1967 - Have This One on Me (9 page)

‘Yeah. I’d have thought he should have had help. Girland is tricky. If he once gets the idea that Bruckman is tailing him, I don’t think Bruckman stands a chance.’

Dorey shifted impatiently.

‘The trouble with you, Tim, is you are a pessimist. Bruckman knows his job. He’ll keep out of sight.’

O’Halloran lifted his heavy shoulders.

‘I’d be happier if he had someone with him.’

‘You can leave this to me,’ Dorey said. He was pleased with his arrangements and he wasn’t going to listen to any criticism from O’Halloran. ‘By the way, there’s a memo from the Joint Chiefs of Staffs that came in last week while you were away. It’s so Top Secret I can’t let it out of my office.’ He got to his feet and crossed over to his safe. ‘It covers our future planning in Vietnam and how we are to cope with any possible Russian interference. It’s pure dynamite! I hope they know what they are doing. Anyway L.B.J, has initialled it so I suppose they do. There’s a paragraph about our security out there you should see.’

He spun the dial, pressed a combination of buttons and then opened the safe. After a moment, he came back with a long white envelope with a red sticker on it. He handed the envelope to O’Halloran.

‘Read it, Tim. It’ll make your hair stand on end I’ve another goddamn file to get off.’

He sat down at his desk and pulled a file towards him while O’Halloran lifted the flap of the envelope and took out two sheets of paper.

There was a moment’s pause, then O’Halloran said, ‘What’s this? I guess you’ve given me the wrong envelope.’

Dorey wrenched his mind a way from the file he was studying and frowned at O’Halloran.

‘What’s that?’

O’Halloran offered him the two sheets of paper.

‘This isn’t anything from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. This is a key to a code we scrapped last month.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Dorey said, stiffening.

He snatched the sheets of paper from O’Halloran and stared at them.

Watching, O’Halloran saw the blood drain out of Dorey’s face. The sheets of paper fluttered on to Dorey’s desk. He looked so bad, so white that O’Halloran started to his feet.

Jeepers! he thought. He’s having a heart attack.

‘What is it Chief?’ he asked sharply. ‘Want me to get help?’

Dorey made an effort. Slowly, he gained control of himself and then he glared at O’Halloran, fury sparking in his eyes.

‘Shut up! Let me think!’ His voice was cold and rasping.

O’Halloran recognised the danger signals. It was seldom he had seen Dorey in this mood. He sat down and waited, not looking at Dorey.

Dorey again picked up the two sheets of paper and examined them, then he reached across the desk and picked up the envelope which he also examined. He dropped it on his blotter and, pushing back his chair, he walked over to the safe.

O’Halloran watched him check through the contents, then Dorey turned. His white face was drawn and old looking, but his mouth was hard and firm and his eyes glittering.

‘Tim ... I’ve done something inexcusable.’ He walked slowly to his chair and sat down. ‘Those papers I imagined I had given to Bruckman to put in Girland’s suitcase ... I put them in a Top Secret envelope to impress the Czechs. I had the Chiefs of Staff memo on my desk when Bruckman came in. Somehow ... I must have been incredibly careless ... I gave him the wrong envelope.’

He paused, staring down at his hands. ‘So Girland of all people has taken a Tops memo into Prague of all places! If the Russians get hold of it, all hell could explode and I’m finished!’

O’Halloran stared at Dorey for a moment, stunned, unable to believe he had heard right, then seeing Dorey’s expression, he knew it must be right. At once he became the cold, alert thinking machine whose reputation for swift, shrewd action had won him his place in the Security Division.

‘I’ll cable Bruckman,’ he said crisply. ‘He’ll get the envelope. Girland can’t possibly get the money and leave Prague for two or three days. We’ll cancel the operation. If Bruckman doesn’t alert the Czech police that Girland has this money, they won’t stop him when he leaves, so we have two covers. Even if Bruckman fails to get the envelope, the Czech police won’t stop Girland leaving if they know nothing about the money. Right?’

‘There’s Malik,’ Dorey said quietly. ‘He could stop Girland.’

‘Then Bruckman must get the envelope,’ O’Halloran said.

‘Do you think he is capable of handling this? My God! You were right, Tim. I should have sent someone with him. This is now a hell of an assignment for him to handle alone.’

‘He’s a good man. He’s damn well got to handle it! There’s no time to send anyone else to help him.’

Dorey hesitated, then nodded. He drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write a cable to Bruckman. Watching his steady hand as he wrote, O’Halloran shook his head in silent admiration. Here was a man on the brink of disaster whose slip might turn the Cold War into a Hot War and whose career could come to an abrupt end but who was now in complete control of himself and right back in the fight to save the situation.

‘Think this will do?’ Dorey said, handing O’Halloran his draft cable.

O’Halloran read it. Its urgency was unmistakable.

‘Yes. Do you want me to encode it?’

The two men looked at each other, then Dorey nodded.

‘I’d be glad, Tim. Let’s try to keep this between ourselves as long as we can. If Bruckman fails to get the memo back, I’ll have to alert Washington.’ Dorey stared bleakly into space. ‘If I have to do that, I might just as well cut my throat.’

O’Halloran snorted, then picking up the draft cable and snatching his cap, he left the office for the Code and Cipher Division.

Mavis Paul paused in her typing as O’Halloran swept past her. She was startled. She looked anxiously at Dorey’s office door. What had gone wrong? She wondered. O’Halloran must have something bad on his mind not to have paused to say goodbye to her.

chapter four

B
ruckman had never taken Girland seriously. He regarded him merely as a layabout who had a lot of luck when he had worked for the C.I.A. He knew him to be quick with a gun, an expert karate fighter, but also a womaniser, and this was something Bruckman could never forgive. He considered O’Halloran’s respect for Girland’s abilities grossly exaggerated.

Since he regarded Girland with contempt, he didn’t take the precautions he would have done had he been convinced that Girland was a true professional, and here he made a fatal mistake.

Girland spotted him as Girland was registering at the Alcron Hotel. He caught a brief glimpse of Bruckman in a mirror behind the desk as he was completing the registration card.

Bruckman was moving quickly to the small bar at the other end of the lobby. Girland immediately recognised him.

Girland completed the form, his brain alerting into top gear.

Bruckman!

As soon as he had reached his bedroom on the third floor and had got rid of the porter who had carried up his suitcase, Girland dropped into an easy chair, lit a cigarette and for some minutes appraised the situation

Why was Bruckman in Prague? Why should he be at the Alcron Hotel? Was there a connection between his breaking into Girland’s Paris apartment and now being in Prague?

Girland mulled this over in his mind and then, suddenly, the nickel dropped.

Good grief! he thought. Of course! I should have tumbled to it when that kid in the stretch pants told me Bruckman had broken in. Boy! Am I slipping! I wondered if the big slob was planting something on me. I checked but I didn’t check deep enough. He did plant something and he’s planted it in my suitcase! Whatever it is, I’ve brought it behind the Iron Curtain!

He got out of the chair, picked up his suitcase and tossed the contents on to the bed. He examined the empty suitcase carefully, but could see nothing suspicious. Taking out a penknife, he made a cut in the lining, then ripped the lining out of the case. Neatly Sellotaped to the bottom of the case was a white envelope with a red sticker on it.

Girland let out a hissing breath. He knew this particular sticker indicated that the contents of the envelope was Top Secret. Carefully, he eased the envelope free, then laying it on the dressing table, he spent some minutes levering the flap open with the penknife. He removed two flimsy sheets of paper from the envelope, then he sat down.

He read the contents three times. He examined the President’s initials which he had seen often enough to recognise.

He stared at the typed heading:

From the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Tops Only.

and the brief distribution:

For Secstate.

For All Ambassadors.

For C.I.A. Divisional Head Only. (Copy
22)

What the hell goes on? he thought. If this is a plant for the Soviets to get hold of, it could start a third world war! Just what the hell is this? He read the memo for a fourth time, then he lit a cigarette and stared into space, his brain busy.

Although he was now no longer an active agent, he hadn’t forgotten his training and he had a sound political background He was certain that the Joint Chiefs of Staff hadn’t intended that this explosive document should be taken behind the Iron Curtain. This much was obvious. Somewhere along the line, someone - possibly Dorey - had slipped up. Or could it be that Dorey had become a double agent and he was using Girland to take this document out of Paris?

Girland decided against this idea. It was unthinkable. But it might be that Bruckman was a double agent. Again Girland dismissed the idea. If the document had been a photocopy, Bruckman could be a suspect. But this was a numbered, original copy and it would be quickly missed. The obvious explanation was that Dorey - if it was Dorey - had slipped up.

Why should I care? Girland asked himself. I’ve been used as a sucker. I bet there’s no stolen payroll, no wooden angel. This is some bright scheme, dreamed up by Dorey, that has turned sour. But what’s it all about?

He sat for some time thinking, but he could think of no explanation. Looking again at the two sheets of paper, he wondered what to do with the m His first reaction was to bum them, then he realised if he did so Dorey’s career would be finished. Play this cool, he told himself. You could still come out of Prague with a profit. Right now I have Dorey over a barrel. This is a matter of negotiation. Dorey has made use of me. Now it is my turn to make use of him.

He put the two sheets of paper back in the envelope, then getting to his feet, he crossed to the dressing table. He removed the centre drawer. Kneeling, he fixed the envelope to the top of the space left by removing the drawer. This wasn’t the safest place to hide such a dangerous document, but he was confident that as a temporary hiding place it would do. He replaced the drawer.

It was now half-past one and he went thoughtfully down to the restaurant where he had a good lunch of hors d’oeuvres, lamb chops and fruit salad.

After lunch, he went over to the boutique that sold souvenirs of Prague and bought a street guide. He sat in the lounge and studied the map of the city, locating Chivatova ulice, the address Harry Moss had given him. He found it was within walking distance of the hotel and decided he would take a look at the street

Leaving the hotel, he walked down to the main street with its clanging trams and swarms of people, moving around like a disturbed ant’s nest. It would be dead easy, he thought, for Bruckman to tail me in this mob and he paused every now and then to look into shop windows, turning to scan the people scurrying around him, but failing to see Bruckman.

He had no need to worry about Bruckman. At this moment, Bruckman had returned to his own hotel, satisfied he now knew where Girland was staying and sure Girland wouldn’t make an attempt to collect the money until he had cased Mala Reid’s apartment. The attempt, Bruckman told himself, would take place the following day.

When Bruckman asked for his room key, the clerk handed him the key and a telegram Up in his shabby room. Bruckman read the telegram. It was a request for certain missing invoices, followed by a list of numbers and letters. These, Bruckman knew, were the real guts of the message in code.

Twenty minutes later, he had decoded the message which now ran:

Ult. Urg. Grl. Pa.s.c. Im Rt. T.S. Ay dl. Liq. i.n. Rt. a.a.c.rpt. a.c. vt. D.

Translated, this told Bruckman:

Ultimate urgency. Papers in Girland’s suitcase must be
returned immediately. They are Top Secret. Make any deal
with him. If necessary, liquidate him. Return these papers at
any cost, repeat at any cost. Vital. Dorey.

Bruckman reread the message, then sitting back in his chair, he blew out his cheeks. Just what the hell is this? he thought. Again he read the message. The sense of urgency infected him and he got to his feet. He had his orders. It shouldn’t be difficult to get the papers back. Girland had no idea they were in his suitcase. He set fire to Dorey’s cable and to the decoded message and let the ashes drop in the ashtray.

Then he unlocked his briefcase that was lying on the desk and took from it a .32 police automatic. He checked the magazine, then slid the gun into his pocket Again from the briefcase he took a black three-inch silencer which he also dropped into his pocket.
If necessary, liquidate him.
He would rather knock Girland off than try to make a deal with him. Girland was too tricky to make a deal with. Bruckman thought as he moved heavily from his room

His hotel was five minutes walking distance from the Alcron Hotel. He reached the Alcron at twenty minutes past three. The American tourists who infested the big luxury hotel were out, sightseeing. There was a quiet calm in the lobby and the lounge. Bruckman walked over to the Head Porter’s desk.

The Head Porter gave him a little nod and looked expectantly at him.

‘You have Mr. Girland here?’ Bruckman asked.

The Hall Porter consulted his register.

‘Yes, sir. Room 347.’ He turned and looked at the key rack.