Packer smiled. ‘If somebody’s prepared to pay enough to give me a cut of half a million, I guess an Armalite’s going to be about as difficult to buy out here as a tin of Nescafé.’ He called for the bill and waited while Ryderbeit drank his wine.
‘Where is Pol, by the way?’ Ryderbeit said at last.
‘I don’t know. He’s phoning me at the Chesa. He hasn’t been in Klosters since yesterday morning.’
Ryderbeit made no comment; nor did he make any move to help settle the bill. Only when they were halfway to the Fiat did he say, ‘Just to be on the safe side, soldier, ask the Fat Man for six rounds each. It’s a quick-firing weapon, you know.’
Packer nodded. They drove most of the way back down to Klosters in silence. Over the last stretch, Ryderbeit was leaning forward, straining his one eye for a glimpse of the cables up to the Gotschnagrat, which was already in heavy shadow.
‘You know, soldier — and I don’t want you laughing until I’ve finished — I’ve got half an idea to hire a twin-engined Executive jet and fix a nice sharp piece of metal between the undercarriage, then fly down that valley and nick those cables like pieces of string. Remember that accident on Mont Blanc a few years ago? — when a Mystère fighter cut the traction cable halfway up the mountain, and the pilot didn’t even know what had happened until after he’d landed?’
‘And what speed do you think he was doing?’
Ryderbeit shrugged. ‘A few hundred knots.’
‘And how fast do you think you could fly down that valley, keeping right up against the trees or the Wang in order to cut the cables near the top?’
Ryderbeit snarled something in Afrikaans; then got out a cigar, snicked the end with his teeth, and lit it from the dashboard lighter. ‘Okay, soldier, you win again. I guess those Executive jobs are best left to giving the fat cats a smooth ride without upsetting their secretaries’ champagne. A pity, though.’
Packer turned off the main road, just before the stony river, and drove down between two rows of dank grey houses which led to Ryderbeit’s pension. ‘Till tomorrow at eight o’clock sharp, at the Gotschnabahn Hut,’ Packer said, stopping the car.
Ryderbeit got out and gave a gallant wave. ‘My regards to the Fat Man — the sod! And give your girl a big something from me.’
He waved again, this time with a hint of loneliness as he mounted his dingy doorstep and fumbled for his key, following Pol’s instructions to keep a strictly low profile during their stay in Klosters.
CHAPTER 15
When Charles Pol was shown into the Ruler’s presence, shortly after noon next day, he had been kept waiting only forty minutes. He was received in the same room, where the Ruler sat behind his desk, wearing a lounge suit and his horn-rimmed spectacles.
‘Welcome, Monsieur. Be seated.’ He sat back and gave Pol his long oily stare. ‘Are you a chess player, Monsieur Pol?’
‘I have played. But I am not good.’
‘You surprise me. I am an excellent player. I have taken on some of the Grand Masters, and often it is I who have called shah-mak. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the term? It is an ancient word in my language meaning, literally, “Death to the King”. You call it, I believe, “checkmate”?’
There was a pause. Pol sensed something disquietingly casual about the Ruler’s manner. ‘You have surely not invited me here to play chess?’ Pol asked, with his mischievous grin.
‘No. I mentioned the game because it has a certain irony — one which you, as a Frenchman, may appreciate. When I first summoned you here, I had selected you from a long list of international scoundrels. I preferred you because your record proved you to be not only a professional — ruthless and ingenious — but also an eccentric. You enjoy intrigue. You enjoy it like a game, and the higher the stakes, the greater the pleasure. You do not contradict me, I see?’
Pol waited, saying nothing.
‘I summoned you here, on that first occasion, to ask you to play a very special game with me. I even paid you a fortune to do so. I invited you to shah-mak me.’ He smiled like a razor. ‘In such a context, do you not find the word magnificently ironic? Perhaps we should have invented a new word — “Death to the King of Kings, Prince of Princes”? But I fear I must disappoint you, Monsieur Pol. Our little game is over. I have put away the chessboard, and the pieces. Including you.’ He raised his hand, as though he expected Pol to interrupt. ‘I am not asking for the money back. I am asking simply that the operation be cancelled and all evidence destroyed.’
‘Evidence?’
‘You are being dull, Monsieur Pol. You have recruited accomplices — professional assassins whose only loyalty is to the money you pay them. I do not want them to become an embarrassment to me.’
‘Your Majesty, let me explain something. You have referred to this operation as a game. I prefer to compare it to a clock — a highly complex clock which, on your instructions, I have wound up, and which is now beginning to tick. It is not easy to stop a clock once it has started.’
‘It can be broken.’
‘That was not part of the contract.’
‘Do not be ridiculous. You have received from me a very large sum of money. So far you have done little to deserve it. You have, however, remained discreet about your plans. I know, at least, how many accomplices you have, although I still do not know their identity.’
‘No. You lost a useful pawn there. According to the papers, it was burnt to a cinder on a lonely road in south-east
