"Fourteen million pounds?" Heather asked.
"Precisely. We discussed the possibility of tricking our man somehow, loading the plane with phoney money or the like. But there seems little opportunity, the way he has it worked out. The PM will be going to the banks tomorrow for the funds."
I stroked my chin, "I wonder, sir, if money is what this man really wants."
"What do you mean?" Brutus asked.
"He may think he wants the money, on a conscious level," I said, slowly, "but on another level — a more primitive one, a darker one — he may only want to kill."
Brutus sucked his pipe and studied my face. "Yes, I get your meaning. But be that as it may, we must assume that payment of the sum demanded will stop the killings, mustn't we?"
"Yes, sir, I suppose so," I said.
"Right. Well, you two can get some rest now. Keep after that scrap of paper though — there might be something there."
Heather rose from her usual perch on Brutus's desk and I got up from my chair.
"There's one other thing, sir," I said.
"Yes?"
"Hawk told me Augie Fergus had served in the commandos. I think we should get a list of the men in Augie's outfit."
Brutus frowned. "That could be quite a list."
"I'd restrict it to the men in his immediate company. There might be a lead in it."
"Right, Nick," Brutus said. "I'll get on it. Anything else?"
"Just a few hours sleep," I said, grinning.
"I promise not to bother either of you for the rest of the day," he said. "Get yourselves a good meal and some rest."
"Thanks," I said.
Heather and I had dinner at a quiet little restaurant, and then she invited me to her flat for a drink before I returned to my SOE-paid hotel room. I had a bourbon and she took sherry. We sat on a long sofa sipping the drinks.
"I wish I could remember where I've seen the emblem on that scrap of paper," she confessed. "I know I've seen it somewhere and not too long ago."
"There's plenty of time for that tomorrow when you're rested," I said. "Let it all incubate inside until then."
"All right, doctor." She smiled. "I put myself completely under your care."
"Is that a proposition?"
"Take it as you like."
I put my unfinished drink down and reached for her. She melted into my arms, her softness pressing into me. She was wearing a pants suit and shirt and no bra. As I pressed my lips to hers, I brushed my hand across her right breast. The nipple hardened at my touch. My tongue explored her mouth and she responded passionately.
She broke away from me and stood up. "I'll get into something more — appropriate," she said.
She disappeared into the bedroom and I finished my bourbon. The warmth of the liquor spread all through me. I was relaxed and ready. And then Heather returned.
She was wearing an almost-transparent floor-length peignoir.
I undressed and lay down beside her on the sofa. I slid my hand between her thighs and caressed her. A soft sound purred in her throat.
I slipped the peignoir over her head and let it fall to the floor beside me. And she wanted me. It was clear that she wanted me very much. I knew that this would be even better than the last time.
We began leisurely, comfortably, letting the ripples of pleasure pass through us as our bodies touched and the fire slowly flamed up inside. It was sweet, very sweet; the leisurely pace stoked the fire and built it.
As the thrusting and reaching and probing reached a greater intensity, Heather began to tremble. The sounds in her throat grew until they seemed to fill the room. Then it was a primitive plunging, savage in its intensity, as Heather's arms locked tightly around me, her hot thighs pressing me into her, deeper and deeper.
When it was over, I lay back, lit a cigarette and thought about Heather and Hadiya; I couldn't help comparing the two of them. Their ways of making love were as different as their nationalities. Hadiya's was like the North African desert in which she was born: fevered, like a raging sand storm which ended as abruptly as it began. Heather's was more like the English spring: slow to develop, following a long-established pattern, gradually easing into the heat of summer, then tapering off into the cooling spell of fall.
Which was better? I couldn't tell. Each had its advantages. But it would be nice, I thought, to have a steady diet of first one, then the other.
Seven
It was after midnight when I got back to my hotel room and to bed to sleep. About an hour after I dozed off, I awoke suddenly. At first I had no idea what had awakened me and then I heard it again: a soft clicking sound. What was it? And was it inside the room or out?
I lay listening, wanting very much to go back to sleep and knowing that that was a luxury I could not afford. Many an agent has awakened dead, so to speak, because he was too tired or sleepy to check out a strange noise in the middle of the night.
I lay perfectly still, staring into the blackness. Silence surrounded me, punctuated by the traffic noise from the street outside. Was I imagining things, or dreaming?
Fifteen minutes by the luminous face of my watch. I yawned and struggled to keep my eyes open. A half-hour. Surely I had been mistaken. Sleep was pulling at me, dragging me down into its dark, warm pit. My eyelids closed, then popped wide open.
That sound again! That small clicking sound and this time there was no doubt. It came from the door to the corridor. Somebody was moving a key in the lock.
The sound was repeated. Whoever was out there was satisfied that I was asleep.
I eased silently out of bed. The only light in the room came from the window and under the door to the corridor. Now a shadow blocked out the narrow ribbon of light under the door. Yes, somebody was outside and coming in shortly.
I pulled on my pants and a shirt, slipped into my shoes as the tumbler clicked in the lock and the knob began turning. I moved to the chair where my jacket was hanging and reached for the shoulder holster under it. I pulled Wilhelmina free then moved back to the bed and drew the sheet up over the pillow. When the door eased open, I was crouched behind the chair.
A thick-shouldered man entered the room slowly, holding a hand gun in front of him. Another thinner man moved shadow-like behind him. They came into the room soundlessly and stood facing the bed. The thick-shouldered man nodded to the slim one and they aimed their guns at the bed where I had been lying. It was hidden in shadow and they thought I was still there. The guns, big and ugly, had long silencers fitted to their muzzles. Suddenly, three or four shots popped from each gun. I waited until they stopped firing and the bedding was a riddled mess, then I reached up and switched on the light.
"Surprise!" I said, holding Wilhelmina on them.
They whirled to face me, confusion on their faces. I had never seen either of them before.
"Drop the guns," I said firmly.
Apparently I wasn't very persuasive. The thick-shouldered one moved his gun and fired quickly, dropping to one knee. His shot chipped wood from the frame of the overstuffed chair I was using for cover. I ducked as he fired a second time. This time the slug slammed into the chair stuffing.
I hit the floor behind the chair, rolled once and came up firing on the far side. Wilhelmina, sans silencer, roared loudly in the room, the slug tearing into the wall behind the brawny gunman's head. I fired again quickly and the second shot caught the man in the chest, grand-slammed him against the wall. He slid to the floor, leaving a crimson mark on the wall.
The second gunman now popped off another round, chipping flowered paper off the wall behind me, and dived for cover behind the bed. I snapped off a crashing shot but missed my target by inches and shattered the leg of a night table.
I was back behind the chair now. I picked up a fallen ashtray, heaved it to my right and drew fire from my enemy. In the same instant, I moved back to my left, grabbed above my head at the light switch again, darkening the room. I scrambled quickly to the side of a large chest of drawers which afforded good cover from the bed.