Program for a Puppet (3 page)

What bothered the Colonel, however, were the penetrating dark blue eyes. Those eyes mirrored a tenaciously inquiring mind, the last thing Guichard wanted around at that moment.

He was in no mood for any meddling in this affair, even if there was only the slightest chance that a recent hit-and-run killing had a connection with Rodriguez. He planned to make that quite clear to this visitor, albeit politely because of the man's connection with Sir Alfred Ryder, one of the few Englishmen he knew and respected.

Graham quickly realized from the colonel's brisk manner that he was not going to have much time there.

“Sir Alfred tells me you are here to investigate the death of his granddaughter.”

The Australian nodded expectantly.

“That is not possible, monsieur,” he said abruptly. “And if I tell you why, not a word is to be repeated outside this room, except, of course, to Sir Alfred.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Your friend was last seen in the company of a man who may be connected with an assassin. A very dangerous man. Alex Rodriguez. You will no doubt have heard of him.”

Graham nodded.

“We have little to go on,” Guichard added, sighing, “but a few days before Jane Ryder's death, we learned that Rodriguez had been seen in a Normandy seaside resort with a man. He fitted the description of the fellow who was last seen with her.”

“Which was?”

“The man is either German or Czech, about fifty. He has a scar below the left earlobe, and a slight limp. He dresses well.”

“And that's all?”

“As I said, not much to go on.”

“Who gave the information?”

“An informant.”

“Could I speak to him?”

The colonel's eyes narrowed on Graham. “It's out of the question. We want to catch these men. More than you can imagine. Besides …” He paused. The colonel was finding Graham's eyes more disturbing as information was revealed. The Australian had an unconscious habit of swelling the irises noticeably whenever he was probing for facts. His gaze pierced searchingly into Guichard. The colonel felt obliged to put him off…. “Believe me, monsieur, you will end up like your friend if you investigate further. These men, if they are involved, are professional killers. They do not hesitate to destroy anyone who stands in their way. Leave the work of finding them to us.”

The bluntness of the words sent a chill through Graham. “Okay. But do you know why Jane was murdered?”

“I did not say she was murdered. We have no proof of this.”

“But it is likely …”

“It is only a possibility.” The colonel shrugged.

“You know she was investigating—”

“Of course,” Guichard butted in. “Sir Alfred told us what she was doing here. Nevertheless, there is not as yet a shred of evidence to connect her death with a theory about computers being smuggled into Russia.”

“I was under the impression that Rodriguez was never completely absolved of a strong Kremlin/KGB connection.”

“Rodriguez has become a mercenary. He is now up to the highest bidder. He has become rich. It seems to suit his life-style much better than working for the Soviet export of revolutionary terror.”

“Then why has he resurfaced in France?”

Guichard stroked his bald pate. “He may be on assignment.”

“In Europe?”

“It's possible, but who, where, what, how? We do not know. I am doing all I can to find out.” The colonel's voice trailed off. He felt he had said enough. Looking at his watch, he said, “If you have no further questions …”

“Just one more. I believe Jane was trying to see an American scientist, Dr. Donald Gordon, here in Paris. Do you know where I might find the man?”

“
Oui
. We had him questioned by American authorities the day after she died. We believe he is back in his home near Washington.”

“Jane never actually saw him then?”

“No. But they did speak over the phone. Gordon spoke to her about the computer smuggling.”

“Was there just the one conversation?”

“Yes, but she tried to speak with him again.”

“Oh?”

“It was after Gordon had left Paris. She left a message at his hotel asking him if he had told anyone to contact her.”

“Had he?”

“He said definitely not.”

“Then it could have been the man she was last seen with?”

Guichard nodded.

“How did he get her Paris address?”

The colonel took a deep breath. “We went through Gordon's hotel room thoroughly the day after Jane Ryder was killed. It was bugged.”

“Bugged? Do you know anything else about Gordon?”

“He was once with a computer company, but has since retired. He still does the odd invitation lecture. That's why he was in Paris.”

“You don't know which computer company he used to work for?”

“I think it was one of the big ones. IBM, Univac, or Lasercomp.”

“Thank you for your time,” Graham said.

“Monsieur,” Guichard said firmly, “I must impress upon you once more not to continue your inquiries in France.”

“Don't worry, Colonel,” Graham said ruefully, “I'm leaving Paris this afternoon.”

Graham had to give himself time to think before he called Sir Alfred. He taxied to the Champs Élysées, and drank a cup of coffee at one of the sidewalk cafés near the Arc de Triomphe. He had no intention of probing further into Jane's death. Yet the ramifications of her investigation were beginning to intrigue him.

As he sat in the warm afternoon sun watching the Parisians and tourists pass by, several questions nagged him. Were computers
really being smuggled thousands of miles deep into Soviet territory? If so, why? Was Lasercomp involved? And Rodriguez. What was his connection?

The Australian called for the check from a waiter scurrying to and fro beneath the sun-drenched canopy. Graham had made a decision. The American assignment would have to wait at least another week while he looked into the smuggling. Since he knew this would not be tolerated by the English newspaper publisher for whom he was working, Graham realized he would have to resign the assignment or be fired.

What did Jane say in that note? he thought, as he stubbed out his cigarette. “For once in your wavering life follow through.” Easier said than done.

To do it he would have to dump the American writing which he had considered the biggest break in his career.

On returning to London, Graham immediately booked a flight for Vienna.

Jane's notes indicated that she had planned to go there because she believed Austria could be the main East-West link for the computer smuggling. Graham decided to make a quick, cautious probe there. He didn't have much to go on. Just a few names and telephone numbers. He wanted more. Again he decided to ask for Sir Alfred's help.

The publisher was at first in two minds about Graham's following up Jane's assignment. On the one hand, he was obsessed with finding the truth behind her death; on the other, he didn't want to see Graham risk his life.

When he saw the Australian's determination to investigate further, he reluctantly agreed to the request for contacts. But they were to be contacts that would possibly protect as well as assist the journalist. The publisher once more turned to his connections in Intelligence, this time closer to home at MI-6.

Most of the old-boy network Sir Alfred had known since the Second World War were now retired or had passed on. His one contact at Intelligence now was Commander Kendall Gould, the son of a close friend who had served with him in Intelligence during the war.

It always amazed Sir Alfred to see Gould. Dressed in his
customary plain dark suit with tight-fitting vest, he looked almost a perfect replica of his father, now dead five years. They were the same medium height and weight. There was that same high intelligent forehead, deep-set gray eyes, and full beard with reddish hue on the tip.

As they strolled in the midday sun through Green Park, a stone's throw from Buckingham Palace, the old man found it a little disturbing to look at the Intelligence man. It brought back too many memories of the father. They had been close friends.

Sir Alfred kept his eyes on the green in front of them. Occasionally he looked up to watch a game of lunchtime cricket some boys were playing nearby.

“Why is your man going to Vienna?” Gould asked, although he had been informed of the circumstances surrounding Jane Ryder's death.

“Jane's notes indicate there may be some sort of base for the smuggling in Austria.”

“Any proof?”

“No.”

There was a short silence before Gould said, “Coincidentally, we are watching Vienna very closely at the moment. There has been a disturbing build-up of KGB operatives there in recent years. They come and go at short intervals for all sorts of minor reasons. We'd like to know what's going on.”

He paused and added, “There are of course several East-West link-ups there to do with scientific research and so on. All convenient KGB covers.”

“Graham wants contacts there.”

“Hmmm … could be a little delicate. We are having trouble planting our people. We don't want them exposed.…”

The publisher gave an understanding nod. It was what he was half hoping he would hear.

Gould looked up at Sir Alfred. “Tell me about him.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Oh … his background, education … interests …”

Sir Alfred glanced briefly at the commander. “You may be able to help?”

“I can't answer that right now.”

“He was educated as a computer scientist, specializing in communications networks.”

“A bit of a whiz?”

“Yes.”

“Why the switch to journalism?”

“He is intellectual but not academic…. Likes to apply his mind pragmatically. He joined a newspaper as a science correspondent, specializing in writing about computers.”

“A daily?”

“Yes, one of Australia's best. A far-sighted editor wanted an expert to interpret computers … the technology … the sociological aspects … everything.…”

“I see,” Gould mused, stroking his beard. “Would you like to sit down for a while?”

The publisher nodded and they moved to a park bench facing the palace.

There were many Londoners and tourists out taking advantage of the fine weather.

“What made him start writing about politics?” Gould asked, lighting his pipe.

“He's naturally an ambitious, competitive type,” the publisher said. “He told me that to get on at the paper, it was important to write about politics. He worked hard, built contacts and advanced rapidly.”

“I've read his political articles here. He's very good. Shows a deal of insight. But why did he leave Australia?”

The publisher cleared his throat.

“He was apparently a trifle wild in his twenties. He had an affair with a married reporter on the paper. From what I can gather, his prudent editor sent Graham packing here. He was to have a roving commission as a foreign correspondent in Europe and Africa. When the assignment was over, Graham stayed. Everything here suited his style.”

“What does his father do?”

“He's a neurosurgeon. Reputedly one of the world's best. You know of his mother …”

Gould smiled. “One of my favorite actresses. She returned to Australia when the film industry began to boom there, didn't she?”

Sir Alfred nodded. “She's sixty now, but still plays the odd theater or TV part.”

“Graham has quite a lot to live up to.”

“Indeed. Two brilliant, successful parents who wanted him to follow their respective careers.…”

“How did that affect him?”

“You'd have to ask him. Jane once told me he said it put him under pressure. An only child. Always in the spotlight with the mother or father. He apparently wanted to impress both parents. Not let them down.”

“He tried acting?”

“His mother had him on the stage and in front of a camera from age five.”

“How long did he keep it up?”

“Oh, he only stopped getting bit parts in films and TV series a few years ago. The money was always good and easy. When there was a lull in his freelance writing assignments he always managed to pick up some work to tide him over.”

“Was he good?”

“Yes, as a character actor. Usually he was cast as a villain…. But he never really had his heart in it … couldn't stand waiting for bigger parts. He likes things to happen yesterday.” The publisher stole another look at the Intelligence man. “Journalism suits him better. I would doubt that patience has ever been one of his virtues.…”

“Why did he choose computer science to study?”

“His father apparently had the greater influence over him. He urged Ed to study sciences at school in preparation for a medical career. Just before entering college he followed his instincts and went his own way. He had an aptitude for mathematics and logic.”

“Tell me, is he a disciplined man?”

“Under authority, I should say absolutely not. He went freelance as a journalist because even a newspaper, a relatively unbureaucratic institution, stifled him.”

Gould did not appear to be put off. Sir Alfred was becoming slightly apprehensive about having approached the Intelligence man in the first place.

After a thoughtful pause, Sir Alfred asked, “Then you are interested in helping him?”

“I would have to meet him first, of course. And frankly
there isn't enough time to prepare anything.… It could be a little too risky. But I would like to meet him when he comes back from Vienna.”

Sir Alfred was relieved. “I'll arrange it.”

“Does he play chess?”

“Yes, brilliantly … why?”

“I suspected he would. All that aptitude for computers. Takes logic.”

“I warn you, on his day, he would even have beaten your father. He can think up to twenty-five moves ahead.”