Hands of the Traitor (13 page)

"Nothing."

It dawned on Matt what Ken had
just said. "
You gave him my home address?
"

"Of course I didn't. I was just
winding you up. I kept my mouth zipped. Miller didn't act like a
reporter. His questions weren't persistent enough. He seemed
uncomfortable. Funny thing is, he did ask if I knew anyone called
Sophie Bernay."

"
Sophie Bernay?
"

"Calm down, kiddo. He'd seen her name
in the local rag. I said I'd never heard of her. Anyway, I told him
you were going to France and wouldn't be around to answer any
questions."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Thanks, Ken, that's just what I
needed."

Ken seemed anxious to avoid any
further embarrassment. "Have you thought about taking Zoé with you?
You two seem to be getting on well. You could call and see her
folk. Get your feet under the table."

"I think someone called Florian
has already got his feet under the table, and Zoé
isn't
coming with me. But
thanks for your interest."

"There's no need to be so touchy,
kiddo. So your relationship is purely platonic?"

"I don't expect you to believe it," Matt
said. "And there wouldn't be time to meet Zoé's people, even if she
invited me. She comes from the Auvergne, and that's a long way down
France." He'd only been there once. It was the last family holiday,
before his parents finally split. They had argued and fought all
the way down through France. He would have been nine or ten at the
time. On the way back they made a detour through the high central
area scattered with the remains of over a hundred extinct
volcanoes. The thought that there might be prehistoric monsters
around every turn had almost made the journey bearable.

"Anywhere's a long way in your orange
wreck, kiddo."

Matt came forward and stood with his
hands on the desk. "The orange wreck, as you call it, was thrown at
me by one of your generous clients when mine got smashed in the
line of duty. I can't afford another, so I'm putting up with it.
The engine's good, someone's fitted twin carbs, and so far it
hasn't let me down. No electronic this and electronic that to go
wrong. Just basic engineering. And a basic ride."

"Rather you than me," grinned Ken. "I
like a bit of comfort."

Matt felt niggled. "So do I, but I'm
not getting it. Even the sunshine roof drips water on my
head."

"But only when it rains. You've got to
think positive, kiddo."

"I'm positive. I'm the one getting
wet. And next time anyone comes here asking questions, tell them
you've never heard of me. Okay?"

*

MILTON MILLER knew his first mistake had
been to overestimate the friendliness of English PIs. Received
politely at Habgood Securities, he'd quickly realized he would
learn nothing useful from the man in charge. He wasn't even given
the opportunity to meet Matt Rider.

His second mistake was phoning the
ex-president to tell him about the abortive visit.

"I thought you'd want to know what's
been happening in England, Frank ... Yes, sure, this Matt Rider,
he's off to France soon.... No, I don't know why. Hey, and there's
a blonde woman mixed up in it somewhere. She's called Sophie
Bernay. I got that from a back issue of their local journal. The
Habgood guy was like a clam. I can't see why you're ... Yes, sure
I'll email you some notes tonight."

Miller fingered the curled lead of the
handset. The ex-president was too old to still be playing around at
DCI. He should have shut the door and gone home for good when he
stepped down last month. There was no reply from the other end,
although he could hear Frank Heinman fidgeting and breathing
hard.

"Jason's furious. Wants to know why
I'm in England, Frank. I told him to see you about it. My advice is
to tell him everything."

"You hold on there, Miller. I've spilled
my coffee."

Miller waited for the mess to be cleaned
up. Jason Heinman should have been given total control of DCI when
he took over as president. It was Albert Heinman in the 1930s who
had arranged for the oldest surviving Heinman to stay in harness
for life -- like the Royal Family in England. DCI wouldn't have
survived without the expertise of the company lawyer, always ready
to sort out Jason's indiscretions. Simon Urquet was a loyal man who
up to now had done everything legally and illegally possible to
keep DCI out of trouble.

Jason had been a problem child, so Frank
said. Whatever, he'd grown tall and strong, looking just like his
father must have been twenty years ago. But Frank had become more
stomach than chest recently. Jason even grew a pointed beard,
trimmed like the one in his grandfather Albert's portrait. Perhaps
he thought the beard made him superior. Miller smiled to himself.
Maybe it did. The only downer was the ponytail, which his father
couldn't stand. There was little love lost between father and
son.

"I'm coming over to England tomorrow."
Frank Heinman's voice sounded unsteady. Something was changing in
the old man. "I'm using the company jet. Meet me at
Heathrow."

"Sure, Frank. But there's nothing more
you can do that..."

"We need to talk, Miller, and I hope
your hotel's not too expensive. I know what you CEOs are like when
you're spending company money."

"You'll approve, Frank."

"Glad to hear it."

Miller replaced the phone and went
downstairs. At the reception desk he cancelled his own executive
suite as from tomorrow breakfast, changing it for a room on one of
the higher floors. He arranged an identical room for Frank Heinman
and wondered if the ex-president would accept it without
protest.

New York

JASON
Becker Heinman finished his phone
call and looked at his desk clock. "What the hell are you doing
with those papers, Caroline?" he called loudly. "I've been waiting
to sign them for the last ten minutes."

"Coming, sir."

He watched his temporary PA hurry in
from the outer office. She brought a folder to his desk. He checked
through the pages, still warm from the printer, and was about to
sign the last sheet when he picked it up and tore it in half. "You
stupid girl, these figures don't add up. You have to smarten up and
stop making typos." He'd been waiting to have a go at her all
week.

"I ... I'm sorry, sir." Caroline went
scarlet at the reprimand. "I didn't realize, only I was working in
a rush for you, and..."

"Bring it back in five minutes." The
work would all be on the computer ready to correct and
reprint.

"I need to know..."

"The only thing you'll be needing to
know is where to find another job if you don't get a move on. No
more mistakes."

She turned as she went out of the
office. "Your father left a message while you were making your last
call," she said quietly. "He wants you to ring him at
home."

He nodded. Caroline was his favorite
temp in spite of her slapdash approach to typing. She lacked
self-confidence. Hell, the girl was even crying. "Is that
all?"

"A foreign gentleman phoned from
Washington. He sounded ... well, kind of ... foreign."

"His name?" Jason felt a slight unease
at Caroline's hesitance. Paula, his permanent secretary would have
been more specific. A foreign gentleman could mean business,
or....

"Mr. Aziz." Caroline stared at her pad
through her tears. "Mr. Hammid Aziz. He said you know him." She
sniffed loudly. "He wants to talk to you."

Jason Heinman felt his pulse race.
He'd not spoken to the man for ... five or six years it must be.
Aziz was probably after more chemical supplies for export to the
Middle East. Chemicals that stayed off the official export records;
chemicals for use by militant groups. His under-the-counter deals
with Hammid Aziz had to stop now that he was president.

"I'll get the call myself." He
motioned to Caroline to close the door as she left.

He flicked through his diary for the
Washington number. "Hammid? Becker here." He remembered just in
time. He was plain Becker on a private deal like this, not Jason
Becker Heinman, president of DCI.

"Ah, Becker, you owe me
money."

Something about the man's way of
speaking amused him, yet the voice was one that made him cautious.
Hammid Aziz always got what he wanted.

"Sure, Hammid, I know the arrangement.
But it was a long time ago. Keeping well?"

He glanced through the glass
panel to the outer office to make sure Caroline was busy at the
computer. It had seemed so simple. A secret deal with Aziz six
years ago; some hazardous chemicals the man needed for one of his
arms deals. Then the offer of a loan.
No, no hurry to repay it,
Becker
. The
agreement had been informal and easy. Then the occasional small
request by Aziz for more chemicals, never through the books, and an
offer of further loans. Surely Aziz hadn't expected the money back.
It was all part of the murky world of chemical warfare and arms
dealing.

"I also know the arrangement we have,
Becker. You let me have goods, and I pay plenty of money for them.
I also lend you half million dollars. It is good for the new
president of DCI to have money, eh?"

"And I'm grateful, Hammid. Is there a
problem?"

"A big problem for you, Becker. You
have two days to pay me back."

England

"LISTEN, MILLER,
DCI is deep in it
and I'm relying on you to haul the company out." Frank Heinman felt
claustrophobic in this cramped hotel room that Miller had booked
for him. English hotels sure had a lot to learn on room
size.

"Okay, Frank, but I guess there are
problems."

"Problems? People are still hunting
Nazi war criminals. They'll crucify us over the Berlitzan
Project."

"Not me, Frank." Miller laughed
nervously. "I wasn't born until 1961."

Frank Heinman yawned loudly. Twice.
"I'm tired, Miller. The flight from New Jersey was dreadful. That
Gulfstream is hellish old."

Miller stayed silent.

"Tell me again what this guy, Habgood,
said about the French girl."

"Nothing, Frank. Well, just what I
told you. Matt Rider works for Habgood Securities and he's going to
France. I guess he wants to find the woman his grandfather met in
1944. Most of what I know comes from the local
newspaper."

"What was that name you got? Sophie
Bernay wasn't it? And you said she was blonde?" He became silent
for a moment. He could only remember one blonde from that night.
Blonde, sexually uncooperative, and French. She'd even laughed at
his attempts to....

He turned to look around the hotel
bedroom. "This is one hell of a rat hole you've booked me into,
Miller. The first thing I'm doing is upgrade. It might suit you up
here, but I'm used to a better standard of living than
this."

"But, Frank, on the phone you
said..."

"Can't say I disapprove of the CEO
saving money, Miller, but an ex-president deserves
better."

"I'll attend to it right away, Frank.
Perhaps there'd be something better for me as well."

He tried with his fifth match to light
the free cigar from reception. His left hand was giving trouble
again, making it impossible to hold the match. He decided it was
caused by tension. "No, you're doing fine where you are, Miller."
He burped twice. "Never did like transatlantic flights. The change
in time zones plays havoc with my guts. When you've fixed me a new
room, you can go out and keep an eye on young Rider."

As Miller left the room Frank recalled
Skorensky and his crazy driving back in '44. "And take it easy on
the highway," he called. "They drive on the left over
here."

*

MATT STOOD outside Habgood Securities
after work and waited for Zoé to join him. The hospital had rung to
tell him he could visit his grandfather for the first time this
evening, and Zoé said she definitely wanted to go with
him.

He noticed a large Ford in the road.
The man sitting behind the wheel clearly didn't want to be seen,
and held a newspaper high enough to conceal all but his eyes. Why
did everyone take a PI for a fool? The American who'd come to see
Ken had been in a dark Ford like this. Before he could walk up and
confront the driver, Matt heard Zoé walking briskly down the
street. He turned. She was walking surprisingly rapidly considering
the heels on her shoes.

"Are we going straight to see your
grandfather?" she asked, sounding out of breath as she gave him a
brief kiss on the cheek.

He opened the door of the Mini for Zoé
to get in. He still felt embarrassed by the bright orange color.
"If that's okay with you. I warn you, it could be unpleasant at the
South Memorial."

"I know. Psychiatric hospitals are the
places most depressing all over the world."