The imposing man stopped talking and looked at Albert Cromwell, who was leaning back against the rear wall of the elevator, gazing in a bovine way at the numbers over the door. The number 12 switched off and the number 14 switched on. Albert Cromwell watched the numbers.
The imposing man said, "Can you hear my voice?"
"Yes," said Albert Cromwell.
"One day soon," the imposing man said, "a man will come to you at your place of employment. At the bank where you work. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," said Albert Cromwell.
"The man will say to you, 'Afghanistan banana stand.' Do you understand me?"
"Yes," said Albert Cromwell.
"What will the man say?"
"Afghanistan banana stand," said Albert Cromwell.
"Very good," said the imposing man. The number 17 lit briefly over the door. "You are still very relaxed," said the imposing man. "When the man says to you, 'Afghanistan banana stand,' you will do what he tells you to do. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," said Albert Cromwell.
"What will you do when the man says to you, 'Afghanistan banana stand'?"
"I will do what he tells me to do," said Albert Cromwell.
"Very good," said the imposing man. "That's very good, you're doing very well. When the man leaves you, you will forget that he was there. Do you understand?"
"Yes," said Albert Cromwell.
"What will you do when he leaves you?"
"I will forget he was there," said Albert Cromwell.
"Excellent," said the imposing man. The number 22 lit over the door. "You are doing fine," said the imposing man. He reached out and pushed the button for the twenty-sixth floor. "When I leave you," he said, "you will forget our conversation. When you reach your floor, you will feel rested and very, very good. You will forget our conversation, and you will feel rested and very, very good. You will not remember our conversation until the man says to you, 'Afghanistan banana stand.' Then you will do what he tells you, and after he leaves, you will again forget our conversation and you will also forget that he was ever there. Will you do all that?"
"Yes," said Albert Cromwell.
The number 26 lit over the door, and the elevator came to a stop. The door slid open. "You did very well," the imposing man said, stepping out to the corridor. "Very well," he said, and the door slid shut again, and the elevator went up one more story to the twenty-seventh floor, which was where Albert Cromwell lived. It stopped there, and the door opened, and Albert Cromwell shook himself and stepped out to the hall. He smiled. He felt very good, very relaxed and rested. He walked down the hall with a buoyant step, feeling great, and thinking it must be because of the unseasonably warm weather this afternoon. Whatever it was, he felt great.
7
Dortmunder walked into the bank, remembering what Miasmo the Great had told him last night when reporting success at last with Albert Cromwell. "If at all possible," he had said, "do your work tomorrow. If you miss tomorrow, you'll have the whole weekend to wait before you can try again. The suggestion should be firmly enough fixed to last until Monday, but naturally the sooner you trigger him the better. He could watch a television program Saturday night and somebody on it would say, 'Afghanistan banana stand,' and the whole thing would open up in his mind. So if you can do it tomorrow, do it tomorrow."
So here it was tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon, in fact. Dortmunder had come here once already today, at nine-thirty this morning, but when he'd walked by the stairway and looked down, it was Albert on duty outside, which meant George would be inside, and George they didn't have primed, so he'd gone away again, coming back now in the hope that Albert and George shifted after lunch and didn't keep the same posts all day long.
Luck was in. Dortmunder got to the head of the stairs and looked down and there was George. Dortmunder didn't hesitate, he trotted down the stairs, said hello to George, signed in, and was let through the first door.
There was no one in the small in-between room, and for just a second Dortmunder felt the cold touch of apprehension in the middle of his back. He could see himself locked away in here by a gloating George, everything known, he being held here until the police could arrive. A fitting end to the Balabomo Emerald quest.
But then George said, "Albert will be with you in just one moment, sir," and Dortmunder's paranoia faded like mist. He nodded, and George shut the barred gate after him and went back over to his desk.
There were a couple of chairs in this room, but Dortmunder was too nerved up to sit down. He stood where he was, as though he'd been left behind by somebody, like an umbrella, and after a couple of minutes the farther door opened and a stout elderly lady emerged, clutching a Pekingese to her fox, and followed by Albert.
Albert shut the gate and said to Dortmunder, "Just one moment, sir."
"Take your time," Dortmunder said.
Albert opened the other gate and let the lady out, then turned to Dortmunder. "If you'll follow me, sir."
They went through the inner gate and directly to Dortmunder's box. Albert inserted his key, asked to borrow Dortmunder's, opened the box, and at once gave Dortmunder his key back.
"I just wanted this," Dortmunder said, and took out the envelope full of tissues. He tucked it away in his inside jacket pocket.
Albert used the two keys to lock the now-empty box, gave Dortmunder back his key, and said, "This way, sir."
"Afghanistan banana stand," Dortmunder said.
Albert stopped where he was. He turned to Dortmunder, and he looked calmly prepared to be of service. "Yes, sir," he said.
Dortmunder took out Prosker's key. "Now we'll open this box," he said.
"Yes, sir." Albert took the key and turned away. Dortmunder followed him, and they walked down the aisle to Prosker's box. Albert used the two keys and opened the box, then stood there continuing to look calm and alert and ready to be of service.
There were a lot of papers in Prosker's box, deeds and thick white envelopes and birth certificates and one thing and another. In with all the rest was a small black plush box of the kind cuff links and earrings come in. Dortmunder reached into the drawer, picked up the black plush box, and opened it.
The Balabomo Emerald. Filling the little box and winking at Dortmunder under the fluorescent lights. Grinning to itself inside the little box.
Dortmunder shut the little box again and slipped it into his left-side jacket pocket. He said to Albert, "All right, shut it up again."
"Yes, sir."
Albert shut the drawer and gave Dortmunder Prosker's key. He then went back to looking alert, calm, ready to serve.
Dortmunder said, "That's all. I'm ready to leave now."
"Yes, sir."
Albert led the way to the first gate, opened it, stood aside for Dortmunder to go on through. Then Dortmunder had to wait while he closed it again before crossing the small anteroom and opening the outer gate. Dortmunder walked past him, and outside George said, "Have a good day, sir."
"Thank you," Dortmunder said. He went upstairs and out of the bank and caught a cab. "Amsterdam Avenue and Eighty-fourth Street," he said.
The cab went down 45th Street and turned right and got itself snarled in a traffic jam. Dortmunder sat in the back and slowly began to smile. It was incredible. They had the emerald. They actually had the emerald, at long last. Dortmunder saw the cabby puzzling at him in the rearview mirror, wondering what a passenger caught in a traffic jam had to smile about, but he couldn't stop. He just went right on smiling.
1
Around the table in the back room at the O. J. Bar and Grill sat Murch and Kelp and Chefwick. Murch was drinking beer and salt and Kelp was drinking straight bourbon, but since it was barely midafternoon Chefwick was not drinking his usual sherry. Instead he was having a Diet-Rite Cola, and he was nursing it. Greenwood was out in the bar, showing Rollo how to make a vodka sour on the rocks, and Rollo was watching with a skeptical frown and managing to remember none of the details.