Jack Ludlow - The Burning Sky

‘I made a few calls.’

‘You must have been up all night.’

‘Who sleeps, Mr Hardeen? I am cursed because I cannot, so better to do something than toss and turn and get my wife’s elbow in the belly. First, I spoke to one member of the Peasants’ Party, who said there was something up, and he put me on to another contact who recognised your name.’

Jardine was wondering how, given Goldfarbeen’s pronunciation.

‘That set bells ringing like I am the patriarch, already, so I thought I would spread a little money around, promised you understand, which is the quickest way to get things done in this sheise country.’

‘I’ll pay you back.’

‘Montague will set it straight. I went to a fellow who is in military intelligence, like they have such a quality in Rumania, who tells me a certain colonel asked them yesterday to find out about you, Mr Hardeen. He tells me you are an interesting man, but what is important is he found out you are wanted in Germany for something which happened in Hamburg.’

‘I know what that is.’

‘I hope the man you murdered was German, the bastards.’ Jardine was about to correct this statement, but what was the point? ‘That colonel is very friendly with the Germans and he has sent them a message last night to say you are in Bucharest. It was also he who did the business you told me of last night, the little package you say is coming from Germany. He will have an interest in that. I think your English expression is a finger in the pie.’

‘You must have good sources.’

‘I have a lot of people who hate other people, and even more people who live higher than they can afford who would betray their mother.’

‘Would my man have me arrested and hand me over?’

‘I thought about that before calling you, and if you will take the opinion of an old Jew, he is a man who loves money and is known to be greedy. He likes fast cars, expensive women and the casino. If he is going to hand you over it will be for payment. When you think what to do, keep that in mind.’

‘I need to know if arrest is possible.’

‘Don’t worry, I will find for you, but who is going to pay to have you thrown in jail? If you don’t hear from me, call me back before you meet with your colonel again.’

‘Let’s hope I have time for that.’

‘If you do not, you will know beforehand.’

With a silent blessing to Monty Redfern, Jardine walked back to the hotel, called Vince’s room to wake him up and sat down to think. What he had to work out was worrying, the safest thing being to get out of Rumania right away, taking Vince, and either trying to contact Lanchester to take a boat or leaving him a letter at reception, which he would pick up when he got back. Mulling over what Goldfarbeen was telling him he might have time to do something, and it all hinged on one fact: would Dimitrescu find out he knew of the message to Berlin?

‘So he has sent a message to Berlin,’ Jardine said, rhetorically, to a bleary-eyed Vince Castellano, a surprisingly late riser. ‘Who to?’

‘Can I order some bleedin’ breakfast?’

‘That arrives where?’ The response was a shrug: Vince had never been a morning person. ‘If he is buying arms it is from the War Ministry. They have to tell someone else, who then has to act on it.’

‘If you say so, guv.’

‘Vince, when you have filled your face, I want you to go out and buy some rations, you know the kind of stuff, things that don’t go off. Take them to the car and leave them there, then come back here.’

‘What you going to do, guv?’

‘I am going to send a veiled warning to Peter Lanchester, then do a Sherlock Holmes, old son, and follow a masterly policy of inactivity. If you come back to or get a message saying I have bought tickets for a boxing match, head back for the car.’

Dimitrescu was waiting in a Maybach Zeppelin outside the hotel, the chauffeur opening the door for his passenger. ‘So, Herr Jardine, what kind of day have you had?’

As if you don’t know, you bastard! He had spent the day like any tourist would, visiting the Royal Palace to watch the guard change, an art gallery that was interesting for its lack of old masters — countries that conquered had most of those — and its plethora of more modern works which showed a rich vein of local artistic endeavour.

The Orthodox cathedral to look at the icons was an obvious attraction, as was gazing at the statuary, especially the one of King Carol the First on the rearing horse. Generally he went tootling about, stopping every so often at one of the numerous outdoor cafes, which the berk tailing him dare not enter, going inside to a phone to keep in touch with Goldfarbeen, who reassured him he was still safe, and Vince, to report that as the case.

‘You live in a very interesting city, Colonel, fascinating, in fact. I shall be recommending to some of my friends it is a place they should visit.’

‘It pleases me that you say so. We have high hopes that after so many years of turmoil Rumania will take its rightful place amongst the nations of Europe.’ It was easy to smile at such hyperbolic nonsense, but tempting to respond with the truth, which was less flattering: despite the glitter, there was more poverty in this place than wealth. ‘You will be pleased to know that I have made certain enquiries regarding your interests and the results have come back as very positive.’

‘Where are we off to?’ Jardine asked, with the very real anxiety that by getting in this car he was taking a hell of a risk: this swine could take him straight to the cells.

‘What I think to be the best restaurant in the city, where I will, if you will permit me, introduce you to the cuisine of my country.’

‘Splendid.’

With only the light from street lamps coming into the back of the car, it was surprising to observe a twinkle in the eyes of Dimitrescu. ‘There are, of course, many other attractions.’

Eat your heart out, Peter Lanchester, Jardine thought.

The restaurant was more like some kind of club, in a basement, with a small dance floor, the colouring predominately purple and the women universally dark and sultry, two of the most beautiful coming with the champagne — real and the last foreign thing he tasted that night. The food was excellent, a sour soup called ciorba and ostropel duck. The Rumanian wines were robust and had unpronounceable names — but then so did his female companion, who let him know almost immediately with a searching hand what the last part of his night was going to be like.

‘Business, Colonel?’

‘Not tonight, Herr Jardine, tonight we take pleasure. Tomorrow we will talk business, and maybe come to an arrangement beneficial to us both. You are my guest and I intend that your stay in my country should be memorable.’

Occasionally he caught Dimitrescu looking at him, in between trying to hold a conversation with a girl with flashing eyes, long ringlets in her hair, a dress cut so low and occasionally revealing it was impossible to maintain eye contact, and a tongue that made constant promises of pleasure to come. Those occasional observations were sobering, or was he just imagining that the colonel was looking at him in a way a fox might look at a chicken?

‘Please, Herr Jardine,’ Dimitrescu said, as he dropped him and his ‘gift’ off at the Athenee Palace. ‘If she asks you for money, do not give her any more than the needs of gratitude. She has already been paid.’

As it transpired, Jardine was very generous indeed, which was only fitting given she was so very much that first. His only worry was her screaming, which was loud enough to have him hope the walls of his suite were thick enough to leave the other guests in peace.