shut himself into the telephone booth. He got through to the Soviet Embassy and asked for Malik. Although it was now 21.30 hrs., Malik was still at his desk, plodding through the mass of paper work Kovski had left him.
Labrey reported that Girland was going to Garmisch the following morning.
'Hold on,' Malik said. There was a long pause, then he came back on the line. 'There is only one morning flight to Munich at 07.50. The next flight is at 14.00 hrs. Girland will take the first flight. You are to travel with him. Find out where he is staying. Be careful. This man is very dangerous. I will follow on the next flight. Girland knows me. I can't travel with him. I will wait for you at the Garmisch railway station. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
'Your girl is to come with me... she might be useful. Tell her to be at Orly airport at 01.15 hrs. How will I know her?'
Labrey stiffened.
'She won't come... she's difficult.'
'She is to come. Arrange it.' The snap in Malik's voice warned Labrey there was to be no farther argument. 'How will I recognise her?'
'She has blonde hair down to her shoulders. I will tell her to carry a copy of Paris Match.'
'Very well. She is to be waiting outside Hertz Rental car office at Orly at 01.15 hrs. Your ticket to Munich will be at Air France's information desk. You understand what you have to do and where to meet me?'
'Yes. Then tomorrow,' and Malik hung up.
Labrey stood for a long moment in the kiosk, then bracing himself, he walked back to where Vi was eating onion soup.
He sat down and began on his own onion soup.
She looked up, lifting her eyebrows.
'Now what's happening?'
He told her that she was to meet Malik at Orly and fly with him to Munich. Vi stared at him, blood leaving her face.
'No! I won't do it!' she said, pushing aside the soup.
Labrey expected this reaction. He shrugged and went on eating.
'All right,' hesaid, without looking at her. 'I've warned you. If you won't do it... you take the consequences. They never take no for an answer... you either do what you are told or you get the treatment.'
Vi shivered.
'Eat up!' Labrey said. 'You told me you were hungry.'
'Paul! How could you do this to me?' she said, tears in her eyes. 'How could you?'
Labrey stared at her coldly.
'I've done nothing.' He stirred the soup as he continued to stare at her. 'You went after Girland. If you hadn't such hot pants for any man with money you wouldn't be in this mess. Don't blame me. But you went after him, now you have a hook in your mouth. It won't and can't come out. I'm sorry for you. You either do what you are told or you'll get the treatment.'
'I'll go to the police V Vi said desperately. 'They'll protect me!'
'Do you think so?' Labrey shrugged and finished his soup. 'Okay, go ahead and tell them. What can they do? Do you imagine they will give you a flic to walk behind you for months? You can't get away. You're hooked. You either do what they tell you or they will peel the skin off your face or shove a wedge between your legs.'
Vi sat for a long moment, her eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists on the table, then she pushed back her chair and got up.
'I'll go back and pack a bag,' she said. T can't eat any more.'
When she had gone, Labrey grimaced. He too had lost his appetite. When the waiter brought him a steak, he waved it away.
Five
Mary Sherman was tall and elegant: a woman in her early forties. She looked as if she had stepped out of a Beaton photograph: immaculately dressed by Balmain, she was extremely conscious that before long she would be the First Lady of the United States. She was a shrewd, cold and calculating woman with a burning ambition for her husband and herself. She had a cold, magnetic charm. She seemed to have an irresistible interest in people who felt, when they met her, that their cares were her cares: it was a trick that served her husband well.
As Sherman came into the big, comfortable lounge, Mary was at her desk, writing a letter. She
Labrey reported that Girland was going to Garmisch the following morning.
'Hold on,' Malik said. There was a long pause, then he came back on the line. 'There is only one morning flight to Munich at 07.50. The next flight is at 14.00 hrs. Girland will take the first flight. You are to travel with him. Find out where he is staying. Be careful. This man is very dangerous. I will follow on the next flight. Girland knows me. I can't travel with him. I will wait for you at the Garmisch railway station. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
'Your girl is to come with me... she might be useful. Tell her to be at Orly airport at 01.15 hrs. How will I know her?'
Labrey stiffened.
'She won't come... she's difficult.'
'She is to come. Arrange it.' The snap in Malik's voice warned Labrey there was to be no farther argument. 'How will I recognise her?'
'She has blonde hair down to her shoulders. I will tell her to carry a copy of Paris Match.'
'Very well. She is to be waiting outside Hertz Rental car office at Orly at 01.15 hrs. Your ticket to Munich will be at Air France's information desk. You understand what you have to do and where to meet me?'
'Yes. Then tomorrow,' and Malik hung up.
Labrey stood for a long moment in the kiosk, then bracing himself, he walked back to where Vi was eating onion soup.
He sat down and began on his own onion soup.
She looked up, lifting her eyebrows.
'Now what's happening?'
He told her that she was to meet Malik at Orly and fly with him to Munich. Vi stared at him, blood leaving her face.
'No! I won't do it!' she said, pushing aside the soup.
Labrey expected this reaction. He shrugged and went on eating.
'All right,' hesaid, without looking at her. 'I've warned you. If you won't do it... you take the consequences. They never take no for an answer... you either do what you are told or you get the treatment.'
Vi shivered.
'Eat up!' Labrey said. 'You told me you were hungry.'
'Paul! How could you do this to me?' she said, tears in her eyes. 'How could you?'
Labrey stared at her coldly.
'I've done nothing.' He stirred the soup as he continued to stare at her. 'You went after Girland. If you hadn't such hot pants for any man with money you wouldn't be in this mess. Don't blame me. But you went after him, now you have a hook in your mouth. It won't and can't come out. I'm sorry for you. You either do what you are told or you'll get the treatment.'
'I'll go to the police V Vi said desperately. 'They'll protect me!'
'Do you think so?' Labrey shrugged and finished his soup. 'Okay, go ahead and tell them. What can they do? Do you imagine they will give you a flic to walk behind you for months? You can't get away. You're hooked. You either do what they tell you or they will peel the skin off your face or shove a wedge between your legs.'
Vi sat for a long moment, her eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists on the table, then she pushed back her chair and got up.
'I'll go back and pack a bag,' she said. T can't eat any more.'
When she had gone, Labrey grimaced. He too had lost his appetite. When the waiter brought him a steak, he waved it away.
Five
Mary Sherman was tall and elegant: a woman in her early forties. She looked as if she had stepped out of a Beaton photograph: immaculately dressed by Balmain, she was extremely conscious that before long she would be the First Lady of the United States. She was a shrewd, cold and calculating woman with a burning ambition for her husband and herself. She had a cold, magnetic charm. She seemed to have an irresistible interest in people who felt, when they met her, that their cares were her cares: it was a trick that served her husband well.
As Sherman came into the big, comfortable lounge, Mary was at her desk, writing a letter. She
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