11 Harrowhouse (17 page)

“I don't know what all this is,” said Massey.

The film jiggled erratically, went black for a few seconds, and then came to picture again, now greatly obscured by the grain of the emulsion, very grainy, as though enlarged. It showed someone seated on the underground. The same man. Several brief, indistinct views.

“Perhaps we're supposed to read this along with it,” said Massey with impatience. He brought up a letter-sized brown envelope. Chesser watched him break the wax seal of its flap and take out several papers. Time was taken for Massey's reading glasses to be brought and the lights were turned up enough for him to read by.

Chesser leaned to see.

Massey read aloud: “Identified as Max Toland, alias Marty Toll, Manny Landers, Mister Maxwell. Age forty-five, height five feet, eleven inches, weight about twelve stone. Last known address 1567 Edgeware Road, a rooming house for transients. Present address undetermined. Police record: 1968 arrested for violation of National Code, statute 598, unlawful transportation of property to avoid import duty. Served one year six months Budney Prison. Nineteen sixty for armed robbery, served five years at Bratingsgate Prison. Nineteen fifty-nine suspected homicide, charge dismissed for lack of evidence. Marital status, single. Nationality, Irish. Religion, Jewish.”

While Massey was reading the description, Chesser applied it to the man on the film. The jiggling and graininess made it difficult.

Massey read on: “For the past four years Toland is known to be—”

The film cut abruptly for a different view, evidently someplace outside again. A sharp, close shot of the man.

“That's him!” Chesser called out. “That's the son of a bitch who took the diamond from my pocket.”

“Are you sure?” Massey asked.

“I'm positive. Recognize him, Maren?”

She puffed her Bolivar. “I suppose,” she said rather passively.

“He looks different in a suit,” said Chesser. “On the road he had on orange coveralls like the others. But I got a damned good look at his face. That's him!” Chesser was elated. Whoever Massey's investigators were, they were good. They'd hit it right on the button, first time.

The film continued, featuring various close-ups of the man. Massey went on reading, but not aloud. Finally, he said, “This is amazing.”

“What?”

“According to this …” He read aloud again: “For the past four years Max Toland is known to have been in the pay of the Security Section of the Consolidated Selling System, engaged as a special informant. However, as the enclosed indicates, he has frequently undertaken more active assignments.”

“The System!” Chesser's fury made him bite all the way through his cigar.

“Unlikely,” said Massey.

“The goddamned System!”

“You're making a hasty assumption,” said Massey. “This man, Toland, might have been acting on his own. Let's read what the investigator's conclusions are.” He scanned another page, mumbling every so often. When he reached the bottom of the third page, he said, “Ah, here we are.” He read quietly to himself, then looked up at the ceiling for a long moment, as though digesting what he'd read. He took a deep puff on his cigar and allowed the smoke to cloud thick around his mouth as he told Chesser, “Much as I dislike saying it, their conclusions are in complete accord with yours.”

“The System?”

Massey nodded, handed over the report to Chesser, who skimmed it.

“So, what are we going to do about it?” Chesser asked.

“What do you suggest?”

“Nail this Max whatever-the-hell his name is. Make him confess.”

“Have him arrested?”

“Certainly.”

“Assuming that were possible, don't you think the publicity would be unfortunate? Especially for you. As for myself, in this case I'd prefer not being plastered all over the front pages. Besides,” Massey continued, “what would really be the point? All we'd get out of Max is where the diamond is. We already know that.”

“Do we?”

“Of course,” said Massey. “Number 11 Harrowhouse. By now our diamond has surely been returned to The System's bulging inventory.”

Chesser pictured and despised that. However, he still found it incredible that The System, with all its diamonds, should take the time and trouble to steal one. A big one, yes, but comparatively it meant little to The System. Then why? Chesser recalled that Meecham had been against his getting that fine stone in the first place. Meecham had been very annoyed at Watts for slipping it in. That was why Meecham hadn't even acknowledged such a big sale, and rather out of spite had deprived him of the recognition and fatter packet he deserved. Personal resentment. That had been at least part of it, thought Chesser. Also it would be very much like The System to consider it not really good business for a dealer of his standing to so suddenly break into the big time. The important dealers, such as Whiteman, might well resent it. And that being the case, Meecham would reasonably take the risk to see that he was kept in his place, below the salt.

Bitterly, Chesser imagined Meecham now in possession of the diamond. He hated the idea of Meecham smugly appreciating the perfect make that Wildenstein had executed; Meecham now enjoying the last laugh. On him.

Massey told him: “We must accept the fact that we'll never see that diamond again. Never.”

“I'll see it,” vowed Chesser.

“Forget it,” advised Massey, with finality.

Chesser was standing. He just realized that. He didn't remember getting up from his chair, but evidently he had, during his excitement or fury. His head felt heavy, expanded. He let it drop, relaxed all at once—a physical indication of his spirit giving up. His eyes were aimed at Massey's feet. He thought irrelevantly how comfortable Massey's feet looked in Massey's white, light-weight slip-ons. Undoubtedly precisely made from a private personal mold. Probably an Italian or two had flown all the way from Rome to cast Massey from the ankle down. Down. It came to Chesser how down Chesser was now. Everything was negative. No income, no prospects, and he owed Massey a million and a half. Now that Massey was hopeless, Chesser was sure the next topic of discussion would be that million and a half. For the moment, at least, he was wrong.

“I'd enjoy watching a film,” declared Massey. “I wonder what we've got in
our
inventory.” Unlike The System's, it turned out to be worthless dross.

The following afternoon Lady Bolding and Maren had gone riding.

Chesser could have gone with them, had been nicely invited by Lady Bolding, but remembering Maren's remark about his acting like a chaperone, he decided against it.

Instead, he lay face up on a poolside cushion. The sun seemed to be pressing him down, personally broiling him. Eyes shut, he concentrated on the squiggles in the liquid between his eyelids and pupils.

Massey was relaxed on a nearby lounger. After a while, Massey said, “The million and a half I advanced you …”

Here it comes, thought Chesser, the heart shot.

“How much of it do you have left?” asked Massey.

“Seven hundred thousand.”

“That was your margin?”

“Yes,” admitted Chesser.

“About forty per cent,” said Massey, implying it was disproportionate.

“Your diamond would have been worth a couple of million retail.”

“Would have been,” reminded Massey. From a black crystal bottle he poured some clear lotion into the cup of his palm and began slicking it on the skin of his stomach, chest, and the rounds of his shoulders. It smelled like ordinary baby oil.

“Ever hear of the Shorewater Project?” asked Massey.

Chesser said he hadn't.

“It was one of my enterprises,” explained Massey. “Eight or nine years ago.”

Meaning he owned it, assumed Chesser.

“My theory,” said Massey, “was that the diamond fields of southwest Africa extended out into the sea. Got a few of my top geologists on it. They did some diving off the mouth of the Orange River and found I was right. So, I went to the trouble of buying the necessary government concessions from the top to a third of the way down. Had a barge built and towed there by one of my biggest tankers. Started dredging and the yield was even better than expected—seventy to eighty per cent gem-quality stones. All we had to do was suck them up and sort them. But we'd no sooner begun the operation than the barge was swamped and sunk by a storm.”

“Tough,” inserted Chesser, secretly enjoying his image of Massey's misfortune.

Massey continued, in a constrained angry manner that compressed his delivery, made it come out in a telegraphic manner. “Had another barge, bigger one, built and towed down there. Big enough to take any storm. Started dredging again. Barge caught fire. Completely destroyed. By then I had about twenty million dollars in the project. Wanted to go with another barge but was forced to stop.”

“Why?”

“Government revoked permission. Went back on everything. I have reason to believe the burning of that barge wasn't accidental. There are now three barges working those underwater fields.”

“Whose?”

“A subsidiary of The System.”

“You believe The System sabotaged your barge?”

“And got to the government as well.”

Chesser wanted to believe it but reasoned that even The System wouldn't push around a billionaire. “You're as powerful as The System,” he told Massey. “More powerful, probably. As a matter of fact, you are a sort of System, aren't you?”

“Not in that area. Not Africa. Except Libya, of course.”

Again, dislike for The System became the emotional hyphen between himself and Massey.

“We're not being fair,” said Massey. “Not really. I mean the way we're deprecating The System. It's not all bad.”

Chesser admired Massey's tolerance.

Massey continued with it. “Consider the perpetual problems they have keeping the price of diamonds up. I suppose they must resort to all sorts of measures, including some not so ethical. For instance, when the Russians discovered all that diamond-bearing ground in Kirensk a few years ago. Very high yield of gem-quality stones. Anyway, it must have been a touchy situation. But, as usual, The System prevailed.”

“How's that?”

“The Soviets now deliver their diamonds to 11 Harrowhouse for distribution. Through an intermediary, so it doesn't conflict with the persuasions they're making politically to the working blacks in Africa. Evidently, even the Kremlin realized how foolish it would be to buck The System and foul up the market. Smarter, more profitable to play along like everyone else. You know, my twelve billion figure of The System's inventory may be an underestimate, now that I think of it. With the Russian contribution, it may run closer to thirteen billion.” Massey sighed thoughtfully.

Chesser's mind's eye was seeing that horde of diamonds again.

Massey remained silent for a while. Finally he said, “Tell you what, Chesser. I'm willing … no, to put it more precisely, I've decided to absorb the loss of our diamond fiasco. I expect you to return the seven hundred thousand, of course. But the rest I'll just write off.”

Welcome words. Chesser suddenly felt so unburdened he actually liked Massey. No one had ever been so generous.

“That way we can start with a clean slate,” said Massey.

Chesser wondered what he meant by that. Decided quickly that Massey was referring to their personal relationship. Chesser had always been of the opinion that billionaires were the sort of valuable friends one should, if possible, have. And Massey's wiping off eight hundred thousand dollars as nonchalantly as eight proved it.

Chesser relaxed, and let the cushion take all his weight. He was surprised how tense he'd been just moments before as he assessed it now against how loose he felt. Now the sun was something bright and kind upon him. He lay there enjoying relief and contemplating nothing more serious than what Massey might be serving for dinner that evening. I'll be terrific tonight, thought Chesser. I'll say all the right things and make all the right moves. Be a regular David Niven or Gregory Peck.

“Mr. Chesser, how would you like to make ten million dollars?”

Chesser was certain his mind was tricking his ears into pretending they'd heard those words.

“Would you?”

It was Massey, actually asking. He was still turned away, so Chesser couldn't see his face.

“How much?” asked Chesser.

“Ten million.”

“Make it fifteen,” said Chesser flippantly.

“All right, fifteen,” agreed Massey, who now rolled over onto his back but kept his eyes closed.

Chesser sat up and tried to read Massey's expression. Massey's mouth appeared serious, but it was difficult not being able to see his eyes. It occurred to Chesser that perhaps Massey was letting him in on some spectacular inside deal. Being generous again. “What sort of investment is required?” asked Chesser.

“Time.”

“Is that all?”

“Ingenuity.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Steal.”

Now Chesser knew Massey was merely playing with his mind. That was all right. Massey had eight hundred thousand dollars worth coming. Chesser went along with it. “Steal what?”

“Diamonds.”

“That used to be my line,” quipped Chesser. “Diamonds.”

Massey sat up on the edge of the lounger, leaned his elbows on his knees, placed his palms symmetrically together so all his fingers were pointing at Chesser. He brought his look up so he was eye to eye with Chesser, level, steady. “The inventory,” said Massey. “We must steal The System's inventory.”

Chesser felt as though he were in the scene of a movie he was watching. “We?” he asked.

“I can't participate actively, of course,” said Massey. “I would if I were much younger. But I am willing to finance such a venture to whatever extent is necessary.”