Harvey Metcalfe was on the deck of his yacht, sunbathing and reading the morning papers. Nice-Matin, irritatingly enough, was in French. He read it laboriously, with the aid of a dictionary, to see if there were any social events to which he ought to get himself invited. He had gambled late into the night, and was enjoying the sun’s rays on his fleshy back. If money could have obtained it, he would have been 6 ft and 170 lb with a handsome head of hair, but no amount of suntan oil would stop his balding dome from burning, so he covered it with a cap inscribed with the words ‘I’m sexy.’ If Miss Fish could see him now...
At 11 am, as Harvey turned over and allowed the sun to see his massive stomach, James strolled into room 217 where the rest of the Team were waiting for him.
Jean-Pierre reported on the layout of the Casino and Harvey Metcalfe’s habits. James brought them up to date on the result of his race through the city the night before and confirmed that he thought he could cover the distance in just under eleven minutes.
‘Perfect,’ said Robin. ‘Stephen and I took 15 minutes by taxi from the hospital to the hotel so if Jean-Pierre warns me immediately the balloon goes up in the Casino, I should have enough time to see that everything is ready before you all arrive.’
‘I do hope the balloon will be going down, not up, in the Casino,’ remarked Jean-Pierre.
‘I have booked an agency nurse to be on call from tomorrow night. The hospital has all the facilities I require. It’ll take about two minutes to walk a stretcher from the front door to the theater, so from the moment James leaves the car park I should have at least 16 minutes to prepare myself. James, you’ll be able to pick up the vehicle from the hospital car park at 12 pm The keys have been left in reception in the name of Dr Barker. Do a couple of practice runs and no more. I don’t want you causing interest by looking conspicuous. And could you leave this parcel in the back, please.’
‘What is it?’
‘Three long white laboratory coats and a stethoscope for Stephen. While you’re at it, better check that you can unfold the stretcher easily. When you’ve finished the two runs, put the vehicle back in the car park and return to your room until 11 pm From then through to 4 am you’ll have to wait in the car park until you get the ‘action stations’ or ‘all clear’ signal from Jean-Pierre. Everybody buy new batteries for your transmitters. I don’t want the whole plan to collapse for the sake of a ten-penny battery. I’m afraid there’s nothing much for you to do, Jean-Pierre, until this evening, except relax. I hope you have some good books in your room.’
‘Can’t I go to the Princess Cinema and see François Truffaut’s La Nuit Américaine? I just adore Jacqueline Bisset. Vive la France.’
‘My dear Jean-Pierre, Miss Bisset’s from Reading,’ said James.
‘I don’t care. I still want to see her.’
‘A frog he would a-wooing go,’ said James mockingly.
‘But why not?’ said Robin. ‘The last thing Harvey will do is take in an intellectual French film with no subtitles. Hope you enjoy it — and good luck tonight, Jean-Pierre.’
Jean-Pierre left for his room as quietly as he had come, leaving the rest of them together in room 217.
‘Right, James. You can do your practice runs any time that suits you. Just make sure you’re wide awake tonight.’
‘Fine. I’ll go and pick up the keys from the hospital reception. Let’s just hope nobody stops me for a real emergency.’
‘Now, Stephen, let’s go over the details again. There’s more than money to lose if we get this one wrong. We’ll start from the top. What do you do if the nitrous oxide falls below five liters...’
‘Station check — station check — operation Metcalfe. This is Jean-Pierre. I am on the steps of the Casino. Can you hear me, James?’
‘Yes. I am in the car park of the hospital. Out.’
‘Robin here. I am on the balcony of room 217. Is Stephen with you, Jean-Pierre?’
‘Yes. He’s drinking on his own at the bar.’
‘Good luck and out.’
Jean-Pierre carried out a station check every hour on the hour from 7 pm until 11 pm, merely to inform Robin and James that Harvey had not arrived.
Eventually, at 11.16, he did show up, and took his reserved place at the baccarat table. Stephen stopped sipping his tomato juice and Jean-Pierre moved over and waited patiently by the table for one of the men seated on the left or right of Harvey to leave. An hour passed by. Harvey was losing a little, but continued to play. So did the tall thin American on his right and the Frenchman on his left. Another hour and still no movement. Then suddenly the Frenchman on the left of Metcalfe had a particularly bad run, gathered his few remaining chips and left the table. Jean-Pierre moved forward.
‘I am afraid, Monsieur, that that seat is reserved for another gentleman,’ said the banker. ‘We do have an unreserved place on the other side of the table.’
‘It’s not important,’ said Jean-Pierre, who backed away, not wanting to be remembered, cursing the deference with which the Monégasques treat the wealthy. Stephen could see from the bar what had happened and made furtive signs to leave. They were all back in room 217 just after 2 am.
‘What a bloody silly mistake. Merde, merde, merde. I should have thought of reservations the moment I knew Harvey had one.’
‘No, it was my fault. I don’t know anything about how casinos work and I should have queried it during rehearsals,’ said Robin, stroking his newly acquired mustache.
‘No one is to blame,’ chipped in Stephen. ‘We still have three more nights, so no need to panic. We’ll just have to work out how to overcome the seating problem, but for now we’ll all get some sleep and meet again in this room at 10 am’
They left, a little depressed. Robin had sat waiting in the hotel on edge for four hours. James was cold and bored in the hospital car park, Stephen was sick of tomato juice and Jean-Pierre had been on his feet by the baccarat table waiting for a seat that wasn’t even available.
Once again Harvey lounged in the sun. He was now a light pink and was hoping to be a better color toward the end of the week. According to his copy of the New York Times, gold was still climbing and the Deutschmark and the Swiss franc remained firm, while the dollar was on the retreat against every currency except sterling. Sterling stood at $2.42. Harvey thought a more realistic price was $1.80 and the sooner it reached that the better.
Nothing new, he thought, when the sharp ring of a French telephone roused him. He never could get used to the sound of foreign telephones. The attentive steward bustled out on deck with the instrument on an extension lead.
‘Hi, Lloyd. Didn’t know you were in Monte... why don’t we get together?... 8 pm?... Me too... I’m even getting brown... Must be getting old... What?... Great, I’ll see you then.’
Harvey replaced the receiver and asked the steward for a large whiskey on the rocks. He once again settled down happily to the morning’s financial bad news.
‘That seems to be the obvious solution,’ said Stephen.
They all nodded their approval.
‘Jean-Pierre will give up the baccarat table and book a place next to Harvey Metcalfe on his blackjack table in the Salon des Amériques and wait for him to change games. We know both the seat numbers Harvey plays at and we’ll alter our own plans accordingly.’
Jean-Pierre dialed the number of the Casino and asked to speak to Pierre Cattalano:
‘Réservez-moi la deuxième place à la table 2 pour le vingt-et-un ce soir et demain soir, s’il vous plaît.’