`This is the Assistant Manager,' Jacques informed Marler. He turned to his superior. 'This man has..
`All right! All right! I'll tell him,' Marler snapped. 'Sir, one of your guests dropped this wallet in the street. He's just come in with a chauffeur.'
The manager examined the wallet. His eyebrows rose when he saw the wad of money. He looked at Marler. `There could be a reward…'
`No reward. Don't want no reward.' Marler was backing to the door. 'I'm just out on probation. I'm not taking a franc…'
He was gone before the manager could recover from his surprise. He walked past his parked car and then looked back. No one in sight: not even the doorman. He unlocked his car, slipped behind the wheel, closed and locked the door.
He spent the next few minutes using wet-wipes from a container in the glove compartment to clean his face. Then he finished the job, using a handkerchief to brush away any remnant of wet-wipe that might be clinging to his stubble.
Marler felt it had been a very successful outing. He now knew positively he was tracking Dr Wand. And he had the photos of him taken at the long-term garage back at London Airport. What Marler didn't realize was he possessed the only photographs of Dr Wand ever taken.
20
Beyond the entrance to the Hilton on the Boulevard de Waterloo the reception counter stretches away to the right. It faces a huge sitting area furnished with comfortable chairs and small tables.
After dinner Brigadier Burgoyne was sitting upright in an armchair. Opposite him sat Willie Fanshawe and Helen Claybourne. Lee Holmes was stroking her long blonde hair as she settled herself in her own chair.
`You've been away a damned long time,' Burgoyne observed.
`Just to the powder room,' Lee replied. She smiled wickedly at the Brigadier. 'Women to tend to linger in a powder room. They're making themselves presentable for their men.'
Burgoyne grunted. He looked very smart in a blue pin-striped suit. Willie, as always, looked crumpled although also wearing a suit: his plump bulk made it impossible for him to keep any suit decent for more than a few days.
Both men had a glass of Grand Marnier which Burgoyne had paid for. Willie's income was a fraction of the Brigadier's. Helen, wearing a pleated white blouse with a mandarin collar and a navy blue skirt, studied Lee. The blonde was clad in an off-the-shoulder purple dress slit to her thigh. You do like to display your assets, she thought. Instead she said: 'Is your business trip proving successful, Brigadier?'
`Of course it is,' Willie broke in cheerfully, leaning forward. 'He's arming the world..
`Do keep your voice down,' Burgoyne snapped. 'You came at your own urging.'
`We did? My recollection is you suggested we join the party. And don't think we're not having the time of our lives, because we are. That's so, isn't it, Helen?'
`The time of our lives,' Helen repeated in a neutral tone.
`I think,' Lee intervened, 'we ought to amuse ourselves. What about a game of poker?' She looked at Burgoyne. `I'm going to take the pants off you.'
`I wouldn't mind taking the pants off you,' Willie told her and chuckled.
`Don't be coarse,' Helen scolded him. Willie had had a lot to drink. Lee was producing a pack of cards out of her large Gucci handbag. 'I think we ought to set a limit if we're playing for money,' Helen went on firmly.
`Of course we're playing for money,' Willie chattered on. 'What else is there to play for? I remember in Hong Kong we often stayed up all hours and…'
`Willie,' Helen interrupted, 'Lee has dealt the cards.' 'Of course. Sorry, my dear…'
Four heads bent over, studying their hands. Lee glanced up. Silence had descended. She had achieved her objective. Unusually for her, Lee didn't feel like talking.
`I have been working on an antidote to Stealth for months,' Delvaux explained in the kitchen of the Chateau Orange. `The work was speeded up since my wife was kidnapped. It kept me from going crazy with anxiety.'
'I admire your concentration,' Tweed remarked. 'How far have you got?'
`I have solved the problem. The whole history of warfare is based on the invention of counter-measures. The tank was followed by the creation of the anti-tank gun. The fighter plane compelled us to invent the ground-to-air missile…' Paula watched, fascinated, as Delvaux spilt out the words non-stop. 'So Stealth has driven me to invent a radar system – the most advanced in the world – which can actually see, register on the screen, the presence of a Stealth bomber or ship. And that is why my plant is working night and day. Come, let me show you something.'
Delvaux trotted over to the large fridge, the first time Tweed had seen him move normally. Opening it, he pointed to a modest-sized tin.
`What is that?'
`A tin of biscuits,' Paula answered, mystified.
`That is what it is intended to look like. In fact, it is a specially designed container impervious to extremes of heat or cold and which can be dropped without damaging at all the delicate instrument inside.'
Taking out the tin, he placed it on a table, prised off the lid, stood back and gestured. Tweed, Newman, and Paula peered inside. The walls were lined with some kind of protective material. Delvaux reached into the tin, carefully lifted out an intricate mechanism. The only part Paula recognized was what appeared to be a large circular TV-like screen. Delvaux then extracted a thick bound file.
`None of you will understand the file,' Delvaux warned. `But hand it to one of your radar boffins and he will at once understand how the system works. Tweed, please take this with you back to London. Arrange for a fleet of trucks with armed men to travel to my works. We will load them with a large number of these devices. Have you a card?'
Tweed produced one of his cards printed with only his name and General amp; Cumbria Assurance. Delvaux took it, extracted a pen from his pocket, underlined the 'T' of Tweed, showed it to him, then slipped it into his own wallet.
`All the drivers of those trucks must carry such a card. It will identify them to my General Manager, Alain Flamand. I will write that down for you. Another card. So the drivers deal only with Main Flamand. He practically lives at the plant. Now, I have designed an executive-style case which just takes the biscuit tin.'
Packing the mechanism inside the biscuit tin, he opened a drawer under the table, laid an executive case on top, slipped the tin inside the case, closed it, handed it to Tweed.
Tweed had secreted the card with Alain Flamand's name written in Delvaux's neat hand inside his wallet. He lifted the executive case and was surprised at its lightness. His expression was grim as he put it on the table.
`Thank you, Gaston. A feeble way of congratulating you on what you have achieved – and under the nerve- breaking conditions you are suffering. But we now have to think of Andover's body. The police – Benoit – must be told.'
`I suppose they must,' Delvaux said slowly.
Paula watched him crumble. The brisk vigour with which he had been speaking dissolved. The terror had returned. He held out his hands in a helpless gesture.
'Then the kidnappers will know…'
`Listen to me!' Tweed gripped his arm. 'Think! The men – or man – masterminding this hideous business know Andover has been murdered. Because they planned it. So they will expect a police ambulance to arrive to take away poor Andover's body. Benoit will be discreet, I promise you.'
`But the listening devices you have removed from here?'
`Can you put them back exactly where you found them?' Tweed asked Paula.
`Yes, we can. Come on, Bob. Back to work..
She took a dishcloth, damped it slightly under the running tap. Each bug had a rubber sucker used to attach it to wherever it was placed. For the next half-hour she worked with Newman's help, damping a sucker, pressing it against the surface precisely where she had found it. Delvaux had collapsed into a chair long before she had
