The Spoilers / Juggernaut. Desmond Bagley
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said Abbot.
Eastman nodded. ‘Okay – I’ll be seeing you soon.’
‘I don’t want to seem too pushing,’ said Abbot, ‘but what about a retainer? Or shall we say you’ve just taken an option on our services which has to be paid for.’
‘You’ve got a nerve.’ Eastman pulled out his wallet. ‘How much did Picot stick you for?’
‘A thousand Lebanese pounds. Half down, half later.’
‘Okay – here’s two-five; that gives you two thousand clear profit so far – and you haven’t done anything yet. If Picot asks you for the other five hundred tell him to see me.’ He smiled thinly. ‘He won’t, though.’ He turned abruptly and walked out of the room.
Abbot sat down slowly and turned to Parker. ‘I hope to God you can handle your end. We’ve hooked them at last, but they’ve also hooked us. If we can’t deliver we’ll be in trouble.’
Parker filled his pipe with steady hands. ‘They’ll get what they want – an’ maybe a bit more.’ He paused. ‘Do you think he’ll check back to London?’
‘He’s sure to. You’re all right, Dan; there’s nothing in your background to worry him.’ Abbot stretched. ‘As for me – I had a flaming row with my editor just before I left, specially laid on. I’ll bet the echoes are still reverberating down Fleet Street.’ He grinned. ‘I was fired, Dan – out on my can for unprofessional conduct unbefitting a journalist and a gentleman. I only hope it’ll satisfy Eastman and company.’
IV
Eastman did not keep them waiting long. Three days later he rang up and said, ‘Hello, Abbot; put on your best bib and tucker – you’re going on the town tonight.’
‘Where to?’
‘Le Paon Rouge. If you don’t have decent clothes, buy some out of the dough I gave you.’
‘Who’s paying for the night out?’ asked Abbot in his character as a man on the make.
‘It’ll be paid for,’ said Eastman. ‘You’re meeting the boss. Be on your best behaviour. I’ll send a car for you at nine-thirty.’
Abbot put the phone on the hook slowly and turned to find Parker regarding him with interest. ‘Have you got a dinner-jacket, Dan?’
Parker nodded. ‘I packed it on the off-chance I’d need it.’
‘You’ll need it tonight. We’ve been invited to the Paon Rouge.’
‘That’ll be the third time I’ve worn it, then,’ said Parker. He put his hand on his belly. ‘Might be a bit tight. What’s the Paon Rouge?’
‘A night-club in the Hotel Phoenicia. We’re meeting the boss, and if it’s who I think it is, we’ve got it made. We’ve just been told tactfully to shave and brush our teeth nicely.’
‘The Hotel Phoenicia – isn’t that the big place near the Saint-Georges?’
‘That’s it. Do you know what a five-star hotel is, Dan?’
Parker blinked. ‘The Saint-Georges?’ he hazarded.
‘Right! Well, there aren’t enough stars in the book to classify the Phoenicia. Dope-smuggling must be profitable.’
They were picked up by the black Mercedes and driven to the Phoenicia by an uncommunicative Lebanese. Parker was unhappy because his doubts about his evening wear had been confirmed; his dress shirt had taken a determined grip on his throat and was slowly throttling him, and his trousers pinched cruelly at waist and crotch. He made a mental note to start a course of exercises to conquer his middle-age spread.
The name of Eastman dropped to an impressively-dressed major-domo brought them to Eastman’s table with remarkable alacrity. The Paon Rouge was fashionably dark in the night-club manner, but not so dark that Abbot could not spot his quarry; Eastman was sitting with Jeanette Delorme and rose at their approach. ‘Glad you could make it,’ he said conventionally.
‘Delighted, Mr Eastman,’ said Abbot. He looked down at the woman. ‘Is this the boss?’
Eastman smiled. ‘If you cross her you’ll find out.’ He turned to her. ‘This is Abbot, the other is Parker. Gentlemen – Miss Delorme.’
Abbot inclined his head and studied her. She was dressed in a simple sheath which barely covered her upperworks and she appeared to be, at the most, twenty-five years old. He knew for a fact that she was thirty-two, but it was wonderful what money would do. A very expensive proposition was Miss Delorme.
She crooked a finger at him. ‘You – sit here.’ There was a minor flurry as flunkies rearranged chairs and Abbot found himself sitting next to her and facing Parker, with a glass of champagne in his fingers. She studied Parker for a moment, then said, ‘If what Jack tells me is true, I may be willing to employ you. But I need proof.’ Her English was excellent and almost unaccented.
‘You’ll get your proof,’ said Abbot. ‘Dan will give you that.’
Parker said, ‘There’s plenty of sea out there. You can have trials.’
‘Which torpedo would be most suitable?’
‘Doesn’t really matter,’ said Parker. ‘As long as it’s an electric job.’
She twirled her glass slowly in her fingers. ‘I have a friend,’ she said. ‘He was a U-boat captain during the war. His opinion of the British torpedo was very low. He said that on half the firings the British torpedo went wild.’ Her voice became sharp. ‘That would not be permissible.’
‘Christ, no!’ said Eastman. ‘We can’t lose a torpedo – not with what it will be carrying. It would be too goddam expensive.’
‘Ah, you’re talking about the early British torpedoes,’ said Parker. ‘The Mark XI was different. Your U-boat skipper was dead right – the early British fish were bloody awful. But the Mark XI was a Chinese copy o’ the German fish an’ it was very good when it came into service in ‘44. We pinched it from the Jerries, an’ the Yanks pinched it from us. Any o’ those torpedoes would be good enough but I’d rather have the old Mark XI – it’s more familiar, like. But they’re all pretty much the same an’ just differ a bit in detail.’
‘On what basis will you get the extra performance?’
‘Look,’ said Parker, leaning forward earnestly. ‘The Mark XI came out in ‘44 an’ it had lead-acid batteries – that was all they had in them days. Twenty-five years have gone by since then, an’ things have changed. The new kalium cells – that’s mercury oxide-zinc – pack a hell o’ a lot more power, an’ you can use that power in two ways. You can either increase the range or the speed. I’ve designed circuits for both jobs.’
‘We’re interested in increasing range,’ said Eastman.
Parker nodded. ‘I know. It’s goin’ to cost you a packet,’ he warned. ‘Mercury cells ain’t cheap.’
‘How much?’ asked Delorme.
Parker scratched his head. ‘Every time you shoot a fish it’ll cost you over a thousand quid just for the power.’
She looked at Eastman, who interpreted, ‘A thousand pounds sterling.’
Abbot sipped his champagne. ‘The cost of everything is going up,’ he observed coolly.
‘That’s a fact,’ said Parker with a grin, ‘Back in ‘44 the whole bloody torpedo only cost six hundred quid. I dunno what they cost now, though.’
‘Fifteen hundred pounds,’ said Eastman. ‘That’s the going rate on the surplus market.’