Brian Freemantle - Charlie Muffin U.S.A.

Once inside the room, he worked with the speed of the true professional. At first he kept the tray in his hand to provide an excuse and an apology for a misunderstood order, in case the occupant of the suite was still inside, but having checked throughout, he put it down. Beneath the door leading into the corridor he jammed two rubber wedges, to guard against any surprise discovery, then from their containers took the minute devices which had accompanied his written instructions from Moscow.

They were the latest bugging equipment developed by the K.G.B., transistorised pinheads that could be secured inside a telephone receiver, turning it into an open microphone for any discussion which might take place in the room as well as relaying any conversation on the instrument itself. Magnetised, they were so small that they adhered inside one of the perforations in the mouthpiece and needed an expert technician with laboratory facilities to be discovered.

Williamson reappeared in the corridor within four minutes, shaking his head and studying a written order to find out where he had made his mistake, for the benefit of any casual observer.

The service lift took him to the floor on which Pendlebury had his rooms. Williamson’s face twisted with distaste at the condition inside, but he didn’t pause in what he had come to do. Better acquainted now with the suites, Williamson was in the corridor, again doing his bewildered but mistaken waiter head-shaking, within three minutes. His arm was aching by the time he got back to his own room, still carrying the tray. To check the installations, he used his telephone to call both sets of rooms, hearing the ringing loudly on his monitoring equipment. Satisfied, he connected what appeared to be an elaborate radio and tape cassette player to two receiving spools, coupled to the devices in each room, so that any conversation that occurred in either would be recorded.

By the end of the first day, from Pendlebury’s apartment, he had learned enough to satisfy him that the anonymous caller to the Washington embassy had been telling the truth and to realise, as well, that the intended robbery was government inspired, if not planned. By eight o’clock, he had airfreighted to Washington complete reports from the eavesdropping of both rooms, with a special request for the voices on the tapes to be scientifically tested for voice prints against the recording they held of the unknown man who had given them the warning. He also asked for any information on a man called Giuseppe Terrilli, whose name had featured on the tape from Pendlebury’s sitting room.

Because for a man of Williamson’s expertise it was a logical, almost natural thing to do, he looked up the name in the telephone book, as Charlie Muffin had a few days earlier. And by nine o’clock had reconnoitred the Terrilli mansion, acquainted himself with the degree of protection installed around the building and returned to the Breakers very contented with his day’s work. He still hadn’t abandoned hope of getting back to the West Coast in time for the Rams’ game.

Giuseppe Terrilli sat forward in his chair, gazing down at some spot by his feet. The occasional nod – Chambine hoped of approval – was the only movement from the man as he outlined the preparations they had made and talked of the rehearsals in the Orlando warehouse.

Because he remained anxious to impress, Chambine took a long time, but Terrilli gave no sign of impatience. When Chambine finished, the older man remained sitting in the same attitude of concentration. Chambine waited on the edge of his seat, wondering what the response would be. He hoped he was managing to conceal his nervousness.

At last Terrilli looked up and Chambine relaxed very slightly at the smile.

‘You’ve thought it out very well,’ he said. ‘And appear to have chosen the people well, too.’

‘Thank you, Mr Terrilli.’

‘There seems little likelihood of failure.’

‘I don’t think there will be.’

‘The only problem I can foresee is the timing between the visits of the security guards.’

Chambine had omitted that morning’s discussion in the warehouse, knowing the other man’s attitude to violence. Now he said, ‘Some of the others are worried, too.’

‘If it has to happen, it happens,’ said Terrilli shortly.

‘I’ve made plans in case it becomes necessary to silence them.’

Terrilli smiled again. ‘I’m sure you have.’

‘But only in an emergency,’ added Chambine.

‘I’d like you with me permanently,’ said Terrilli. ‘How would you feel about that?’

‘I’d like it very much.’

‘I’ll do it properly,’ promised Terrilli. ‘Formally ask your people in New York, so there would be no offence.’

‘It would be better to leave amicably.’

‘Of course. What about your family?’

‘I’ve a house to sell in Scarsdale. And children to move from school. No problem.’

‘New York is always thought to be the place where the power lies in our organisation,’ Terrilli reminded him. ‘Why do you want out?’

Chambine smiled, happy with the relationship which appeared to be developing between them.

‘Because I’m not convinced that the tradition will last for ever,’ he said.

Terrilli nodded at the flattery. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘What will you do after the robbery?’

‘Finish my vacation,’ said Chambine. ‘To leave immediately afterwards might create suspicion.’

‘Tell me something,’ said Terrilli, believing he had softened the other man sufficiently to talk of loyalty. ‘What would you say if, having joined me officially, someone from another part of the organisation invited you to do the sort of thing you’re doing for me now?’

‘Refuse,’ said Chambine, immediately aware of the assurance that the older man wanted. He hesitated, knowing Terrilli required more and assembling the words to satisfy him.

‘I didn’t set this up for the $100,000,’ he said, talking quietly and looking directly at Terrilli. ‘I did it because I knew it to be a test of my ability. I’m not interested in freelancing. I’m interested in joining you.’

‘Do you regard yourself as ambitious then?’

‘Properly so,’ said Chambine cautiously. ‘You’d never have any cause to doubt my support, Mr Terrilli.’

‘I’m glad of the guarantee,’ said the other man. ‘There had better be no contact between us after the handover; the investigation around the hotel will be intense and I don’t want any connection.’

‘I understand.’

‘I’ll be in New York in three weeks. We’ll meet then and finalise the arrangements.’

‘I’ll look forward to it. Should I wait until your visit before making any positive plans?’

‘Yes,’ said Terrilli. ‘It’s proper that I should be the person to tell your people… you could always put your house on the market, of course.’

Terrilli rose and put out his hand. Chambine stood and took it.

‘Until Thursday night,’ said Terrilli.

‘There’ll be no problems.’

‘I know.’

Terrilli, unaware that he had been under surveillance from the moment he left his castle home at Palm Beach, to the extent of his helicopter being followed by radar from Palm Beach Airport to Orlando, was careful about his departure from the hotel, pausing several times to check for anyone who might be watching. Knowing he would have been conspicuous in his normal conservative suit in a vacation resort, he had dressed in sports jacket, slacks and loafers and merged unobtrusively with the people who boarded the monorail to take him back to the Disneyworld exit. The giggling teenage girls who sat two seats away, fooling with their Mickey Mouse caps, were both Pendlebury’s watchers.