The Money That Money Can't Buy

the best that Craig could hope for was that the Russians would think he was a defector, in which case they would still suspect the United States. Chelichev had had a hard time establishing the existence of BC: there were plenty of men in the Kremlin who still denied its existence. The only safe thing was to take the money, and get rid of Simmons. Tania could try kidnapping Chan if she wanted to, but even in terms of expediency, it would be better if Simmons died. He stared again at the ceiling, but his mind refused to float any more. The checks Sir Matthew Chinn had built into his psyche took over. He knew he was lying. Tania needed Simmons. She had to have him. Brodski wouldn't do. He didn't know enough. Chan might be unobtainable. Simmons was the only one. Simmons alive. Craig began to sweat as he resisted what his reason told him. But there was no other answer. Simmons had to live. Once the fact was accepted, he began to think about Istvan, about the robbery, about Medani. His mind reviewed the coastline around Tangier, the place where the power launch would wait, the second line of retreat up the coast if anything went wrong. First the money, then Simmons. Brodski would be at the villa too, and Jane. It would be dangerous to take them all alive. And yet to kill them wouldn't

be the answer. It wouldn't be the answer at all. * * *

He slept until dinnertime, then rose, bathed, changed into a dark silk tussore suit and black crepe-soled shoes. Beneath his coat was the Smith and Wesson; in his leg was a sheathed knife, leaf-bladed, single-edged, needle-pointed. He spread his hands, then held them out. They were quite steady. He went into the living room.

Istvan and Boris were waiting. They too wore dark suits and, Craig had no doubt that Boris was armed. Neither of them was drinking. Food and drink would have to wait.

Boris said: 'Istvan's being difficult.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Craig. 'He knows you're going to kill him.'

Boris began to deny it, fluently, passionately. It was obvious that Istvan was not impressed.

Craig said: 'He knows it because it's logical. You're a nation of chess players, Boris. You always lose a pawn to take a king.'

Istvan said: 'Or even a king's ransom. You had better shoot me now.'

Craig said: 'Why not talk it over with Tania?'

'She's with Brodski,' Boris said. 'I can't reach her.'

'Work him over then,' said Craig. 'We haven't much time.'

Istvan said: 'You do too good a job, Boris. If you hurt me, I couldn't work for you afterwards.'

Craig said: 'I'll do it then.'

He moved in on Istvan, one fist clinched, the other hand out flat, like an ax.

'No,' said Boris. 'No karate.'

Craig stood still.

'You're right,' he said. 'All he'd do is agree, then rat on us when we got to the bank. Right?'

Istvan managed to smile. It was a kind of courage.

'Absolutely,' he said.

'It's a stand-off,' said Craig. 'Unless—' Boris looked at him. 'Give him to me when it's over,' Craig said. 'He knows a few tricks that would interest my chief. So long as he's useful, he'll live. And I promise you he won't chat.'

Boris said: 'All right with me,' and looked at Istvan.

'London,' said Istvan. 'Swinging London. Birds. Mini skirts. Le topless.' He stuck out a hand to Craig. 'Okay,' he said.

Boris said: 'We pick up Tania at eleven. Until then we should go over your plan.'

They sat round the table, and Craig began to talk. The Russian and the Hungarian were very patient listeners.

* * *

At ten forty-five the three men left their room. In the lobby the night porter handed Craig a package that had'been left for him. They went out of the hotel to where a rented car waited, a Mercedes 300 SE. The chauffeur was Tania, in black slacks and sweater and a short black coat. They got in and Craig opened the package. It contained two keys.

Tania said: 'Brodski stays at the villa. So does Simmons—and Jane. Chan is with the governor.'

Craig said: 'It'll have to be Simmons then. Can you get in?'

'You have decided not to kill him?' she asked.

'It looks as if I have to,' Craig said. 'Can you get in?'

'He thinks I'm dining with a girl friend,' said Tania. 'I said I'd try to get back for a drink about one o'clock. He told me he's working late tonight.'

'He's going to get his orders from Simmons,' said Craig.

A beggar came up to the car, and Craig wound down his window, handed over a dirham. They talked softly together in Arabic, then the beggar salaamed as the big car moved away.

'Listen carefully,' said Craig. 'I want you to know where the launch will be—just in case one of us doesn't make it.'

He began to talk, and the others listened with the same furious patience. At last Craig said: 'If anything goes wrong with the boat we make for Ceuta. I've got a friend there with a fishing boat. But if it comes to that, the only chance we've got is Gibraltar.'

Tania said: 'Very well,' and drove into the town, waited patiently for a left turn into the Boulevard Pasteur, then turned into a side street. The street was dimly lit after the boulevard, and there were cars parked on both sides. As they turned in, a Fiat van pulled out, and Craig congratulated Tania on her efficiency as the Mercedes slid into the space the Fiat had left.

They got out then, and Craig looked down toward the lights of the boulevard. The Credit Labonne building was on the corner, dark and shuttered as a fortress. Beside it were houses with a narrow frontage and heavy doors, their tiny windows latticed. Craig waited as Boris opened the Merc's boot, then he and Istvan took out the two neat leather cases that contained Istvan's equipment—Brought in, no doubt, by diplomatic pouch, thought Craig. He walked down the street to the house next to the bank and went in. The others followed, lagging, giving him time to open the door. For this he needed the key with the string tied to it. The lock worked easily, and in he went. The others followed, and the door swung to. Craig led the way down the flight of steps that led to a basement room, and from there down older steps, carved into rock, that brought him to the cellar beneath the house. Once grain had been stored there, or oil. A ring set in the wall hinted that it might have been a private prison, a place where slaves were taken for discipline. Before the liberation, Craig remembered, it might have contained weapons, waiting for transport south to the Sahara, then over the border to Algeria. Now all it held was an old bicycle and the remains of a pram. An unshaded bulb gave off a grudging light, and Craig moved to the wall adjoining the bank. Patiently someone had chipped away the stone, just enough to admit a man of Boris's size, or Craig's. Behind the stone was a sheet of steel, and someone had cut a hole in that, too, just enough. The steel plate and broken rock were piled neatly by the hole. There was no sign of tools, or a blow torch.

'Your people are thorough, too,' said Tania.

'We rented the basement for a month,' said Craig. 'The rock was easy, but we had to wait until the bank closed tonight to cut through the steel.' He turned to Istvan. 'In you go,' he said.

Istvan disappeared as naturally as a rabbit into a burrow, and Boris followed.

Craig turned to the woman.

'You'll keep watch?' She nodded. 'If we're blown and there's time, come into the bank. We'll set up an escape straight through to the front door. If there's any excitement, there'll be a car waiting. A green Buick taxi.'

'It's a pleasure to work with you,' said Tania.

He went through the hole, and Tania sat, her back against the wall. It was cold in the cellar, and for that reason only she shivered, then took from her pocket a Makarov 9mm. semi-automatic pistol. It was made in the USSR and was very, very accurate.

One corner of the bank cellar was filled with the massive outline of the time-lock safe. Istvan examined it by the light of a pencil torch, then grinned with the affection reserved for an ancient enemy, as Craig led the way up the stairs to the door that led to the mezzanine. He moved aside for Istvan to join him, then held the torch as the Hungarian used his picklock with slow, careful skill. On the mezzanine floor an armed guard was posted, and above him on the ground floor was another. Until they were silenced they could risk no noise at all. As Craig watched, the