“Time even to get to Monte Carlo by public transport and avoid the risk of being remembered by a taxi driver.”
“Still supposition,” insisted Grearson. “I agree they’d have got out of Switzerland as quickly as possible, but not that they would have gone north. That’s pure guesswork.”
“Look,” said Deaken, gesturing around the room. “What do you see?”
Grearson frowned about him, irritated at not being able to answer the question.
“What?” he said.
“Flowers!” said Deaken. “Every sort of flower, a lot of them subtropical.” He picked up the photograph of Karen and Tewfik Azziz. “Cornflowers,” he said. “Cornflowers and daisies. Nothing from the south.”
“Tenuous,” said Grearson.
“Can you do better?” said Deaken.
Grearson looked away without replying.
“The timing was tight.” Deaken addressed himself directly to Azziz. “A two P.M. departure from Strasbourg would have meant last-minute boarding by one forty-five. And they would have tried to avoid that, because of the risk of anyone remembering. If it took an hour to get to Basel and maybe another fifteen minutes to cross the border, that takes us to twelve thirty.” Deaken stopped, sure of his argument. “That’s all they did. Just crossed the border and stopped almost immediately for the photograph to be taken.” He scribbled a calculation on the map edge, equating his estimated timing with distance, then setting his compass. He used Zurich as the compass point, sweeping a half circle westwards on the map. It covered Selestat to the north, Le Locle in the south, with Epinal at the westward bulge of the half circle. Deaken reversed the map for the men opposite, pushed it across the table towards them and said, “Somewhere there.”
Azziz stared downwards for several moments and then said, “You’ve made it sound convincing.”
“It’s a holiday place,” said Deaken. “A farm.”
“Why?” said the Arab.
“Look at the picture,” said Deaken. “It’s a communal room, like a lot of French farms. And the fireplace is a working one, with all the fittings for smoking. But look at the surround. It’s white, not blackened by fire or smoke. It hasn’t been used for a long time.”
“Maybe,” agreed Azziz.
“We’ve only their word that they’ll let them go,” said Deaken. “You’ve the resources. Why not inquire specifically around there. We could identify it from a brochure.”
Azziz looked at Grearson. “We’ll do it,” he decided. “Fix it through Paris in the morning.” To Deaken he said, “They’re making contact at noon?”
“That was the arrangement.”
“By then we’ll have discovered what’s happened in Marseilles. You’ll stay aboard tonight.” It wasn’t a question.
“Thank you,” said Deaken, who hadn’t considered what he was going to do. “But I haven’t got anything,” he said.
“That’s not a problem,” said Azziz.
Deaken was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. He looked at his watch and saw it was 3 A.M. But he didn’t think he’d sleep.
“It was an intelligent exposition,” said Azziz. He had stayed with coffee but Grearson sat with a brandy balloon cupped before him in both hands.
“Unless he’s involved, in which case it would have been simple,” said the lawyer.
“Then he’s directed us to his accomplices, which doesn’t make sense,” said the Arab. “I believe him. I think his wife has been taken. Just like Tewfik.”
“I would have expected a cash demand,” said the lawyer, sipping from his glass.
Azziz nodded. “It’s definitely a complication.”
“A clever one,” said Grearson, fingering his spectacles. “If we default on the shipment, the word will get around very quickly. We exist by reputation. And reliability.”
“I know.” said the Arab. His head was forward on his chest, a familiar attitude of concentration. It was a long time before he spoke. “We can’t afford to lose that reputation,” he said. There was another pause. “Or Tewfik.” His head came up. “I don’t want an army,” he said positively. “I want a small, compact group. But they’ve got to be the best. I don’t want a bunch of has-beens, fat on beer and boasting about the black women they raped in the Congo.”
“Green Beret or British SAS?”
“Just the best.”
“Williams was a Green Beret,” reminded Grearson.
“He was a mistake,” said the Arab. “I don’t want any more.”
“There won’t be,” promised Grearson, whose life until now had been a comparatively easy one of creating contracts with people who were always the willing buyers and who enjoyed the comforts with which Azziz surrounded himself. He didn’t want anything to change.
“We’ll use this man Deaken,” said Azziz. “And if necessary his wife-they’re our advantage; they’re expendable.”
One deck above where Azziz sat, but farther to the stern, Deaken stared around a suite only slightly smaller than the apartment he occupied in Geneva, reaching out to touch first the smooth wood of the bulkhead and then letting his hand drop to the silk covering of the bed. He supposed the word was bunk, but it wasn’t appropriate: this was a bed, big enough for two. The thought hit him like a blow.
“Oh, my darling,” he said aloud. “Poor darling. I’ll get you back. I promise I’ll get you back.”
Tewfik Azziz waited a long time, twice almost drifting off to sleep, only to jerk awake, irritated at himself for the weakness it showed. He was extremely careful, crouching for a long time near the door, tensed for sounds, waiting for the conversation and then the footsteps to cease, for the house to sleep. Even then he waited for the stir of guards placed outside. There was no movement to indicate the precaution.
He had rehearsed the walk, like everything else, so he crossed silently to the window, the wom five franc piece hot where he had held it for so long in his hand. He purposely kept the light off, so it was difficult locating by touch alone the screws which bolted the bars in place. The round edge of the coin fitted only in the centre and there was little leverage on the small disc. Azziz thrust hard down upon it to get the maximum purchase, hands quivering with the effort of making the turn. The coin twisted free, twice, sharp enough to have cut him if he hadn’t had the forethought to protect his hands with a handkerchief; his captors might have become curious about such finger cuts. Azziz bit back the groan at the effort, feeling the blood pump through his head. When the screw gave, it was an abrupt, jerking movement which threw the coin wide again. He groped out, feeling for the screw, rubbing his thumb across the head to ensure he hadn’t milled the cross-cut sufficiently for them to detect it if they made a check while he wasn’t in the room. Then he fitted the coin in yet again, having to put a thumb and forefinger either side to keep the coin in place, and slowly succeeded in unscrewing it completely. Azziz stopped, panting, his clothes glued to him with sweat. For several moments he hunched in the darkness, with the screw held tightly in the palm of his hand like the prize it was. Then, carefully, he reinserted it and tightened it, so it would be undetectable. By the time he became aware of the greyness of dawn edging in through the shutters, Azziz had succeeded in releasing six of the eight screws holding the inner bar into position across one of the windows. When he lay down, he realized his fingers were so numb he could hardly feel them.
7
Karen slept badly, several times waking abruptly, knowing immediately where she was, and tensed for the sound or presence that had startled her. On each occasion there was nothing. She got up finally, before it was properly light, taking a long time to wash and dress. She had been careful to wind her watch, wanting always to be aware of the time. It was seven when she heard movement about the house. It was far away, downstairs in the kitchen or the big room, she supposed. She wished they would come for her. Karen moved impatiently but aimlessly around the bedroom, consciously avoiding that part where the portable lavatory stood. It embarrassed her, so much
