Carrying a paper bag, Yew climbed the steps and the two men went over to lounging chairs, shaded by a sun umbrella. They sat down.
“I don’t know what this is all about, dear boy,” Yew said, putting the bag on the table. “Here is the wig you asked me for. You are being intriguingly mysterious.”
“It’s intriguing all right,” Girland said and went on to tell him the story of Erica Olsen. “There is just a possible chance she may have the pearl,” he concluded. “If she has, I think I could persuade her to cut us in. You handling the deal, and I getting a cut for putting her in touch with you.”
Yew sat back, his hooded eyes glittering.
“What makes you think she has the pearl?” he asked.
“I’m playing a hunch. The one thing that gets her animated is the pearl. Now a pearl is easy to conceal. If I happened to be the mistress of an old Chinese goat and couldn’t see much future in it, I would look around for something worthwhile to take before I walked out on him. That’s how I would reason and I’m playing a hunch that is the way she has reasoned too.”
“My dear boy! That’s terribly dishonest!” Yew protested for a moment genuinely shocked.
“Yes.” Girland grinned. “But if I’m right, and if she has the pearl, will you sell it for her?”
“Of course I will,” Yew said without hesitation.
“Fine. I’ll bring her to your apartment in about an hour. I have my own car, so you needn’t wait. Did you see any newspaper men on your way up?”
“There was no one.”
“Okay, then you get off. We’ll be joining you in about an hour.”
“You really think she has the pearl? It seems unbelievable.”
“I’m playing a hunch. Anyway, what can we lose?”
Yew looked dubious.
“Well . . . yes, I suppose that’s right.” He gave Girland a Yale key. “That’s the key of my apartment. You will have it to yourselves. I will stay with my brother. There is a woman who comes in every day. You can get your meals sent in. Is there anything else?”
“No, and thanks, Jacques. We could make some money out of this if we have any luck.” Girland thought for a moment, then repeated, “If we have any luck.”
When Yew had driven away, Girland went up to Erica’s room, taking the paper bag with him. He tapped on the door and entered. Erica was sitting now in a lounging chair. Her face was tense and white and she regarded him with a disconcerting stare.
“Well, darling?” he said as he closed the door. “How are you feeling?”
“You can cut that darling stuff out,” she said in a flat, hard voice. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know you are not my husband.”
Girland smiled.
“That’s a relief,” he said and came over to sit opposite her. “So you are getting your memory back?”
“I’m getting it back. What happened to her?”
“She thought she would look more attractive as a blonde,” Girland said soberly. “They mistook her for you and they killed her.”
Erica flinched.
“And you? Who are you?”
“I guess I had better fill you in,” Girland said. He paused to light a cigarette, then went on. “You were found unconscious in Paris. You were taken to the American hospital. When they put you in bed, they found three tattoo marks on your body . . . Chinese initials. Some bright boy reported this to the C.I.A. They put two and two together and decided you must be Erica Olsen, the mistress of Feng Hoh Kung, the top missile expert in Pekin. The C.I.A. wants all the information they can get about Kung. They dreamed up an idea. I was to be your husband and you were to tell me all about Kung. But the Chinese and the Russians heard about the tattoo marks and they also decided you must be Erica Olsen. The Chinese decided you were to be liquidated. The Russians decided they wanted to know what you knew about Kung. In the general mix-up, Nurse Roche got shot instead of you. Right now, we have given out you are dead. We have a few days free from pressure before the Chinese and the Russians get to know you are still alive, then they will come after you again.”
She stared down at her long, shapely hands, her face expressionless, then she said, “So that’s it. Well, I know nothing about Kung. Absolutely nothing.”
“Why did you leave him?”
“He bored me.”
“Then why should they want to kill you?”
She hesitated, then still not looking at him, she said, “Kung is possessive. I was his toy. He breaks his toys if they don’t give him pleasure.”
“A young girl died because of you,” Girland said quietly. “You might have died, but she was the unlucky one. Your chances of survival are still pretty thin. You may think you can play this on your own, but I assure you you can’t. I have only to walk out on you for you to be in real trouble. You have no money. You have no passport. You will be in a hell of a jam unless you cooperate.”
She looked steadily at him. “What does, that mean?”
“You must know something about Kung. Every scrap of information we can get about him could be useful.”
“I can tell you about his sex life if that would interest you,” she said, shrugging. “That is all I know about him. I had a house of my own. He visited me twice a week. He never talked about his work. He was generous, a little kinky and very dull.”
“Kinky?”
“He had this tattoo mania.” She leaned back in her chair and stared out of the open window. “I hadn’t much money. I was secretary to a Swedish businessman who was trying to sell lumber to the Chinese. He paid me badly. I met Kung and he offered me three hundred dollars a week to be his mistress.” She shrugged. “A house, servants and a car went with the offer. I accepted. It pleased him to put his stamp on me . . . so I let him.”
“Did you ever visit his home?”
“I went once. It wasn’t a home, it was a museum.”
“So he bored you and you left him,” Girland said. “He must have been very boring for you to give up three hundred dollars a week.”
“He was.”
“And he was so annoyed, he told his agents to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“How were you planning to live after the luxury of a house, servants and a car, plus three hundred dollars a week?”
She shrugged.
“I can always get a job.”
“That’s not very convincing.” Girland’s voice hardened. “Kung owns one of the finest collections of jewellery and jade in the world. You didn’t pick up some trifle before you left, planning to sell it and retire in comfort for the rest of your life?”
Erica stiffened for a brief moment, then she relaxed and smiled mockingly at him.
“Are you suggesting I am a thief?”
“Oh no, an opportunist, perhaps.” He regarded her. “Like myself.”
“You are beginning to interest me,” she said. “So you are an opportunist.” She studied him, then nodded. “You certainly look like one. Just who are you?”
“I won’t bore you with my biography. I am an opportunist. I search for a rainbow in every sky. Right now, I have to admit, it hasn’t got me anywhere.” Girland made a rueful grimace. “I work for the Central Intelligence Agency because the work offers me excitement, interest and money. When I am not working for them, I try to earn a living as a street photographer. But like you, I am bored with my way of life. I am looking for a big killing.”
“I think I would like a cigarette,” she said.
When he had given her one and lit it, she stared out of the window and he could see she was thinking.
As she said nothing for a minute or so, Girland said, “We are leaving here. We are going to stay in an apartment owned by a dealer in precious stones. He is also an opportunist. He has several rich contacts. He handles items without asking questions and he pays cash.”
She slowly turned her head and stared thoughtfully at him.
“Does he?”
Girland smiled at her.
“Think it over.
If my boss is convinced you know nothing about Kung except the way he behaves in bed, he will drop you like a hot potato. Then you will be out on a limb. Your chums at the Chinese Embassy will come after you and you will end up like poor little Ginny with a hole in your head.”
“Do you think so?” She was very calm and her eyes mocking.
“Let’s leave it for now. You have a few days to think it over. Here is a beautiful wig. I’ll get Ginny’s uniform. We leave here in half an hour.”
When he had left the room, Erica Olsen stared out of the window, her slim fingers tapping gently on her knee.
The apartment was spacious, luxuriously furnished and had a magnificent view of the harbour, Onassis’ yacht, the Palace and the Casino. There was a big terrace with sun umbrellas, furniture, tubs crammed with begonias and geraniums and an orange tree heavy with fruit.
Erica stood on the terrace, her hands on the balcony rail and looked down at the view.
Girland said, “You settle in. I’m going down to organise dinner. I don’t think it would be wise for you to go out just yet.”
She didn’t say anything, but continued to stare down at the view. Her face was thoughtful. Girland had the idea she was wrestling with a problem. Leaving the apartment, he found a nearby Traiteur and ordered smoked salmon, coq au vin, forest strawberries and a carton of ice cream to be sent up to the apartment in a couple of hours’ time. It gave him some pleasure to pay for the meal with Dorey’s money. He thought regretfully that he was going to miss this luxury when eventually he returned to Paris, but cheered himself up with the reminder that with any luck he might return a rich man. Deciding to give Erica plenty of time to think, he drove to the Casino. He spent an hour there and lost thirty francs, then he drove back, took the elevator to the top floor of the building and entered Yew’s apartment.
Erica was sitting in the sun, a cigarette smouldering between her fingers. She had changed out of the Nurse’s uniform and was now wearing a white and blue dress that fitted her full, sensual curves. She didn’t look towards him, and seeing she was still preoccupied with her thoughts, he went into his bedroom, stripped off and took a cold shower. By the time he had shaved and changed, he heard her moving around in her bedroom which was opposite his.
“Dinner will be along in ten minutes,” he called and began to set the table on the terrace.
A little after 19.30 p.m. a boy delivered the meal and Girland, humming under his breath, set the food out on Yew’s beautiful Chinese plates.
He was drawing the cork from a bottle of Margaux ‘45 when Erica came out onto the terrace. She now seemed much more relaxed.
“This looks good,” she said as Girland drew out her chair. She smiled up at him. “You are very well organised, aren’t you?”
“When I have other people’s money to spend,” Girland said, sitting opposite her, “I’m right on the ball.” He poured a shot of vodka into two crystal glasses to go with the smoked salmon. “I’m not so hot when it comes to looking after my own money. I am better handling other people’s headaches than my own.”
“I’m not good either about handling my affairs.” She ate some salmon. “This is delicious.”
“That’s why I thought you and I could get together.” Girland passed a plate of brown bread and butter. “Tell me how you managed to get hold of Kung’s black pearl.” She cut a piece of salmon, regarded it, then put it m her mouth.
Watching her, Girland saw her face was expressionless.
“Is this Scotch or Norwegian salmon?” she asked.
He laughed.
“Scotch.”
“It is the best.” She sipped her vodka, then looked straight into his eyes. “This friend of yours with rich contacts. If he had the pearl, could he sell it?”
“Yes. The sale would be arranged very discreetly. There are still a number of collectors with lots of money who can’t resist anything really unique and who are prepared to buy and not ask questions.”
“Is that right?” She ate in silence and Girland, patient, enjoyed the salmon while waiting for her next move. When they had finished, he removed the plates and served the coq au vin that was standing on the electric hot plate.
“I am sure my friend won’t mind us drinking his best wine on such an occasion,” he said as he poured the Margaux. “This is a beauty.”
“Did your friend mention a price?” she asked after sampling the coq au vin and praising it.
“He would try for three million dollars. That would be gross, of course. He would have to have a cut.” Girland gave her his charming smile. “I would have to have one too.”
“What would be the price net then?”
“Two million which, of course, is a nice, useful sum.”
She regarded him thoughtfully, then nodded.
“I suppose it is.”
“But you were hoping for more?”
“One always does.” She laid down her knife and fork. “That was really very good. The wine is wonderful.”
“One should always eat well when arranging a deal.”
“Is that what we are doing?”
“I was under that impression.”
As she said nothing, he cleared the plates and put the strawberries on the table and the ice cream in one of Yew’s precious egg shell Chinese bowls.
She said suddenly, “There is always the possibility that he wouldn’t get three million dollars.”
“He seems pretty confident that he will get it.”
“The transaction would be in cash?”
“That would be a lot of cash. He could arrange to pay in Swiss bearer bonds. These are as good as cash and much more convenient to handle. That’s the way I would take my share.”
“You seem very sure you are going to have a share,” she said as she helped herself to ice cream.
“I’m not only an opportunist,” Girland said. “I am also an optimist.”
“Just how would the deal be handled?”
“Yew would have to see the pearl. He would have to satisfy himself it was Kung’s pearl and not a clever fake. He would then contact the buyer. There would be a minor delay, then the bonds would be handed over and that would be that.”
“It sounds very simple, doesn’t it?”
“Where is the pearl, Erica?”
“I was wondering when you were going to ask that. It is quite safe.” She leaned back in her chair and gave him an amused smile. “So you see . . . I admit I have the pearl.”
Girland drew in a long breath of relief. His hunch had paid off, he thought, now for the deal. He and Yew would split the million dollars, and at long last he would be in the money.
“I had an idea you had it. Well, now, when can you show it to Yew?”
“His offer is absurd,” Erica said calmly. “The pearl is utterly unique. There is no other like it in the world. I have already been offered four million and I want six.”
Girland stared at her.
“But there’s not that amount of money in the hands of any collector,” he said. “Now, look, Erica . . .”
“I have a contact who says there could be. There is a certain oilman who is supposed to be worth two hundred million dollars and he is a collector. He could afford to pay six million for it.”
“Then why don’t you sell it to him?” Girland asked, sure she was lying.
“There are complications.”
“What complications?”
“That is not your affair.”
Girland finished his strawberries, then getting up, he poured coffee from the percolator.
“Let’s sit comfortably and enjoy the view,” he said and carried the two cups of coffee to a side table and dropped into one of the lounging chairs.
Erica joined him. They both looked down at the glittering lights round the harbour and the Palace.
“Tell me about the complications.”
“That is not your affair,” she repeated, lighting a cigarette. “Will your Mr. Yew go to six million?”
“I
don’t think so.” Girland sipped his coffee, then said, “You’ve talked yourself into a tough spot, baby. You now can’t do without me. Two heads are better than one. I’m good at complications. Tell me about them.”
“You are mistaken,” she said quietly. “I can do without you, and I don’t understand what you mean when you say I am in a tough spot, and please don’t call me baby. I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry, it won’t occur again,” Girland said, smiling. “Forgive me. Let me explain why you can’t do without me. You have admitted you have the pearl. In crude language, you have stolen it. Now if you and I can’t cooperate, there is nothing to stop me giving this information to the press. Erica Olsen, mistress of Feng Hoh Kung, has stolen the famous Black Grape and is in hiding. What a story! I could then telephone Dorey and tell him the only information you have about Kung is his behaviour in bed. Dorey will immediately withdraw his support and protection. He is a mean man and hates to spend a dollar if he gets no return. In the meantime, every collector, no matter how much he would like to own the pearl, will shun it. It will have become as hot as a red-hot stove. It is only if there is no publicity and the deal is done in secret that you can hope to sell the pearl. Then the French police will arrest you. You will probably languish in jail for six months or even longer until they are satisfied you can’t or won’t tell them where you have hidden the pearl. You mustn’t overlook the fact that the French Government are trying to get on friendly terms with the Chinese. Maybe the police will persuade you to talk, but if they don’t, then they will eventually get bored with you and turn you loose. You will walk out of prison into the arms of Kung’s hatchet men. They will either slit your pretty throat or else they will persuade you to talk, and make no mistake about it a Chinese thug can make anyone talk. So, being intelligent, you will see by now, you can’t do without me. I think three million dollars for nothing isn’t a bad rake off. If your complications are really so complicated, then I would advise you to take the three million. I might add that I don’t believe anyone would pay six million for the pearl and that you are bluffing. Do you get the picture?”
1966 - You Have Yourself a Deal Page 15