Brian Freemantle - Charlie Muffin U.S.A.

‘What?’ asked Pendlebury.

‘The amount of manpower involved in this. It’s practically an army.’

‘The size is necessary to avoid detection,’ stressed Pendlebury. ‘It means we can constantly alter shifts. Disneyworld is ideal; there are far too many people moving around for anyone to get suspicious.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Harris doubtfully.

‘What’s the word on Terrilli?’ asked Al Simpson, who headed the Boynton Beach team.

‘Nothing,’ said Pendlebury. ‘We’ve managed to attach a telephone monitor to the outside supply line, but all there has been is calls connected with the legitimate businesses. And certainly no contact with Chambine. But now we’re well set up, there’s no way we’ll miss any meetings that might take place.’

‘What about the suite at the Contemporary Resort?’ said Gilbert. ‘They’re keeping it on, which surely means more meetings.’

‘Much better coverage than on Terrilli,’ said Pendlebury. ‘We’ve got microphones in every telephone receiver, so the whole place is live. There’s no way anyone can even go to the john without our knowing about it.’

‘So we’ll know in advance when they’re going to move?’ said Simpson.

‘I hope so.’

‘I think it looks good,’ said Gilbert confidently. ‘We’re more on top of this than we have been on any of the other auctions. I don’t see how it can go wrong.’

‘We’ve been lucky,’ said Pendlebury cautiously. ‘I never thought it would work out like this when the job began.’

‘What’s the feeling in Washington?’ asked Simpson.

Pendlebury thought about the question. ‘Optimism,’ he said finally. Feeling a proviso necessary, he added, ‘They’re a little concerned at the danger of over-confidence.’

‘I don’t see how it can go wrong,’ repeated Gilbert. ‘We can control the play whatever happens.’

‘I’d welcome a little more uncertainty,’ admitted Pendlebury. ‘I don’t want any complacency.’

‘How’s the exhibition going?’ asked Harris, suddenly.

‘Great,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Made about $8,000 already.’

‘Everyone is going to come out of this happy,’ forecast Gilbert.

‘I’ll drink to that when it’s all over,’ said Pendlebury.

The Cadillac bringing Clarissa Willoughby from the airport pulled up in front of the Breakers at about the time Pendlebury was bringing his conference to an end fifteen miles away.

Charlie had taken a suite for her adjoining his own. He thought there was a reserve about her greeting, but dismissed it, telling her to come to his room as soon as she had unpacked. There was a knock on the linking door within fifteen minutes.

‘An English tea,’ announced Charlie, sweeping his hand out to the table that had been laid in the sitting room. ‘Even cucumber sandwiches.’

‘Lovely,’ she said, and meant it. Freed from New York and the role she believed she had to play, Clarissa had lost her brittleness. She wore jeans, a silk shirt, very little make-up and looked beautiful.

Attentively Charlie served her tea, aware of her eyes upon him.

‘Sally and the others have already gone down to Lyford Cay,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ said Charlie.

‘I was glad to be able to stop off here.’

‘I’m glad you were able to come,’ said Charlie. There was an odd formality about the conversation, he thought.

‘I’ve got some friends here,’ she said. ‘They’ve got a mansion right on the sea.’

‘Going to contact them?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’

‘I came down to be with you. How long can I stay?’

He turned to look fully at her, surprised at both the question and her attitude. And then he confronted the thought. If what he suspected were to happen, it might be physically dangerous for her to remain.

‘Not long,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘There might be some danger.’

‘I wouldn’t get in the way.’

‘You might not be able to avoid it,’ said Charlie.

‘I feel comfortable with you,’ said the woman and Charlie thought again of the hesitation in their greeting in the foyer. Was it a new game, he wondered? He would prefer that to the other alternative.

‘I want you to tell Pendlebury something for me,’ said Charlie, hurrying the conversation beyond the embarrassing pause. ‘But I want it done very carefully. It’s to sound as if you’ve let something slip

… as if you’re unaware you’ve told him.’

Now she frowned, as if she suspected him of mocking her.

‘Is this serious?’ she asked. ‘It sounds slightly ridiculous.’

‘I know it does,’ admitted Charlie. ‘But believe me, it’s very serious.’

He came to sit opposite her, reaching out to take her hands into his own and staring directly into her face.

‘It’s not a joke, Clarissa. I think there’s a risk… to the firm, to Rupert… of losing?3,000,000.’

‘Good God!’ She laughed nervously. ‘You must be joking!’

‘I’m not,’ insisted Charlie.

‘Well… why not tell the police?’ she suggested.

‘I don’t think it would help,’ predicted Charlie.

‘Now that is ridiculous!’

‘I know it seems that way. But it’s not.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Clarissa protested.

‘I can’t fully explain it, not yet anyway. If I did, it might spoil what I want you to do.’

‘What?’

‘I want you to let Pendlebury learn, apparently by accident, that I think there’s going to be an attempt to steal the Romanov Collection.’

‘ What!’ exclaimed Clarissa.

‘And that could cost the firm?3,000,000,’ Charlie reminded her again.

‘You must tell the police,’ said Clarissa.

‘I don’t think it would stop it happening,’ said Charlie patiently. ‘I believe the thing is being officially organised. Even if the police don’t know about it yet, I’m sure their involvement could be prevented.’

Clarissa frowned, confused by the conversation.

‘Will Pendlebury and his people stop it?’ she demanded.

‘No. I’m pretty sure of that too.’

She looked up at him, caught by a sudden thought. ‘I’ve got friends involved in the exhibition. Kelvin and Sally. They must be warned.’

‘No,’ said Charlie desperately. Perhaps asking the woman’s assistance had been a mistake.

‘You can’t think…’ protested Clarissa.

‘Not Sally, no,’ agreed Charlie. ‘But I suspect the senator is aware of what’s going on… some of it, at least…’

‘I wish I hadn’t agreed to help you,’ she blurted out hurriedly. ‘I don’t understand, and it frightens me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Charlie, immediately recognising the expression of regret as automatic. Unable accurately to predict what Pendlebury’s reaction might be, there could be a danger, involving Clarissa as he had. It was hardly the way to repay the friendship that Willoughby had shown him. Any more than going to bed with the man’s wife, however willing she might be.

Charlie Muffin stood at the window of his suite, staring out unseeingly over the Atlantic, assembling in his mind the facts he already had and trying to decide what further action to take.

An anti-crime politician was fronting a?3,000,000 exhibition which, after a cosmetic display in New York, had been moved to the unlikely venue of Palm Beach. Less than three hundred yards away lived a man with previously established links with organised crime. Giuseppe Terrilli’s hobby was stamp collecting. And Jack Pendlebury was an F.B.I. operative infiltrated – obviously knowingly – into control of security.

‘A set-up,’ judged Charlie, in conversation with himself. So what could he do? Certainly more than he was attempting with Clarissa Willoughby. At best that could only prompt some ill-considered response from Pendlebury, which would do little more than confirm what he’d already established. What then? There could be no open confrontation. That might lead to a personal investigation which would disclose that he had not always been an insurance company official but was, in fact, a former Intelligence officer supposed to be dead.