Flynn
Page 18
"Exactly. You can't tell me he didn't have a pretty good idea of what would happen to his son if he couldn't pay."
"But a federal judge," said Flynn, "dispensing justice all his life. Murdering over a hundred people?"
"Stranger things have happened. Wouldn't you prefer your son over any hundred other people?"
"I suppose so," said Flynn. "I suppose so."
"Sure, Flynn," Hess said. "It's human nature."
"Here's a man," Flynn said to the acolytes, "with an enviable understanding of his fellow creatures. Simple."
They nodded agreement with Flynn's admiration.
Hess continued, "The Judge took out, or thought he took out, half a million dollars' worth of flight insurance on the trip. Actually, his insurance, by federal law, was restricted to one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars."
"Always on your toes," said Flynn. "You feds. A law for everything."
"It probably would have been enough to cover Charles Junior's debts."
"Until the boxing match," said Flynn.
"What boxing match?" Hess asked.
"Who mentioned a boxing match?" Flynn glared at Rashin al Khatid.
Rashin al Khatid said, "I am not fond of sports of physical violence, although, humbly, I understand you gentlemen might consider them essential to the development of manliness—"
"Hess," Flynn began, "it's an interesting theory, but you need a few connectors, if you see what I mean."
"Theory? Would you buy dying testimony?"
"Sometimes . . . ," Flynn answered. "Have you got any today?"
"Suicide note. In the handwriting of Charles Fleming, Junior. He wrote it while he was dying. He slashed his wrists, and there was blood on the paper."
"And what did the suicide note say?"
Air Canada's flight to Montreal was being announced.
Hess took a step closer to Flynn. "The note said, Mister Flynn, 'He did it for me.' "
"Ach!" said Flynn. " 'He did it for me. 5 1 see. Highly suggestive."
" 'Suggestive'?"
"Well, you see," said Flynn, "the Judge didn't make Chicky the beneficiary of the insurance policies. Does that worry you at all?"
"Of course he wouldn't. He couldn't trust his son. He left it to his widow."
"Are you accusing her, too?"
"No, Flynn," Hess sighed, wearily. "But of course she would pay the son's debts out of her husband's insurance when she found out it was a matter of life and death."
"It's human nature?" asked Flynn.
"Of course."
"So you think Charles, Junior, knew his father was going to blow up the plane?"
"No," answered an acolyte. "He figured out what happened later."
"Then what good is this 'dying testimony,' as you call it?"
Again Hess took a step toward Flynn. "Only the Judge and his son knew what they said to each other last Sunday when they took a walk in the woods together. And they're both dead."
"Ah," said Flynn. "That wraps it up, clearly!"
Their flight to Montreal was being announced again.
"Well," Flynn said. "It sounds to me like you've got the basis of a very good report!" He shook hands with Hess. "A very good report, indeed. God bless the FBI and all the little Fibbies!"
"Hurry up." Again Flynn steered His Excellency by the elbow. "We're late for the plane, and I have to make a phone call."
He slammed the door of the phone booth in His Excellency's face.
"Elsbeth?"
"Both boys are home," she said. "Todd came in an hour ago."
"Good, good."
"He called me earlier."
"Good."
"I told him to call you," she said.
"He did."
"Frannie, he seems terribly tired."
"I know."
"Exhausted. To the point of sickness, maybe."
"He's not sick."
"How do you know?"
"He's just tired. I'm in a phone booth."
"He was too tired to tell me what he had been doing."
"I'm missing a plane."
"Do you know what he was doing?"
"Yes."
"What was he doing?"
"Oh, Elsbeth. He was in an exercise class."
"Exercise? That's good."
"He said it was nice."
"Two days and two nights he was in an exercise class?"
"Very enthusiastic bunch, he said. Highly motivated class."
"Frannie, he walks funny."
"Just a little stiff."
"Shall I rub him?"
"No. He'll be all right. Just let him sleep. Plenty of eggs and cheese and he'll be all right in no time. I'm missing a plane."
"Where are you going, or shouldn't I ask?"
"I'm going to see Mister Tsin. In Montreal."
"Will you be back tomorrow?"
"I think so. Anything you want in Montreal?"
"You might get some Havana cigars. For the humidor. Guests still like them."
"Okay."
"You remember how to smuggle?"
"Yes: Look innocent and blame my wife. Listen, will you do me a favor?"
"Of course."
"Sassie Fleming."
"You mentioned."
"Will you get to her, at the University, at her house, see if she needs you?"
"Of course."
"Tell her, no matter what she hears during the next few hours, the Judge did not blow up that airplane."
"Who says he did?"
"Chicky, the son, committed suicide."
"That's bad enough on her."
"Left an incriminating note, the conceited little skunk."
"That's worse."
"Make her some tea, pour a little sherry, maybe. Make her go ride a horse. That's what she likes."
"All right, Frannie."
"Tell her I'll talk to her when I get back. Goodbye."
Thirty-seven
"You see, I believe His Excellency was never meant to take his seat aboard that airplane," Flynn said. ""His secretary, Mihson Taha, who happens to be the cousin of the President of Ifad, purposely made reservations for seats in Row 17 of that airplane, knowing His Excellency would never sit in Row 17, and then, once aboard, pointed out the Row number to His Excellency, causing His Excellency to leave the airplane."
"I see that."
Mister Tsin lay on the couch, bouncing his basketball on his flat stomach.
"The question is why. And you think the answer is in the People's Republic of China?"
"I do," said Flynn.
Rashin al Khatid sat on a straight chair in the library of the hilltop gray stone mansion like a student at a conference between his parents and his teacher, wondering what disposition would be made of "his problems."
Flynn said, "I believe our innocent bookkeeper from Ifad has been set up for something, put up as a decoy to set up somebody else. But I don't know who else was being set up, or why."
"Ummmm," said Tsin.
Flynn and Rashin al Khatid had arrived in Montreal
shortly before four o'clock Friday afternoon, and taxied through the clean, snowy streets to a hilltop overlooking the city.
The mansion had an extraordinary arrangement of what appeared to be television antennae on its mansard roof.
Flynn knew them to be a complete combination of radio transmitters, receivers, and silent monitors. He was aware of Mister Tsin's function in the Canadian city just north of the United States border.
They were shown into the library by a compatriot houseman, given tea, and told Mister Tsin was being summoned presently.
Mister Tsin appeared before they finished their tea.
A lean man in his forties, Tsin wore a sweatsuit with the emblem of an American university on its chest.
"Forgive me," he said, "for not being here when you arrived. I was in the barn, practicing basketball. I wasn't sure precisely when you would arrive, and I so love the game."
There was sweat on his forehead an
d snow on the toes of his sneakers.
"How do you do, Comrade Minister?" Bracketing his basketball under one elbow, Tsin extended his hand to Rashin al Khatid. "I was so sorry to hear of your untimely demise of a heart attack. Such a young man. Are you feeling better now that Mister Flynn has resuscitated you?"
"I am enjoying good health, thank you," began Rashin al Khatid. "I have always observed the strictest dietary laws, you see, and remained moderate in—"
"And you, Mister Flynn? I am so glad to see that so many reports I have heard that you, too, are dead, are false."
"Is that what you've heard?" brazenly inquired Flynn.
"Actually, I had heard you had survived as a vegetable, hospitalized in New Zealand. Or was it Switzerland? Perhaps it was Sweden?"
"I am perfectly well," said Flynn.
"Two dead men in my own house," Tsin said, bouncing the basketball on the hardwood floor. "Perhaps someone in your religious traditions has been so honored, but I doubt such a curious honor has befallen a representative of the People's Republic of China, to this point."
"Oh, no," said Rashin al Khatid. "Let me assure you that in the writings of—"
"Basketball," Tsin said, firmly, "is an old Chinese game."
"Is it, indeed?" said Flynn.
"The ancestors of basketball," Tsin asserted in rhythm with the bouncing ball, "are Chinese."
Then Tsin threw himself onto the couch.
Playing with the ball, he listened to Flynn.
He said "Ummmm," occasionally.
The only time he looked at Flynn was when Flynn mentioned the unofficial report that the People's Republic of China had agreed to sell half a billion dollars' worth of arms to the Republic of If ad.
Looking away again, he repeated "Ummmm."
"My guess," Flynn concluded, "is that the bomb aboard Flight 80 was planted by Mihson Taha and Nazim Salem Zoyad."
The Minister of the Exchequer sucked in his breath. He looked aghast.
"A very good guess," Tsin said to his basketball. "I should think."
"Well," Flynn said. "You're the translator."
Tsin swung himself into a sitting position, the basketball beside him on the couch.
"And I shall translate," said Tsin, "at breakfast to-
morrow morning. After I communicate with Peking. Which is why you came here. Correct?"
"Righty-o," said Flynn.
"Unfortunately," Tsin said, standing up, "I am obliged to fly to Quebec City, for a dinner. Unfortunately, I am embarrassed by not being able to ask my houseguests to accompany me, as you are not expected."
Flynn smiled at this unlikely courtesy.
"The best favor you can do me," he said, "is an early kip and an early bed."
"Of course, Mister Flynn. That will be arranged. Is there anything else we can do for you?"
"Cigars," Flynn said. "Havana cigars, for my wife."
"Ah, yes," said Tsin. "Very illegal to get in the United States. I will have a supply for you at break-fasttime. It is wondrous, is it not? How major conflicts of ideology can be reduced to so much smoke?"
Flynn said nothing.
Taking his basketball with him, Tsin went to the library door, and turned around.
"It is also remarkable, Mister Flynn, how much— as we concern ourselves with the problems of emerging nations and the Third World—we find ourselves dealing more and more with your organization—No Name."
"The world is getting smaller," said N. N. 13. "Isn't it just?"
Thirty-eight
"I regret to inform you gentlemen," Tsin said, as he buttered his toast, "that this morning a ship from the People's Republic of China carrying arms to the Republic of If ad sank, without a trace, in the Persian Gulf.
"Very surprising," he continued, biting into his toast, "seeing it was such a big ship."
With the eyes of both Francis Xavier Flynn and Rashin al Khatid on him, Tsin applied his fork to his plate. First, he tasted the scrambled eggs mixed with Canadian bacon; then he tasted the home-fried potatoes and fried tomato slices.
Rashin al Khatid was not enjoying Tsin's breakfast.
"Although a ship flying the colors of the People's Republic of China, and fully crewed by our comrade sailors, thankfully enough possession of the ship had been assumed, by standard prearrangement, by five agents of the Republic of If ad, in Singapore."
Tsin tasted his sausage.
"Therefore, as the ship was in the possession of the Republic of Ifad, I fear your nation, Comrade Minister, has suffered a terrible loss."
"The ship sank?" His Excellency asked.
"Airplanes explode," Tsin shrugged. "Ships sink."
"Has China been paid for those arms?" asked Flynn.
"That's the dicey part," said Tsin. "From what we've
been able to discover—thanks to your help, Mister Flynn—China was not going to be fully paid. Note that I said 'fully paid.' "
"I so note," noted Flynn.
Tsin was wearing a different sweatsuit at breakfast, with the emblem of a different American university on its chest.
His basketball was beside his chair.
"My understanding at the moment, from what you've told me, Mister Flynn, and from whatever else I've been able to find out, is that our friend here, His Excellency, The Bookkeeper, absolutely without friends or relatives, but with a good command of English, was raised from obscurity to the post of Minister of the Exchequer of the Republic of Ifad, to perform one simple duty: to die twice, and be murdered once."
Rashin al Khatid was not touching his own breakfast.
"He was sent on this mission to the United States. As he understood it, his mission was to convert a quarter of a billion dollars' worth of his nation's gold into a quarter of a billion dollars' worth of International Credits, which then would be spent purchasing a quarter of-a billion dollars' worth of arms from the United States. Very simple. It almost could have been accomplished by phone. Your mission, Excellency"— Tsin chewed in Rashin al Khatid's direction— "was almost totally unnecessary.
"Then why were you sent on it?" Tsin asked rhetorically.
"To provide your government, Comrade Excellency, the necessary time—just a few days, really—to swindle the People's Republic of China."
Rashin al Khatid's white dress shirt didn't look too bad, considering he had been obliged to wear it five days in a row. It was still reasonably white and smooth.
Flynn wondered if His Excellency had been washing it himself in the privacy of his bath.
"At the same time your government, Excellency, had been negotiating with the United States for the purchase of a quarter of a billion dollars' worth of arms, it was negotiating with the People's Republic of China for the purchase of a half a billion dollars' worth of arms.
"Unfortunately, Your Excellency, your nation only had a quarter of a billion dollars worth of gold."
His Excellency's face was becoming as gray-white as his shirt.
"How could the People's Republic of China be so gulled? We were selling Ifad a half a billion dollars* worth of arms for a quarter of a billion dollars' worth of gold, and a quarter of a billion dollars' worth of International Credits. Our representatives looked and saw the gold. In the hours after the explosion of Flight 80, our representatives looked and saw Ifad also had a quarter of a billion dollars' worth of outstanding International Credits.
"This credit balance remained outstanding, wrongly, for days.
"Why? Because the United States government, in its duplicity, did not do the right thing. Only they knew you, and your documents, were aboard Flight 80. Perhaps they presumed Ifad's failure to turn over the quarter of a billion dollars' worth of gold was because Ifad was not only mourning your loss, but also had not received your set of documents. The United States did not make your supposed presence aboard Flight 80 internationally known, because you had been traveling on phony United States passports, and the United States did not wish to have the fact that it was issuing phony passports to Arabian arm
s buyers internationally known.
"Therefore, there was, what is called, a diplomatic pause."
Tsin pushed his empty plate away from him with his thumb.
"Ifad's gold was on its way to China. Chinese arms were on their way to Ifad. The American arms deal was canceled, to cause the United States to be even slower in questioning Ifad's line of International Credits.
"And your second death, of a heart attack at your desk in Ainslee, was announced by your government.
"And all this time, you were sitting, quite innocently enough, in a hotel room in Boston, with your documents, just in case you and your documents had to be rushed forward to quell any last-minute suspicions of my government in Peking.
"Once the Chinese arms reached Ifad, Comrade Excellency, you would have suffered a third death—one a bit more real to you. You would have been murdered."
Rashin al Khatid was pale.
It took him a moment to work his throat.
"Why would my government do such a devious thing?"
"Your government, Your Excellency," Flynn said, "is hardly interested in the business of governing at all."
"As is so often the case," said Tsin.
"More," continued Flynn, "it's interested in being in the arms business."
Tsin said, "In being an arms supplier to other nations."
"I would have been murdered?" Rashin al Khatid's throat was raspy. "By my government? By Mihson Taha and Nazim Salem Zoyad?"
Tsin shrugged. "A man can die only so many times, Comrade Excellency."
Slowly, with pauses caused by weakness, Rashin al Khatid turned from the table and stood up.
He bowed slightly.
He said, "Excuse me."
Slowly, a man dazed, he left the dining room, closing the door softly behind him.
Tsin, leaning forward, arms folded on the table, had watched him go.
"Got to slap these Goddamned, Third World nations around, Flynn," he said. "Until they learn some manners."
Flynn took out his pipe and tobacco pouch.
"This wasn't really an emerging nation or Third World problem," said Flynn. "More a matter of cut-* throats and thieves. Pirates, really."
Tsin chuckled. "It's quite marvelous, really. The little bastards actually tried to con the United States of America and the People's Republic of China. We forget that they still think they can."