At this moment a black Mercedes pulled up beside them. The white coated driver got out and saluted Girland.
'You understand the car, sir?'
'Oh, sure.' Girland tossed his suitcase onto the back seat. He tipped the man, then turning to Labrey, he went on, 'Hop in.'
Labrey slid into the passenger's seat. He put the rucksack down between his feet.
Girland got under the driving wheel and set the car in motion.
Labrey said, 'Thank you very much, sir.' The conversation from the beginning had been in French. 'You're an American, aren't you?'
'That's right.'
'You look American, but your French is perfect.'
I guess I get by. Where are you from?' Girland asked as he headed the car fast along the highway towards Munich.
'I'm from Paris. I'm on vacation. I plan to walk through the Isar valley to Bad Tolz,' Labrey said. He had spent his time profitably while in the aircraft, reading a guide book of Germany which he had bought at Orly airport.
'Fine walking country,' Girland said.
Labrey looked shiftily at him.
'Are you on vacation or on business, sir?'
'A bit of both. You're walking from Garmisch?'
'Yes, but I will stay in Garmisch for a few days if I can find a cheap hotel.'
'You won't have any trouble about that. There are plenty of good, cheap hotels to choose from.' Girland spoke from experience as he often came to Garmisch for the winter sports.
Having been warned by Malik about Girland, Labrey decided not to ask any further questions. It was truly a bit of luck to be riding with this ex-CIA agent who obviously was quite unsuspecting. Labrey was pleased with himself.
The conversation got around to Paris and the night clubs. Labrey could tell Girland of two or three he didn't know and Girland could tell Labrey of a dozen and more he didn't know. Chatting this way, they reached Munich and Girland who knew the route, took the outer-ring road and got onto E.6 highway that led directly to Garmisch, under 100 kilometres from Munich. Once on this highway, Girland increased speed and within a little over an hour and a half, he drove into Gannisch's crowded, narrow main street.
Pulling up by the square, he said, 'You'll find three or four hotels over there to the left.'
'Are you going to one of them?' Labrey asked as he opened the car door.
'My hotel's further down the road.' Girland offered his hand. 'Have a good vacation.'
'Thanks for the ride, sir.'
Girland nodded, started the car moving and drove on to the Alpenhoff Hotel. Labrey half ran, half walked after the Mercedes which was moving slowly as the traffic was heavy. He saw Girland swing the car into the driveway of the hotel, then satisfied he knew where Girland was staying, he went in search of a cheap hotel for himself.
As Girlaind walked into the softly lit hotel lobby, a short, chunky man, wearing a canary coloured polo neck sweater and white slacks paused to let him pass. Behind him was a girl who Girland immediately recognised as Gillian Sherman from the movie he had seen. He was sure he wasn't mistaken. She was slightly above average height. Her bronze-coloured hair was cut in the shape of a helmet which suited her attractive, sun-tanned face. She had on a white square-necked sweater and black stretch-pants, revealing her sensual figure.
Girland immediately stopped and stood aside to let her pass. She favoured him with a long, searching stare and then a smile, saying, 'Merci, monsieur.'
'Come on, Gilly, for God's sake!' the man said in French. 'We're late already.'
They crossed to where a scarlet T.R.4 was parked, got in, and with a violent roar from the exhaust, the chunky man whipped the car dangerously fast into the main street and drove away out of sight at speed.
Girland approached the reception desk, setting down his suitcase.
'Mr Girland booking in,' he said to the clerk. 'WasthatMrRosnold who just left? I believe I recognised him.'
'That is correct, sir.'
'He's not checking out?'
'Oh, no, sir. He is with us for another week.'
Satisfied, Girland completed the usual form, went up to his room, unpacked his bag and changed into a sweat shirt and hipsters. As the time was only after 11.00 hrs., he decided to take a look at the country since he guessed Rosnold and Gillian could be out for the day.
As he left his room, an elderly chambermaid came along the corridor. Girland smiled, asking in his fluent German, 'Is Mr Rosnold on this floor, do you know?'
'He's right there,' the woman said, returning Girland's smile. She pointed to a door exactly opposite Girland's room. 'But he's out now'.
Girland thanked her and went on his way. He felt he had begun the assignment not only with a lot of luck, but well.
As he drove from the hotel, Labrey, sitting at a cafe near the hotel watched him leave. There was nothing Labrey could do about this. He would have to wait until Malik arrived, but at least, he knew where Girland was staying. The next move was to find out why he had come to Garmisch.
Girland returned to the hotel for lunch having driven as far as Wies where he visited what is considered by connoisseurs to be the most beautiful rococo church in Germany. Girland was not an admirer of this form of art, and after taking a hasty look around the massive, ornate interior, he decided to drive back slowly, savouring the magnificent scenery, the hills, the forests and the green of the rich spring meadows.
It was while he was driving along a narrow road bordered by wild flowers that he saw ahead of him a scarlet sports car, parked on the side of the verge. He slowed, seeing the hood was open and Gillian Sherman sitting in the passenger's seat. He slowed to a crawl, and as he approached, he saw Rosnold peering at the motor.
My lucky day, Girland thought and pulled up.
'Do you want any help?' he asked in French.
Rosnold regarded him. He was a man in his middle forties, but in good trim with a well-built, muscular body. His eyes were a little too close-set and his mouth hard, but he was reasonably handsome. He smiled, a tight-lipped smile, then raised his hands helplessly.
'The damn thing just stopped. Do you know anything about cars?'
Girland slid out of the Mercedes and went over to the T.R.4. He purposely didn't look at Gillian.
'Try to start her,' he said. 'Let's hear what she sounds like.'
Rosnold got under the driving wheel. The dynamo whirred, but the engine reamined dead.
'All right for gas?'
'Three-quarters full.'
'Then you could have dirt in the petrol feed. Got any tools?'
Rosnold found the tool wallet and handed it over. It took Girland ten minutes to get the engine restarted. He stepped back and smiled.
'There you are... simple when you know how.'
Rosnold said gratefully, 'Thank you very much. You are most kind.'
'Glad to be of help.' Girland now looked at Gillian who gave him a wide, fascinating smile.
'I think you are wonderful,' she said.
'If you will permit me, madame, I will return the compliment,' Girland said. He gave her his long stare of admiration that had so often sent tingles up the spines of so many girl, then he returned to his car and drove off.
At the hotel he had a good lunch, then went up to his room, stripped off, put on a shortie dressing-gown and stretched out on the bed. Girland believed in rest when there was time to rest. Within a minute or so, he was asleep.
He woke a little before 18.00 hrs., took a shower, shaved and put on a midnight-blue suit, a white polo-neck sweater, black suede shoes. He surveyed himself in the full-length mirror. Satisfied, he pushed a small armchair up to the door, opened the door a crack and sat down to wait.
