“It is being sorted now, sir.”
“I’ll be ready to dictate in an hour. Have your breakfast,” and he snapped off the set. He then pressed the black button which would fill his bath and lowered the bed to floor level. He threw off the sheet covering him.
At that moment Kahlenberg turned from a fine looking, handsome athlete into a grotesque freak. No one except his mother and his doctor had ever seen his legs. They had never grown from the time he had been born. In comparison to his well developed torso, they were two ghastly looking appendages, perfectly formed, unable to support his weight and which he loathed with a bitterness and revulsion that not only completely spoilt his life but had made him dangerously mentally disturbed.
No one was ever allowed into his bedroom while he was in it himself. It was only when he was dressed and in his chair which had a snap-on cover over his legs that he felt safe from prying eyes.
He hoisted himself into the chair and ran it into the vast bathroom.
An hour later, he emerged, bathed and shaved and having had a thorough work-out in the well-equipped gymnasium that led off the bathroom. He wrapped the lower part of his body in a cotton loin cloth, put on a white open neck shirt, snapped the cover over the chair and steered the chair into the long corridor that led to his office.
Coming towards him was a fully grown cheetah. This was Hindenburg, Kahlenberg’s constant companion. He stopped the chair and waited for the big cat to approach him. He rubbed the thick fur while the cat made a deep, throaty sound, then with a final pat, Kahlenberg sent the chair on its way, with Hindenburg following behind, and reaching a pair of double doors which opened automatically, he propelled himself into the room.
Kahlenberg’s office was vast with a window that ran the length of the view side of the room.
From his big desk, he had an uninterrupted view of his lawns, the banks of flowers, the distant jungle, the undulating grass covered hills dotted by the scattered rondavels of his Zulus to the Drakensberg Range.
His mail was on his desk marked with various coloured stickers, donating its priority.
Before going to bed, he had made notes of various affairs that needed attention. He pressed the green button on his desk and when the TV monitor lit up and he saw Miah seated at her desk, he began to dictate.
An hour later, he had finished the previous day’s notes. “That is all, Miah. Is Ho-Lu there?”
“She is waiting now, sir.”
“I’ll be ready for her in half an hour,” and he switched off the set.
He went rapidly through the mail of some fifty letters, made quick decisions that would add to his already vast fortune, then lit up the monitor screen again.
This time a flower-like Vietnamese girl was at the desk, patiently waiting. He greeted her and began dictating.
By 10.00 hrs. he had cleared his desk. He sat for some moments, relaxing, his fingers caressing Hindenburg’s head, then he flicked down a switch on the intercom and said, “Come in, please.”
There was a moment’s delay, then a tap sounded on the door which swung open.
Guilo Tak, Kahlenberg’s personal assistant came in, shut the door and approached the desk.
Guilo Tak was a tall, thin man with a mop of jet black hair that emphasized his cadaverous complexion. His black eyes were sunk deep and burned feverishly in his skull-like face. Born of an Italian mother and a Czech father, he had shown astonishing talent for figures at an early age. He had obtained a job in a Swiss bank and quickly proved himself a financial genius. When Kahlenberg had asked one of the directors of the bank if he knew of a man suitable to be his P.A., the director had no hesitation in recommending Tak.
Kahlenberg found him not only a financial genius but utterly ruthless, utterly efficient and utterly loyal. For some considerable time, Kahlenberg had been hiring expert art thieves to supply his museum. Considerable organization and discussions were needed and Kahlenberg begrudged the time. He had hesitated whether to hand these machinations over to Tak, and finally decided after some eighteen months, that Tak could be trusted. Tak was now not only in charge of the museum, but also handled Kahlenberg’s portfolio, often making suggestions and pointing to opportunities which Kahlenberg with his other occupations might have missed.
“Good morning, sir,” Tak said with a stiff little bow.
“Sit down,” Kahlenberg said, resting his elbows on his desk and staring at Tak, thinking what an extraordinary looking man this was. “Any news of the Borgia ring affair?”
“Yes, sir. The three thieves concerned arrived at the Rand International hotel a few minutes ago. Fennel arrived the day before yesterday. He came from Paris. A garage owner, Sam Jefferson, has been buying their equipment. I have a list of it here if you wish to see it. I have also photographs of these people taken as they arrived at the airport.” He paused to give Kahlenberg a quick glance before laying a large envelope he had brought with him on the desk. “You may find the woman attractive.”
Kahlenberg glanced at the blown-up photographs of the three men and laid them on the blotter but he sat for some moments studying Gaye’s photograph. Then he glanced up. “What do you know about her?”
“All their dossiers are in the envelope, sir.”
“Thank you, Tak. I’ll see you later.”
When Tak had gone, Kahlenberg picked up Gaye’s photograph and again studied it for several minutes, then he opened a drawer and put the photograph away. He read the four dossiers, studied the list of equipment, read that the camp was situated near Mainville and a helicopter had arrived there the previous day. He put all the papers back into the envelope and locked it away. He sat staring with hooded eyes down at his blotter for a long time, then with a slight nod of satisfaction at the decision he had reached, he set his chair in motion and snapping his fingers at Hindenburg, he propelled himself out into the garden and along the broad path for a half hour’s break. The big cat wandered by his side.
Back at his desk at 11.00 hrs., Kahlenberg dealt until lunch time with more papers that had arrived. He lunched on a smoked trout with horseradish sauce and a coffee, then returning to his office, sent for Tak again.
“How much did I pay for the Borgia ring?” he asked.
“Sixty thousand dollars. Mercial paid a quarter of a million. We got it very cheaply. Now Mercial is paying Shalik half a million to recover it. Absurd, but without it, his Borgia collection is spoilt.”
“I am inclined to let him have it back,” Kahlenberg said, staring at Tak who said nothing. He knew by now the way Kahlenberg’s mind worked. “It might be amusing, but it wouldn’t do to let these four have it without working for it, would it?”
Tak inclined his head and continued to wait.
“So why not let them arrive here? As you say the woman is attractive. It will be interesting to see if Fennel who is supposed to be such an expert can break into the museum. Let us encourage them. I can leave the details to you.”
“You want them to walk away with the ring, sir?”
“We will make their entrance easy and their exit difficult, but if they can get it off the estate, then I think they would be entitled to keep it, but only if they can get it off the estate.” Kahlenberg’s eyes searched Tak’s face. “You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So we let them in and make it difficult for them to get out. If anything should happen to them, I suppose the crocodiles would welcome extra food.”
Tak’s eyes narrowed.
“Is it your wish something should happen to them, sir?”
“Well, it would be awkward if they got into the museum and then got away to talk. We wouldn’t want Interpol here making inquiries. The Vatican was particularly incensed at losing the bust of Jupiter. How that rogue ever got it out of the Vatican has always puzzled me. No, it wouldn’t do for Interpol to know the museum is below ground.”