Whiff of Money Read online

  "That’s easy to guess.’ Silk was in awe of no man, and he never showed any respect when talking to Radnitz. He was the only member of Radnitz’s staff who wasn’t a ‘Yes-man’. He sat down and crossed one leg over the other. ‘Who is it this time?’

  ‘You are ready to travel immediately?’

  ‘Of course. I always keep a bag in the car. Where to?’

  ‘Munich.’ Radnitz opened a brief-case and took from it a bulky envelope. ‘Here are your instructions with your ticket and travellers cheques. You are to get rid of two people. A girl: Gillian Sherman. A man: Pierre Rosnold. There is a photograph of the girl here, but I have no photograph of the man, but they will be together. This is important, Silk. You will receive thirty thousand dollars when I know they have been eliminated.’

  Silk got up, crossed to the desk and took the envelope Radnitz was offering him. He returned to his chair, sat down and removed the contents of the envelope. He paused to study the photograph of Gillian Sherman. Her beauty had no effect on him. For more years than he could remember, Silk had lost interest in women. He read through two typewritten pages of instructions, then he looked up.

  ‘I don’t hit them until these films are recovered? How do I know when they are recovered?’

  ‘This man Girland will get them. He will be constantly watched You don’t have to worry about that. Your job is to get rid of these two when you are told to go ahead.’.

  ‘How do you want this arranged?’

  Radnitz selected a cigar from a cedar, gold-topped box.

  ‘An accident… perhaps a hunting accident?’

  ‘The two of them?’ Silk shook his head. ‘No… one of them could be shot by mistake, but not two of them. The German police aren’t stupid.’

  Radnitz shrugged impatiently. Small details always bored him.

  ‘I leave it to you. I have a place near Oberammergau. I have a good man there and I have already alerted him. He will do everything that is necessary. His name is Count Hans von Goltz. You will be met at the Munich airport and taken to my place. By that time, von Goltz will have information for you. You need take no weapons. There is everything you may need at my place. I have some thirty good men who look after the estate. You can use them if you want them.’

  Silk put the envelope in his pocket and got to his feet.

  ‘I’d better get off if I’m to catch the 14.00 hr. plane.’

  ‘Be careful of Girland,’ Radnitz warned. ‘He is dangerous.’

  Silk showed his even white teeth in a vicious smile.

  ‘I’ll watch it,’ he said and left the suite

  Because Mary Sherman had forgotten to tell Radnitz that now the Russians were also involved in this hunt for the daughter of the future President, Silk left the Georges V hotel thinking he had only Girland to deal with. Had he known that he was to come up against not only Girland, but Malik as well, he would have been less confident he was on to easy money as he drove his Thunder bird towards Orly airport.

  * * *

  Feeling slightly jaded, Girland passed through the Customs barrier at the Munich airport and made his way across the big hall to the Hertz Rental car service. Seeing where he was going, Labrey who had been following him, paused. He had little money to spare. There was no question of his hiring a car. His Soviet masters were tight with money. He watched Girland as he talked to the girl clerk.

  Girland showed his Hertz Credit Card and told the girl, a pretty blonde, he wanted a Mercedes 230.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the girl said. ‘How long will you need it, do you think?’

  I don’t know.’ Girland found the girl attractive. ‘It depends on how much I like your country. If it’s as lovely as you are, I might spend the rest of my days here.’

  The girl giggled and blushed.

  ‘Shall we say… a week?’

  ‘Leave it open… I don’t know.’ Girland leaned on the counter while she completed the form, then he signed it.

  ‘I’ll get the car for you, sir.’ She used the telephone and then hung up. ‘In five minutes, sir.’ She looked adoringly at him as she smiled. ‘The exit door is to your right.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  They exchanged glances, then feeling considerably revitalised, Girland left the airport and stood waiting in the pale sunshine for the car to arrive.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ a voice said at his side. ‘Would you be going to Garmisch?’

  Girland turned. Standing by his side was a talLthin young man with long blond hair and wearing green tinted sunglasses. He had a rucksack on his back.

  ‘Sure,’ Girland said. ‘Do you want a lift?’

  T was hoping for one,’ Labrey said, ‘but I don’t want to push myself onto you.’

  At this moment a black Mercedes pulled up beside them. The white coated driver got out and saluted Girland.

  ‘You understand the car, sir?’

  ‘Oh, sure.’ Girland tossed his suitcase onto the back seat. He tipped the man, then turning to Labrey, he went on, ‘Hop in.’

  Labrey slid into the passenger’s seat. He put the rucksack down between his feet.

  Girland got under the driving wheel and set the car in motion.

  Labrey said, ‘Thank you very much, sir.’ The conversation from the beginning had been in French. ‘You’re an American, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You look American, but your French is perfect.’

  I guess I get by. Where are you from?’ Girland asked as he headed the car fast along the highway towards Munich.

  ‘I’m from Paris. I’m on vacation. I plan to walk through the Isar valley to Bad Tolz,’ Labrey said. He had spent his time profitably while in the aircraft, reading a guide book of Germany which he had bought at Orly airport.

  ‘Fine walking country,’ Girland said.

  Labrey looked shiftily at him.

  ‘Are you on vacation or on business, sir?’

  ‘A bit of both. You’re walking from Garmisch?’

  ‘Yes, but I will stay in Garmisch for a few days if I can find a cheap hotel.’

  ‘You won’t have any trouble about that. There are plenty of good, cheap hotels to choose from.’ Girland spoke from experience as he often came to Garmisch for the winter sports.

  Having been warned by Malik about Girland, Labrey decided not to ask any further questions. It was truly a bit of luck to be riding with this ex-CIA agent who obviously was quite unsuspecting. Labrey was pleased with himself.

  The conversation got around to Paris and the night clubs. Labrey could tell Girland of two or three he didn’t know and Girland could tell Labrey of a dozen and more he didn’t know. Chatting this way, they reached Munich and Girland who knew the route, took the outer-ring road and got onto E.6 highway that led directly to Garmisch, under 100 kilometres from Munich. Once on this highway, Girland increased speed and within a little over an hour and a half, he drove into Gannisch’s crowded, narrow main street.

  Pulling up by the square, he said, ‘You’ll find three or four hotels over there to the left.’

  ‘Are you going to one of them?’ Labrey asked as he opened the car door.

  ‘My hotel’s further down the road.’ Girland offered his hand. ‘Have a good vacation.’

  ‘Thanks for the ride, sir.’

  Girland nodded, started the car moving and drove on to the Alpenhoff Hotel. Labrey half ran, half walked after the Mercedes which was moving slowly as the traffic was heavy. He saw Girland swing the car into the driveway of the hotel, then satisfied he knew where Girland was staying, he went in search of a cheap hotel for himself.

  As Girlaind walked into the softly lit hotel lobby, a short, chunky man, wearing a canary coloured polo neck sweater and white slacks paused to let him pass. Behind him was a girl who Girland immediately recognised as Gillian Sherman from the movie he had seen. He was sure he wasn’t mistaken. She was slightly above average height. Her bronze-coloured hair was cut in the shape of a helmet which suited her attractive, sun-tan
ned face. She had on a white square-necked sweater and black stretch-pants, revealing her sensual figure.

  Girland immediately stopped and stood aside to let her pass. She favoured him with a long, searching stare and then a smile, saying, ‘Merci, monsieur.’

  ‘Come on, Gilly, for God’s sake!’ the man said in French. ‘We’re late already.’

  They crossed to where a scarlet T.R.4 was parked, got in, and with a violent roar from the exhaust, the chunky man whipped the car dangerously fast into the main street and drove away out of sight at speed.

  Girland approached the reception desk, setting down his suitcase.

  ‘Mr Girland booking in,’ he said to the clerk. ‘WasthatMrRosnold who just left? I believe I recognised him.’

  ‘That is correct, sir.’

  ‘He’s not checking out?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir. He is with us for another week.’

  Satisfied, Girland completed the usual form, went up to his room, unpacked his bag and changed into a sweat shirt and hipsters. As the time was only after 11.00 hrs., he decided to take a look at the country since he guessed Rosnold and Gillian could be out for the day.

  As he left his room, an elderly chambermaid came along the corridor. Girland smiled, asking in his fluent German, ‘Is Mr Rosnold on this floor, do you know?’

  ‘He’s right there,’ the woman said, returning Girland’s smile. She pointed to a door exactly opposite Girland’s room. ‘But he’s out now’.

  Girland thanked her and went on his way. He felt he had begun the assignment not only with a lot of luck, but well.

  As he drove from the hotel, Labrey, sitting at a cafe near the hotel watched him leave. There was nothing Labrey could do about this. He would have to wait until Malik arrived, but at least, he knew where Girland was staying. The next move was to find out why he had come to Garmisch.

  Girland returned to the hotel for lunch having driven as far as Wies where he visited what is considered by connoisseurs to be the most beautiful rococo church in Germany. Girland was not an admirer of this form of art, and after taking a hasty look around the massive, ornate interior, he decided to drive back slowly, savouring the magnificent scenery, the hills, the forests and the green of the rich spring meadows.

  It was while he was driving along a narrow road bordered by wild flowers that he saw ahead of him a scarlet sports car, parked on the side of the verge. He slowed, seeing the hood was open and Gillian Sherman sitting in the passenger’s seat. He slowed to a crawl, and as he approached, he saw Rosnold peering at the motor.

  My lucky day, Girland thought and pulled up.

  ‘Do you want any help?’ he asked in French.

  Rosnold regarded him. He was a man in his middle forties, but in good trim with a well-built, muscular body. His eyes were a little too close-set and his mouth hard, but he was reasonably handsome. He smiled, a tight-lipped smile, then raised his hands helplessly.

  ‘The damn thing just stopped. Do you know anything about cars?’

  Girland slid out of the Mercedes and went over to the T.R.4. He purposely didn’t look at Gillian.

  ‘Try to start her,’ he said. ‘Let’s hear what she sounds like.’

  Rosnold got under the driving wheel. The dynamo whirred, but the engine reamined dead.

  ‘All right for gas?’

  ‘Three-quarters full.’

  ‘Then you could have dirt in the petrol feed. Got any tools?’

  Rosnold found the tool wallet and handed it over. It took Girland ten minutes to get the engine restarted. He stepped back and smiled.

  ‘There you are… simple when you know how.’

  Rosnold said gratefully, ‘Thank you very much. You are most kind.’

  ‘Glad to be of help.’ Girland now looked at Gillian who gave him a wide, fascinating smile.

  ‘I think you are wonderful,’ she said.

  ‘If you will permit me, madame, I will return the compliment,’ Girland said. He gave her his long stare of admiration that had so often sent tingles up the spines of so many girl, then he returned to his car and drove off.

  At the hotel he had a good lunch, then went up to his room, stripped off, put on a shortie dressing-gown and stretched out on the bed. Girland believed in rest when there was time to rest. Within a minute or so, he was asleep.

  He woke a little before 18.00 hrs., took a shower, shaved and put on a midnight-blue suit, a white polo-neck sweater, black suede shoes. He surveyed himself in the full-length mirror. Satisfied, he pushed a small armchair up to the door, opened the door a crack and sat down to wait.

  At 19.30 hrs. he heard a door open and he became alert. Leaning forward, he peered through the crack to see Rosnold come out of his room, insert a key in the lock and turn it. Girland shoved the armchair away and moved out into the corridor. He too locked his door and turned to make for the elevator.

  Rosnold recognised him and smiled.

  ‘So we meet again,’ he said and offered his hand.

  Girland shook hands.

  ‘I didn’t know you were staying here,’ he said. ‘No further trouble with your car?’

  ‘No… thanks to you. If you’re not in a hurry, give me the pleasure of buying you a drink,’ Rosnold said. ‘I am most grateful to you.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Girland fell into step beside Rosnold. ‘I’m here for a short vacation. I’ve been cooped up in Paris too long and I felt the need to stretch my legs. Would you know of a good restaurant around here? I get bored with hotel meals all the time.’

  They reached the elevator and went down to the ground floor as Rosnold said, ‘You mean you are on your own? Come and dine with us. I would take it as a favour.’

  ‘But your wife…’ Girland let this hang.

  Rosnold laughed.

  ‘She’s not my wife. We go around together. She’ll be delighted. She’s already told me she thinks you are dreamy.’

  Girland laughed.

  ‘You certainly know how to pick them.’

  They went into the tiny bar and got the only, corner table. Both ordered double Scotch on the rocks.

  ‘I’m in the photographic racket,’ Rosnold volunteered as they waited for their drinks. ‘What’s your racket?’

  I can’t say I have one single racket,’ Girland said and grinned. ‘I work a number: agent for this and that. I work when I feel like it which isn’t often. I guess I’m lucky. My old man left me some heavy money which I take care of.’

  Rosnold looked impressed. He eyed Girland’s clothes which had been bought with Dorey’s money from a top tailor in London.

  ‘ Some people have all the luck. I have to work for my living.’

  ‘You don’t look as if you have to grumble.’

  ‘Oh, I get by.’

  As the drinks arrived, Gillian Sherman came into the bar. She was wearing a scarlet trousered cocktail suit of light nylon and wool with a gold link-chain around her slim waist. Girland thought she looked sensational. The two men got to their feet.

  ‘This is Gilly… Gillian Sherman.’ Rosnold blinked, then turned to Girland. ‘I’m sorry… damn it! I haven’t introduced myself. Pierre Rosnold.’

  Girland was looking at Gilly.

  ‘Mark Girland,’ he said and took the hand she offered. Her grip was cool and firm. Mischief and sex danced in her eyes and she surveyed him. ‘Miss Sherman, this brief encounter has made my vacation.’

  ‘What makes you think it is going to be brief?’ Gilly asked as she sat down. ‘Pierre, a Cinzano bitter, please.’

  As Rosnold went to the bar, Girland said, ‘Two’s company…’

  She regarded him.

  ‘Can’t you do better than that?’

  ‘I could.’

  They stared at each other. Girland gave her his intense look he had cultivated for just such an occasion. It was completely insincere, but it usually had a devasting effect on most women. Gilly reacted to it as he hoped she would.

  She leaned forward and smiled at him.

  ‘Ye
s… I think you could,’ she murmured.

  Rosnold joined them with the drink and set it before her. They talked. When Girland wished, he could be witty, amusing and often bawdy. Smoothly, he went into his act, and after a few minutes, he was holding the stage with Rosnold grinning appreciatively and Gilly doubled up with laughter.

  It was while he was being his most entertaining that a tall, lean man came into the bar. He was about forty years of age with thick, flaxen hair taken straight back off a narrow forehead. His deeply-tanned face was long and narrow and his alert eyes a washed-out blue. He wore a bottle-green velvet smoking jacket, a frilled white shirt, a green string tie and black trousers. Around his thick muscular left wrist was a heavy platinum chain. On his right wrist a platinum Omega watch. He had that confident, slightly arrogant air reserved for the immensely rich. He merely glanced at the three sitting at the corner table, then sat on a stool up at the bar.

  ‘Good evening, Count von Goltz,’ the barman said, bowing. ‘What is your pleasure?’

  ‘A glass of champagne… my usual,’ the man said, and taking a heavy gold Cigarette case from his pocket, he selected an oval-shaped cigarette which the barman moved forward to light.

  ‘Phew!’ Gilly breathed. ‘Some doll!’

  Girland found her concentration in him had snapped. She was now studying the back of the blond man, her eyes calculating.

  Rosnold touched her arm.

  ‘Do you mind getting your eyes back on me, cherie?’ he said, a slight rasp in his voice.

  ‘Buy him for me, Pierre… he’s simply gorgeous.’ Gilly had deliberately raised her voice.

  The blond man turned and regarded her. He smiled, an easy, pleasant smile.

  ‘Your French tells me you are an American, mademoiselle, and I adore uninhibited Americans.’ He slid off his stool and gave a stiff little bow. Then looking at Rosnold, he said, ‘But I may be intruding, sir. If I am, I will take my drink into the lounge.’

  Both Rosnold and Girland got to their feet.

  ‘Intruding? Of course not,’ Rosnold said. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us?’

  ‘For a few minutes… I would be delighted.’ Von Goltz pulled up a chair. ‘Count Hans von Goltz,’ and he bowed.