Cloak of Darkness (18 page)

Klaus of Klingfeld & Sons. “He’s the main one.” There was Klingfeld’s informant, too; the mole who had burrowed deep into Interintell. We’ll have to unearth him first, Renwick thought, end his threat to us all: that should help to defang Klaus as far as information about Interintell is concerned. And there was also a third problem. Lorna Upwood and the black diary she had stolen from Brimmer. That little note-book, Brimmer’s Plus List, could be the biggest challenge of all.

“Let’s give the unpleasant type a name,” Nina suggested. “One word. Something easy for me to memorise.”

“Snake.”

“That was quick. A snake in the grass, is that what he is?”

“A snake in long grass who needs defanging. But we’ll just call him ‘the opposition’, I think; keep the drama out of it.”

Suddenly, she was upset. “And you—”

“I’m not alone in the search,” he told her. “There’s Interintell. And there are the Intelligence agencies of at least twelve countries backing us up. We’re in constant contact. Keep that in mind, will you?”

“And you direct the traffic.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You overestimate your husband, my love.”

No, she thought, I don’t. Pierre’s words—she had quoted him directly.

“Business over for the day,” Renwick was saying, his arms around her. “Remember what George Bernard Shaw’s girl friend said?”

“How much of a girl friend?”

“Never could tell with old G.B.S. Mrs. Patrick Campbell— yes, that was her name. Now, where does this come undone?” He opened her blouse.

“Bob—you’ll tear it. My best—”

“All in a good cause.” He unfastened her skirt, pulled it off.

“What did Mrs. Campbell say?”

“Can’t recall the direct quote.” Who could, he thought, at a moment like this? “Something about the marriage bed being so peaceful after the hurly-burly of the chaise longue.” He threw aside the rest of her clothes, stood looking down at her. God, he thought, she’s the most beautiful woman. He was about to tell her that as he bent down to take her in his arms. The telephone rang.

Renwick straightened up, swore softly. It rang again.

It was Chet Danford, speaking against a vague background of voices and laughter. “Sorry about this. One moment—I’ll get the door closed.” There was a short struggle; the noise diminished. “That better? A man came to my office late today—just as I was leaving. Knew Frank Cooper had been one of my partners and thought I must know you as another of Cooper’s close friends. He had heard you were in town, wanted to meet you again, and where you were staying? He sounded quite sincere. Most plausible. Except that he hadn’t seen you since your last visit to New York three years back. You weren’t in New York then, were you?”

“No.”

“Then thank God I had some doubts. Told him I hadn’t seen you for the last two years, and if you were in New York—well, you hadn’t called me. Sent him away convinced I was telling the truth. As I was.”

“What was his name? His appearance?”

“Josh Grable. Medium height, thin, brown hair—a lot of hair. Heavy glasses. Seersucker suit. Late twenties, I’d guess, or early thirties. Ever met him?”

“This morning. He didn’t know me, thought I was someone else.” Until Al Moore’s name had been questioned and Klaus had decided the description he had been given fitted me. “Just a try-on for size. Glad you didn’t make it fit.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No. We’re about to take off, tomorrow. Sorry our stay has been so short. It was most comfortable.”

“If you’re anywhere near Washington, remember that Rosen is now heading our office there.”

Wallace Rosen, another of Frank Cooper’s partners and friends. Might be too much of a connection there, too. “Have you told him I’m here?”

“Not yet. I’ll call him to—”

“Don’t. I’ll get in touch with him myself.”

“Fine. Have to go—the intermission is just about over. Wish the play were, too: another clunker. Take care.”

“You, too. What about that little key—where do I leave it? In an envelope in the desk?”

“Oh, yes, I forgot about that. Or you could mail it to—” Danford had turned to speak to someone who had opened the booth’s door. “Just coming, my dear.” Then to Renwick again, “My wife. Bye.”

Mail it where? Renwick wondered, and shook his head over wives who yanked husbands away from telephones. “That was Chet. He’s as sharp as a carving knife, the kind of lawyer I wouldn’t like against me in court, but why the hell did he mention Washington and Rosen on a phone in a theatre lobby?”

“He must have thought it safe enough. We can’t be suspicious of everything.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not suspicious of everything. Just careful. There’s a big difference.”

“Bad news?” she asked, watching his face.

“A confirmation, actually. The opposition is trying to find out where I am in New York.” Messages from Klaus to his informant in The Hague must have been frantic this afternoon. “At least I don’t feel my hunch was so damned stupid about getting us the hell out.”

“When do we leave?”

“About eight o’clock. We’ll breakfast somewhere, then take a shuttle flight to Washington.”

She looked down at the chiffon negligee she had bought this morning. Bob hadn’t even noticed it. “When I was in Bloomingdale’s today, I saw...”

He was thinking about The Hague. Yes, he decided, that has to be our first objective.

“Bob...” She had caught his attention. “Let’s leave at eight, take a cab to a place where we can have breakfast at leisure, take another cab back in this direction—to Bloomingdale’s. I’ll only be a few minutes inside. The store can’t be busy when it’s opening. I won’t delay us, really I won’t. It’s just something I didn’t remember to buy today. And there are lots of flights to Washington, aren’t there?”

He was amazed but he only said, “Okay—if it’s important to you. As long as we leave this house early enough.”

“Leave at seven? Just drive around the park? That would be fun.”

That would be safe, too. “Okay,” he said again. “Couldn’t refuse you anything in that getup. New, isn’t it?”

The telephone rang. “Shall I?” asked Nina. “You weren’t expecting any more calls, were you?”

He shook his head. It couldn’t be Danford: the theatre wasn’t over yet.

Nina lifted the receiver. “Yes?” Then she broke into a relieved sigh, handed the phone to Bob. “It’s from London— Ron Gilman’s voice.”

Thank God, thought Renwick and took the phone. “Glad to hear from you. I was wondering if I could haul you out of bed.”

“I’ve just finished reading your letter.”

Pretty quick work. Renwick’s report had been sent out just before seven this evening; Gilman receiving it around midnight in London, decoding, reading, and now able to make some comment. “Interesting, wasn’t it?”

“I’d like to hear more as soon as possible.”

“Working late? You sound tired.”

“An all-night job, I fear.”

So Gilman was in his office, and communication would be easy. “I’ll write you at once. Goodbye for now.” Renwick cut off the call.

He turned to Nina. “Sorry, darling. I’ve got to go up to the study, discuss some business. Ron is still in the office.”

At half-past three in the morning, London time? Nina’s eyes opened wide. But she nodded, said, “We’ll be here when you get back.”

“We?” he asked as he kissed her.

“My new negligee and me.” That sent him off with a broad smile on his face. Well, thought Nina, wives may be a bloody nuisance some of the time, but not always. With that comforting thought, she lay back on the bed and wondered about tomorrow.

***

Gilman was waiting for Renwick’s call. They used voice code where necessary, but their fifteen-minute talk decided several things. It began with the serious problem of Klingfeld’s informant.

Like it or not, Renwick insisted, they had to start with Johan Vroom at The Hague. First of all, Gilman had to find out if there was any close assistant to Vroom—one who might know about Vroom’s association with Interintell; better still, one who had even been sent on a special mission to London. “Let’s hope that is what we’re looking for,” Renwick said. “But if not...”

Then, like it or not, they had to make inquiries about Vroom himself. Was he in debt—had he received any large sums of money recently? Or was it a woman? An affair that could wreck his home life with wife and children if Klaus made it public? Or some photographs taken in a Rotterdam brothel, an unwitting connection with a Soviet agent that would ruin his career? “Either he’s being blackmailed or—and I hope this is true—he has an aide who is milking him of information,” Renwick concluded.

Gilman said unhappily, “I hope so. He is really a very decent man. Devoted to his family.”

“Where else do we start?” Renwick asked bluntly. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it ever since we received that information on The Hague. There’s no other solution.”

“I’ll begin a check right away.”

“We haven’t much time.”

“Yes, I felt that when I read your latest report. In fact, that is what I wanted to discuss with you now. I’m concerned—”

“Don’t be. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.” And Gilman knew his next stop after New York. “I’ve made safe arrangements for Beautiful.” Nina, of course.

“Thank God for that. The present climate isn’t exactly healthy, is it? Don’t forget to pay a visit to my aunt. She’s expecting you.”

“Always a pleasure.” Gilman’s aunt in Washington was an elderly gentleman with an upstairs room as nicely arranged as this study.

“Also,” Gilman went on, “about those accounts you found today—you gave three copies to Federal Insurance?”

“It saved time.”

“What about your own copies?”

“I’ll leave them with your aunt.” And Gilman could have them picked up and sent over to London in a diplomatic bag.

“Good. But frankly I wish you’d return with them and stay here—you could direct things from the office. We could assign someone else to—”

“Forget it.” Waste valuable time putting a new man in the picture? “I’ve been in on this from the first. I know the full story—all the particulars.”

“I know, I know. Still—”

“No delays. We’re at the stage when every hour counts. How’s our friend’s arm, by the way? Fit enough to join me?”

“He’s been talking about that.”

“Okay. Set it up. We’ll meet in his old stamping ground.” That was Paris, Claudel’s home town. “I’ll call you again— before I take off—arrange time and location.”

“You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”

“Our competition is setting the pace. He moves damn fast. And that reminds me—I’m looking for a good watchdog to guard the household while I’m away. I was thinking of an Airedale, like the one you liked in Ottawa.” That was Tim MacEwan, one of the early recruits to Interintell, a Canadian who commuted between Ottawa and Washington. Nina knew him but hadn’t met him in the last twenty months—a safe-enough time lapse for any contact between them in Washington.

Gilman was surprised into a laugh. Mac’s bristling reddish hair was indeed reminiscent of an Airedale. “Easily arranged. You’ll find him at my aunt’s. Anything more?”

“Bright Eyes.” Yes, what about Erik, little by little?

He was still on board the freighter, its rate of travel slowed by a faulty boiler, and wouldn’t reach the canal for a few more days. The captain had been instructed to search the ship. One seaman was missing. No sign of Bright Eyes. The crew knew nothing. Could be a payoff, made by his very old and very rich friend.

“We could damn well question the friend as soon as we can board the ship.” That would be at Suez, just as the
Spaarndam
was being cleared for passage through the canal.

“But we were told he isn’t our business,” Gilman said. “A quid pro quo. Remember?”

“Yes,” Renwick said curtly, repressing his anger. Worry was causing it; deep worry. If Erik slipped away from the
Spaarndam
at the port of Suez, he could head easily for Cairo. And Cairo’s sprawling airport, a vast stretch of complete confusion, was just made for Erik’s talents. Once through there, he could be in Europe and practically home free. Renwick said, “I’ll be in touch day after tomorrow. The usual time,” he added and signed off.

His anger surged back. It had been Vroom, dealing with a Dutch ship, who had instructed that goddamn captain to make a quiet search of his
Spaarndam.
Why the hell hadn’t he put the fear of demotion into the captain, made sure he really stirred his fat stumps? No doubt the man had assumed this was just another stowaway, what was all the fuss about? Stowaways were plentiful—a headache that could be expected. “Vroom,” Renwick said aloud, “your mind just wasn’t fully on your job. Was it? And why?”

His anger subsided as he concentrated on routine, restoring the room to complete neatness, remembering to remove his cipher list from safekeeping in the metal cabinet before he locked its doors securely. He hesitated in front of the gun rack, then lifted down the Biretta, slipping it into his belt. In the drawer below the rack, he found an extra clip of ammunition. He still hesitated. Danford would notice the small gap left by the borrowed pistol. So he went over to the desk and wrote a brief note to keep the housekeeper clear of any suspicion:
Something borrowed, something new. To be returned unused, I hope.
He placed the key to the cabinet inside the folded note, sealed them in a Manila envelope with wax and Scotch tape, addressed it in block letters, and left it with its edge tucked securely into the desk blotter. As satisfied as he could be, he went downstairs with the cold touch of the Biretta against his waist.

Nina had fallen into a light sleep. She stirred, said, “You, darling?”

“Soon be with you.” Quickly, he packed his small suitcase. The Biretta and its refill went into a sock; the cipher list in between two pages of Frost’s lyrics. As he stripped, he looked down at Nina. Then he stared. “Oh, no!” he said. She had cut her hair. It no longer fell to her shoulders, just to her ear level. “Oh, Nina!”

She half wakened. He slid in beside her. “Why, Nina? Why?”

“Too hot. It will grow,” she said drowsily and fell completely asleep inside the curve of his arm.

***

Next morning, Nina kept her promise: she was less than ten minutes inside Bloomingdale’s, hurrying out to the waiting taxi with a small shopping bag under her arm. She didn’t explain a thing. Otherwise, Renwick had to admit, she seemed perfectly normal. He concentrated on making the short flight to Washington as easy and pleasant as possible. He didn’t mention her hair.