James Chase - You Have Yourself a Deal

“You haven’t been interfering with my secretary, have you?” Dorey asked, frowning at Girland.

“No... actually she interfered with me.” Girland lit his cigarette, then went on, “Dorey, prepare for the worst. We have laid an addled egg.”

Dorey stiffened.

“What does that mean?”

“Just that... the egg is addled.” Girland made himself more comfortable. “Our subject has her memory back, and guess what? She isn’t Erica Olsen. She is Carlota Olsen, Erica’s sister. How do you like that? From what she tells me, she was the smoke screen behind which Erica could disappear. As Carlota will tell you, Erica got bored with Kung and ran off. She managed to reach Hong Kong, but Kung’s agents, breathing fire, caught up with her. She had to go into hiding. She persuaded her sister to come out to Hong Kong and then talked her into impersonating her. A tattooist faked Kung’s initials on Carlota’s derrière and then Carlota returned to Paris. She took some drug that wiped out her memory and she was then planted for you and the gendarmes to find. While the Chinese were trying to knock her off and the Russians trying to kidnap her, Erica got out of Hong Kong and has got lost. Just where she is is anyone’s guess. Carlota has no idea. So that’s the sad story.”

Dorey leaned back in his chair. His thin lips tightened.

“Where is this woman?”

“Carlota? Right outside. I told her you would want to talk to her. She’s ready to cooperate. She did this to help her sister. She had no idea that there were any political implications. She was just giving her sister time to get away from Kung.” Girland shook his head. “Quite a brave thing for a girl to have done.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Dorey said grimly.

“I’ll shoo her in.” Girland got to his feet. “Well, I guess this lets me out, doesn’t it? I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you hoped it would. I did what you wanted... it’s just one of those things.” He smiled at Dorey. “Let me see now, you owe me ten thousand francs... right?”

“Wrong!” Dorey snapped. “I gave you twenty thousand francs. So you owe me ten thousand francs and I’m going to have it!”

Girland looked sad.

“You have no idea what it cost me to rent an apartment in Monte Carlo. Then there was the fare up for the two of us. As Carlota was a little nervous, I thought we had better travel first-class. Anyway, I’ll let you have an account. I think you will find you owe me rather than I owe you. Anyway, you talk to Carlota.” Girland’s smile widened. “You’ll like her... she’s quite a girl.”

“I want that passport back, Girland.”

Girland stared blankly at him.

“What passport?”

“The passport I had faked for this woman.”

“Of course.” Girland clapped his hand to his forehead. “I remember. Well, for Pete’s sake, I’m getting forgetful. I left it in the right hand top drawer of your desk in your villa. I’m sorry... I should have brought it with me... clean went out of my mind.”

“It’s all right. I’ll get Diallo to mail it to me.” Dorey regarded Girland thoughtfully. “I have an idea you are up to something. What are you going to do now?”

“I might take a little vacation. I have saved a little money and before returning to my job, I think I deserve a vacation.”

Dorey wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“Listen to me, Girland, if I find you have been untrustworthy, I’ll make it my business to fix you, and believe me, I could fix you.”

Girland looked innocently at him.

“That’s not very friendly. Just because you get landed with an addled egg, Dorey, you can’t blame me... now can you?”

“Just remember what I’ve said. I don’t think I am going to employ you again. Whenever you have an assignment it goes wrong, but somehow you benefit.”

“Just chance,” Girland said, moving to the door. “You might still need me, Dorey, old pal. If I can put up with you, I can’t see why you can’t be big-minded and put up with me. Bye now,” and he went out of the office.

Mavis Paul was typing, making the machine sound like a quick-fire machine gun. She didn’t look up nor pause as Girland came to rest by her desk.

Girland studied the little plaque bearing her name that stood on her desk. He picked up a scratch pad and pen and wrote the name down.

“Pretty name... pretty girl,” he murmured. He put the slip of paper into his shirt pocket and went out into the anti-room where Carlota was waiting.

“Go on in,” he said. “He’ll talk a lot, but the foundation is laid for you. I’ll get off. See you sometime soon.”

They touched hands, smiled at each other, then Girland went down to where he had parked his Fiat 600.

The following morning Girland arrived by taxi at Orly airport to catch the 9 a.m. flight via Rome to Hong Kong. He was carrying a lightweight suitcase and he wore a well-worn, slightly crumpled tropical blue suit. He handed his suitcase to an elderly porter, and followed him to the Air France reception desk. He tipped the porter and paid the airport dues. He was told his flight was A.F. 632 and there might be a slight delay in Rome.

Jean Redoun, the porter, listened long enough to register these facts, then he walked quickly to the nearest telephone booth. He remembered Girland by his photograph, and he knew the Soviet Embassy was more than interested in him. He put through a call and spoke briefly to Kovski.

After the call, Kovski sat for a long moment, frowning into space. Malik, somewhat in disgrace, had been sent to Rome to check on a British agent who seemed ready to defect. Why was Girland going to Hong Kong? Kovski asked himself. The woman was dead. They were certain of that. Then why Hong Kong. He didn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds. He reached for the telephone and called Rome.

... Girland believed in luxury at other people’s expense. He had decided to travel first-class, but he did have some difficulty in persuading Jacques Yew to advance the fare. Yew couldn’t see what was wrong with travelling Economy Class, but eventually Girland talked him out of this way of thinking.

Girland enjoyed the trip. The first-class section on the aircraft wasn’t crowded, and the air hostess, a pretty little thing with a lively smile and flirtatious eyes, didn’t hold his shabby suit against him. She thought he could be an eccentric millionaire, and besides, he had a charming smile. She was continually pampering him with caviar, champagne and snacks.

At Rome, Girland left the aircraft and had two quick double Scotches in the airport bar. He stretched his legs, bought the latest Hadley Chase paperback and returned to the aircraft.

Three minutes before the aircraft took off, Malik, slightly out of breath, hurried across the tarmac and climbed the stairs into the Economy Class compartment. As he fastened his safety belt, he congratulated himself on the speed of his driving and his luck to find an empty seat on the plane.

Kovski had been very emphatic. Malik was not to lose Girland. Girland would not be travelling to Hong Kong unless Erica Olsen had given him some important information before she had died. That, Kovski felt, was certain. The Soviet Security wanted this information. Malik’s instructions were to get it at all cost. The Soviet Agents in Hong Kong had been alerted. They would work under Malik. This was Malik’s opportunity to make good on his reputation.

Malik had sneered to himself, but he had made frantic efforts to get on the plane, and by three minutes to spare, he had succeeded.

While he and Girland were being shot through space towards Hong Kong, Yet-Sen at the Paris Chinese Embassy was making a report in code that was to be cabled to Pekin. Yet-Sen was satisfied with himself. Admittedly, he had lost three promising agents, but after all, agents were expendable. The point was he had carried out his instructions. The woman was dead.