‘We have naturally considered this aspect of the affair most carefully. The use of a gun — even a small one — equipped with a silencer, is not practicable. For although the Ruler’s guards have orders never to detain or question any of his private guests when they leave his apartments, they are empowered, on occasion, to search visitors on their arrival.’
‘There are guns and guns,’ Packer murmured. ‘What about that little gadget that looks like a cigarette lighter — what they call a Mexican gun-knife?’
Shiva Steiner’s eyes slid sideways towards Pol, who lowered his head, and for the first time Packer saw the Frenchman blush. ‘For reasons which I need not explain,’ Steiner continued, ‘I happen to know that the Ruler is especially suspicious of such gadgets.’
‘Well?’
Steiner pressed his broad flat fingertips together and stared into the middle distance. ‘The obvious weapon would seem to be a knife, or perhaps a needle or hatpin, disguised in a nail-file case.’
‘You’d never get her to do it. She practically faints at the mention of blood.’
‘Quite. Besides, the use of such weapons would require considerable skill and knowledge of anatomy, which I happen to know the young lady does not possess.’
‘Well, come on — what have you decided?’
Shiva Steiner explained, in brief, precise, medical detail; and while Packer had difficulty controlling his bewilderment and fury, he had to concede that whether the plan was Pol’s or Steiner’s, it had a certain revolting simplicity.
The decision to carry it out successfully must now rest with Sarah; but he also knew, from weary experience, that to try and dissuade her would be self-defeating. The fact that he was to connive not only at her committing murder, but at her fornicating with an almost total stranger, was a moral peccadillo which would not concern the three men round the table. In any case, Packer realized that he had no rights over Sarah. He had never had any. Since their last meeting, in the Vereina Hotel in Klosters, his relationship with her had ceased to be even precarious, and from now on would be simply professional. It was not a situation that he liked, but one which he would have to accept. For he was only too well aware that while Sarah might be indispensable to the operation, he was not.
He looked at Pol. ‘I want to talk to you, Charles — alone with Sarah. I think it right that we should hear what she has to say.’
‘D’accord.’ Pol glanced across the table. Steiner nodded, but Dr Zak sat in his baggy pyjamas, silent and motionless. Pol heaved himself to his feet and Packer followed.
‘By the way, Capitaine Packer,’ Steiner called after them, ‘what make of lipstick did you say Mademoiselle Sarah uses?’
‘I didn’t. But if you choose one of the expensive ones you won’t go wrong.’
‘It’s mad and it’s obscene! What’s more, it’s probably a trick anyway.’
Packer had been pacing the floor, picking his way through the litter of Pol’s personal effects; while Sarah sat on a couch under the open window in Pol’s bedroom.
‘If your friend Steiner is that intimate with the Ruler’s habits, he might well tip him the wink. Steiner could be sitting it out to see which way the cat jumps. My guess is, the Ruler still holds a pretty strong hand — a lot stronger than that wizened old creep, Dr Zak who, from what I hear, is some sort of a leftist guru for the Ruler’s dissidents. Anyway, that’s the way I see it. And Steiner probably does too — he’s not stupid.’
Pol himself lay on the double bed, jacket and shoes off, his tie loosened and shirt undone, his egg-shaped head resting like an invalid’s in a nest of cushions. He let his hand flop down on to the crumpled sheet beside him; the bed looked as though it had not been made for a week. ‘It is our only chance, mon cher. Unless we kill him, he will kill us — it is as certain as if it were a law of Nature.’
‘You and I aren’t going to kill him,’ said Packer; ‘Sarah is.’ He turned, looked at her, and spoke in English. ‘How much is he paying you?’
‘Why do you want to know?’ she said, also in English. Her profile was silhouetted in black against the window and he could not see her expression.
‘Because I want to make sure you’re not cheated,’ Packer said, reverting to French. He looked at Pol, who had judiciously closed his eyes. ‘How much has Steiner paid you, Charles?’
Pol opened his eyes with a start, as though aroused from sleep.
‘Don’t play the innocent,’ said Packer, moving to the foot of the bed. ‘Between you and Steiner, you may have fooled Sarah — but not me. His Imperial Highness had you badly scared back in Klosters — scared enough to make you run, but not enough to have you scurrying back for a second try. Not unless somebody made it worth your while. Shiva Steiner, for instance, acting as a front man for Dr Zak’s cronies, who probably get their backing from those Arab states who’d like to get rid of the Ruler. What I don’t understand is why the Ruler has let Zak run around loose for so long — unless he thinks a dummy opposition is good for his democratic image.’
Pol nestled back on the pillows and closed his eyes again. ‘Why must you always concern yourself with the politics of the situation, mon cher? You are a soldier — you obey orders.’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Packer. ‘I’m an old-fashioned mercenary — which means I’m paid to obey orders. And I don’t do the same job twice for one fee. I want your cheque book out, Charles —
