A few minutes before Malik’s arrival, there had been a sudden scene of violence. Three young beatniks, dressed in leather jackets with dirty nondescript faces had appeared suddenly and had converged on a man who was sitting inoffensively by the barrier where the passengers from London would arrive. One of them had hit this man over the head with a gutta-percha cosh and then before anyone could act, they had rim out, bundled into a shabby Simca and had driven rapidly away into the rain and the darkness.
The assaulted man was one of M.I.6’s Paris agents, alerted by London that Malik was arriving. He had been taken away in an ambulance and Smernoff who had organised the assault was confident that there was no other watcher to see Malik arrive.
As Malik crossed the hall towards Smernoff, Smernoff’s thin lips moved into a smile.
“Did you bring me cigarettes?” he asked as the two men shook hands.
“You can poison your own self,” Malik said. “Why should I want to hasten your death?”
“You think of no one but yourself,” Smernoff said, shrugging, “I have never known you to do anyone a favour.”
Malik grunted.
But as they walked out of the airport, he found himself considering this remark. It irritated him to find it was true.
The two men got into a 404 Smernoff had parked in a parking bay. As Smernoff set the car in motion, he said, “This could be a tricky one. A woman has been found suffering from complete loss of memory. She is at the moment in the American Hospital. It is thought she is the mistress of Feng Hoh Kung. We have orders to take her from the hospital to a house already prepared at Malmaison. You have been selected to take care of the operation. American Security know who she is and they have already put a guard on the hospital. It is also possible in a few hours, she will be moved somewhere less accessible.”
“They think she has information?” Malik asked.
“They think she might have.”
For a few moments Malik sat in silence absorbing this assignment. It appealed to him. He liked action and walking into a hospital which was guarded and taking a woman out, then getting away, was the kind of job he knew he was good at.
“Have you done anything yet or have you waited for me?”
“The matter is urgent,” Smernoff said. “I have a man watching the hospital and reporting back every ten minutes. It seems to me the quickest way of getting her is to walk in and take her. We are lucky. An American General, in for a check-up, is on the same floor as she is. I have American Army uniforms, a Jeep and an ambulance at readiness. If you don’t like this idea, you will say so. This is your operation: not mine.”
Malik glanced at the hard, cruel face of his companion and his eyes glittered. Smernoff was his assistant. He took orders. Malik wondered how much longer that would continue if Smernoff began using his head. He had outlined a plan that Malik would have made. Malik knew this.
“You think like me, Boris. It is a pleasure to work with you. This is a good plan. It should work. I’ll see you get the credit.”
Smernoff laughed.
“No, you won’t,” he said, “but if the plan meets with your approval I am glad to pass it on to you. Credit means nothing to me. Why should I care about credit?”
“You are not ambitious, Boris?” Malik asked.
“No... are you?”
“I wonder sometimes. No... I suppose I’m not.”
Smernoff started to say something, then stopped. He remembered it was unwise to talk too much about oneself.
“Who will look after this woman when we get her to Malmaison?” Malik asked. “We are not supposed to be nursemaids, are we?”
“I wouldn’t mind. She is very beautiful. It could be amusing,” Smernoff said. “No, Kovska has given the job to Merna Dorinska.”
“That bitch! What’s she doing in Paris?” Malik said, stiffening.
“She’s often here. It is said Kovska and she...”
“Who says that?” Malik demanded, a bark in his voice.
Smernoff was never intimidated. He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Didn’t you know? Then you are the only one who doesn’t.”
“I know. It is better not to talk about it.”
“You know I would rather take a goat to bed with me than that woman,” Smernoff said.
“Kovska wouldn’t know the difference.”
The two men burst out laughing, they were still laughing as Smernoff pulled into the courtyard of the Russian Embassy.
John Dorey arrived at the American hospital at 16.40 hours. He was thoroughly irritated because he knew he had lost valuable time, but he had to be certain that the tattoo marks on this woman were genuine. It had first been necessary to locate Nicolas Wolfert, the U.S. Embassy’s Chinese expert. It so happened that Wolfert had taken a day off and was fishing on his small estate at Amboise. By the time he had been located, brought by helicopter to Paris, rushed in a car to the Embassy, then put in the picture four valuable hours had been wasted. With Wolfert, Dorey had brought along Joe Dodge, the Embassy’s top photographer.
Dr. Forrester, a tall, lean man with tired, dark ringed eyes received Dorey in his office while Wolfert and Dodge waited in the corridor.
Forrester had already been alerted by O’Halloran of the possible importance of his patient and was more than willing to cooperate.
“This could be top secret,” Dorey said as he sat down. “I’m relying on you, doctor, to see this woman isn’t got at. There are plenty of reasons why she should be murdered. I want her food prepared only by someone you can completely trust and no nurse, unless you can guarantee her, is to attend her.”
Forrester nodded.
“Captain O’Halloran has already gone over this with me. I’m doing my best. What else do you want?”
“I want photos of the tattoo marks. I have a photographer waiting.”
Forrester frowned.
“The marks are on the woman’s buttock.” He leaned back and surveyed Dorey. “You can’t send some strange man into her room, expect her to expose herself while he takes photos. This I can’t allow.”
“So she’s conscious?”
“Of course she is conscious. She’s been conscious now for the last three days and she is in a very highly nervous state.”
“I must have those photographs,” Dorey said, a rasp in his voice. “They may even have to be sent to the President. Give her a shot of Pentathol. Then she won’t know she has been photographed. It won’t take more than a few minutes. I also want my Chinese expert to see the markings. Let’s get it done right away.”
Forrester hesitated, then shrugged.
“Well, if it’s that important,” he said, reached for the telephone, spoke quietly, then hung up. “Your men can go up in ten minutes.”
“Fine.” Dorey went to the door and spoke to Dodge, then he came back and sat down again. “Tell me about this woman.”
“On arrival she was found...”
“I know all that. I read your report,” Dorey said impatiently. “What I want to know is... is she faking? Is she really suffering from amnesia?”
“I would say so. She doesn’t respond to hypnotism. She had on arrival a small bruise at the back of her head. This could have come when she collapsed and it might have caused loss of memory. It is a little rare, but it could be possible. Yes, I think her loss of memory is genuine.”
“Any idea how long it could last?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. A week... a month... I don’t think longer than a month.”
“How about scopolamine?”
Forrester smiled.
“We considered using scopolamine, but it is dangerous. If she is faking, it would work, but if she isn’t, there’s always the risk it would drive her memory deeper into herself. If you want to try it, I won’t object, but if she is really suffering from amnesia then scopolamine could retard her memory recovery by months.”