‘A useful hint in these matters,’ he concluded, ‘is to enter the figure in your address book as though it were a telephone number. Of course, as I said, the figure by itself would be useless to a third party without the signatures. But it could still cause embarrassment if it were to fall into the wrong hands.’ He smiled innocently. ‘We are always anxious to protect the interests of our clients in every possible way.’ He gave each of them a muscular handshake and saw them through to the outer door.
They got into the Fiat, with Pol choosing the back seat this time, curling up his legs in the foetal position, with his hands cupped under his head for a pillow. Ryderbeit slid in beside Packer.
Before starting the car, Packer broke open his envelope, took out his cheque book and a slip of paper that was blank except for seven numbers, memorized them quickly, repeated them under his breath several times, then tore the paper into four pieces. Ryderbeit gave a low cackle close to his ear and snapped open a lighter, holding the flame under the torn scraps in Packer’s hand. ‘Taking it real seriously, aren’t we, soldier?’
Packer held the four pieces until they scorched his fingers, then dropped the charred flakes into the ashtray. Pol had begun to snore.
Packer turned on the headlamps, drove round a mean little square at the end of the street, and headed back towards the road to Lausanne.
‘One thing puzzles me,’ said Ryderbeit suddenly. ‘You had the Fat Man sewn up back there. He tried that fast one on you, but that was probably just his sense of fun — or perhaps his way of testing you. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t go for the half million in a straight, simple account of your own, and no fucking about with joint signatures. Now, every time you want to draw even the petty cash, you’ve got to get Fat Man to agree.’
Packer nodded. ‘You were the one who first said you didn’t trust Pol. Maybe I don’t trust him either. Maybe I don’t trust him not to let me go ahead with this operation, then arrange for me to have a nasty accident at the end of it. Pol’s original trick of fixing that joint account in the first place was a form of insurance. He didn’t want me knocking him off. Now the tables are turned. Whatever happens — and however much Pol may want me out of the way — he’s going to have to do some pretty agonizing thinking before he sacrifices that half million. United we stand, divided we’re skint.’
‘Fair enough, soldier.’ Ryderbeit’s voice was a hushed whisper in the dark of the car. ‘’Course, it doesn’t stop me knocking you off. Or hadn’t you thought of that?’
‘No, I hadn’t thought of it, Sammy. I hadn’t thought of it because you’re too sentimental and full of fun. You’d be lost without me and old Pol.’
Ryderbeit laughed, but said nothing.
CHAPTER 10
They met for breakfast next morning at a café outside Geneva, on the Chamonix road. Pol was lapping up a bowl of hot chocolate with his omelette au jambon; Ryderbeit was drinking marc; and Packer had ordered black coffee and croissants.
They had arrived separately from their different hotels — Pol insisting that it was wiser not to be seen too often together. Again he had arrived late, and seemed for the moment more interested in his omelette; while Ryderbeit was unusually taciturn. Packer himself had slept badly and now felt a vague sense of trepidation.
It had taken him until the light of day to realize just how fully he was committed — irretrievably beholden to the Gallic clown across the table, Charles Pol, Swiller of Bols and Beheader of Tulips — this gross, deceptively comic buffoon who had intruded into his life by means of a drunken romp in the rain. For what had begun as an eccentric joke had flowered, with alarming rapidity, into a conspiracy of incalculable dimensions.
Pol wiped the chocolate from his mouth and beard, belched, and took a stiff buff envelope from inside his jacket. ‘I have something here that will interest you both.’
While Ryderbeit called for another marc, Pol lifted the unsealed flap of the envelope and shook out two glossy sheets of contact prints. There were several dozen on each, though the last half of the second sheet was blank. He shuffled the two sheets into the middle of the table, then flung an arm round Packer’s shoulder and pulled him sideways in a huge hug, almost dragging him off his chair. ‘I must congratulate you again, mon cher Capitaine. This is excellent work!’
Packer found himself once more breathing the rank odour of scent and sweat; he tried to struggle politely, but the Frenchman only squeezed him closer. And again Packer was amazed at how strong Pol was. He gave an energetic shrug, broke free, and picked up the sheets of contacts.
The pictures were so small that he had to hold them up to the light, peering at them from a few inches away. They looked at first like poor family snaps — fudged with sun spots, with the figures too small, bunched into a corner or blurred by movement. At first glance they would seem to have been taken either by a very inexperienced amateur, or by someone working under exceptionally difficult circumstances.
With a few exceptions, which were mostly among the first rows on the completed sheet, the backgrounds were of a monotonous uniformity: bits of street, empty pavements, blank walls. The exceptions were several shots of
