such loving skill; it was like watching a pianist resolve a difficult cadenza. He looked at his watch. 12:30. Tania would be late at the Villa Florida. Then, for the last time, Istvan sighed, and the small safe door swung open.
He hadn't known what to expect. Bundle after bundle of notes probably; hard, useful currencies in sets of a hundred. Instead there were suitcases, six of them, a matched set in black leather with hand-forged brass locks and the initials BC in gold. Istvan hefted one from the shelf, then swore as it slipped in his fingers.
'I'd forgotten how much good paper weighs,' he said.
'Get them all out,' said Craig. 'I'll go for Boris.'
Craig scrambled into the safe above, then heard the soft click of a picklock on metal. He grinned and counted to a hundred before he fetched Boris. That was all the start Istvan could have.
The guards were still unconscious as Craig and
Boris scrambled down into the safe. Istvan had the cases drawn up in a neat row, but Craig made Istvan open one. They seemed almost too heavy to contain paper, but they did. A hundred and ten bundles of one- thousand-Deutschmark bills, a hundred bills to the bundle. Eleven million Deutschmarks, crisp and clean from the printer.
'It is almost too beautiful,' said Istvan. 'Really, people should take better care of their property.'
17
She was waiting by the hole in the wall. As Craig came through the Makarov disappeared into her pocket and she helped drag out the suitcases, then went up to bring the Mercedes nearer. The men carried them up into the hall, waiting. They heard the sound of a key searching for a lock, and moved into the shadow as a fat and very drunken man staggered in and went toward the stairs. Boris's hand moved toward his coat, and Craig shook his head. The fat man lunged at the banister, caught it at last and began ponderously to climb. They waited until he turned the corner of the stairs, then heard a thud, followed by a woman's voice spraying Spanish like bursts from a machine gun. 'Let's go,' said Craig.
Outside the Merc waited, and they loaded it with the cases, and Istvan's tools.
'What now?' Boris asked.
Tania said: 'Simmons. I have worked out a plan. It should be possible, I think.'
She began to talk as she drove, and Craig agreed with her. It should be possible. Only Istvan was excluded, and that made him very happy. To wait
in the car was the height of his ambition.
They drove to where Craig had left the rented car, then Craig took its wheel and Tania sat in the back. Behind them Boris and Istvan followed in the Merc. She said nothing until they reached the street where the villa was, and when she did speak at last, her voice was worried.
'Remember, Craig, I must have Simmons alive.'
'I remember,' said Craig. She looked back out of the window. The Merc was still following.
'You're really leaving Istvan behind?' Craig asked.
'He can't steal that car,' Tania said. 'Nobody can—not without tools. And his are in the boot, with the money. Istvan won't go without money.'
Then he pulled up outside the villa, and honked the horn. A watchman came up out of the darkness as Tania fumbled in a purse, handing Craig money.
Craig said in Arabic: 'This lady is expected.'
The watchman stared at her, then began to open the gate. As he did so, Craig began to explain in English why he could not wait for her. The gate opened, and Tania walked in, the Craig called: 'You've forgotten this,' and moved forward. The watchman turned too late, half lifting his iron club. Craig's blow was already on the way. He fell at once and Craig caught him, dragged him into the shadows, then put his hands behind his back and took piano wire from his pocket. From further down the street he could hear Boris's hurrying footsteps. He finished tying up the watchman as Boris joined him in the shadows. Tania walked down the path, and the two men moved alongside her, in cover, then sped to the steps that led to the villa's door, and stood waiting, one on each side. Tania looked quickly from one to the other, then pressed the bell. A burly Arab in a djibbah opened the door and said at once: 'Good evening, madame.'
Tania said: 'There has been an accident, I think. Your watchman—' 'Yes, madame?'
'He seems to have been attacked.' She turned and pointed. 'Just over there.'
The burly Arab called out, then he and another Arab came out through the door. The sound of flesh meeting flesh was very small in the darkness, and both Craig and Boris caught their victims before they could fall, tied them with piano wire, took away the pistol each man carried as Tania walked into the hallway. They followed, their shoes noiseless on the floor's inevitable marble, then moved to the door behind which was the sound of voices to stand again one on each side, guns in their hands. Craig noticed the swell of Tania's splendid breast as she breathed in— she gave no other sign of fear. Then she opened the door and walked in, leaving the door open behind her. There was a split second for her to choose the words that would tell them how to act. 'Forgive me,' meant go ahead; 'Excuse me' meant get out quick.
'Forgive me,' said Tania. 'I know it's late—'
Craig went in fast, pushing Tania clear as he leaped to one side. There were three men in the room: Simmons, Brodski, and Medani. Their look of surprise at the sight of Craig was perfectly genuine. For a moment it seemed almost a scene of
farce, so intense it was.
'Tania,' said Brodski. 'What on earth—' He looked at Craig. 'The man who fought with Jennifer,' he said.
'Is that all you know about me?' Craig asked. Simmons moved at last, and the gun followed him hungrily. He stayed very still. From where he stood Craig could see Boris in the doorway.
He said: 'I don't have to tell anybody not to move.' Their stillness was no longer comic; it was full of terror.
'Keep your hands where I can see them,' said Craig, and they obeyed him.
Brodski said: 'I don't understand why you should be with him. You—a Pole—'
Tania said: 'I'm a Russian.'
Brodski had lived all his life on instant decisions. As a fencing champion in Cracow, as a fighter pilot, as a club owner, learning when to fight and when to bribe, and as a spy, buying information in London; always it had been the moment of absolute certainty that counted. He made a decision now. This woman whom he adored had him marked for death. He would not die alone.
He dropped suddenly to one side, and his hand moved to his pocket. Craig and Boris fired together, and Brodski died, with a Smith and Wesson bullet in his right shoulder and a Makarov bullet in the heart. He fell very close to Tania. She did not look at him. Her eyes were on Simmons. When he saw Craig's gun swing to Brodski, Simmons had risen, but the barrel was pointing at him again, and he was still.
'Your daughter in bed?' asked Craig.
'Yes,' said Simmons.
'Anybody else here?'
Simmons shook his head.
'Watch the door,' Craig said to Boris. 'Keep the girl out of here.'
Boris looked at Tania, and she nodded. He left.
Medani said: 'Are we all to die?'
'It's possible,' said Craig.
'Because if so I should like time to pray,' said Medani.
'Pray then,' said Craig, and Medani did so, his lips moving. Tania looked at him in wonder, then began to go through a desk in the room, turning out papers.
'May one ask what you're looking for?' Simmons asked.
'Not your money,' said Craig. 'We've got that already. All of it. Out of Credit Labonne.'
The news shook Simmons. He rocked back on his heels, then came in again.
'In exchange for your manhood?' he asked.
Craig chuckled, pushed his gun into the waistband of his trousers. 'I wonder what you hope to get by making me mad. A quick death?'
There was the sound of Jane's voice outside the door, calling out to her father.
'You'd better answer her,' said Craig.
