Die Rich Die Happy

'But you said he'd retired,' Pia pouted.

'He's got money,' said Naxos. 'I want some. Come on, John. Bring your glass. I'll send him back to you, sweetie. Another brandy and he's yours.' He winked and walked off, leading the way to a room that was part office, part study, wholly Naxos. Massive, durable furniture, charts and maps of his wealth on the bulkheads, the only decorations a tenth-scale model of his first caique and a portrait of Philippa by the man who does all the V.I.P.'s, and gets everything right but their humanity. Naxos poured more brandy for Craig, and a massive jolt of raki for himself.

'It really is nice to see you again,' he said. 'Philippa likes you too.'

Craig thought: He's trying too hard. All this friend-

ship for a man who used to sell him cigars He must be worried. He stared back at Naxos, who looked at Craig, as a jockey might appraise a new racehorse, a promoter a new fighter.

'You look in good shape,' he said. 'I'm glad of that. I hear this may get rough.' Craig nodded. 'You know,' Naxos continued, 'there was a time I thought I could lick you. Not any more. You've got the edge on me, John.'

'How?' asked Craig.

'I'm married to Philippa,' Naxos said. 'That means I worry about her—all the time. Now you, you don't worry about anybody.'

'I worry about you,' said Craig.

'I'lll I've signed the agreement,' Naxos said. 'After that I'm on my own. Right?'

'Would you want it any other way?' Craig asked.

'God no,' said Naxos. 'I've made a fortune out of Zaarb, and it's cost me ten years of my life in worry. Flip and I want to enjoy what's left. And that's where you come in.'

'I know it,' Craig said. 'That's what I'm here for.'

'Zaarb wants me dead,' said Naxos, 'but if I die it all goes to Philippa, and she'll vote against them. So Zaarb can't kill me. It makes them very unhappy.'

'I bet,' said Craig.

'All they can do is get at me through Flip,' said

Naxos.

'Or offer you more money.'

The words were out before he could stop them, but in any case they had to be said. Ever since he'd talked with Loomis, Craig had thought of that particular risk. Naxos was a businessman, who wanted the power that money brought. More money—more power.

'I'm satisfied,' said Naxos. 'I've got enough.'

Craig knew that he was lying.

'A hundred million pounds. A one and eight zeros. Isn't that enough?'

'I wouldn't know,' said Craig. 'I've still got three zeros to go.'

And Naxos laughed then, threw back his head and bellowed his brave bull's laughter.

'Tell me about your guests,' Craig said. 'Who doesn't

fit?'

T checked the list myself,' Naxos said. 'So did my security people. There's only one who's wrong—Pia Busoni.' 'How did you meet her?'

'I didn't. She got chummy with Flip. She's very like Flip, in a way. What I mean is, she wants to act, but she's no good. And she knows it. It makes her desperate—or that's what Flip says—and believe me she would know. That kid's at the stage where she'd dive off the Eiffel Tower into a wet sponge if somebody took pictures on the way down.'

'That doesn't make her an agent,' Craig said.

'I told you,' said Naxos. 'Flip's fond of her. They spend a lot of time together. If anyone could get at my wife, it's Pia Busoni. And she's broke, and not getting the parts, and been around too long. In my book she's a risk.'

'She'll be watched,' Craig said. 'What about those two aristocrats in search of a peasant?'

'Tavel and Swyven? They're okay. Like you say, they're aristocrats. Tavel was in Indochina. A prisoner. The Viets gave him a rough time. All they do is fool around, Craig. Believe me they're clean.'

'All right. When do we go to London?'

'We got ten days,' said Naxos. 'Let's have some fun

first.'

'Where?'

'Flip wants to go to Venice. I got a place there.' 'It's a bad place to protect anybody in,' said Craig. 'I'm sorry,' said Naxos. 'Believe me I'm sorry. But if Flip wants to go, we'll just have to go.'

Craig looked at him in amazement. Naxos meant it. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll send for reinforcements.' 'Who?'

'He'll be good,' Craig said. 'If you're going to behave like that, we'll need the best.'

Naxos said: 'I'll help you all I can. Anything you want, just ask. And I mean anything.'

'All right. Give me some stock-market tips,' said

Craig.

'Huh?'

'This is a business conference, right? So tell me some business. Somebody will check on it anyway.'

Naxos said, 'You were always a hard man to buy cigars from.'

He went to a desk table, unlocked a drawer.

'Buy Magna Electrics,' he said. 'All you can get. And Railton Plastics. Try a flyer in Marine Foods, too. It'll do you good to use your own money.'

'Greedy,' said Craig. 'Let me talk to your wireless operator.'

'Why on earth—'

'To instruct my broker. We want it known we're in business, don't we?'

Naxos pressed a button and murmured into an intercom. 'He'll be along in a minute,' he said. 'I'll just introduce you and leave you to it. I have to get back to Flip.'

Craig said; 'I wish you would reconsider about Venice.'

Naxos said: 'You think I want to go? Look, you know my wife was on drugs?' Craig nodded. 'Well, I got her off them. It nearly killed us both. But she still wants them, Craig, and anything that takes her mind off them she can have. Including Venice.'

'Suppose she was kidnapped?'

'That's up to you,' said Naxos. 'I know what's going to happen if we don't go. I've seen it before—and it's worse than dying.'

Craig was about to speak when there was a discreet tap at the door, and the wireless operator came in, browned and handsome in whites.

'Andrews,' said Naxos, 'this is Mr. Craig. He has some stuff he wants you to send.' He turned to Craig. 'You'll do your best with that other business?'

'Of course,' said Craig. 'But don't ask for guarantees.'

'I don't need to, do I?' said Naxos, and left.

Andrews said: 'What can I do for you, sir?'

Craig looked at the photograph that Loomis had given him, compared it with Andrews's face. This looked like the man. He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered it to him.

'No, thank you, sir. Not at the moment,' said Andrews.

'Don't you like this brand?' asked Craig. 'Occasionally,' Andrews said. 'But not often.' Craig took out his lighter, set fire to the photograph, used it to light a cigarette. This was the man.

Craig tore a leaf from a scratch pad, rested it on the hard top of the desk, where pencil marks wouldn't show, and scribbled 'Is this room bugged?' and then handed it to Andrews.

'I'll get on to it right away,' said Andrews.

Methodically the two men went through the cabin. Andrews worked on the intercom and radiotelephone as the most obvious places, and Craig concentrated on the furniture. He found it at last behind Philippa's portrait, the