As Claudette brought in a tray with coffee, the telephone bell rang.
They looked at each other.
“Now, who can this be?” Pierre got to his feet. He lifted the receiver. “Pierre Duvine,” he announced.
“This is Lu Bradey.” The voice came clearly over the trans-Atlantic line. “I’m in Washington. I have a job for you. Meet me at the Charles de Gaulle Hilton bar at 23.30 tonight. Bring Claudette,” and the line went dead.
“Bradey!” Pierre exclaimed, beaming at Claudette. “A job!”
Both of them knew, when working with Bradey, the money was always good.
“See, my treasure?” Claudette cried, setting down the coffee tray. “I said something would turn up,” and she threw herself into Pierre’s arms.
At exactly 23.30, Pierre and Claudette walked into the crowded Hilton bar. They looked around and found no one resembling Lu Bradey until a hand touched Pierre’s arm. Turning, he found a small, insignificant-looking businessman, wearing a beard and moustache, his complexion sallow, his half-moon glasses at the end of his nose, at his side.
Both the Duvines were used to Bradey’s many disguises, but for a moment, the disguise was so good, they hesitated.
“We’ll go to my room,” Bradey said quietly.
Nothing was said until they reached the third floor, and Bradey unlocked the door of his room. Once inside, Pierre said, “You are fantastic, Lu.”
“Of course.” Bradey waved Claudette to the only arm chair, waved Pierre to an upright chair and sat on the bed. “I have an urgent and important job for you two. Now, listen carefully.”
With no mention of the icon, Bradey told them that they had to remain in constant touch with Tom and Carroll Lepski as soon as they arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport on this coming Friday.
“They are doing Paris, then Monte Carlo and the Midi, then going on to Switzerland,” he told them. “Your job is to stick closer to them than a baby to its mother’s tit. The woman will be carrying a vanity box. In this box, unknown to either of them, will be an object that has to reach Switzerland. It will be built into the box and I don’t anticipate any trouble with the customs, but it is your job to see the woman does carry it through the Swiss customs.”
Pierre’s expression became thoughtful.
“What is the object?”
“That you needn’t know, but it is valuable.”
“Not drugs?”
“Of course not! It is an objet d’art.”
Pierre and Claudette exchanged glances.
“Doesn’t sound difficult. What’s in it for us?” Pierre asked.
“Twenty thousand Swiss francs, and all expenses paid,” Bradey said, who had been doing calculations on the flight to Paris. “You can regard this job as a paid vacation.”
“Let’s get this clear,” Pierre said who was cautious when dealing with Bradey. “We are to follow these two, stay at the same hotels, make sure the woman always leaves with her vanity box when they move to another hotel, and when they pass through the Swiss customs, we get paid twenty thousand Swiss francs. Right?”
Bradey stroked his false beard.
“A little more than that, Pierre. You will stay with them at their Swiss hotel. You will take the box when they are out of the room and bring it to me at the Eden hotel, Zurich, and I will pay you off.”
“Who are these people?” Claudette asked.
“A good question. Yes, you must know. The man is a first grade detective attached to the Paradise City, Florida, police force. She is his wife.”
Pierre stiffened.
“Are you telling me I am to steal a vanity box from the wife of a top-class cop?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Plenty. As soon as the box is missing, the cop will raise hell. I don’t like this, Lu.”
Bradey smiled.
“Relax. He won’t know it has been taken.”
“But his wife will,” Claudette said sharply.
“Neither of them will. I have arranged for an exact replica of the box to be made and I will deliver it to you in Switzerland. All you have to do, Pierre, is to get into their room while they are out, open Mrs Lepski’s vanity box, put her personal stuff into the replica, then walk out with the original box. Neither Lepski nor his wife will have an idea the boxes have been switched.”
Duvine considered this, then nodded.
“Nice idea. Okay, let’s go further into this. Where will they be staying? In Paris and in Monaco, you just can’t get a room without a reservation. If we are to stay at their hotels, I must know in which hotel to book.”
“I have that covered.” Bradey took from his wallet a folded sheet of paper. “Ed worked it. Kendrick’s cousin went to the American Express in Paradise City and told the girl who is handling the Lepski’s trip that he wanted to send flowers to each hotel where they stop. She gave him a copy of their itinerary. They stay at the Excelsior hotel, Paris, for four days, the Metropole hotel in Monaco for three days, and at the Montreux Palace, Montreux for three days. You will switch boxes at the Palace hotel. Here are the dates,” and he handed Pierre the sheet of paper.
“Twenty thousand Swiss francs and all expenses?”
“Yes.”
Claudette gave an ecstatic sigh.
Pierre studied the itinerary. After a few moments, he looked at Bradey with a smile.
“I have an idea. Suppose we happen to be at Charles de Gaulle when the Lepskis arrive. Suppose Claudette gets chatting with the Lepskis, then I arrive. Staying at the Excelsior? What a coincidence! We are staying there too, then we are driving to Monaco. My car’s outside. Let’s all go together to the Excelsior. I know Americans. I assure you by the time we get to the Excelsior, we will be old friends. Americans want to be loved. I will then offer to show them Paris, then drive them down to Monaco. I will be able to iron out all their problems with the language. This way we will never let the vanity box out of our sight. What do you think?”
“I like it, but be careful of Lepski. He’s a cop.”
“Yes. Now how about some money, Lu?” Pierre said. “I’m short.”
Bradey took out his wallet.
As Gustav Holtz was packing documents in a briefcase, Herman Radnitz came in.
“You are to see Kendrick and find out from him exactly how he is proposing to smuggle the icon to Zurich and who his confederates are. Don’t stand any nonsense with him. Unless I am convinced he can get the icon to Zurich, I will drop the business.”
“Yes, sir,” Holtz said. “I will go now.”
“Wait.” Radnitz lit a cigar. “I need a replacement for Lu Silk.”
For a brief moment, Holtz’s eyes narrowed.
Lu Silk had been Radnitz’s hired killer: a ruthless hit-man who removed people who threatened to upset Radnitz’s various deals. Only a few months ago, Silk had been killed while working on an operation in which Radnitz was not implicated.[2]
From long experience, Radnitz had discovered that Holtz invariably came up with an immediate solution for many of his problems, but he was surprised when Holtz nodded.
“Certainly, sir... my nephew.”
“Your nephew? Explain yourself.”
“My brother and his wife were killed in a motoring accident. Their son, Sergas, then aged three, survived. As his only relation, I arranged his upbringing,” Holtz said quietly. “He has had an excellent education. He speaks fluent English, French, German and Russian. At the age of eighteen, against my wishes, he became a mercenary soldier. I lost contact with him for some ten years, then one day, he came to me. He was bored with the Army and wondered if I could do something for him. He reminded me so much of Lu Silk, that I have been financing him in case Silk ever disappointed you or was killed as he has been. Sergas has all the qualifications you need, sir. I guarantee him.”