James Munro - The Money That Money Can't Buy

The woman chuckled. It was a delightful sound, rich, deep, and lazy. The Smith and Wesson covered the small arc between her and Boris. Istvan began to think of Siberia almost with nostalgia, then the woman rose, and he gasped aloud. She was tall, full-bodied, and very graceful, with the grace of a hunting animal. From the corner of his eye Istvan saw the gun steady and point, its barrel a stubby, accusing finger, aimed an inch below her left breast. Istvan had no doubt that Craig would fire if he had to, nor had the woman.

"I think Boris had better introduce us," she said.

"This is my controller," said Boris. "She's known as Tania."

"I have a letter for you," Tania said. "In my handbag. Just a letter."

"Istvan," said Craig, "get it."

And Istvan obeyed at once. Boris might be responsible for his death, Tania might be responsible for Boris, but never had Istvan seen a man with a gun who looked as Craig did, He produced the letter and handed it over at arm's length.

"Put the lights on," Craig said, and again Istvan obeyed. "Now up against the wall, all three of you. Hands by your sides."

Again Istvan moved as if only his fear were real; the other two followed more slowly. Even lowering her arms in defeat, Tania's grace was deadly. Craig read the letter. "You'd better pour the drinks, Istvan," he said.

Istvan drank the first one himself, and didn't even know he'd done so. By the time the others had glasses in their hands, he was on his third.

"My chief says I'm to take instructions from you," said Craig. "I don't like it."

She spoke in Russian to Boris, and he and Istvan went at once to their bedroom. Istvan filled his glass before he left.

"Craig," she said, and looked at him. It was a long, comprehensive look, sexually arrogant, domineering. Its effect on men was usually remarkable. Craig waited with a stolid patience that was obviously reluctant.

"We have a file on you," she said. "A very thick file. You are a very successful agent. If you become dangerous to us, all we can do is kill you. It will be difficult, but it can be done, I promise you."

Craig yawned. "It's been a long day," he said.

She chuckled again, the same sound of purring pleasure. "Please," she said. "I am not presuming to frighten you. I just tell you a fact. Also, I am trying to avoid wasting time in anger—as you are so tired."

"Let's have it then," said Craig.

"Your orders were to stay somewhere discreet, quiet. I find you in a big hotel. You use the bar and the dining room. You go to cafes and nightclubs.

You are seen all over the town."

"I thought you'd have us followed," said Craig. "Didn't want Boris to have to keep making phone calls, I suppose. Embarrassing, pretending you have to go to the toilet all the time."

"Don't underestimate Boris. He did as he was told."

"I guessed he would," said Craig. "And if he didn't I'd have gone anyway."

"But why, Craig? You are known here. It could be awkward for you." Craig was silent. "You wish to be seen, don't you?" Again he didn't answer. "Loomis told you to cooperate," she said.

"We're taking a bank," said Craig. "All right. But our cover is we're tourists. And tourists tour."

"Brodski could have seen you," she said. "Or Simmons."

She made no mention of Hornsey, and Craig scarcely noticed.

"Simmons is here?" he asked.

"He and his daughter arrived tonight. They're staying at Brodski's villa. You have orders about Simmons."

"I'm to kill him," said Craig.

"After we have robbed the bank. You're in too much of a hurry." Again the long look, but angry this time. "I don't like that. It makes for carelessness." His impassiveness was absolute. "Why be so stupid, Craig?"

"You've got your orders, too. I bet they say he has to die."

She sighed. There was a fury in the man, an upsurge of personal rage that had nothing to do with the job. She sensed it at once, and was wary. Her only chance was to use it.

"We will take the money tomorrow," she said. "Your people have the escape route?" Craig nodded. "You will tell it to me, please."

He told her. There was a fast cruiser in the yacht club. Its owner was away, and to steal it at night was simple, particularly as the owner had orders that it should be stolen . . . She listened intently, and was pleased.

"That is your planning?" Craig nodded. "It is good. We wish this to look like a crime. And Istvan has a criminal record."

Craig grinned. "I didn't think Istvan was supposed to have a happy ending."

"He is a traitor," Tania said. "Traitors cannot expect to live—if they are caught." She hesitated. "Brodski also should die. The timing will be difficult. And it won't look like a robbery, either."

"We'll take them with us," said Craig. "Kill them at sea. That way it'll look as if they'd done a bunk with their own money."

She examined the idea, and found it flawless.

"Now you are thinking," she said. "That is really very good."

"You'll be coming with us?" Craig asked.

"I must," she said. "I am Brodski's fiancee." Craig started at that, and she laughed. "It was love at first sight. Very romantic—just what one would expect from a Pole. I was here when he arrived, you see. A Polish refugee, persecuted by the wicked Russians. How I escaped from them is a tremendous adventure. You would not like it very much, I think. You have no sensibility."

"None," said Craig.

"Also you do not like women."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because I am a woman." She hesitated. "No. That is the sort of stupidity I keep for Brodski. Because I have been trained to make men like me, and want me, and I cannot reach you though I have tried very hard."

"It's not important," said Craig. "I'll get you out and I'll kill Simmons for you."

"And Brodski?"

Craig shrugged.

"Maybe it is better if Boris killed Brodski—and Istvan," she said. "We cannot use Istvan as evidence if we use your idea, but he must still die."

"Just as you like," said Craig.

"There is one more thing," said Tania. "I wish you to stop speaking Arabic to servants. That is how they tell you what is happening, is it not?"

"That's how," said Craig. "The porter told me you had come in here."

"How unkind," said Tania. "After I had bribed him not to. He is one of yours then?"

"No," said Craig. "I just offered him more money." He paused. "I'll stop speaking Arabic if you'll stop having me followed."

"I agree," she said. "And you'll stay here tomorrow?"

"Most of the time," Craig said. "I've got to lay on the powerboat."

She nodded. "I'll call Boris tomorrow and arrange about the bank. You will be ready as soon as it is dark."

"All right," he said. "But tell me one thing. Why have you people bothered to work with us at all?

Why not just do it yourselves?"

"We needed you to take us to Simmons," she said, and watched for a reaction to the name, but his face stayed closed. "We knew he existed, of course, but not who he was. Also, if things go wrong, we shall need you to get us out." He said nothing. "You can do that?"

"After I've fixed Simmons," he said.

She came up to him and kissed him on the

mouth, her lips and tongue a skillful torment. He

made no move.

"No," she said. "You do not like women at all." * * *

The nursing home was expensive. Its doctors were all consultants, its nurses not only qualified but pretty, its furniture of the kind that belongs to the newer luxury hotels. Loomis found it oppressive and said so. He didn't like mobiles, or Utrillo prints, or flowers arranged as if they were objects to be disliked, and he detested the receptionist in a mini skirt, no matter how flawless her legs. He began to indulge his anger, and three minutes later they were alone with Airlie, the nurse who had admitted them ruthlessly removed.