there, but Guy, sniffling and having to blow his nose every minute, objected and we did a murderous dash-stop-dash roar through the traffic. Zurich was lovely, fresh and splendid after the sickness of worrisome lovely Paris. It actually felt seaside, with the Limmit River running down to the broad sunshiny lake, the Zurichsee. We went down the Bahnhofstrasse—I was thrilled to notice the main railway station, because that’s where me and Lysette and Gobbie were to meet. Guy dumped us off near the Rennweg. A sign up and left indicated the tree-dotted mound.
“Have we time to climb up?” I asked Veronique. God, but she dazzled this morning. You can understand the ancient Celts giving up the ghost when tribes of great golden people like her hove in. “Only, it’s the ancient settlement of Zurich. We could see the whole place!”
“No.” She paused, as near as she’d ever come to a hesitation. “Lovejoy. What do you think of Guy?”
“For a psychotic murderous junkie he’s okay.” I gauged her The traffic passed down to the Quaibrucke, that lovely waterside. “Why?”
“When this is over, Guy and I will finish.” She looked away “You are not spoken for, Lovejoy.”
More evidence that she’d accompanied her killer druggie to Mentle Marina, otherwise how did she know I wasn’t heavily involved back in merry East Anglia?
“You mean…?” She couldn’t mean pair up. Not with me. I’m a shoddy scruff. She was glorious, rich, attractive.
“You are an animal,” she admitted candidly. “With an animal’s innocence. It is what I need.”
Why, the silly cow? I’d not even got a motor, nor money, unless this job paid. Odd, but I noticed that the motors reaching the traffic lights switched their engines off and sat in tidy silence until the lights changed. Fantastic, something I’d never seen before. What did they do it for? Save petrol? If I did that to my old Ruby it’d block the traffic for miles, never get anywhere, needing cranking up at every amber-red.
“And do what?”
“Live, Lovejoy.” She nodded at the city. “Grand, no? Wealthy, no? I want everything, every experience. Guy must go.”
Women have the finality of their convictions, know goodbye when they see it. In fact, that little skill of theirs has caused me a lot of trouble. But the way she spoke sent a shiver down me. It was almost as if—
“Let’s go, folkses!” from Guy, practically dancing between us. The district was mostly banking, exclusive and affluent. That Exemplary New Arts notice was a laugh. I avoided Veronique’s meaningful side glance, but in the end couldn’t resist giving her one. Contact lenses show an oblique rim, only just, round the edge of the iris, don’t they? You catch it, if the angle’s just so. And coloured contact lenses show it most. I was the only one not in disguise.
The place was a plush room within a hall, a kind of enclosed box inside a larger assembly space. Exhibition? It reminded me of those set-ups railway modelling societies use to create atmosphere for their titchy displays. I’d also seen one used for war games, nearer the mark.
“You come with us, Lovejoy,” Veronique said. Guy was chatting, waving, slapping backs, reaching for swift handshakes. Around the hall, two beefy blokes at each exit, hands folded. Three were in uniform, talking intently into gadgets. Once you got in, there’d be no way out. Nor could anybody outside get close enough to listen. The box occupied the precise centre of the vast hall. Mausoleum? You get the idea, that degree of welcome.
“Morning, Lovejoy.” Troude, a handshake. Lovely Monique, aloof. No sign of Almira, no Paulie, no Jervis Galloway, MP. “I want to thank you for the work you’ve done for us. Selecting the antiques we needed to buy at the Paris auctions, your Paris sweep, checking the suitability of the, ah, reproductions. You have earned a bonus.”
“Good morning, Monsieur Troude. Thank you.”
We did that no-after-you-please in the one doorway and entered the darkened box. The door closed behind us with a thud. Colonel Marimee was on a dais, hands behind his back, facing the dozen or so folk already in. All were standing. Monique was beside him. It was lit with a single strip light. Battery operated, I saw with surprise. Couldn’t they afford one from the mains? But a wandering flex breaches a wall, and this was—
“Soundproof, Lovejoy.” Philippe Troude was next to me, smiling. I’d been ogling. “Swiss security, that they do so well. Banks, you see.”
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” the Commandant rasped in French. This was his scene, everybody listening while he delivered battle plans. Monique translated
The pair I’d met at that weird mansion-house garden party were standing nearby. I smiled a hello. They nodded back, tense. I felt my belly gripe. If they were worried sick, I ought to have at least a panic or two. Sweat sprang all over me.
The Colonel spoke. “The event will be perfect. All has gone well.”
At Marimee’s barks people looked at each other in relief. Satisfaction ruled. The audience was affluent, smooth, the women elegant. Dressing had cost a fortune. I expected a series of tactical maps to drop from the ceiling, red arrows sweeping around blue ones, but it was only the Colonel, in his element.
“There are two additional steps.” Marimee stared us all down. Drums should have begun, music pounding to a martial crescendo. “First is financial. Another fourteen per cent is required from each syndicate member. Cash. Investment return will be commensurate. Immediate effect.”
A faint groan rose. I found myself groaning along, like a nerk. I hate that military phrase, as does anyone who’s seen a reluctant soldier. This must be my doing, buying up Paris.
“Mein Herr,” some stout bespectacled put in. I noticed calculators were surreptitiously in action
“No questions!” Marimee barked. “The second step is accomplishment of the objective. Execution will be total effectivity.”
A cluster of three men, almost Marimee look-alikes except less showy, nearly smiled. The executors, if that was the word?
“That is all.”
“
