Assignment Sorrento Siren Read online

  “My plane was delayed,” Durell said quietly. “I’ve only just arrived from Bangkok. I was engaged there in working with our mission and associates from Noramco Tin.”

  “You are an engineer?”

  “No.”

  “A—ah—trouble-shooter. You have the look of such a man. A type of American much like M’sieu Talbott.”

  “I do not think we are alike,” Durell said.

  The prince smiled blandly. He had a round, brown face and a self-indulgent, full-lipped mouth like the precise carving of a Buddha. His eyes had all the warmth and depth of gray stone. The eyes were interesting, Durell thought, perhaps indicating French parentage somewhere in the past generation. A scar marred the symmetry of his Annamese features, running from one corner of his mouth in a pale crescent, ending just under the lobe of his left ear.

  “We must soon return to my own land,” the prince said, “where matters require my attention three days from now. Have you been—ah—briefed about my ancestral paintings?"

  “I understand you feel sure that Jack Talbott took them without authorization.”

  “He stole them,” the prince said bluntly. “And we entertain no other consideration except to seek their prompt return. How you accomplish this, we leave to you. But it must be done.”

  “Are you sure Jack Talbott is responsible for your loss?” Durell persisted. “We do not question your good faith, but in a matter where the objects are so valuable, surely you must see that they would be coveted by every thief on the Continent.”

  “We are not concerned with the monetary value of the Dwan Scrolls. For us, they are sacred. They represent our ancestry for over twelve centuries. They are our most precious possessions. A man like Mr. Talbott, whom we trusted and indeed were about to entrust with certain mining leases in our country, might well be representative of the good faith of the American industrial enterprises we were prepared to negotiate with.”

  “To put it bluntly,” Durell said, “you feel that if Jack Talbott is a thief, all Americans are thieves?”

  “One’s opinion is colored by personal misfortunes. Since you are the man placed in charge of the matter by your government, we shall speak plainly. We want to have the Dwan Scrolls in our possession when we board the plane three days from today. We insist upon it. Otherwise, all negotiations between your people and our ministers are at an end.”

  It was difficult to accept the arbitrary and autocratic will of the little man, Durell thought. The prince was an absolute ruler, shrewd, self-indulgent, but cleverly capable of walking the tightrope of Southeast Asian politics. And politics made strange bedfellows. There were no rules in Durell’s business except those that demanded success.

  The interview was brief, and Durell, who habitually underestimated his qualities as a diplomat, managed to maintain a tactful silence in the face of Tuvanaphan’s blunt accusations. The evidence against Talbott was slim—scanty enough to rate suspicion. Talbott and two of the prince’s retainers had returned from Rome at six-thirty last night, and the scrolls had been put away in one of the bedrooms of Tuvanaphan’s suite. An hour later, Talbott was discovered to have left the apartment, and the servant on guard in the storage room was found unconscious. Brought around, he stated flatly that Talbott had done the slugging and took the scrolls.

  When Durell asked permission to question the servant, Tuvanaphan flatly refused. Durell, on the other hand, could not produce Jack Talbott, as Tuvanaphan demanded. The interview came to an impasse.

  “We have made our feelings quite clear,” Tuvanaphan smiled. His scar showed white on his round, brown face. “We are not vindictive. We leave Talbott’s punishment to you. But all conversations with North American Tin are necessarily at an end until this matter is satisfactorily settled.”

  It seemed to Durell as he was ushered out through the anterooms that Prince Tuvanaphan was seeking a deliberate excuse to break off the tin negotiations. He was not sure of this, however. The man’s petulant character coincided with his present behavior. The thing to do was to find Talbott and return the scrolls at once. Ellen had no information on Talbott’s whereabouts. But Silas Hanson had been digging all day, and he decided to see Si at once.

  There was a slight delay, however. The anteroom to Tuvanaphan’s suite was a large hexagonal chamber with several doors leading at odd angles from the entrance. The servant who had ushered him in stood by with a meaningless smile.

  “One moment, sir,” the man said. “There is someone here who wishes to speak to you in private before you leave.”

  At the same moment, one of the doors in the anteroom opened and Major Anton Pacek came in.

  Durell felt a small shock of alarm, but nothing showed on his impassive face. Pacek was smiling with all the warmth of a crocodile’s yawn. He wore a dark-brown suit that covered his heavy, muscular body with the deft grace of a box. Despite his stubby figure, Pacek walked with a peculiarly light grace across the carpeted foyer. His square hand was held out to Durell.

  “Please, Mr. Durell. This is neutral territory.”

  Durell ignored the man’s hand and Pacek, smiling, dropped it. “You seem upset, my friend.”

  “I’m not your friend,” Durell said.

  “Ah, you are so angry.”

  “I’m not. What are you doing here, Pacek?”

  “Perhaps the same as you. We have been talking business, Tuvanaphan and I. Nothing more. A simple commercial arrangement between his country and mine.”

  Anton Pacek was Moscow-trained in the KGU, Durell knew. The man had the thickest neck in the world, -with beefy arms and shoulders, blue jowls, and a steel tooth that gleamed with his smile. His small blue eyes were brilliant, amused, and intelligent. Durell knew from Pacek’s dossier in K Section’s files that Pacek had graduated with highest honors from Moscow University; prior to that, he had studied engineering in Berlin. He had been awarded the Order of Lenin, the Order of the Red Banner and, ironically, the American Medal of Merit after World War II. His animal appearance was deceptive. Behind the compact fortress of Pacek’s physique was a dangerous and brilliant mind.

  “Come with me, Durell, and we will talk outside. It is perfectly safe.”

  “Safe for whom?” Durell asked, aware of the man’s bland and patronizing air.

  Pacek shrugged. “Shall we call a temporary truce? We understand each other.”

  “Do we?”

  “We can talk outside, please. The walls have ears.”

  “You ought to know,” Durell said.

  “I think we can talk business,” Pacek said. “We are both reasonable men. I respect you, Durell. We all know about you, and some of us fear you. I do not. But I respect your abilities as one of my most dangerous opponents. A matter of regret, naturally, that you continue to work so blindly for your imperialist masters.”

  “Drop the propaganda,” Durell said. “Let’s not waste time.”

  “My apologies. You are pressed for time, indeed. I know of Tuvanaphan’s ultimatum to you. It is so deplorable.”

  Durell went down to the street with the man. He knew that Pacek would not risk the Swiss police interfering if he tried anything in the hotel. The evening was still pleasant. Pacek nodded toward the quays by the river, where a number of people strolled. It was not quite ten o’clock. Knowing the price put on his head by the KGU years ago, Durell’s senses were sharpened acutely and he wondered if the desire to eliminate him might lead Pacek to take the chance of breaking the rules here. He could not spot anyone behind them. He guessed that Pacek was armed, and even if he weren’t, there are ways of killing with a blow of a hand, a rolled-up newspaper, a needle deftly plunged into the body. He did not permit Pacek to walk too close to him. And Pacek, in his turn, took the usual routine precautions. They were enemies, but they were professional men who knew how to take advantage of every situation, and Durell was willing to play it by ear for the moment.

  “We can talk here.” Pacek turned onto the nearest bridge across the Rhone. A cool wind swept up
the river from the lake. “They have called you on an emergency basis, right?”

  Durell said nothing.

  “Have you located Jack Talbott yet?” Pacek asked.

  “Surely you ought to know.”

  “It is always very bad when one of your own team either turns private or turns sour,” Pacek murmured.

  “So far I haven’t heard one scrap of evidence against Talbott,” Durell said.

  “Oh, he stole the prince’s precious paintings, all right.” Pacek laughed. His small, brilliant eyes looked up at Durell’s lean height with amusement. “One must use the tools that come to hand, sometimes, but I am really surprised that your apparatus put such faith in a man as psychiatrically unstable as your Mr. Talbott.”

  “What has Talbott told you?” Durell probed.

  “Have I spoken to him? Did I say so? Ah, you think we have your man, eh?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “The prince is very annoyed with all Americans, at this moment. Naturally, we are pleased. Unless you deliver his paintings, he is petty enough to give the tin contracts to the State Ministry for Metallic Ores. The papers are ready for Tuvanaphan to sign. And he will sign them, Mr. Durell. A small victory for our side.”

  “We have a little time to work with,” Durell pointed out. Pacek had not claimed to know where Talbott was. But even if he was bluffing, there was no way to verify it. Durell leaned lightly on the stone bridge parapet. The water below moved with a swift, dark rush from the lake and gurgled against the abutments. On the quays, auto lights made regular paths of bright illumination. Passersby on the bridge paid no attention to Pacek or himself. He stood ready for any move Pacek might make, his body loose and easy. He knew that Pacek could be quick and powerful. It could all be over in a matter of seconds with someone like this Czech.

  He looked at the man’s square face. “I wish,” he said softly, “that I’d been in Amsterdam a couple of years ago.” “Oh, yes. You refer to Robert Langstrom.”

  “Bobby was a friend of mine.”

  “His death was one of the misfortunes of our private war, Durell.”

  “It wasn’t necessary to kill him.”

  “We thought it was. I am sorry he was your friend.”

  “He was as close a friend as one can get in this business, Pacek. Now get to the point.”

  Pacek’s steel tooth flashed when he smiled. “Have you decided to eliminate me, Durell?”

  “Only if it seems useful.”

  “I have made the same decision about you. So we understand each other. And I give you some gratuitous advice. We do not trust each other, naturally, and you may not accept my word. But I ask you, for your sake, since I admire you so much—one can respect an able opponent, no?—that you drop this entire matter. This particular gambit is already lost for you, Durell. We have Tuvanaphan in our hip pocket, as you say.”

  “He’ll change his mind when I return the scrolls.”

  “But you must find them first.”

  “I’ll find them.”

  “They may not be in Switzerland by now.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “And Talbott may be far away from here, too.”

  Durell looked at the brilliant blue eyes. “Don’t you know for sure, Pacek? Don’t you have him?”

  “You find it difficult to accept betrayal by one of your countrymen, is that it?”

  “It’s easier to think that you took him, along with the scrolls, and framed the setup to prejudice Tuvanaphan in your favor.”

  “Of course. It is natural for you to think so.”

  “Is it true?” Durell asked bluntly.

  He did not expect an answer, and Pacek was silent. His wide frog’s mouth was tight and hard for a moment as he stared down at the dark waters of the Rhone. A taxi went by and beeped its horn very lightly and Durell turned his head with care, not quite allowing Pacek out of his line of vision; he watched the cab out of sight. The few passersby on the bridge paid no attention to them. He did not see anyone loitering nearby, either.

  It was to Pacek’s advantage to keep him guessing, yet Pacek wanted something from him. That was obvious. Some kind of deal might be arranged, Durell thought. In this business, you had to be practical and keep an open mind at all times.

  He had Pacek’s dossier at his fingertips, and certain items flickered through his thoughts. Anton Pacek had been the mastermind behind the Druja affair in Yugoslavia, and Pacek had helped Billings and Connors to defect from Australia and the Woomera Base. The man was quick, cunning and dangerous, with the shrewdness of a peasant and the wit to survive against all opposition. A master of languages, Pacek’s English was beyond reproach.

  He thought of Bobby Langstrom, who was careless just once, and who had died at Anton Pacek’s hands. He looked at the man’s hands now, square and stubby and powerful, resting on the concrete bridge balustrade. He looked away from them.

  “I would like to suggest,” Pacek said quietly, “that we both try to be reasonable. Frankly, I am disturbed that you were called into this affair. We did not anticipate a man like you arriving on the scene. I have my orders, you understand. Failure cannot be tolerated. You pose a certain threat to me, Durell, and I respect you, as I said. So I would like to see you leave Geneva at once. It can be easy. I can arrange a false trail to take you to Paris, for example. You can stay there for three days. Failure for you does not bring the consequences that failure might mean for me.”

  “I’d like to see your own people hang you,” Durell said. “Are you offering me a bribe?”

  “Do you want money?”

  “You know you couldn’t offer enough.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then is it a threat?”

  “Only a suggestion. I will brook no interference. One must try to be impersonal, but in this case, I would take it as a deliberate effort, on your part, to destroy me, if you remain here to find Jack Talbott.”

  “You’re giving things away.” Durell smiled. “There’s a chance I can find him, then. Apparently, this has more than ordinary importance for you, Pacek.”

  “Yes. Certain matters—certain rivals in KGU headquarters—well, no matter. I have my own problems, as I am sure you have yours. We are both pragmatic men, and life can be good if one squeezes its juices hard.”

  “I understand,” Durell said. “You’re due for the Sub-Ministerial post in VAJA, aren’t you?” VAJA was the topmost circle of elite in Pacek’s KGU in Prague. “The trouble is, Berentov has the job now, and he’ll cut your throat to keep you from knocking him off his perch.”

  Pacek grinned slyly, his bright eyes all but disappearing in the crinkling folds of flesh. “Your information is surprising.”

  “It’s accurate and up-to-date. If you slip now, you go down all the way. Is that why you’re so anxious to have a clear field here?”

  “Durell, I do not want to have to kill you.”

  Durell smiled. “You won’t.”

  “I would make it my personal goal to do so, if you interfere with me here.”

  “What are you afraid of, Pacek?”

  “I am not frightened. I am simply determined to succeed here.”

  “If you’ve killed Talbott. .

  “I have not,” Pacek said bluntly.

  “Is he alive?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Are the scrolls in Geneva?”

  “I cannot say that, either. I simply warn you. Go to Paris. Go anywhere. But do not stay in Geneva or you will regret it.” Durell had too much respect for Pacek’s intellect to accept what he said at face value. Yet he couldn’t probe the real reasons for Pacek’s remarks. He still could not tell if Pacek had snatched Talbott and the paintings, as Ellen wanted to believe. But all at once his intuitive feeling was that Pacek was as mystified as himself. It was to Pacek’s advantage, of course, to delay everything for three days and get Tuvanaphan’s signature on Czech contracts. But Pacek didn’t like to work in the dark, either.

  Dure
ll was suddenly convinced that Jack Talbott was not in Pacek’s hands. It was one of those hunches that flash through you occasionally and usually are best ignored. But Durell’s heritage as a gambler, derived from his old Grandpa Jonathan in Bayou Peche Rouge, could never deny instinct. He started to turn away, then looked back at Pacek.

  “I think one of us will be killed before this is over, Major,” he said quietly. “It seems to me you’re worried more than you should be about this whole affair. You’re too anxious to keep me out of it.”

  Pacek looked angry. “I intend to do just that.”

  “Is that why you sent your man tailing me in the Old Quarter? I’ll give you a little help,” Durell said. He smiled dangerously. “Your boy was supposed to keep me from seeing Tuvanaphan tonight, wasn’t he? I’ll tell you where to find him, if you like. He was quite clumsy.”

  “I do not know what—”

  “You know what I’m talking about. I left him in a doorway off the Grand-Rue, near the Cathedral. You can pick him up there if you hurry—and if the police haven’t already grabbed him.”

  Pacek looked dangerous. “I see. I wondered how you . . .”

  He paused, then shrugged his square shoulders. “Very well, then. We understand each other.”

  “Good night, Pacek,” Durell said.

  He walked away.

  chapter four

  DURELL used a public telephone to get Si Hanson at the consulate. It was past ten o’clock now. Hanson sounded impatient. “I’ve been waiting for contact, Cajun. I’ve got a little bundle for you. Tried to get Ellen, but there’s no answer on her wire. Did you see her?”

  “Yes. Where can we meet?”

  “I’ll pick you up in my car. On the quay, right?”

  “In ten minutes,” Durell said. He started to hang up, and Si said quickly, “Sam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Try Ellen’s place, will you? I don’t know why, but I’m worried about her quiet phone.”

  “All right.”

  While he waited for Hanson, he called the number of the Gallerie Chez Ellen. The phone rang and rang. He frowned, wondered where she had gone, or why she didn’t answer. He still felt a residue of uneasiness from his talk with Anton Pacek. He did not underestimate the man, but on the other hand, while Pacek’s private desperation was of no personal concern, it could be used to goad him into some act that might blow the whole thing onto the front pages. Pacek might decide it was to his advantage to publicize Tuvanaphan’s accusations against Talbott. Pacek’s attempt to establish a kind of confidential, professional liaison with him had to be regarded with utmost suspicion.