This is For Real (18 page)

From time to time, he glanced at Fantaz’s table. The fat Portuguese had consumed an enormous lunch while he talked in low tones to his companion. Both men were now smoking cigars; coffee and brandy on the table.

“That’s the boat,” Fantaz said, slightly raising his voice and pointing at the steamer. “We have plenty of time. It doesn’t leave until two o’clock.”

The other man said, “You are sure you can spare the time, Mr. Fantaz? It is not really necessary to come all the way.”

Fantaz waved a fat hand.

“Of course, I’ll come. I have nothing to do this afternoon.”

Listening, Girland finished his coffee and signalled to the waiter for his bill. He paid, then pushing back his chair, he left the restaurant and walked slowly through the intense heat to the steamer.

Now that he had found Fantaz, Girland was determined not to lose him. He decided to follow him until he parted with his companion, and then he would approach him.

He bought a ticket and went on board. He chose a seat that would enable him to get off the steamer quickly when it arrived at Dakar, and he settled down to wait.

Five minutes before the steamer was due to sail, Fantaz and his companion came across the sand, still talking. Fantaz, from time to time, gesticulated with his fat hands, his gold ring glittering in the sun.

They came on board, brushing past Girland and taking seats in the shade.

The half hour trip to the port of Dakar allowed Girland time for thought. What worried him particularly was he had no proof to give Fantaz that he did come from Dorey. It wouldn’t be easy to persuade him to tell him where Carey was hiding. He would warn him about the Russians. This information might inspire confidence in him.

As the steamer bumped against the side of the mole, Girland, already on his feet, was the first off, followed by a crowd of chattering, laughing Africans.

He hurried to where he had parked his car, unlocked it and slid under the driving wheel, cursing at the oven-heat that had built up in the car. Lowering the windows, he started the engine and waited.

Fantaz and his companion, still talking, made their way towards a black Buick. The African chauffeur opened the car door and both men got in.

The car slid away, and Girland drove after it. Five minutes later, the Buick nosed its way through the traffic, swirling around Place de l’Independence, and double parked outside
Banque Internationale pour le Commerce et l’Industrie de Senegal
.

Girland drove past the stationary car, and watching in his driving mirror, saw Fantaz and his companion leave the Buick and enter the bank.

A car pulled out of a parking bay and Girland took its place. From where he sat, he could see the entrance to the bank, and although his car was parked in the full sun, he reluctantly settled down to wait.

The Buick drove away. After ten minutes, Girland, unable to stand the heat any longer, left the car and took shelter in the shade of the bank’s arcade. He bought a newspaper and propping himself up against a pillar, he spent the next half hour glancing at the paper and watching the bank.

He was so preoccupied that he did not notice Janine coming towards him. The sound of her voice startled him.

“Why, hello,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Girland started.

“What are
you
doing here?” he asked, folding his newspaper and smiling at her. Again, he glanced at the entrance to the bank. He mustn’t miss Fantaz, he told himself.

“I came in on the hotel bus. I’ve been shopping. Are you waiting for someone?”

Girland hesitated, then said, “Yes.” He waved towards the bank. “One of my business contacts went in there and I just missed him. I’m waiting to talk to him.”

Janine showed her disappointment.

“I was hoping we could go in your car and explore the town.”

“I’m sorry. I have to talk to this guy … you know how it is.” Girland grimaced. “Business.”

Janine looked away. Her eyes were suddenly suspicious. Was this man who had gone into the bank someone who knew about Carey? she wondered.

“Oh, well never mind.” She smiled up at him. “I must show you what I have just bought.” She opened her bag and took from it a tiny, beautifully carved ivory idol. “The man who sold it to me …”

Girland saw Fantaz come out of the bank alone.

“Excuse me,” he said quickly. “There’s my man. I’ll see you at the hotel tonight.”

Janine was looking after Fantaz as he began to walk away from them.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I mustn’t keep you.
Au revoir
then until tonight.”

Girland touched her hand and then set off after Fantaz. Janine watched him. When Girland was only a few metres from Fantaz, he slowed his pace. He followed Fantaz around the corner and into rue Carnot.

Janine hesitated, then started after him. A dry, hot hand closed around her wrist, stopping her. She turned with a startled gasp to find Malik at her side.

“Leave him to me,” Malik said curtly and pushing past her, he walked quickly after Girland.

Janine remained still for a long moment, her heart racing. She was sure now that the fat man was Fantaz. She was sure also Girland was in danger. There was no knowing what Malik might do if he got these two men in a lonely place.

It was then she realised how much in love she was with Girland. Ever since he had left her that morning, she had thought of him. She had never before been in love. Infatuated, yes, but she had never before experienced this feeling for a man that sent the blood coursing through her body every time she thought of Girland.

The thought of losing him was unbearable, and she realised she couldn’t go on with this hunt for Carey. Whatever the consequences, she told herself, she must now side with Girland. She must warn him that Malik knew who he was. Even at the almost certain risk of losing her life, she would change sides if Girland would have her.

Moving quickly, she went after Malik.

Some way down rue Carnot, she caught sight of his silver blond head. She quickened her pace, dodging around the slow moving Africans who looked at her in surprised amusement.

Girland kept behind Fantaz who seemed in no hurry. Fantaz waited on the edge of the kerb for a break in the steady flow of traffic Girland also waited behind him. Fantaz glanced at his watch, then crossing the road, he entered a corner café. Nodding to the barman, he made his way to a table at the end of the big room and sat down.

Girland crossed the road and paused outside the café. He saw Fantaz speak to the African waiter, then take a cigar from a leather case.

From across the street, Malik stopped to look in a shop window, his eyes shifting from the window to Girland. Further down the street, Janine stepped into a shop doorway, watching Malik.

When the waiter had brought a beer to Fantaz’s table, Girland walked into the café. He wandered down the long room and took a seat at a table next to Fantaz who glanced at him, then looked away.

Girland ordered a beer and lit a cigarette. He waited until the beer was before him and the waiter had gone, then shifting his chair closer to Fantaz, he said quietly, “I called at your house this morning. I wanted to speak to you.”

Fantaz drew on his cigar and let smoke drift out of his small mouth. Slowly, he turned his head. From behind his black sunglasses, his eyes scrutinised Girland. His fat face remained placid and expressionless.

“Yes?” Fantaz’s voice was husky and effeminate.

“John Dorey sent me to see you.”

“John Dorey?” There was no reaction. “An unfamiliar name, Mr. … Mr. …?”

“I’m Mark Girland.”

Fantaz picked up his beer and studied the tiny bubbles that rose in the glass.

“Another unfamiliar name,” he said and shook his head. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

Girland glanced around the half empty café. There was no one who could overhear what they were saying. Lowering his voice, he said, “Robert Henry Carey.”

Fantaz lifted his black eyebrows.

“Now that is a familiar name. How extraordinary! Some twenty-five years ago, when I was a very young man, Robert Carey and I were friends.”

“Does that mean he isn’t your friend any longer?”

“Twenty-five years, Mr. Girland, is a long time. We do sometimes out-grow our friends.” The heavy fat shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Still, it would be interesting to meet Carey again. From what I can remember of him, he was an agreeable person to know.”

Girland took another cigarette from his pack and lit it.

“Rosa told me you had seen Carey within the past two weeks.”

“Rosa … another familiar name,” Fantaz said and sipped his beer. “You met her?”

“I was told to meet her by Dorey. I paid her seven thousand dollars for information she gave me. She was to have collected another three thousand dollars, but unhappily, she was not able to.”

There was a long pause, then Fantaz said, “Most interesting. Just why wasn’t she able to collect the rest of this handsome sum, Mr. Girland?”

“A gunman hired by Herman Radnitz shot her at Orly airport as she was leaving for Dakar.”

The beer slopped a little in the glass Fantaz was holding.

“Is she dead?” The voice was huskier.

“She’s dead,” Girland said. “We were leaving in the same plane. I came on alone.”

A trickle of sweat ran down Fantaz’s face. He took out a crisp white handkerchief and dabbed at his cheek.

“And who is Radnitz?”

“The infamous Radnitz: there is no other. He also wants to find Carey.”

“Why did he have Rosa shot?”

Careful, Girland warned himself. He mustn’t get the idea I am working for Radnitz and not for Dorey.

“She was no longer of any use to him. He had bribed her to give him your name. He too is looking for you.”

The black sunglasses were directed at Girland.

“And how do you know all this, Mr. Girland?”

“There’s not much Dorey doesn’t know. He told me.”

While they were talking, Janine had finally made up her mind. She walked away from where Malik was standing and turning left at the end of the street, she came to a café bar. She entered and asked the barman if she could use the telephone.

Fantaz was saying, “All this is very interesting. It is also mysterious. What is expected of me?”

Girland began to lose patience.

“Dorey employed an agent to contact Rosa,” he said, an edge to his voice. “This agent told me to handle it. Radnitz caught up with this agent. I found him with the nails of his fingers torn out and very much dead.”

Fantaz slumped a little in his chair.

“That still doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Girland. What is expected of me?”

Girland became aware that the bell of the telephone standing on the bar was ringing. He saw the barman answer, frown, then look around the café. His eyes met Girland’s and he signalled to him.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Girland said and crossed to the bar.

“You Mr. Gilchrist?” the barman asked.

“That’s right.”

The barman handed him the receiver.

“Someone wants you,” he said.

Puzzled, Girland took the receiver and said, “Hello? This is Gilchrist.”

Over the open line, he could hear the busy roar of the traffic, then a woman’s voice, slightly muffled, said, “The blond Russian is following you. He is outside the café where you are now,” and the line went dead.

Girland stood for a long moment, staring out into the sun baked street, then slowly he replaced the receiver. He was sure the woman who had spoken to him was Janine, and yet he could scarcely believe it. He remembered the big blond Russian he had seen on the N’Gor beach. He had a sudden tight feeling across his chest. If the Russian was really following him, he must know who he was. It was possible too the Russian had recognised Fantaz.

Girland went back to where Fantaz was sitting.

Fantaz had finished his beer and now looked up as Girland joined him.

“You will have to excuse me, Mr. Girland,” he said. “All this is very interesting, but I have an appointment.”

“A few minutes after I had called on your house, a Russian agent also called. At this moment your house is being watched and another Russian agent is outside watching this café.”

Fantaz’s mouth twitched and his face lost colour.

“How am I to know you are speaking the truth, Mr. Girland?”

“Call your house and ask your doorman if two men haven’t been asking for you.”

Fantaz didn’t move. His forehead was creased into a frown as he thought.

“Where can I contact you?” he asked finally.

“I’m at the N’Gor. I’m registered there under the name of John Gilchrist. What do you intend to do?”

“That is my affair.” Fantaz got to his feet. “I may contact you later.”

“Don’t go back to your house,” Girland warned. “And watch out. You could land up very dead.”

“I am able to take care of myself,” Fantaz said. “Please remain here. I am leaving by the back way.”

Girland watched him walk behind the bar, nod to the barman, then disappear through a door, screened by a dirty red curtain.

Girland finished his cigarette and his beer. Five minutes later, he saw Malik walk slowly past the café and glance in.

Girland resisted the temptation to wave to him.

Janine stood in the shade, waiting for the hotel bus to take her back to the hotel. She was surprised at her own calmness. She knew if Malik had the lightest suspicion that he had warned Girland he was following him, Malik would wipe her out with no more hesitation than killing a fly. But she had made up her mind now to side with Girland, and no threat of danger to herself would stop her.

It came as a shock, however, when Malik’s black Cadillac pulled up by the kerb and she saw Malik sitting in the back seat.

His green eyes regarded her as he beckoned. Her heart beating rapidly, she crossed the sidewalk as he opened the car door.

“Get in,” he said curtly. “I’m going back now. I will drop you at your hotel.”

“Thank you,” she said and settled herself beside him.

“The N’Gor,” Malik said to the chauffeur who pulled away from the kerb.

“What happened?” Janine asked. “Who was the fat man? Were you able to find out?”