LA

by Blake Banner

  “All right, if it is that important to you. I’ll have a word with Tony, my chief of security, and see how we can arrange it. When do you want to go?”

  I made a show of thinking about it. “Well, I’m meeting Shauna the day after tomorrow, to start finalizing the initial details, so, is tomorrow too soon?”

  “Tomorrow…”

  He faltered. I pretended not to notice and turned to Sheila.

  “I have to say, I am leaning toward Leonardo DiCaprio rather than Al Gore. This is Hollywood, right? DiCaprio is going to be a much bigger draw, with essentially the same message.” She was nodding and I turned to Cavendish. “Do you agree, Charles?” Before he could answer I reached out and patted his wrist. “Say, that is a beautiful Rolls Royce, but tomorrow, if Tony gives us the green light, I’ll take you up in the TVR. It’ll blow your socks off. Not only is it a thing of beauty, it’s a thing of power. And that is something I know you appreciate.”

  His Cheshire grin returned. Bombarded with information and flattery, he surrendered to the flattery and went with the flow. The rest of the evening we spent chatting amiably over sticky toffee pudding and fine brandy and whisky, and listening to Cavendish become expansive on the subject of himself. I was happy to listen and praise. I had accomplished the two things I had gone there to do, and I had a good feeling that the project was on course. At eleven thirty I looked at my watch.

  “I hate to break this up, but I must go. I have a long and busy day tomorrow. Speaking of which, Charles, at what time shall I collect you?”

  He grunted. “Let me talk to Tony and I’ll call you first thing in the morning. I imagine you rise early?”

  “Between five and six most mornings. Bad habits are hard to kick. It’s the good ones that are hard to hold on to.”

  “Fine. I’ll call you early, about seven.”

  I pointed at him. “Don’t let me down, now!” I turned to Sheila. “You want to share a cab?”

  She held my eye for half a beat longer than was necessary. “Sure, that would be nice.”

  There was a cold glint in Cavendish’s eye when he said, “I can have my man drop you…”

  “That’s OK, Charles. We might talk shop for five minutes before I let her go.”

  He chuckled like a kindly grandfather and stood.

  “Fine, fine. It has been a very interesting evening.” He took my hand. “And I look forward to our field trip tomorrow.”

  The cab ride was short and the streets quiet and almost empty. We didn’t speak until we had left Corona del Mar and were snaking down toward the Pacific Highway. Then she gave me a shy glance.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I’m not disappointed. He is everything I had expected him to be. May I ask a personal question?”

  She thought about it. “You can ask, but I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

  “You seem to know your way around his house pretty well…”

  “Purely professional. Lately I have been working with him at home, PA-cum-secretary, but nothing more. Is that what you were going to ask?”

  “Yes,” I arched an eyebrow, “am I impertinent?”

  Her cheeks colored agreeably. “Probably, but not unwelcome.”

  We had reached the highway with the vast ocean on our right, a fat moon hovering over the horizon, and we were approaching the California Incline which would take us to my apartment. I said:

  “You want a nightcap?”

  She smiled and momentary amber washed her face before it slipped into shadow again.

  “Do I have to wear it at your place or can I take it home with me?”

  “Out of the question.” I shook my head. “You have to wear it at my place. It’s one of those pointed ones, with a pompom on the end. I think it will suit you.”

  “Does it come with a nightgown?”

  “Again, out of the question.”

  She put her fingers to her lips. “I really shouldn’t drink.”

  The cab pulled up outside my apartment block. I paid the cabby and we stood on the sidewalk watching his red taillights slip into the dusky half-light. She linked her arm through mine and pointed at the moon, with its vast fan of light on the black ocean.

  “She looks smug.”

  “Maybe she knows something we don’t.”

  I led her down the path, through the trees, into the faded, Art Deco lobby and then into the concertina elevator. It creaked and wobbled and she rested her head on my shoulder. She whispered, “What am I doing? Is this a big mistake, Harry?”

  We stepped onto the landing and I opened the door. I opened the door and as we kissed I listened to the apartment, moving the focus of my attention from room to room. I heard no sound inside. We came apart and I went in ahead of her, holding her hand. Through the terrace doors the moon was vast, its light tinged with turquoise, touching the furniture with hazy amber, making deep inky shadows in the corners and behind the armchairs and the sofa.

  I snapped on the lights. The living room was empty. I closed the door and guided her to the sofa.

  “Cognac?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Will you be nice to me, Harry?”

  “Very.” I kissed her, then went to the drinks tray and poured her a brandy. I handed it to her and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”

  I checked the kitchen, the bedroom and the en suite bathroom. There was nobody there. But as I turned to return to the living room, Sheila was in the door, naked but for her glass of cognac.

  “I’m a virgin,” she said. I picked her up in my arms. “Please be gentle,” she breathed. I placed her gently on the bed, and that was about the gentlest thing we did that night.

  Eight

  Next morning Cavendish phoned at seven to say I could pick him up at two, after lunch, but that his bodyguards would come with us in convoy. I told him that was fine and spent half an hour working out on the terrace. I had a shower and by eight I was making coffee and cooking bacon, eggs and mushrooms in the kitchen.

  Sheila appeared at the door looking pale and worried.

  “You look like you need a coffee. How do you take it?”

  “Milk and sugar. I’ll do it.”

  I gave her the pot and she fixed herself a cup. I was watching her carefully. She didn’t look happy. At all.

  “You hung over?”

  She gave her head a small shake.

  “What then?”

  “I have worked with Mr. Cavendish for almost three years now. I think he is a good man, and I am very loyal to him.”

  “Good.” I laid bacon on her toast and laid a couple of eggs beside it. “What’s the problem?”

  “He asked me…” she faltered. “He asked me to find out about you. He was concerned that he had never heard of you. He is a very cautious man.”

  I frowned at her. “Are you telling me you slept with me on his orders?”

  Her face flushed and suddenly her eyes were bright. “No! Of course not! That was all me and I hope to God it wasn’t a mistake!”

  “Why would it be, Sheila? What’s got into you this morning?”

  She put down the coffee pot. Her hands dropped to her side and she took a deep breath. “I am sorry,” she said. “I did something I should not have done and I feel terrible about it. I searched your room.”

  I went cold inside but disguised it as annoyance. “You did what?”

  “I searched your room. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did it out of loyalty to Charles. But, Harry, that’s not the point.” Her eyes rose to meet mine. “The point is, I found a gun, and a knife; a military-looking knife.”

  I shrugged and shook my head. “So what?”

  “Why have you got a gun, Harry?”

  “For protection. I’m an ex special ops soldier, Sheila. I have enemies—dangerous enemies. I carry it for protection. Is that it? That’s what’s worrying you?”

  “No.” She shook her head again. “I also found the file.”

  I scowled. I was more mad at myself than I was at
her. I had put the file in a drawer, but I had not locked it. The truth was, I had not expected her to come home with me. And I sure as hell had not expected her to search my room.

  I set the frying pan down on the stove and sat.

  “I am not happy about this, Sheila. I trusted you. I brought you on board on a project that could make your future, precisely because I did trust you. And this is how you pay me back?”

  “Believe me, I feel like shit about it. But…” She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You still haven’t explained the file. Was he right to mistrust you, and ask me to find out about you? Why have you got a file on him?”

  “I’ll get around to that all in good time. But let’s be clear about something first, Sheila. You told me that you worked for Cavendish because you admired his principles and his integrity—his morals. But what you just did betrayed all of the morals that you claim to admire. You didn’t just betray Cavendish and me; above all, Sheila, you betrayed yourself.”

  I was surprised to find that I meant it, and that I did feel disappointed and betrayed. Cavendish and I could be bastards. We were already lost and on the highway to Hell. But not Sheila. She was worth more than that. Tears welled in her eyes and suddenly her nose was red, like she had a cold. She wiped it with the back of her hand.

  “Fine! That’s true, and I am sorry! But, Harry, what about the file?”

  I had been running through the file in my mind, wondering how much she had read and how much sense it would have made to her. She stared at me, appealing to me to salvage the image she had of me. I spoke cautiously.

  “That was confidential information, Sheila. You were not entitled to read that file. That was a serious breach of trust. How am I supposed to trust you now, after this?”

  “I didn’t read it! I saw it. I flicked through it. Please, what is this all about, Harry? Please explain it to me.”

  I stood, walked away and stood staring out of the window. She hadn’t read it. She said she hadn’t read it. After a moment I turned back and studied her.

  “You speak with admiration about Cavendish, and about what a cautious, wise man he is. In his caution and his wisdom he asked you to spy on me, and you think that is sensible and wise.”

  “No! Not that! Just to find out what I could about you. Not spy!”

  I arched my eyebrows and her face said even she could hear how weak that sounded.

  “Would you like to explain to me, Sheila, what the difference is between him asking you to find out what you can about me, and my asking a private investigator to prepare me a file on Cavendish? In view of the fact that I planned to invest several million dollars in his foundation, isn’t making a background check a cautious, wise thing to do?”

  Her mouth sagged.

  “Do you think,” I went on, before she could say anything, “that if he had known in advance that I was going to make this proposal, he would not have put a private eye on me, to prepare exactly such a file as I have on him?”

  Both her hands went to her open mouth and tears rolled down her face.

  “Harry, I am so sorry. I feel so ashamed. I have spoiled everything. It never occurred to me.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not your fault.” I went to her and put my arms around her. She rested her head on my chest, but didn’t hold me. I said, “It was wrong of him to ask you to do a thing like that.”

  She looked up at me and her eyes were moist with tears. She mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” again.

  I smiled. “Hey, no harm done.” I tore off some kitchen paper, kissed her eyes and handed it to her. “C’mon, dry your face and eat some bacon. You’ll feel better.” She sat and blew her nose. I sat across from her. “You know what? Even in the world of aid and charitable institutions, when you start talking about political power and really big sums of money, up in the millions, however good the people involved are, the lines between what is good and what is not good start getting blurred, and things start getting ugly.”

  She nodded. There was something meek and innocent about the gesture, and suddenly I felt like a rat. She sat and looked at her food. “What were you hoping to find?”

  I was about to lie, tell her I was hoping to find he was a good man, but I found I couldn’t. Instead I evaded the truth.

  “I wasn’t hoping to find anything. I just wanted to know about him. Too many good men start out with integrity, and then slip into a ‘the end justifies the means’ mentality. They don’t realize that that is a bacteria which corrupts everything it touches.”

  Her frown was one of curiosity.

  “You really mean that, don’t you? And yet you were a soldier, special operations, you killed people. That story you told…”

  “I’m not a Christian, Sheila. I have no religion. I believe in reality.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean that I don’t believe in an ultimate judge who decides what is good and what is evil. I mean that I believe certain people are so corrupted, have become so completely evil, they should die. Men like Mohammed Ben-Amini.”

  She shook her head. “But surely that is the same as the end justifying the means!”

  “No. The crucial point,” I leaned forward, pointing my finger at her like a gun, feeling a strange, hot passion in my gut, “the thing you always have to remember, is that the means condition the end. The means are the process that creates the end.”

  She made a smile that was more sad than humorous. “You’re a philosopher too?”

  “No, I’m just telling you what I have seen. Things are what they’re made of.”

  “I guess.” She sighed, stared back down at her breakfast again.

  “I’d better go.”

  “I’m sorry.” I was surprised, again, that I meant it. I frowned. “Are we OK?”

  She attempted a smile. “Of course.”

  “Sheila, there really was no difference between what he asked you to do, and what I’d had my private eye do. You understand that? I am on the level.”

  She nodded. “I know. I just need to clean up, shower…” She shrugged. “You know, girl stuff.”

  When she’d gone I called the brigadier from one of my burners to his secure line.

  “Harry.”

  “Sir, I think we have a problem. It might be a big one.”

  “Details?”

  “Sheila Newton. She spent the night and found the Cavendish file.”

  “That was very careless. I am surprised.”

  When the brigadier said he was surprised, that was about as damning a criticism as you were likely to get before he took you outside and had you shot.

  “I know. She searched the room while I was making breakfast.”

  “Always let them make breakfast, Harry. You should know that. Questions: Why did she search the room? How much did she read?”

  “Cavendish was curious about me and told her to find out what she could and report back to him. So she searched my room. I had the file in a drawer. I hadn’t expected her to stay the night. She says she didn’t read the file, just skimmed it. I believe her. Her reaction was wrong. If she’d read it precisely she would have freaked.”

  “What do you mean precisely?”

  “She confronted me with the fact that I had a file on him, not with the fact that I had a contract to eliminate him. The way I see it, either she is a very sophisticated operative putting on a very convincing act as a naïve kid, or she’s a very naïve kid. If she was a naïve kid, and had read the file, she would have been hysterical and terrified. She wasn’t. She was just hurt and upset. On the other hand, if she was a seasoned operative, she would not have let me know she’d read the file at all.”

  He was silent for so long I began to wonder if he’d hung up. Finally he said, “You have a point, but Harry, you have to be extremely honest with me, and with yourself. Are you becoming infatuated with this girl?”

  I thought about it for a moment.

  “No. I like her. She is genuine and sincere
and I don’t like the fact that she’s got caught up in this business. She is way out of her league and she doesn’t deserve the crap that’s coming her way. But no, I am not infatuated with her.”

  “Your assessment of her as naïve and genuine worries me. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but Cavendish uses her increasingly as a personal assistant. If she is naïve and inexperienced, one has to wonder why he would do that.”

  “I don’t know, sir. Maybe precisely because she is naïve. She admires him and she won’t question what he does or what he tells her, or what he tells her to do.” I added as an afterthought, “Also, if she were more experienced, and saw through his front, she’d be in a position to demand a lot more money from him.”

  He grunted. “What steps have you taken?”

  “I told her it was a report I had commissioned from a private investigator. I told her it was normal procedure, and no different from what he had asked her to do with me. She seemed to believe me.”

  “All right, we’ll take care of it.”

  I felt a hot pellet of fear in my belly. “What does that mean, sir? You’ll take care of it how?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to discuss it with my advisors.”

  “You are not going to harm her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You know our policy on that, Harry.”

  “Policies change, and if you view her as a threat…”

  “Harry.” I stopped. He went on. “If we ever resort to that, it will be too late to save Cobra. Because Cobra is, by definition, the antithesis of that. We will take care of it, but if she is naïve and innocent, as you say, we will not hurt her.”

  “If she is harmed…”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t threaten me, Harry. I know how it is. Put it out of your mind. Focus on the job. Now, give me a progress report.”

  I filled him in on what I had done so far, then told him: “I was pretty sure from the start that I wouldn’t be able to gain access to his house to do the job there. What I have seen of the house, and what I have learned about his security setup confirms that. So I’ll have to lure him out. Griffith Park seems a good location. I’ve persuaded him to come and view the site because I need his input for the fundraiser. We’re going there this afternoon. I thought about making the hit today, but if it has to look like an accident, today is too soon. I need to finish some preparations and I need to draw him away from his bodyguards. That won’t be easy. I need to gain his trust.”