flight, expecting to take a meeting. So I wasn’t carrying the gear for the job. Some I can get myself. But some you’re going to have to supply.”
Vermulen looked to either side, to check that he could not be overheard.
“What are we talking about: weapons, specialist equipment?”
“That kind of thing,” agreed Carver. “I need nonfatal weapons, specifically a multiple-shot forty-millimeter grenade launcher, preferably an MGL Mark One. I want six rounds of CS gas for the launcher plus three M-eighty- four stun grenades, a collapsible twenty-one-inch baton, a lightweight ballistic-grade protective vest, a combat-level gas mask, and twenty-five-milligram Valium tablets…”
“You don’t look like the nervous kind,” Vermulen observed.
“Yeah, well, looks can be deceptive. Now, I want every item within forty-eight hours. Leave it as poste restante in the post office at Vence. And, finally, I’m going to be spending a lot of time over the next few days keeping out of people’s way, nice and quiet. So all communications will be via text-messaging-no calls unless I decide otherwise. I’ll give you a number to use, and I’ll need you to give me one, too.”
Vermulen’s jaw tightened. His face darkened with anger, like the shadow of a cloud scudding across the ground.
“You know, Mr. Wynter, you have quite an attitude for a hired hand. I don’t know that I like being given orders by a man who’s working on my dollar.”
“I’m not giving you orders, General. I’m explaining the way things have to be if you’re going to get the item you’ve ordered, and I’m going to walk away unscathed.”
“I could determine another way of doing the job. I have men of my own.”
“The matelots on your boat? Bunch of sailor boys in shorts? I don’t think so.”
“That wasn’t who I was thinking of,” said Vermulen. He looked at Carver, his eyes narrowed. “You know, that’s an interesting word, ‘matelot.’ ”
“It’s French,” said Carver, knowing he’d just made a stupid, careless, amateur mistake, still a few percent off his best.
“That it is. Also happens to be the slang that British marines use for regular naval personnel. I’ve heard them say it myself. So I’m wondering how come you know that word, and also seem to be so familiar with the designations for military ordnance: MGL grenade launchers, M-eighty-four grenades. If I recall correctly, you have no military experience. So perhaps you could tell me how a civilian came to be so familiar with all that soldier talk?”
Carver shrugged. “I get around.”
Vermulen said nothing. He wasn’t convinced. Carver went all out.
“All these years, doing what I do, you think I don’t know the tools of my trade? And ‘matelots’-that’s what my dad always used to call sailors. Dunno where he got it from. National Service, maybe? Or more likely down the nick, doing porridge with some old bootneck. See, that’s more slang. I can do some Cockney rhyming for you, if you like.”
A wry smile crossed Vermulen face. “Okay, you win. So, assuming you get the goods, when and where will you make the delivery?”
“It’ll be right here, at the hotel bar, just off the front hall, either three or four nights from now-I’ll text the exact time once the mission has been accomplished. There was a bird on your boat-sorry, a woman…”
“Yes, my secretary.” There was a hint of suspicion in Vermulen’s voice.
“You trust her?” asked Carver.
“Of course.”
“Good-then she can do the pickup. You and I can’t meet again-we’ve taken enough of a risk as it is. So what’s going to happen is a nice, respectable woman is going to meet an old friend in the bar of a hotel. What’s her name, by the way?”
“Natalia Morley.”
“Natalia… very nice. Anyway, Natalia and Kenneth will say hello, how are you, all that stuff. They’ll have a nice little drink. She’ll ask him what he’s been up to, he’ll take out the file, and she’ll cast an eye over it politely. At some point, she’ll take a call from her ‘husband’-that’s you, obviously-and she’ll tell him that she’s just bumped into good old Kenny. Then, when you’ve asked her if I’ve got the goods, she’ll hand the phone over to me, like you’re just dying to have a word with your old mate. You’ll tell me that you’ve wired the outstanding payment into my account. When I’ve got confirmation from my bank, I’ll pass Natalia the document, nice and discreet, and she’ll put it in her handbag. Then we finish our drinkies, say good night, and go our separate ways. All right?”
“I don’t want Miss Morley placed in any danger.”
“Nor do I, General. If she’s in danger, so am I.”
“Okay, but I need to make sure she’s comfortable with this. Let me speak with her.”
Over the past half-minute, Carver had taken out a black Moleskine notebook from his jacket pocket and written something on one of its pages.
“You do that,” he said, tearing the page out of the book and handing it to Vermulen. “But before you do, this is the sort code for my bank and the number of my account. I’d appreciate it if you transferred the first installment now. Neither of us is leaving this table till I’ve got my half-million.”
Vermulen did not even glance at the torn page.
“Once again, Mr. Wynter, your attitude won’t make you any friends.”
“It’s not personal, General. I’ve just learned the hard way not to deliver my side of a deal until I know for certain that the other side is delivering his.”
