the Israeli occupation of the disputed territories in the Middle East. The man he had chosen was Dr.
Kingston Parker, who was described as a personal friend of the
President and one of the senior members of his inner circle of advisors, a man well thought of by all parties in the dispute, and an ideal choice for the difficult job. Again Peter found himself in agreement. Kingston Parker’s energies and resources seemed bottomless.
Peter dropped the last paper and found himself facing a void of boredom that would extend through until the following day. There were three books he should read beside his bed, and the Hermes crocodile case was half-filled with Narmco material, yet he knew that he would not be able to concentrate not with the prospect of the confrontation with (“Caliph overshadowing all else.
He went through into the mirrored bathroom of the suite, and found the package that he had purchased the previous day in the cosmetic section of Galeries Anspach, one of the city’s largest departmental stores.
The wig was of good-quality human hair, not the obviously shiny nylon substitute. It was in his own natural colour, but much longer than Peter wore his hair. He arranged it carefully along his own hairline, and then set to work with a pair of scissors, trimming and tidying it. When he had it as close to his liking as possible, he began to tint the temples with “Italian Boy” hair silvering.
It took him most of the afternoon, for he was in no hurry, and he was critical of his own work. Every few minutes he consulted the snapshot which Melissa-Jane had taken with her new Polaroid camera,
Peter’s Christmas t present to her, at Abbots Yew on New Year’s Day.
It was a good likeness of both the Stride brothers, Peter and Steven,
standing full face and smiling indulgently at Melissa-Jane’s command to do so.
It highlighted the resemblances of the two brothers, and also pointed out their physical differences. The natural hair colouring was identical but Steven’s was fashionably longer, curling on his collar at the back, and appreciably greyer at the temples and streaked at the front.
Steven’s face was heavier, with the first trace of jowls, and his colour was higher, perhaps the first ruddy warnings of heart malfunction or merely the banner of good living in his cheeks. Yet with the wig on his head, Peter’s own face seemed much fuller.
Next Peter shaped the mustache, trimming it down into the infantry officer model that Steven favoured. There had been a good selection of artificial moustaches to choose from in the cosmetic section, amongst a display of artificial eyelashes and eyebrows, but none had been exactly right.
Peter had to work on it carefully with the scissors, and then tint it with a little silver.
When he fastened it in place with the special adhesive gum, the result was quite startling. The mustache filled out his face even further, and of course the eyes of the twins were almost exactly the same shape and colour. Their noses were both straight and bony.
Peter’s mouth was a little more generous, and did not have the same hard relentless line of lip but the mustache concealed much of that.
Peter stood back and examined himself in the full-length mirror.
He and Steven were within a quarter of an inch in height, they had the same breadth of shoulder. Steven was heavier in the gut, and his neck was thickening, giving him a thrusting bull-like set to his head and shoulders. Peter altered his stance slightly. It worked. He doubted that anybody who did not know both of them intimately would be able to detect the substitution. There was no reason to believe that Caliph or any of his closest lieutenants would have seen either Steven or Peter in the flesh.
He spent an hour practising Steven’s gait, watching himself in the mirror, trying to capture the buoyant cockiness of Steven’s movements,
searching for little personal mannerisms, the way Steven stood with both hands clasped under the skirts of his jacket; the way he brushed his mustache with one finger, from the parting under his nose left and right.
Clothing was not aserious problem. Both brothers had used the same tailor since Sandhurst days, and Steven’s dress habits were invariable and inviolable. Peter’s knew exactly what he would wear in any given situation.
Peter stripped off wig and mustache and repacked them carefully in their Galeries Anspach plastic packets, then buttoned them into one of the interior divisions of the Hermes case.
Next he removed the Cobra parabellum from another division. It was still in the chamois leather holster, and he bounced the familiar weight of the weapon in the palm of his hand. Reluctantly he decided he could not take it with him. The meeting would almost certainly be in England, The contact that Steven had had on Thursday had clearly originated in London. He had to believe the next contact would be in that same city. He could not take the chance of walking through
British customs with a deadly weapon on his person. If he was stopped,
there would be publicity.
It would instantly alert Caliph. He would be able to get another weapon from Thor Command once he was in England. Colin Noble would supply him, just as soon as Peter explained the need, he was certain of that.
Peter went down and checked the Cobra pistol into the safe deposit box of the hotel reception office, and returned to his room to face the wearying and indefinite wait. It was one of a soldier’s duties to which he had never entirely accustomed himself he always hated the waiting.
However, he settled down to read Robert Asprey’s War in the
Shadows, that definitive tome on the history and practice of guerrilla warfare down the ages. He managed to lose himself sufficiently to be mildly surprised when he glanced at his watch and saw it was after eight o’clock. He ordered an omelette to be sent up by room service,
and ten seconds after he replaced the receiver, the telephone rang.
He thought it might be a query from the kitchen about his dinner order.
“Yes, what is it?” he demanded irritably.
“Peter?”
“Steven?”
“He has agreed to a meeting.” Peter felt his heart lunge wildly.
“When? Where?”
“I don’t know. I have to fly to Orly tomorrow.
There will be instructions for me at the airport.” Caliph covering and backtracking. Peter should have expected it. Desperately he cast his mind back to the layout of Orly Airport. He had to find a private place to meet Steven and make the change-over. He discarded swiftly the idea of meeting in one of the lounges or washrooms. That left one other location.
“What time will you be there?” Peter demanded.
“Cooks have got me onto the early flight. I’ll be there at eleven fifteen.”
“I’ll be there before you” Peter told him. He knew the
Sabena timetable by heart and all senior Narmcc, executives had special
VIP cards which assured a seat on any flight.
“I wil I book a room at the Air Hotel on the fourth floor of Orly
South terminal in your name,” he told Steven now.
“I’ll wait in the lobby. Go directly to the reception desk and ask for your key. I will check behind you to make certain you are not followed. Do not acknowledge me in any way.
Have you got that, Steven?”
“Yes.”
“Until tomorrow, then.” Peter broke the connection, and went through into the bathroom. He studied his. own face in the mirror.
“Well, that takes care of getting a weapon from Thor.” Caliph had not set the meeting in England. It was clear now that Paris was only a staging point, and that in his usual careful fashion Caliph would move the subject on from there perhaps through one or more staging points,
to the final rendezvous.
The subject would go in unarmed, and unsupported and Peter was certain that afterwards Caliph would take his usual pains to ensure that the subject would be unable to carry back a report of the meeting.
I am drawing two cards inside for a straight flush, and Caliph is the dealer from a pack that he has had plenty of time to prepare, Peter thought coldly, but at least the waiting was over. He began to pack his toilet articles into
