1977 - I Hold the Four Aces (18 page)

“Be careful how you get out, Mr. Grenville,” Segetti said, “I am a very good shot.”

For a moment, Grenville, who was now in a panic, asked himself whether, as soon as he was out of the car, he should make a dash to escape, but the street was deserted, and he hadn’t the nerve. He got out, followed by Segetti.

Belmont pushed open a high wooden gate and jerked his head at Grenville, who followed him through the gateway into the untidy yard. Segetti followed.

Ahead of him, Grenville saw a big building, like a barn, and he followed Belmont into the semi-darkness of the place which smelt strongly of cheeses, olive oil and anchovies. Belmont climbed steep stairs. Segetti prodded Grenville up the stairs and into a big room in which stood a bed, a table, several battered armchairs and a radio. Sitting in one of the chairs was Bernie.

“Ah, Mr. Grenville,” he said, getting to his feet. “We haven’t met before, but we have a mutual friend - Mr. Archer.”

Grenville regarded this short, squat, bearded Italian the way he would have regarded a big, hairy-legged spider that had dropped into his bath. In spite of Bernie’s smile, his small eyes, like two sea-washed pebbles, chilled Grenville.

“You know Archer?” Grenville’s voice was husky.

“Of course. Come in, Mr. Grenville, and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Moving shakily, Grenville sank into an armchair, aware that Segetti was just behind him, and Belmont was leaning against the door.

“I don’t understand,” Grenville said. “What do you want with me?”

“Let me explain,” Bernie said, resuming his chair. “Mr. Archer came to me, saying he wanted to hire two reliable men for a faked kidnapping. Mr. Archer explained the kidnapping was a joke, and, frankly Mr. Grenville, I didn’t believe this. It seemed to me that his offer to me of five hundred francs to find two men, and his offer to pay these two men eight thousand francs for a job that could get us all into police trouble was inadequate.” He smiled. “Now I discover that he and you intend to get two million dollars from this woman, so naturally, since, without my help, this kidnapping couldn’t have been accomplished, I feel our share should be considerably increased.”

“You should have discussed this with Archer,” Grenville said, trying to steady his voice. “Why bring me here by force?”

“That is a good point,” Bernie said. “Why bring you here by force? Because you have now been kidnapped, and this kidnapping is no fake.”

Grenville drew in a sharp breath.

“I still don’t understand,” he managed to say.

“Mr. Grenville, you and Mr. Archer are amateurs. Here you have a situation involving a woman worth about eighty million dollars. You have said that you have a harpoon in her.” Bernie looked at Belmont.

“That was what he said, Jacques?”

Belmont nodded.

“So,” Bernie lifted his hands “The woman is obviously besotted with you. Accept my congratulations, but when a woman is worth some eighty million dollars, no one, but an amateur, would ask two million to get her stud back. Do you see my point?”

Grenville ran his tongue over his dry lips.

“She - she’s difficult,” he said huskily. “I think two million is enough.”

“But then you and Mr. Archer are amateurs. From now on, Mr. Grenville, I intend to handle this affair. Only the other week, an industrialist was kidnapped in Rome by a good friend of mine, and the ransom demand was seven million dollars, and this industrialist wasn’t nearly as rich as this woman, and yet to save his skin, he paid up.” Bernie leaned forward, pointing a stubby finger at Grenville. “I will ask ten million dollars for your return, Mr. Grenville. For your cooperation, I will give you five hundred thousand dollars, and I will give Mr. Archer the same amount.”

Grenville stared at him.

“Cooperation? What does that mean?”

“You might be asked to lose an ear or a finger, Mr. Grenville, but for five hundred thousand dollars, that isn’t much to ask.”

Grenville’s face expressed horror.

“You can’t do that to me!”

“Mr. Grenville, you haven’t as yet realized you have been kidnapped, and this time, it is no fake. Jacques can slice off your ear and heal the wound with a hot iron without any trouble. He can also remove one of your fingers without you suffering too much. That is no problem, and from what I hear about your relations with this woman, she will pay.”

Grenville felt faint. He leaned back in the chair, sweat running down his face.

Bernie got to his feet.

“I am now going to talk to Mr. Archer. I shall want him to act as my go-between. It is safer that way. Just relax, Mr. Grenville. It is very possible you won’t lose an ear or a finger. Max and Jacques will look after you.” He turned to Segetti. “In half an hour, Max, as we arranged,” and leaving Grenville, shuddering, his face in his hands, Bernie left the room.

* * *

Helga paced up and down in her bedroom. She was distraught. Chris! Kidnapped! In the hands of Mafia thugs! All she could think of was to get him back unharmed. What he must be suffering! She must get the money as quickly as possible! There must be no hitch! When that swine Archer came, she must have the money ready to give him!

She would drive to Bern immediately and see her Swiss banker. He must arrange to have the money transferred to the Mafia immediately!

Then realizing she was in an utter panic, she pulled herself together, and some of her steel asserted itself. She sat down, her fists clenched between her knees.

Hinkle!

He had actually dared to insinuate that Chris had engineered his own kidnapping! Hinkle was a jealous old fool! The moment she had told him she was in love with Chris, he hadn’t been able to conceal his disapproval. When she had told him that she and Chris were going to be married, his congratulations and best wishes had been sour, and she knew why: he hated the idea of having a master again as well as a mistress. He was so goddamn selfish he didn’t want her to be happy, because it didn’t suit him! He wanted her to live her lonely, loverless life, so he could fuss over her, providing her with his goddamn omelettes, while she ached and ached for a lover like Chris!

Tomato ketchup!

That had been a vicious lie! She was sure Grenville had been struck down! Hadn’t that swine Archer said that Grenville had tried to be brave? She could imagine Chris in the hands of those thugs. He could have found an opportunity to attack them. Yes! She could imagine him - her splendid Chris - making a fight of it. She shuddered, thinking again of those pictures, showing him lying on the floor, blood on his face.

Tomato ketchup!

That proved the extent of Hinkle’s possessive jealousy.

The unlocked front door?

Of course there was an explanation for that! Again, Hinkle had tried to undermine her faith in Chris.

What was more natural for Chris to unlock the door to stand for a moment on the doorstep to look at the night sky and the stars and to breathe the night air? Why should he have bothered to relock the door?

The steel in her asserted itself, and she got to her feet. She would go immediately to Bern!

She snatched up her handbag, took a light dust-coat from the closet and walked into the living-room.

Hearing her, Hinkle came to the door of the terrace.

“I am going to Bern,” she said curtly. “I must arrange this ransom. I will be back some time this evening.”

“Madame, may I suggest,” Hinkle began, but she cut him short.

“You may suggest nothing! I am shocked by your insinuations about Mr. Grenville! I will not tolerate such a narrow-minded attitude, although I understand why you have taken this attitude. I intend to marry Mr. Grenville when I get him back! You will either serve Mr. Grenville and myself, or you must leave! Is that understood?”

Hinkle stiffened, then looked directly at her. There was such a sad, shocked expression in his eyes that shame swept over her.

“You are at liberty, madame, to do as you wish,” he said quietly.

Furious with herself for feeling shame, Helga shrilled, “And I will do as I wish!” She walked fast from the room, jerked open the front door and ran down the steps to the garage.

For a long moment, Hinkle stood motionless, then as he saw the Rolls drive away, he closed the front door and locked it.

He returned to the living-room. For some minutes he moved around the room, his face clouded, then abruptly, as if his mind was made up, he went along the long corridor to his own quarters. In his bedroom, he hunted for and found a leather-covered address book. He thumbed back the index F and found the name he wanted: Jean Faucon.

Reaching for his telephone, he dialled a Paris number.

* * *

Archer sat slumped in an armchair, staring bleakly around the shabby little living-room.

Where was Grenville?

Surely, Archer asked himself, Grenville couldn’t have been so reckless as to leave the villa and show himself on the streets? No! After Archer’s repeated warnings that Grenville must remain in the villa until the ransom was paid, he was sure Grenville hadn’t wandered out for a walk. Then what had happened to him? Why had he vanished? Where was he?

Archer thumped his fat knees with his fists. Just when it looked so good! He was certain Helga would pay! And now, Grenville had vanished!

Then a thought occurred to him. It could be that Grenville had lost his nerve, and as soon as Archer had driven away, he had left the villa, walked down to the bus stop and was already on a train, taking him from Switzerland! That could be the only explanation! This handsome, useless gigolo had lost his nerve and had bolted!

A surge of bitterness ran through Archer. It was all right for Grenville. He was still reasonably young, handsome, and with this sexual attraction which elderly women couldn’t resist. He could always find some stupid, rich woman who would keep him. He wouldn’t get a million dollars from her, but at least, he would be able to live in luxury.

Archer closed his eyes as he thought of his own future: back again to the shabby, fringe people with their hopeless plans to make millions, to float impossible loans, to sell land that they didn’t own, with him accepting miserable fees to do their legal work. That was his future: getting shabbier and shabbier, continually hunting for money on which to live. He thought of Joe Patterson. There was no hope of returning to him. He would now have to find another client, but not in Switzerland. Perhaps in England.

He still had ten thousand francs in his Swiss account, but if he drew on that, he would have nothing left.

Grenville had seemed so sure of Helga. What could have happened to make him change his mind and bolt?

Damn him! Archer thought. Damn him!

There was now no point in remaining in this shabby little villa. Grenville was gone. The sooner he left Lugano and was on his way to England, the better. As he got to his feet, the front door bell rang.

Archer stiffened and his heart skipped a beat. Who could it be? Had Helga alerted the police? He thought that was unlikely, but he could never be sure of Helga’s reactions. Was this the police? He hesitated, then, as the bell rang again, he forced himself to go to the front door and open it.

The shock of seeing Bernie, smiling, standing on the doorstep, made Archer’s heart skip again.

“Ah, Mr. Archer,” Bernie said. “So nice to see you again. How are you?”

Immediately Archer’s shrewd, quick brain clicked into action. This short, squat, bearded Italian with his oily smile and menacing eyes must be the explanation of Grenville’s disappearance.

He forced a smile as he stood back.

“This is a surprise, Bernie,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Bernie, still smiling, moved forward while Archer gave ground. Bernie stepped into the lobby.

“We have affairs to discuss, Mr. Archer,” he said.

“Come in.” Archer led the way into the living-room. “What is it?”

Bernie looked around, then selecting a chair, he sat down.

“Mr. Grenville has been kidnapped,” he said.

As soon as he had seen Bernie standing on the doorstep, Archer knew he was in for trouble, but this statement shook him.

“Kidnapped? By whom?”

“By me.” Bernie smiled. “Mr. Archer, you are an amateur. Your faked kidnapping was stupid. I have taken over the operation. To get Grenville back, this Rolfe woman will have to pay ten million dollars. I am prepared to pay you and Grenville five hundred thousand dollars each to cooperate, but the rest of the money comes to me. You are to be my go-between. You will tell this woman the ransom has been increased from two to ten million.”

“Ten million!” Archer gasped. “She won’t pay!”

“She will when she gets one of Grenville’s ears which you will deliver to her.”

Archer’s legs suddenly felt boneless and he dropped into an armchair.

“Mr. Archer, this is now no longer a game,” Bernie said. “I have Grenville, and I am quite prepared to send her his ear, and if she even hesitates, I will send her one of his fingers. I mean business, Mr. Archer, not like your childish bluff with tomato ketchup.”

Archer shuddered, then he pulled himself together.

“You must handle this yourself,” he said. “I am leaving immediately. I will have nothing further to do with it!”

Bernie laughed.

“Mr. Archer, you will do what I tell you.” He produced from under his coat the silenced Luger. “I assure you, I will shoot you if you don’t cooperate. This gun makes no noise. You will be found here after some time, dead and rather smelly, and the police will have no idea who shot you. So you will cooperate.”

Archer stared with horror at the menacing gun.

“Yes all right,” he said, his voice husky. “Yes, I will do what you say.”

Bernie nodded and put away the gun.

“Sensible man.” He paused, then went on, “I understand you have given this woman three days to collect the two million dollars. That is all right. It is good for her to sweat. On the third day, you will go to her and tell her she must now find ten million dollars in two days. Unless she does, you will give her one of Grenville’s ears.”

At this moment, the telephone bell began to ring.