Midnight Plus One

A model in a black sheath dress twittered her feet up the catwalk and paused to despise the air over our heads.

Merlin looked up and said firmly: 'Of what sex is that creature?'

The girl's negligent smile froze on her face.

I winced. She was thin all right, but not that thin. 'Very sexy,' I said loud and clear. 'I could rape her myself, here and now.' She didn't seem encouraged.

Merlin shrugged his fat shoulders. 'For Englishmen, always sex. Sex and fashion are not even connected. In England, you think if a woman gets raped her dress must be fashionable. You have forgotten all you knew about France, Caneton.' He slid me a sideways look.

I knew about the look without meeting it. 'Wait until after this case. What's this job you want me to do?'

Merlin said quickly and quietly: 'A client wishes to go from Brittany to Liechtenstein. Others wish him not to go. Shooting is possible. You wish to help him get there?'

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it and blew smoke at a model's ankles. 'How was he planning to get there? Plane? Train? And what are you paying for this?'

'I would say twelve thousand francs – nearly one thousand pounds. I would suggest by car; it is more simple, more – more flexible. And there are frontiers to cross – or you have forgotten where Liechtenstein is?'

The far side of Switzerland, between it and Austria. And what's this lad doing in Brittany if he should be in Liechtenstein?'

The trumpets tooted again and the models drifted away Next scene: dresssportif.

Henri said: 'He is not in Brittany now. He is on a yacht in the Atlantic. He cannot reach Europe before tomorrow night, and the nearest point he can reach is Brittany. C'est très simple. You take him from there to Liechtenstein. The problem is the others who know also where he is and that he must be in Liechtenstein very soon.'

It didn't sound like just the only problem to me – not like twelve thousand francs-worth of problem, anyway.

'I've only heard of two good reasons for going to Liechtenstein,' I said. 'One is to collect the new postage stamps they do every year. The other is to set up a tax-dodging company. Your man doesn't sound like a stamp collector.'

He chuckled gently. 'His name is Maganhard.'

'I recognise the fortune. Not the face.'

'Nobody knows the face. There is one passport photograph only – just one – taken eight years ago. And not in France.'

'I'd heard he was something to do with Caspar AG.'

He spread his hands. 'One hears anything about such men. I cannot tell you much, you understand – perhaps he himself will tell you more – but he will lose much if he does not reach Liechtenstein quickly.'

'Lawyer's confidences, eh? Now let's get this straight: I pick up Maganhard in Brittany, in a car, and drive him to Liechtenstein, fighting off gunmen all the way. Very simple. Only why doesn't he go by plane or trainand ask for French police protection?'

'Ah, yes.' He nodded and looked atme witha sad smile. There is of course the other problem. Heis wanted by the police of France.'

'Oh yes?' I said casually. 'And what would thatbe for?'

'Anaffaire of rape. Last summer – on the Côted'Azur.'

'They notice such things down there?'

He smiled again. 'Fortunately the womandid not complain until after Maganhard had left France. I had to advisehim not to return.'

'It didn't get much space in the papers; I never saw it.'

'As you say' – he shrugged – 'in summer on the Côte d'Azur rape is merely a variation on a theme. But still illegal.'

'I might not be too keen on helping a rapist escape justice.'

'C'est possible. But the police would be no problem – they will not know he is in France. Only his rivals know he must get to Liechtenstein.'

'On the other hand, rape is about the best frame-up charge I know.'

'Ah.' He gazed sunnily up at the models and said quietly: 'I had hoped the great Monsieur Caneton had not forgotten everything he once knew.'

A model stalked past, hips and head shoved well forward as if she was auditioning for the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and wearing a tartan cloak where the Campbell Macdonald war was still going on.

'All right. Why don't you fix a private plane for him? – then he wouldn't have to show his face at the frontiers.'

He sighed. 'Airfields are carefully watched these days, mon Caneton. And it could not be a small aeroplane to fly all the way from Brittany to Liechtenstein, not one that can land just in a field anywhere. And all the good pilots are honest – and the bad pilots' – he shrugged again – 'a man like Maganhard does not fly with bad pilots.'; That all added up. I nodded. 'So where can I get a car? -not hired or stolen.'

'The police have not confiscated the Paris cars of Maganhard – and I do not think they know I have the keys. Would you wish the Fiat President or the Citroën DS?'

'If it's not a fancy colour, the Citroën.'

'Black. Nobody will notice it.'

I nodded. 'Are you coming with us?'

'No. But I meet you in Liechtenstein.' He smiled up at the girl in the Glencoe Massacre cloak and asked out of the side of his face: 'Do you want also a gunman? '

'If there's likely to be shooting, yes: I'm not a professional. I hear that Alain and Bernard are still the best men. And the American, Lovell, is the next best. Can I have any of them?'

He glanced at me. 'You know such people?' He hadn't expected me to be able to name the top three bodyguard-gunmen in Europe.

'I also have clients, Henri – and some ofthem are worried about getting shot in the back, too.' Perhaps I was exaggerating. I certainly had clients who were liable to get shot, but most of them – rightly – didn't value their own lives at as much as a good bodyguard costs. Still, one tries to keep in touch.

He nodded. 'I forgot – you knew Alain and Bernard in the war, I think.'

I had. They'd been a couple of good Resistance men, farther south, who hadn't wanted to lay down their guns when the war ended. So they hadn't. I'd heard that they always worked together – and also that not all of their work was bodyguarding. But if I could get them on my side, I was ready to skip moral questions.

Merlin said: 'I am afraid I cannot contact them. But I can get Lovell. You know him?'

'Never met him. He was in the American Secret Service, wasn't he?'

Over there, 'Secret Service' doesn't mean what it does in Europe. In America, the Secret Service specialises in providing bodyguards for presidents and their families. That all meant that Lovell was a well-trained man – but what did his leaving the service mean? Well, maybe some people just don't like being organisation gunmen.

Merlin said: 'I will fix for Lovell to meet you at Quimper.'

'If that's where we're starting. Can you get the car to meet me there, too? I can drive to Liechtenstein inside twenty-four hours, but I don't want to do any driving the day before.'

'I fix it.'

The trumpets called the models home across the sands of Dee.

Merlin gave me a satisfied but slightly curious look. 'It seems, Caneton, that you are doing this job. Do you know why?'

'Twelve thousand francs is why.' Perhaps I'd said that a little too quickly. I said more slowly: 'Provided I get eight thousand in advance – and double if I land in jail.'

Merlin nodded.

'And one more thing,' I said. 'You're Maganhard's lawyer: I want your promise that he didn't do this rape -and that he's going to Liechtenstein to save his own investment, not pinch somebody else's.'

He smiled a sleepy, cat-like smile. 'So Caneton is a moralist – you wish to be on the side of truth and justice now, hein?'

'I have the impression,' I said sharply, 'that I was on the right side when you first knew me – in the war.'

'Wars are so simple, morally.' He sighed. 'But I promise: Maganhard is no rapist – and he is not trying to steal another's money. You will believe that when you meet him.'

The trumpets blew a complicated fanfare: Big Scene -evening dresses, including number 37. The models flooded out through the arch of roses.