The American Broker

by Andrew Hill

  She swallowed slightly as Evelyn turned on the charm. "Well I expect to hear from him this evening. He always tells me where he is but, well you know, sometimes he is up so late at a meeting that he is just too tired to call little old me. Do you like our little flat?"

  "Wonderful, Vi. Wonderful. Who did you borrow this off?"

  "Now, Evelyn, that's not a nice thing to say - after all, you know how much Bob has given to this project. I mean we have given up everything for the project and a kind gentleman that has joined Bob's team here has said that we could use this place until the funds come through. The banks have been very difficult but Bob has finally broken the chicken and egg and he is delighted. When he is close to real people I can tell. He goes quiet and can be a titsy witsy bit difficult. He was, oh, so angry at the way your English courts treated Christopher. Tell me, how is Christopher? And John. It was so nice to hear from him the other day . . . "

  "Now, Vi dear," interrupted Evelyn. "If your memory serves you right you'll recall that Bob came over to meet us in Switzerland. We had a financial matter on which we needed his expert opinion . . . "

  "Oh yes, Evelyn. How silly of me! Of course. He was so excited. It's truly amazing how many people ask for Robert. 'Can I speak to Mr Lindon?' they say. The phone never stops. 'Your husband's the only person in the whole of the United States of America that can get this job done.' they say. It's very hard on him, you'll understand. Running around here and there. And he's not as young as he used to be but still works with the people in the interests of the people. He always said that Christopher would do it. 'If any of the people I've met in all these years has got the guts then Christopher has'. He was right, of course. But that terrible business in England and that woman Gabrielle. Well! We were very anxious to help but Robert just had to carry on his work."

  "As I was saying, Vi," said Evelyn, holding up a hand to try and end the continual flow of chatter from Violet Lindon who was swaying slightly and still clutching her glass. "As I was saying, Bob asked us to escort you to Switzerland. You know how much he prefers to have you with him at the vital moment. We've arranged for Paul here to come to in case I get called away suddenly and Brian's helping too."

  "Oh, but it's so cold there." said Violet, putting her glass down and rubbing her arms. I hope that the hotel has air conditioning. All that snow. It's . . . well, it's a bitsy cold for the lady, don't you know."

  "Don't worry, Vi. You'll be very well looked after. In fact Bob said that we should go to England first because once the deal is complete he will join us there. Only if it takes a bit longer need you go on to Switzerland. You remember Brian's house, don't you? Well, it's lovely there, and warm too, with plenty of this around." Evelyn tapped the top of the bourbon bottle with the palm of his hand and smiled reassuringly at Violet.

  Throughout this Paul had stood by the door, staying silent as Evelyn had suggested but he had begun to look uncomfortable. Violet glanced over in his direction and for a moment Evelyn wondered whether she might sense that all might not quite be as it appeared. Whatever she may have thought, she didn't show any concern except as to when they would leave and what she should take with her. So worried to ensure that she could take some new clothes for Bob, she seemed not to have any anxiety about the forthcoming trip and was, in fact, more concerned with Paul having had to stand.

  "Oh deary deary me", she said, "here I am a-talking all this time and you men have travelled so far. Paul, do sit down here and tell me about London. I enjoyed so much your helping us when we had to move."

  While Paul began to take over the role of talking to Violet, Evelyn stepped across to the phone where he slipped a folded piece of card under the receiver, lifting it just sufficiently to clear the connection points on which it rested. An imperceptible buzz emanated from the right hand side but nothing that Violet would notice. "Now at least we won't have any interruptions," he thought. He considered the possibility of visitors and, indeed, of Bob calling another person in the vicinity to check if he found the phone permanently engaged but decided that for the small amount of time they planned to stay there it was easier to face those problems as and when they arose, if they did arise.

  He looked around the room as Paul and Violet went out to the kitchen to make some coffee. It was a bland apartment. Pale, greyish walls and white metal window frames. The furniture was a little worn but it was bright orange and only vaguely matched the brown check carpet. Pine chairs and a table that bore the attractively laid out place settings. Across the electric fire ran a shelf cluttered with dusty cheap ornaments from all over the world. The place had a sort of temporary feel about it and, although he had only seen Bob and Violet in hotel lounges or at Chris's previous house, he could imagine that this was typical of their residences for many years now. Out of the window he could make out the bustle of people in the streets, hurrying home and the incessant flow of traffic with yellow cabs weaving in and out of the stream of large vehicles. He noticed the lack of commercial transport. Apart from the occasional van there were not the lorries or vans that tended to clog up the London streets he knew rather better. "I guess Vi'll be almost better off with us." he mused, shaking his head slowly and moving away from the window.

  Chapter XLIV Perfume

  Bob was not on the 1420 flight from Thessaloniki. "So Mohammed . . . " thought Chris. The flight from Athens to Thessaloniki was short but efficient. The airport buildings were undergoing much-needed modernisation and Chris had to pick his way around scaffolding to find a temporary bar serving coffee, beer and unappetising pastries. Around him sat a dozen or so locals, families in transit, the men looking tired and impatient but impassive at the same time. One stubbed a cigarette out in the tinny ashtray then opened his arms to catch the little boy running towards him. A smile creased his face, but only for the boy, as it faded quickly as he looked up again. His wife was chattering away to three other women, all sat in a line and heatedly exchanging views on something. Quite what, Chris did not understand and didn't really care. Their black dresses were not of the mourning type, having low necklines and gold thread patterns running through them but they still looked sombre. An attractive Greek girl sat alone opposite Chris, her jet-black hair shining in the neon gleam above her. She dropped a cigarette on the floor and stubbed out the glowing tip with the sole of an immaculate, leather shoe. As she did so a magazine fell from her lap to the floor, opening at the brightly coloured centre pages of smart clothes. She gathered up the magazine and glanced across at Chris as she did so. For a second she seemed to study the young Englishman and appeared to pay particular attention to the American Express tag on his luggage. Avoiding his return glance, she rose and walked slowly away to the bar where her demure posture and expensive clothes clashed markedly with the dusty and temporary surroundings.

  Chris reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper bearing a series of times and places. He checked the clock on the wall to his left and then studied again the paper he held. If he were lucky, Bob would appear in an hour or so's time to catch the next flight out. If he didn't turn up then he could well be by then several hours ahead of Chris in another direction. He mentally calculated how far Bob could have travelled in what could have been up to a six-hour advantage. "Quite a way." he concluded. "But I'll think about that if I have to."

  He found a phone free at the small square kiosk at the corner of the main entrance road and a side street. No reply from Michaelis' number. He tried another. Collette answered, her voice sounded tired but softened at Chris's cheerful "Hi."

  "Chris! Where are you?" she almost demanded.

  "Thessaloniki, northern Greece." he replied. "Trying to find Bob. Last time I called you I walked out and he'd gone. I'm hoping he's not too far away but if he doesn't take a flight from here I'm stuck. Anyway, I'll do my best and he's bound to turn up somewhere. It's just that I really do need to see him first - there's something that I've just got to get to the bottom of . . . "

  "Wish I could help." A gentle
interruption. A hint of sadness and Chris found himself battling to concentrate on the business before him. "It's awful here. I can't do anything and feel so useless. Evelyn never returns my calls. I thought he'd help but . . . oh, I don't know. I tried Michaelis too but his wife just said he was away. John Tyler is being very cagey - as always. I saw Gill but . . . "

  "No improvement?" Chris guessed.

  "No. It's not fair. Are you coming back now?" It was a silly question and she knew it. She also knew that Chris wasn't used to her asking silly questions and would notice the difference in her attitude towards him over the last few weeks. Sure enough, Chris had noticed but hardly dared to admit it. She's always been there somewhere but always he's been either pre-occupied with work or surrounded by people. He'd never really given her a chance and yet she had quietly and efficiently soldiered on throughout everything, leaving the ship when she knew that Chris knew it had sunk but wouldn't admit it, and angering him because he knew he couldn't get round her with any excuses or charm. Recently, though, for reasons he could not appreciate, her friendship with Gill had brought them very much closer.

  "I'm coming back, Collette. And it's got to be with Bob. Look, maybe you can help. Will you be there later?"

  "Yes."

  "Then if Bob doesn't turn up I'll call you. In the meantime get yourself ready for a few days away. Small bag, passport, change of underwear - you know. And find out the time of the next flight to Basle and . . . " He paused for a moment, strumming his fingers on the counter. "Can you look at Gill's things. There's a house key . . . "

  "The hospital have got her handbag. We left it there in case . . . er . . . for when she came round. You know, it seemed wrong to take things like that away. They said it would be kept safe and there was a lucky dice she always had with her and that little furry animal . . . " Collette was crying now. Chris cursed the distance between them. He hated being so unfeeling but had little choice. The phone meter was clicking away and now registered 380, already over £11's worth.

  "If you can get the key, go round to the house - and in an Indian-type, carved box on the dressing table you'll find a spare key for the Opel. It's on a blue leather fob - just the one. Can you get that too?"

  Collette snuffled and apologised. "I'll get it. Does that mean you want me to . . . "

  "Just be prepared. I don't know what's going to happen yet but I could do with some help. Don't make anything obvious, though, please. It's all a bit strange and I'm only sort of thinking off the top of my head at the moment."

  Collette didn't correct him. "That's when you're at your best, some say. You'll call this evening?"

  "As soon as I can, yes. Talk to you again soon."

  Chris went back into the terminal building and checked that there had been no other flights out and, indeed, was reassured to see that the Kos flight had arrived, on time, a few hours ago. He then went across to the information desk and looked for someone to deal with his query. After waiting a few seconds he impatiently swirled round and walked to the ticket counter.

  "Is anyone on the information desk?" he asked.

  "Sorry, sir. There is no person today. Do you want a ticket?"

  "No, I 'm looking for a friend. Said he'd meet me here. Have you seen him? Oldish man, white hair, glasses, dark trousers, American . . . "

  The smartly dressed Olympic Airways officer shook his head slowly and reached out to take the next customer's ticket, almost automatically stamping it and attaching the amendment slip.

  Chris looked for another likely place that a lost Bob would have gone - either to spend a few hours or to continue his journey. He was conscious also that Bob may well be around somewhere and that he should not make his own presence too obvious. Unless Bob had been waiting at the very place he had entered the building on disembarking from the plane then the modernisation works would have had the fortunate effect of masking his view and the bar had not been overlooked. The rest of his activity had been along narrow corridors except for the brief trip outside.

  "The phone!" Chris walked quickly outside. Two ideas had sprung to mind. The first was simple. Had the little fellow at the kiosk noticed Bob? He gave a short but accurate description. When he got to the 'loud American voice' he obtained the reaction he sought. Bob had been there - a while ago now and had tried to call someone but had not got through. The old boy remembered because there had been no charge. He had indicated vaguely the direction in which Bob had walked away - towards the taxi rank - but no more could be gleaned from him. It was a great sense of achievement to find that Bob had, at least, actually arrived there.

  The second idea came in the form of announcement over the public address system. A clear Greek voice spoke in English: "There is a telephone call for Mr Lindon. Mr Bob Lindon. Please contact the information office." The message was repeated. Chris waited behind a bookstand and watched from a vantage point where he could clearly see the approached to the unmanned information desk yet remain unnoticed himself. He hardly expected the man to come bounding across the hall but it was worth a try and he would repeat the message just before the flight was due to depart if he had not already found the man.

  Chris stayed where he was for several minutes but no one appeared. Then, just as he came out from behind the stand the dark-haired girl he had seen in the coffee lounge came round the corner. Walking quickly and looking about her as she went towards the desk. Seeing it unmanned she hesitated in her approach and turned to look directly at Chris. He felt painfully obvious as their eyes met for a second time that afternoon and feebly smiled at her. There was little else he could think of doing. He received only an inquisitive hint of a frown in return as she also seemed slightly uncomfortable and then she looked ahead again as she continued to march on past the desk and out the automatic doors into the street outside. Chris followed. There was something curious about her that he couldn't identify. At the doors he looked left, right and straight ahead. She had gone. Only the steady flow of cars along the street and an occasional group of tourists disturbed the comparative quiet. Few locals were about at this time of day. Fewer still were classily dressed young ladies of thirty to forty and none to match her stylish appearance.

  He resigned himself to having lost her and decided to head off for something to eat. It had been a long time since breakfast and the few sweet biscuits had done little to cater for his appetite during the day. He found it difficult to believe that in a single day he had chased Bob via Kos, Athens and now Thessaloniki. Stranger still to realise that the chase may have only just started and the day may well turn to night before he might know where it might continue.

  The busy port town was a few kilometres north of the airport and far enough away for there to be a few of the relaxed and cheerful tavernas for which Greece is so well-loved. Into one Chris sauntered and sat down, glancing across at the assorted fare in the sizzling trays behind the glass-fronted case. A young lad of no more than twelve or thirteen came across to the table and swept off the remains of a previous customer's meal. Cats pounced on the crumbs and hissed at each other before being chased off by the boy.

  Salt, pepper and oil arrived together with a basket of half-sliced bread. Chris tore at this and munched as the boy listed the day's specials. Chris ordered and the boy hurried off, his gait contrasting amusingly with the slow, ponderous movement of an older colleague nearby.

  A bottle of Venus wine stood on the table beneath a brown and hard-skinned hand. The dark-eyed proprietor hardly waited for Chris's nod of approval before expertly twisting the corkscrew and pulling the cork swiftly, sloshing out the first inch of wine onto the floor before pouring into a small tumbler. Chris drank the contents and indicated that the glass might as well be filled again before the man departed.

  "Poli zesti." remarked the proprietor.

  "Sure is!" replied Chris, ruefully, "and getting hotter every minute." Whether it was the effect of the day's events or the raw strength of the wine on an empty stomach, Chris was uncertain but he felt decidedly light-hea
ded within half an hour. He gazed mistily towards the sea, its colour darkening at the horizon. The air was still and warm and he lay back in his chair, resting his feet on the rung of another. Clasping his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the mixture of scents and noises around him. Boats of various sorts and sizes juggled against each other as occasionally large waves came in. A scooter whirred past then a lorry thundered. Chris opened his eyes slightly to see what it carried. Vegetables. Content to have an answer he closed his eyes once more. The salt air was dominant but from time to time cigarette smoke wafted by. Not here the evergreen and olive mixture of some of his favourite resting places. More a battle here between the industrial fumes of passing traffic and the natural combination of grilled souvlaki, fish and dry, dry grass. A distinct perfume commanded attention and he opened his eyes sharply. He looked around but there was no obvious source. His eyes closed again but his mind was alert. "I know that perfume." he thought. "Where have I . . . "

  Chris suddenly jumped to his feet as he recalled the scent. He swung round looking for the dark-haired girl at the airport. At that moment a screech of tyres pierced through any other noise of the sea front. Instinctively, Chris dived behind the nearest table, scattering cutlery and china. Two shots cracked and whined across the table he had been sitting at a few seconds earlier. A third sent a cup bursting in smithereens above his head. Screaming customers ran inside and passers-by froze then dashed for cover. A small, brick wall protected Chris from any further shots from the street but he was very conscious of being vulnerable should the assailant move into the taverna area itself.

  "This way! Come!" A sharp whisper behind him startled him. He strained to look and found himself a few feet in front of the airport girl. She too was flat on the ground beneath overturned furniture but was wriggling backwards through a small gap between the side wall and a parked car. "Don't start asking questions now please! Just come!"