The Spoilers / Juggernaut Page 11

Abbot watched him leave, then said, ‘You were great, Dan. The stage lost a great actor somewhere along the line.’

  Parker put down his glass and looked at it without enthusiasm. ‘I was pretty good at amateur theatricals at one time,’ he said complacently. ‘You paid him something. How much?’

  ‘He gets a thousand pounds; I paid half.’ Abbot laughed. ‘Keep your hair on, Dan; they’re Lebanese pounds—worth about half-a-crown each.’

  Parker grunted and swirled the beer in his glass. ‘It’s still too much. This stuff is full of piss and wind. Let’s go somewhere we can get a real drink, and you can tell me all about it.’

  III

  Nothing happened next day. They went to the café at the same time in the evening but Picot was not there, so they had a meal, chatted desultorily and went away. Despite his confident attitude Abbot was wondering whether Picot was genuine or whether he had paid over £60 to a smooth grafter he would never see again.

  They were just about to leave for the café the next evening when there was a knock at the door. Abbot raised his eyebrows at Parker and went to open it. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Fabre.’

  He opened up. ‘How did you know we were here?’

  ‘That does not matter, Monsieur Abbot. You wish to speak to someone—he is here.’ He jerked his eyes sideways. ‘That will be five hundred pounds.’

  Abbot glanced to where a tall man stood in the shadowed corridor. ‘Don’t try to con me, Fabre. How do I know it’s the man I want? It could be one of your put-up jobs. I’ll talk to him first, then you’ll get your money.’

  ‘All right,’ said Picot. ‘I’ll be in the usual place tomorrow.’

  He walked away down the corridor and Abbot waited at the door. The tall man moved forward and, as his face came out of shadow, Abbot knew he had hit the jackpot. It was Eastman. He stepped on one side to let him enter, and Eastman said in a flat mid-western accent, ‘Was Picot trying to shake you down?’

  Abbot closed the door. ‘Who?’ he said blankly. ‘He said his name was Fabre.’

  ‘His name is Picot and he’s a chiselling nogoodnik,’ said Eastman without rancour.

  ‘Talking about names,’ said Abbot. ‘This is Dan Parker and I’m Mike Abbot. And you are…?’ He let the question hang in the air.

  ‘The name is Eastman.’

  Abbot smiled. ‘Sit down, Mr Eastman. Dan, pull up a chair and join the congregation.’

  Eastman sat down rigidly on the chair offered. ‘I’m told you have something to sell me. Start selling.’

  ‘I’ll start off, Dan,’ said Abbot. ‘You can chip in when things become technical.’ He looked at Eastman. ‘I’m told there’s a fair amount of smuggling goes on around here. Dan and I have got an idea—a good idea. The trouble is we don’t have the capital to pull it off ourselves, so we’re open to offers—on a participation basis, of course.’

  ‘You don’t get offered a cent until I know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘This is where the conversation gets tricky,’ said Abbot. ‘However, Dan tells me it doesn’t matter very much if you know the secret. He thinks he’s the only one around who can make it work. Of course, it wouldn’t work with too much weight or bulk. What are you interested in smuggling?’

  Eastman hesitated. ‘Let’s say gold.’

  ‘Let’s say gold,’ agreed Abbot. ‘Dan, how much could you carry—in weight?’

  ‘Up to five hundred pounds.’

  ‘Interested?’ asked Abbot.

  ‘Maybe. What’s the gimmick?’

  ‘This works when coming in from the sea. You shoot it in by torpedo.’ Abbot looked at Eastman as though expecting a round of applause.

  Eastman sighed and put his hands on the table as though to. lever himself up. ‘You’re wasting my time,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Abbot. ‘Why are we wasting your time?’

  Eastman stared at him and shook his head sadly. ‘It’s been tried before and it doesn’t work very well. You’re out of luck, boys.’

  ‘Perhaps you were using the wrong torpedoes.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Eastman looked at Abbot with renewed interest. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘You tell me what you want, then maybe we can get together.’

  Eastman smiled thinly. ‘Okay, I’ll play ball; I’ve got ten minutes spare. A torpedo has only worked well once. That was on the Austrian-Italian border; a few smart-alick amateurs got hold of a torpedo and started smuggling across one of the little lakes up there. Booze one way and tobacco the other. They had the customs cops going nuts trying to figure out how it worked. Then some jerk shot off at the mouth and that was the end of it.’

  ‘So?’ said Abbot. ‘It worked, didn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, it worked—but only across a half-assed pond. A torpedo doesn’t have the range for what I want.’

  ‘Can you get hold of a torpedo?’

  ‘Sure—but for what? Those we can get hold of don’t have the range, and those we could use are on the secret lists. Boy, if I could get hold of one of the modern underwater guided missile babies I’d be made.’

  Parker broke in. ‘What kind of torpedo can you get?’

  Eastman shrugged. ‘Those on the international arms market—models of the ‘forties and ‘fifties. Nothing really up to date.’

  ‘What about the British Mark XI?’

  ‘Those are available, sure. With a maximum range of three miles—and what the hell’s the good of that?’

  ‘Fifty-five hundred yards wi’ batteries brought up to heat,’ corrected Parker.

  Abbot grinned. ‘I think you’d better tell him, Dan.’

  Parker said deliberately, ‘I can get fifteen miles out o’ a Mark XI.’

  Eastman sat up straight. ‘Are you on the level?’

  ‘He is,’ said Abbot. ‘Danny boy can make a Mark XI sit up and do tricks. Meet Mr Parker, the best petty officer and torpedo mechanic the Royal Navy ever had.’

  ‘You interest me,’ said Eastman. ‘Are you sure about that fifteen miles?’

  Parker smiled slowly. ‘I can pep up a Mark XI so you can stay safely outside the legal twelve mile limit an’ shoot her ashore at thirty knots. No bubbles, either.’

  ‘And carrying five hundred pounds’ weight?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Eastman pondered. ‘What about accuracy?’

  ‘That depends on the fish you give me—some o’ the guidance gear is a bit rough sometimes. But I can doctor it up if you let me have sea trials.’ Parker scratched bis jaw. ‘I reckon I could give an accuracy o’ three inches in a hundred yards—that’s less than seventy yards out either way at fifteen miles.’

  ‘Jesus!’ said Eastman. ‘That’s not too bad.’

  ‘You should be able to find a quiet beach that big,’ said Abbot. ‘You’ll have to find one that slopes pretty shallowly, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Parker. ‘That’s the accuracy o’ the fish I’m talkin’ about. Currents are somethin’ else. You shoot across a current an’ the fish is goin’ to be carried sideways, an’ don’t forget it’ll be in the water for half an hour. If you have a cross-current of as little as half a knot then the fish will get knocked five hundred yards off course. Still, if you can plot the current you can compensate, an’ you might avoid the problem altogether if you shoot at slack water.’

  ‘Yeah, that can be gotten around.’ Eastman nibbled at a joint of his thumb thoughtfully. ‘You seem pretty certain about this.’

  ‘I am,’ said Parker. ‘But it’s goin’ to cost you a hell of a lot. There’s a torpedo in the first place an’ a tube to go wi’ it; there’s high-power mercury cells to be bought an’ they don’t come cheap, an’ there’s…’

  ‘…the cost of our services,’ said Abbot smoothly. ‘And we don’t come cheap, either.’

  ‘If you can pull it off you’ll get taken care of,’ said Eastman. ‘If you don’t you’ll get taken care of another way.
’ His eyes were chilling.

  Parker was unperturbed. ‘I’ll show you that it can be done first. You’ll have sea trials.’

  ‘Right,’ said Eastman. ‘I’ll have to see the boss about this first.’

  ‘The boss!’ said Abbot in surprise. ‘I thought you were the boss.’

  ‘There are a lot of things you don’t know,’ said Eastman. ‘Stick around and stay available.’ He stood up. ‘Where are you guys from?’

  ‘London,’ said Abbot.

  Eastman nodded. ‘Okay—I’ll be seeing you soon.’

  ‘I don’t want to seem too pushing,’ said Abbot, ‘but what about a retainer? Or shall we say you’ve just taken an option on our services which has to be paid for.’

  ‘You’ve got a nerve.’ Eastman pulled out his wallet. ‘How much did Picot stick you for?’

  ‘A thousand Lebanese pounds. Half down, half later.’

  ‘Okay—here’s two-five; that gives you two thousand clear profit so far—and you haven’t done anything yet. If Picot asks you for the other five hundred tell him to see me.’ He smiled thinly. ‘He won’t, though.’ He turned abruptly and walked out of the room.

  Abbot sat down slowly and turned to Parker. ‘I hope to God you can handle your end. We’ve hooked them at last, but they’ve also hooked us. If we can’t deliver we’ll be in trouble.’

  Parker filled his pipe with steady hands. ‘They’ll get what they want—an’ maybe a bit more.’ He paused. ‘Do you think he’ll check back to London?’

  ‘He’s sure to. You’re all right, Dan; there’s nothing in your background to worry him.’ Abbot stretched. ‘As for me—I had a flaming row with my editor just before I left, specially laid on. I’ll bet the echoes are still reverberating down Fleet Street.’ He grinned. ‘I was fired, Dan—out on my can for unprofessional conduct unbefitting a journalist and a gentleman. I only hope it’ll satisfy Eastman and company.’

  IV

  Eastman did not keep them waiting long. Three days later he rang up and said, ‘Hello, Abbot; put on your best bib and tucker—you’re going on the town tonight.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Le Paon Rouge. If you don’t have decent clothes, buy some out of the dough I gave you.’

  ‘Who’s paying for the night out?’ asked Abbot in his character as a man on the make.

  ‘It’ll be paid for,’ said Eastman. ‘You’re meeting the boss. Be on your best behaviour. I’ll send a car for you at nine-thirty.’

  Abbot put the phone on the hook slowly and turned to find Parker regarding him with interest. ‘Have you got a dinner-jacket, Dan?’

  Parker nodded. ‘I packed it on the off-chance I’d need it.’

  ‘You’ll need it tonight. We’ve been invited to the Paon Rouge.’

  ‘That’ll be the third time I’ve worn it, then,’ said Parker. He put his hand on his belly. ‘Might be a bit tight. What’s the Paon Rouge?’

  ‘A night-club in the Hotel Phoenicia. We’re meeting the boss, and if it’s who I think it is, we’ve got it made. We’ve just been told tactfully to shave and brush our teeth nicely.’

  ‘The Hotel Phoenicia—isn’t that the big place near the Saint-Georges?’

  ‘That’s it. Do you know what a five-star hotel is, Dan?’

  Parker blinked. ‘The Saint-Georges?’ he hazarded.

  ‘Right! Well, there aren’t enough stars in the book to classify the Phoenicia. Dope-smuggling must be profitable.’

  They were picked up by the black Mercedes and driven to the Phoenicia by an uncommunicative Lebanese. Parker was unhappy because his doubts about his evening wear had been confirmed; his dress shirt had taken a determined grip on his throat and was slowly throttling him, and his trousers pinched cruelly at waist and crotch. He made a mental note to start a course of exercises to conquer his middle-age spread.

  The name of Eastman dropped to an impressively-dressed major-domo brought them to Eastman’s table with remarkable alacrity. The Paon Rouge was fashionably dark in the night-club manner, but not so dark that Abbot could not spot his quarry; Eastman was sitting with Jeanette Delorme and rose at their approach. ‘Glad you could make it,’ he said conventionally.

  ‘Delighted, Mr Eastman,’ said Abbot. He looked down at the woman. ‘Is this the boss?’

  Eastman smiled. ‘If you cross her you’ll find out.’ He turned to her. ‘This is Abbot, the other is Parker. Gentlemen—Miss Delorme.’

  Abbot inclined his head and studied her. She was dressed in a simple sheath which barely covered her upperworks and she appeared to be, at the most, twenty-five years old. He knew for a fact that she was thirty-two, but it was wonderful what money would do. A very expensive proposition was Miss Delorme.

  She crooked a finger at him. ‘You—sit here.’ There was a minor flurry as flunkies rearranged chairs and Abbot found himself sitting next to her and facing Parker, with a glass of champagne in his fingers. She studied Parker for a moment, then said, ‘If what Jack tells me is true, I may be willing to employ you. But I need proof.’ Her English was excellent and almost unaccented.

  ‘You’ll get your proof,’ said Abbot. ‘Dan will give you that.’

  Parker said, ‘There’s plenty of sea out there. You can have trials.’

  ‘Which torpedo would be most suitable?’

  ‘Doesn’t really matter,’ said Parker. ‘As long as it’s an electric job.’

  She twirled her glass slowly in her fingers. ‘I have a friend,’ she said. ‘He was a U-boat captain during the war. His opinion of the British torpedo was very low. He said that on half the firings the British torpedo went wild.’ Her voice became sharp. ‘That would not be permissible.’

  ‘Christ, no!’ said Eastman. ‘We can’t lose a torpedo—not with what it will be carrying. It would be too goddam expensive.’

  ‘Ah, you’re talking about the early British torpedoes,’ said Parker. ‘The Mark XI was different. Your U-boat skipper was dead right—the early British fish were bloody awful. But the Mark XI was a Chinese copy o’ the German fish an’ it was very good when it came into service in ‘44. We pinched it from the Jerries, an’ the Yanks pinched it from us. Any o’ those torpedoes would be good enough but I’d rather have the old Mark XI—it’s more familiar, like. But they’re all pretty much the same an’ just differ a bit in detail.’

  ‘On what basis will you get the extra performance?’

  ‘Look,’ said Parker, leaning forward earnestly. ‘The Mark XI came out in ‘44 an’ it had lead-acid batteries—that was all they had in them days. Twenty-five years have gone by since then, an’ things have changed. The new kalium cells—that’s mercury oxide-zinc—pack a hell o’ a lot more power, an’ you can use that power in two ways. You can either increase the range or the speed. I’ve designed circuits for both jobs.’

  ‘We’re interested in increasing range,’ said Eastman.

  Parker nodded. ‘I know. It’s goin’ to cost you a packet,’ he warned. ‘Mercury cells ain’t cheap.’

  ‘How much?’ asked Delorme.

  Parker scratched his head. ‘Every time you shoot a fish it’ll cost you over a thousand quid just for the power.’

  She looked at Eastman, who interpreted, ‘A thousand pounds sterling.’

  Abbot sipped his champagne. ‘The cost of everything is going up,’ he observed coolly.

  ‘That’s a fact,’ said Parker with a grin, ‘Back in ‘44 the whole bloody torpedo only cost six hundred quid. I dunno what they cost now, though.’

  ‘Fifteen hundred pounds,’ said Eastman. ‘That’s the going rate on the surplus market.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Parker. ‘Another thousand for a trial an’ another for the real job, plus, say, five hundred for conversion. That’s four thousand basic. Then there’s our share on top o’ that.’

  ‘And what is your share?’ asked Jeanette Delorme.

  ‘A percentage of the profits,’ said Abbot.

  She turned to him. ‘Indeed! And where do you come
in on this? It seems that Parker is doing all the work.’

  Abbot smiled easily. ‘Let’s say I’m his manager.’

  ‘There are no passengers in the organization,’ she said flatly.

  Parker broke in. ‘Me an’ Mike are mates—I go where he goes, an’ vicey-versey. Besides, I’ll see he works hard—I can’t do it all meself.’

  ‘It’s a package deal, you see,’ said Abbot. ‘And you talk business to me.’

  ‘The profits on smuggling gold are not very big,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘Oh, come off it,’ said Abbot in disgust. ‘You’re not smuggling gold—you’re running dope.’

  She looked at Eastman and then back at Abbot. ‘And how do you know that?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Just putting two and two together. There was a whisper in London—that’s why we came out here.’

  ‘That was one whisper too many,’ she snapped.

  Abbot smiled. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I was a professional in the whisper-listening business. It was just a matter of chance, and coming out here was a hell of a long shot.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s paid off.’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said pointedly. ‘How much do you want?’

  Twenty per cent of the take,’ said Abbot promptly.

  She laughed. ‘Oh, what a stupid man we have here. Don’t you think so, Jack?’ Eastman grinned, and she said seriously, ‘You will get one per cent and that will make you very rich, Monsieur Michael Abbot.’

  ‘I may be stupid,’ said Abbot, ‘but I’m not crazy enough to take one per cent.’

  Eastman said, ‘I think you are crazy if you expect to get any kind of a percentage. We’re not going to work that way.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Delorme. ‘We’ll give you a flat rate for the work. What would you say to a hundred thousand American dollars?’

  Abbot raised his eyebrows. ‘Each?’

  She hesitated fractionally. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’d say it’s not on,’ said Abbot, shaking his head. ‘We’d want at least double that. Do you think I don’t know what the profits are in this racket?’

  Eastman chuckled raspingly. ‘You’re both stupid and crazy. Hell, you’ve given us the idea anyway. What’s to prevent us going ahead without you?’