James Munro - The Money That Money Can't Buy

The Villa Florida and its garden covered about a half a block of a wide, palm-shaded street. Craig drove past it, and parked under the shade of a palm. The villa had wrought-iron gates, and a ten-foot fence of iron stakes. There was a porter at the gate, armed with what looked like a walking stick; but often, Craig remembered, those sticks too were made of iron. He walked down the road, then round to the back of the gardens. The fence there was just as high, and behind it in the garden were dwarf palms, then flowering shrubs. Craig looked out for alarm wires. There were none, and he scaled the fence, moved past the palms, and into the shelter of the shrubs, moving as he had been taught, without a sound, until he came at last to a gap in the shrubs and looked down into the garden.

It was of the Arab kind that delighted in shaded walks, islands of flowers, and tiny fountains, and in its center was the swimming pool, which is now obligatory for every rich man in a warm climate. Jane Simmons in a yellow bikini lay at the pool's edge and watched as her father dived from a springboard, swam to her in a fast crawl, and hauled himself out beside her.

"Marvelous, darling," she said.

Craig stared -at the man who had hurt him, studying every line, every muscle of his body, and there was greed in his stare, almost a kind of lust. He was about to leave when a man came out of the villa and walked over to Simmons. Craig saw the quick movement of Simmons's hand that sent Jane scurrying to shield her body from him in a yellow terrycloth robe. The new man was Chinese. His glance ignored Jane as she walked past him toward the villa. He was intent only on Simmons. Craig wondered what Sir Matthew Chinn would make of the fact that Jane wore yellow so often.

"We should not talk here," said the Chinese.

"I like the open air," said Simmons. "No one can hear us."

"Someone could hide over there," said the Chinese, and pointed to where Craig lay hidden.

"There's a guard there," said Simmons, and Craig froze. The Chinese looked satisfied and began to talk, and Craig, guard or no guard, listened. This was big stuff indeed, the biggest he had ever heard. After a moment he eased out, testing every touch of hand and foot before he risked his weight, until at last he could crouch, and look for the guard. He saw a foot at last, protruding from a dry ditch, and moved carefully to it, peering over the edge of the ditch, ready to dive before the man could yell. He was a big man, rather negroid, and he was fast asleep. Craig slithered down the ditch and looked at him. The man didn't move. There was an empty food dish beside him, and a water bottle. Craig spoke softly, then shook the man, but still he slept. Drugged. Craig shook the water bottle. There was still some in it. He poured it on to the ground and the thirsty earth received it avidly. Soon it would disappear completely. Craig looked back toward the bushes, and behind them the murmur of voices, and wished he had been able to carry a gun.

* * *

Boris and Istvan were by the hotel pool, in swimsuits. Craig changed and joined them. They sat beneath a beach umbrella, and talked with Tania, who looked luscious and terrifying at the same time in a green sundress exactly the color of her eyes. She turned to Istvan at once and said: "Go and swim."

Istvan seemed to go from his chair into the pool in one movement; on his face was a look compounded of terror, bewilderment, and passion, like a rabbit in love with a stoat.

"You went to the Villa Florida," she said. "After all I told you—"

Craig said: "Cut it out. You knew I would go. You set it up for me. You knew it last night, when you told me Simmons was here. You kept Brodski out of the way this morning—and you slipped some knock-out drops to the guard in the back of the garden. Which was it—the food or the water?"

"The water," Tania said. "If they have it analyzed—"

"They won't," said Craig. "I poured it away." She looked pleased. "You also had one of your tails check to see if I had a gun. I hadn't. If I had I suppose you'd have stopped me."

"He can't die yet," said Tania. "First the money."

"I could have killed him anyway," said Craig. Boris looked at him then, a careful speculation in his eyes.

"Why did you let me go there?" said Craig.

"To learn the way in," she said. "You and Boris must go back tonight."

Craig nodded. "You been there?"

"With Brodski. To the villa only. Not to the garden."

"Meet the Chinaman?"

So far her manner had been easy, the movement of her hands pretty and flirtatious, a woman on holiday having a drink with two men. Now one hand came down on his forearm, pink nails nipped.

"What Chinaman?" she said.

Craig looked down at her hand, and she took it away at once.

"Simmons called him Chan," said Craig. "Little man. About fifty. Limped on his left foot."

"I know him," said Tania. "Go on."

Craig looked again at his arm. There was a hairline of blood where her nail had struck. "He doesn't like you," said Craig. "Any of you. You betrayed the revolution, and Lenin and Stalin, and Marx, too, for that matter. Worst of all—you betrayed Chairman Mao."

Boris said: "It isn't part of your agreement for you to mock my country."

Tania spat out Russian and he shrugged, but he stayed angry.

"Chan wishes you to look foolish," said Craig. "He knows a way."

"Go on," said Tania. "Go on."

"Next week Russia is sending a Sputnik to the moon," said Craig. "It will have men on it. It will land on the moon."

Tania and Boris sat frozen.

"You didn't know this?" asked Craig.

"Of course not," said Tania. "Go on."

"The thing is, it won't go to the moon at all. It'll land in New Mexico."

"But that's impossible," said Boris.

"Nothing's impossible if you pay a million pounds," said Craig.

"But who will they bribe?" asked Tania.

"It's been done," said Craig. "And they didn't say. It'll look like a breakdown, I suppose. The computer will be programmed wrongly. General ball-up. Crash landing. And the astronauts come out in the U.S.A. Won't that be funny? Your president ringing up their president and saying, 'Please, can we have our Sputnik back?' "

"A Russian wouldn't do it," said Tania.

"Maybe," said Craig. "But are they all Russians on that project? No East Germans, no Poles, no Czechs? Or Mongolians, say—blokes in touch with China?" He paused. Boris was sweating now. "There's another thing," he said. "Suppose it isn't funny? Suppose your blokes think the Americans set it up? Would you go to war for a Sputnik, Boris?"

"Not just for that," said Boris. "But if there were other things—"

"There will be," said Craig.

"If there were, Simmons would die," said Tania.

"He'd be in China," said Craig. "He'd have a chance."

"But Brodski never told me—I mean, he didn't have this knowledge. Or I would have known."

"Brodski doesn't know," said Craig.

"I must tell my people at once," said Tania.

"I agree," said Craig. "But will they believe you?"

He got up then, and dived into the pool. Istvan swam up to him in a frenzied dog paddle.

"Mr. Craig, forgive me, but I have very little time," he said.

"Of course," said Craig.

"I think—after the job—that Boris will kill me."

"I think so too," said Craig.

They swam across the pool and sat on its side. Beneath the umbrella, Tania and Boris talked with furious concentration.

"In Siberia I didn't mind if I died," Istvan said. "But now I have seen women again—real women. Last night was too much. I refuse to die now, Mr. Craig."

"Good for you," Craig said. "How are you going to do it?"

"Best I should kill Boris," said Istvan.

"I'm afraid not," Craig said. "I'd have to stop you."

"But I'm working for you," Istvan wailed.