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Sha
“On a piece of paper,” she insisted. Still he showed no interest, his face buried in the pillow beneath crossed forearms.
“Shall I tell you where?”
His reaction was disappointing. He grunted again.
“In a folder on my daddy’s desk.”
If she had meant to surprise him, she succeeded. He came off the sheet in one movement and faced her, gripping both her upper arms hard. There was an intensity about his stare that frightened her.
“You’re hurting me,” she said irrelevantly.
“What folder on your father’s desk?”
“A folder.” She sniffed, on the verge of tears. “I only wanted to help you.”
He relaxed visibly, and his expression softened. “Why did you go looking?” he asked.
“Well, you’re always asking about him, and when I saw this folder, I just sort of looked. Then I saw your name.”
“Tell me about it from the begi
When she had finished she reached forward and coiled her arms around his neck. “I love you, Mr. Cat,” she whispered. “I only did it for that. Was it wrong?”
Sha
“Yes. Really.”
“Would you want anything bad to happen to me because of something you did or said?”
She pulled herself back from him, staring deep into his face. This was much more like the scenes in her schoolgirl dreams. “Never,” she said soulfully. “I’d never talk. Whatever they did to me.”
Sha
That struck home, hard. She did not want him to go. Privately he knew one day soon he would have to go, but there was no need to tell her yet.
“I won’t say anything,” she promised.
“A couple of points,” said Sha
She furrowed her brow, trying to recall the words. “That stuff they put in fountain pens. They mention it in the ads for the expensive ones.”
“Ink?” asked Sha
“Platium,” she said.
“Platinum,” he corrected, his eyes pensive. “Lastly, what was the title on the folder?”
“Oh, I remember that,” she said happily. “Like something out of a fairy tale. The Crystal Mountain.”
Sha
When he heard her clattering cups in the kitchen he leaned back against the bedhead and stared out over London. “You cu
Then he laughed into the darkness.
That same Saturday night Be
By the time he took notice and started to protest, the giant figure that had emerged from the car was hustling him across the lot and behind a hoarding that stood ten yards from the road.
His protests were silenced when the figure spun him around and, still holding him by the scruff, slammed a fist into his solar plexus. Be
Twenty minutes later, Thomard was phoning his employer from the booth in a late-night café a mile away.
At the other end, Roux listened and nodded. “Good,” he said. “Now I have some news for you. The hotel where Sha
“The fifteenth,” Thomard said. “Yes. He will be there then.”
“And so will you,” said the voice on the phone. “Henri will keep in touch with his contact inside the hotel, and you will remain on standby, not far from the hotel, from noon of that day onward.”
“Until when?” asked Thomard.
“Until he comes out, alone,” said Roux. “And then you will take him. For five thousand dollars.”
Thomard was smiling slightly when he came out of the booth. As he stood at the bar sipping his beer, he could feel the pressure of the gun under his left armpit. It made him smile even more. In a few days it would earn him a tidy sum. He was quite sure of it. It would, he told himself, be simple and straightforward to take a man, even Cat Sha
It was in the middle of a Sunday morning that Kurt Semmler phoned. Sha
“Mr. Keith Brown?” asked the operator.
“Yes. Speaking.”
“I have a personal call for you from a Mr. Semolina in Genoa.”
Sha
The German’s voice was faint, but reception was reasonably clear. “Carlo?”
“Yes. Kurt?”
“I’m in Genoa.”
“I know. What news?”
“I have it. This tune I am sure. She is just what you wanted. But there is someone else would like to buy her also. We may have to outbid them if we want the boat. But she is good. For us, very good. Can you come out and see her?”
“You’re quite sure, Kurt?”
“Yes. Quite sure. Registered freighter, property of a Genoa-based shipping company. Made to order.”
Sha
Semmler told him.
“I’ll be there on the first available plane. I don’t know when that will be. Stay at the hotel in the afternoon, and I’ll contact you when I get there. Book me a room.”
A few minutes later he was booked on the Alitalia flight to Milan at 0905 the following morning, to make a co
He was gri
“Who was that?” asked the girl.
“A friend.”
“Which friend?”
“A business friend.”
“What did he want?”
“I have to go and see him.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning. In Italy.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. Two weeks. Maybe more.”
She pouted over her coffee cup. “So what am I supposed to do all that time?” she asked.