‘What you going to do, guv?’
‘I am going to send a veiled warning to Peter Lanchester, then do a Sherlock Holmes, old son, and follow a masterly policy of inactivity. If you come back to or get a message saying I have bought tickets for a boxing match, head back for the car.’
Dimitrescu was waiting in a Maybach Zeppelin outside the hotel, the chauffeur opening the door for his passenger. ‘So, Herr Jardine, what kind of day have you had?’
As if you don’t know, you bastard! He had spent the day like any tourist would, visiting the Royal Palace to watch the guard change, an art gallery that was interesting for its lack of old masters — countries that conquered had most of those — and its plethora of more modern works which showed a rich vein of local artistic endeavour.
The Orthodox cathedral to look at the icons was an obvious attraction, as was gazing at the statuary, especially the one of King Carol the First on the rearing horse. Generally he went tootling about, stopping every so often at one of the numerous outdoor cafes, which the berk tailing him dare not enter, going inside to a phone to keep in touch with Goldfarbeen, who reassured him he was still safe, and Vince, to report that as the case.
‘You live in a very interesting city, Colonel, fascinating, in fact. I shall be recommending to some of my friends it is a place they should visit.’
‘It pleases me that you say so. We have high hopes that after so many years of turmoil Rumania will take its rightful place amongst the nations of Europe.’ It was easy to smile at such hyperbolic nonsense, but tempting to respond with the truth, which was less flattering: despite the glitter, there was more poverty in this place than wealth. ‘You will be pleased to know that I have made certain enquiries regarding your interests and the results have come back as very positive.’
‘Where are we off to?’ Jardine asked, with the very real anxiety that by getting in this car he was taking a hell of a risk: this swine could take him straight to the cells.
‘What I think to be the best restaurant in the city, where I will, if you will permit me, introduce you to the cuisine of my country.’
‘Splendid.’
With only the light from street lamps coming into the back of the car, it was surprising to observe a twinkle in the eyes of Dimitrescu. ‘There are, of course, many other attractions.’
Eat your heart out, Peter Lanchester, Jardine thought.
The restaurant was more like some kind of club, in a basement, with a small dance floor, the colouring predominately purple and the women universally dark and sultry, two of the most beautiful coming with the champagne — real and the last foreign thing he tasted that night. The food was excellent, a sour soup called ciorba and ostropel duck. The Rumanian wines were robust and had unpronounceable names — but then so did his female companion, who let him know almost immediately with a searching hand what the last part of his night was going to be like.
‘Business, Colonel?’
‘Not tonight, Herr Jardine, tonight we take pleasure. Tomorrow we will talk business, and maybe come to an arrangement beneficial to us both. You are my guest and I intend that your stay in my country should be memorable.’
Occasionally he caught Dimitrescu looking at him, in between trying to hold a conversation with a girl with flashing eyes, long ringlets in her hair, a dress cut so low and occasionally revealing it was impossible to maintain eye contact, and a tongue that made constant promises of pleasure to come. Those occasional observations were sobering, or was he just imagining that the colonel was looking at him in a way a fox might look at a chicken?
‘Please, Herr Jardine,’ Dimitrescu said, as he dropped him and his ‘gift’ off at the Athenee Palace. ‘If she asks you for money, do not give her any more than the needs of gratitude. She has already been paid.’
As it transpired, Jardine was very generous indeed, which was only fitting given she was so very much that first. His only worry was her screaming, which was loud enough to have him hope the walls of his suite were thick enough to leave the other guests in peace.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Peter, you should move out to another hotel. This one might not be safe if it all goes tits up.’
‘You are so sure of your Yid?’ The apology was immediate. ‘Sorry, old boy, habits of a lifetime.’
‘Are you sure we have a boat?’
‘Piece of cake, and the captain is Turkish. I had a look at the engines, which, to my untutored eye, appeared to be in fine shape, and so clean, which is more than I can say for the port. If you think things are tough at home, you should see the docks at Constanta. Dire everywhere, except for the oil terminal.’
‘Which makes it doubly strange the Rumanian Government are buying weapons. If the main port is in bad shape the country can’t be making the kind of money needed for such a purchase, even if they do have oil to sell.’
‘Then you of all people should know what that means, Cal,’ Lanchester replied, rubbing finger and thumb together. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time the guiding principle of an arms deal is personal profit.’
‘Anyway, pack your bags, check out and go to the Hotel Francez. Let me know your room number as soon as you’re checked in. Then I’ll send Vince over.’
‘No chance of my being entertained by your Rumanian colonel, is there? I do think I deserve equal treatment.’
‘None.’
‘Dirty, lucky sod.’
Jardine left Lanchester’s room, and him packing, with caution, making sure the floor manager was not about, or the cleaners. As soon as he got back to his suite, he found a note under his door with the simple message, I.G. Call. As usual, when he left the hotel he picked up the man tasked to report his movements, Jardine registering that if it was always the same poor sod in the grey, badly cut suit, only able to trail him on foot, then Dimitrescu was not overburdened with resources, while his man was severely lacking in his wardrobe. Wondering what was being reported back, it was amusing to think it was that the target was addicted to coffee.
‘Herr Hardeen, I have some news for you and I think we should meet.’
‘At your house?’
‘No, come to the Great Synagogue, I will meet you there.’
It was double motor taxis again, this time bouncing off a third five-star hotel, the Grand Hotel du Boulevard, and a sour response when his second cab was directed to the Gro?e Synagoge, which left Jardine thinking that compared to Germany this place was truly rabid; God help the Jews if Hitler’s kind of fascism took hold here. As he entered, to the sound of some gentle Hebrew chanting, he had to remind himself not to remove his hat.
Goldfarbeen was waiting for him and took him to a quiet corner and sat him down, in case, as he put it, ‘The rabbi sees a goyim in his house of worship.’
‘First, I am near certain you have some time. A message has come back from Berlin to Dimitrescu, telling him they want you and they will send an escort to take you back to Germany. He sent a reply insisting they wait until he says it is time to come.’
‘For what reason?’
For the first time the old man looked cross, like what-does-it-matter irritated. ‘Also, he has ordered, this very morning, the small weapon armouries cleared out into railway wagons, as the guns he has bought are on their way from Germany by freight train.’
There was a twinkle in the older man’s eyes now, which begged a question. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I am thinking, Herr Hardeen, that Dimitrescu is going to sell you those guns in the railway wagons.’
‘That’s not all you are thinking.’
‘You must let your mind work like a Rumanian.’
‘Better you do that.’
‘How would you pay him?’