his squad car. He spoke into his radio, and a few minutes later he came back to the limousine.
“The gendarmerie on Antibes reported seeing the car at Monsieur Hadley’s villa. It left there at ten o’clock this evening. There were only two people in it.”
Dax stared at him. For once he was grateful for the efficiency of the French police. Very little went on that they did not know about. He looked at Baxter.
Baxter nodded. “I’ll be glad to drive you over there.”
“Good.”
Dax turned to the policeman. “Merci. I shall call you after I have spoken to the boy’s family in the United States.”
“Inform Monsieur Hadley of our extreme sympathy.”
“I shall. Thank you.”
The big car turned around and went back up the road slowly until they reached the Grand Corniche. Then it picked up speed as it turned toward Nice.
“I think the rain is beginning to stop.”
“Yes,” Dax replied, looking out of the car window. He would call Sue Ann as soon as he got to the villa. There was no point in her waiting up for him. He would put the senator’s younger brother on the first plane out of the Nice airport in the morning.
“It’s a terrible tragedy,” Baxter said.
“Yes.”
“I apologize for not walking over to the accident with you,” Baxter said unexpectedly. “I’m sorry, I never could stand the sight of blood.”
22
“I have a surprise for you,” Sue Ann said as Dax came out onto the terrace for breakfast.
“Another?” he asked. “You’ll have to stop. I have so much jewelry now I’m beginning to feel like a gigolo.”
Sue Ann laughed, secretly pleased. She was always buying him presents. “Not jewelry this time, something you’ve always wanted.”
Dax sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. “O.K.,” he said in mock resignation, “what is it this time?”
“I’m not going to tell you. Hurry up and finish your breakfast. We have to go into town for it.”
Dax lifted the cover off the heavy silver serving dish and helped himself to a generous portion of ham and scrambled eggs. He spread butter liberally on several pieces of toast and began to eat.
The sound of a speedboat’s motor came to him and he looked up. The boat was just pulling out from the dock with a girl behind it on water skis. “Who’s that with all the energy this morning?”
Sue Ann smiled. “Cousin Mary Jane working off her frustrations.”
“Frustrations?”
Sue Ann nodded. “She’s got the hots for you.”
“You think everyone has the hots for me,” he said, taking another mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“Haven’t they?” Sue Ann asked. “I know Mary Jane. Ever since she was a little girl she’s always wanted what I had.” She began to laugh. “I told you you’d drive them out of their minds.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“I have. Even Simple Sam can’t keep her eyes off you. You’d think she had enough going for her over at her own place.”
Dax grinned. Simple Sam was a showgirl who
had married the soft-drink scion who owned the estate next door. He walked around in a drunken fog most of the time, completely unaware that Simple Sam had stocked his estate with her boyfriends. They were in every available job from beach boy to butler. It was a very neat arrangement.
Dax gathered that Sue Ann and Harry had more or less grown up together and that in her own way she felt sorry for him. There wasn’t any pretense of morality in Sue Ann’s position, she was basically too honest about herself for that. She just didn’t like the idea that Harry was being cheated so casually and deliberately.
“She’s the only one who bugs me,” Sue Ann said suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“I can understand the others. They’re simple little bitches and in a way if you banged them I couldn’t get too angry. Look at the way they keep pushing their twats at you.”
Dax grinned. “That’s very generous of you.”
“Not really. At least they want you for themselves. Simple Sam’s another matter. She wants you just so she can say she’s made as big a fool of me as she has of Harry.”
Dax didn’t answer. He reached for his coffee cup and drained it. “O.K., what’s the big surprise?”
***
“I thought we were going into town,” he said later as the car turned into the West Palm Beach airport.
“I have to stop here first. Come on.”
Dax followed her to a small office just to the side of the terminal. “Did it get here yet?” she asked the man behind the counter.
“Yes, Mrs. Xenos. Right out back of the hangar. Follow me.”
They went with the man around the building. He stopped and pointed. “There she is,” he said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “All fueled up and ready to go fourteen hundred miles. Isn’t she a beauty?”
Dax stared at the sleek twin-engine plane gleaming like polished silver in the bright sunlight; then he looked at Sue Ann.
“Surprised, darling?”
Dax turned back to the plane. He didn’t have to act surprised. He was.
***
Dax lay outstretched, his face turned sideways and resting on his arms, his body burrowed into the warm sand. His brief white French swim trunks were scarcely a narrow band across his deeply tanned body. He lay motionless, without stirring in the hot sun.
The Adventurers Page 64