‘I’m promised a sizeable bonus if I do this last job.’
‘If, Mr Hillier, if. You know you won’t do it now. Soon you will not say even “if”. I offer you money and Miss Devi offers herself. What do you say to that? I am not likely to be less generous in my own bestowals than Miss Devi is in hers.’
‘I could think better,’ said Hillier, ‘if I had some clothes on.’
‘That’s good,’ said Theodorescu. ‘That’s a beginning. You talk of thinking, you see.’
‘As for that, I’ve thought about it. I’m not coming with you.’
‘Like yourself,’ said Theodorescu, ‘I believe in free will. I hate coercion. Bribery, of course, is altogether different. Well, there are certain things I wish to know now. I shall pay well. As an earnest of my generosity I start by rescinding the debt you owe me. The Trencherman Stakes.’ He laughed. ‘You need not pay me the thousand pounds.’
‘Thank you,’ said Hillier.
As if Hillier had really done him a favour, Theodorescu pulled a big cigar-case from his inner pocket. At the same time he allowed to peep out coyly bundles of American currency. ‘Hundred-dollar bills, Mr Hillier. “C’s”, I think they call them. Do have a cigar.’ He disclosed fat Romeo and Juliets. Hillier took one; he’d been dying for a smoke. Theodorescu donated fire from a gold Ronson. They both puffed. The feminine odours of Miss Devi’s cabin were overlaid with blue wraiths of Edwardian clubmen. ‘Do you remember,’ said Theodorescu dreamily, ‘a certain passage in the transports you seemed to be sharing with Miss Devi – an excruciatingly pleasurable one, in which it seemed that a claw sharpened to a needle-point pierced a most intimate part of your person?’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘It was arranged. It was a special injection, slow-working but efficacious. A substance developed by Dr Pobedonostev of Yuzovo called, I believe, B-type vellocet. That has entered your body. In about fifteen minutes you will answer any question I put to you with perfect truth. Please, please, Mr Hillier, give me the credit for a little sense, more – a little honesty, before you say that this is sheer bluff. You see, you will not fall into a trance, answering from a dream, as with so many of the so-called truth-drugs. You will be thoroughly conscious but possessed of a euphoria which will make concealment of the truth seem a crime against the deep and lasting friendship you will be convinced subsists between us. All I have to do is to wait.’
Hillier said, ‘Bastard,’ and tried to get up from the chair. Theodorescu immediately cracked him on the glans penis with his Penang lawyer. Hillier tried to punch Theodorescu, but Theodorescu parried the blow easily with his stick, puffing at his cigar with enjoyment. Hillier then had time to attend to his privy agony, sitting again, rocking and moaning.
‘It is because I believe in free will as you do,’ said Theodorescu, ‘that I want you to answer certain questions totally of your volition. The first question is for five thousand dollars. It is rather like one of these stupid television quiz-games, isn’t it? Note, Mr Hillier, that I needn’t pay you anything at all. But I’ve robbed you of your chance of a bonus and I must make amends.’
‘I won’t answer, you bastard.’
‘But you will, you will, nothing is more certain. Is it not better to answer with the exalted and, yes, totally human awareness that you yourself are choosing, not having information extracted from you with the aid of a silly little drug?’
‘What’s the first question?’ asked Hillier, thinking: I needn’t answer, I needn’t answer, I have a choice.
‘First of all, and for five thousand dollars, remember, I want to know the exact location of the East German escape route known, I believe, as Karl Otto.’
‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.’
‘Oh, surely. Well, think about it, but think quickly. Time is short for you, if not for me. Second, for six thousand dollars, I wish to be told the identities of the members of the terrorist organisation called Volruss in Kharkov.’
‘Oh, God, you can’t –’
‘Wait, Mr Hillier. I haven’t said anything about selling this information to the Soviet authorities. It’s a matter of auctioning. So it’s essential that, on top of this particular disclosure, you also reveal the code that I need to contact them. I understand it’s a matter of putting a personal message in your British Daily Worker. The only British newspaper allowed in the Soviet Union, as you know, hence invaluable for conveying messages to those disaffected and vigorous bodies which are so annoying – though perhaps only annoying as a mosquito-sting is annoying – annoying, I say, to the MGB. I doubt it their representative will outbid the émigré sponsors of Volruss.’
Hillier, who now felt no pain, who no longer saw any embarrassment in his nakedness, who felt warm and rested and confident, smiled at Theodorescu. An intelligent and able man, he thought. A good eater and drinker. A man you could have a bloody good night out with. No enemy; a mere neutral who was wisely making money out of the whole stupid business that he, Hillier, was opting out of because the stupidity had recently become rather nasty. And then he saw that this must be the drug beginning to take effect. It was necessary to hate Theodorescu again, and quickly. He got up from his chair, though smiling amiably, and said: ‘I’m going to get my bathrobe, and you’re not bloody well going to stop me.’ Theodorescu at once, and without malice, cracked both shins hard with the Penang lawyer. Pain flowed like scalding water. ‘You fucking swine, Theodorescu,’ he gritted. And then he was grateful to Theodorescu for turning himself into the enemy again. He was a good man to be willing to do that. He saw what was happening; he saw that he would have to be quick. ‘Give me the money,’ he said. ‘Eleven thousand dollars.’ Theodorescu whipped out all his notes. ‘Karl Otto,’ he said, ‘starts in the cellar of Nummer Dreiundvierzig, Schlegelstrasse, Salzwedel.’
‘Good, good.’
‘I can only name five members of Volruss in Kharkov. They are N. A. Brussilov, I. R. Stolypin, F. Guchkov – I can’t remember his patronymic –’
‘Good, good, good.’
‘Aren’t you going to take this down?’
‘It’s going down. This top button in my flies is a microphone. I have a tape-recorder in my left inside pocket. I was not scratching my armpit just then. I was switching it on.’
‘The others are F. T. Krylenko and H. K. Skovaioda.’
‘Ah, a Ukrainian that last one. Excellent. And the code?’
‘Elkin.’
‘Elkin? Hm. And now, for twelve thousand dollars, the exact location – exact, mind – of Department 9A in London.’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘But you must, Mr Hillier. More, you will. Any moment now.’
‘I can’t. That would be treason.’
‘Nonsense. There is no war. There is not going to be any war. This is all a great childish game on the floor of the world. It’s absurd to talk about treason, isn’t it?’ He smiled kindly with the huge polished lamps of his eyes. Hillier started to smile back. Then he stood up again and lunged at Theodorescu. Theodorescu himself stood and towered high. He took both of Hillier’s punching hands gently in his, still savouring his cigar. ‘Don’t, Mr Hillier. What’s your first name? Ah, yes, I remember. Denis. We’re friends, Denis, friends. If you don’t tell me at once for twelve thousand dollars, you will tell me in a very few minutes for nothing.’
‘For God’s sake hit me. Hit me hard.’
‘Oh no. Oh dear me no.’ Theodorescu spoke prissily. ‘Now come along, my dear Denis. Department 9A of Intercep. The exact location.’
‘If you hit me,’ said Hillier, ‘I shall hate you, and then when I tell you I shall be telling you of my own volition. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Free will.’
‘You’re approaching the crepuscular zone, but you’ve not yet entered it. You’ll be telling me because you want to tell me. See, here is the money. Twelve thousand dollars.’ He fanned the notes before Hillier’s swimming eyes. ‘But be quick.’
‘It’s off
Devonshire Road in Chiswick, W.4. Globe Street. From Number 24 to the dairy at the end. Oh, God. Oh, God forgive me.’
‘He’ll do that,’ nodded Theodorescu. ‘Sit down, my dear Denis. A pleasant name, Denis. It comes from Dionysus, you know. Sit down and rest. You seem to have nowhere to put this money. Perhaps I’d better keep it for you and give it you when you have clothes on.’
‘Give it me now. It’s mine. I earned it.’
‘And you shall earn more.’ Hillier grabbed the money and held it, like figleaves, over his blushing genitals. ‘It’s a pity you won’t come with Miss Devi and me tomorrow. But we’ll find you, never fear. There aren’t very many places you can retire to. We shall be looking for you. Though,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘it’s quite conceivable that you will come looking for Miss Devi.’
Abject shame and rising euphoria warred in Hillier. He kept his eyes tight shut, biting his mouth so as not to smile.
‘You’re not a good subject for B-type vellocet,’ said Theodorescu. ‘There are certain powerful reserves in your bloodstream. You should now be slobbering all over me with love.’
‘I hate you,’ smiled Hillier warmly. ‘I loathe your bloody fat guts.’
Theodorescu shook his head. ‘You’ll hate me tomorrow. But tomorrow will be too late. You’ll sleep very soundly tonight, I think. You won’t wake early. But if you do, and if Miss Devi and I are not yet helicoptering off to the isles of Greece at the time of your awakening, it will be futile to attempt to do me harm. I shall be with the Captain on the bridge most of the morning. Moreover, you have nothing with which to do me harm. I took the precaution of entering your cabin and stealing your Aiken and silencer. A very nice little weapon. I have it here.’ He took it from his left side-pocket. Hillier winced but then smiled. He nearly said that Theodorescu could keep it as a present. As if he had actually said that, Theodorescu put it back, patting the pocket. ‘As for the ampoules you had in the same stupid hiding-place – it was stupid, wasn’t it? So obvious – as for those, you can keep them, whatever they are. Perhaps lethal – I don’t know. I found your hypodermic in one of your suitcases. I took the precaution of smashing it. It’s best to be on the safe side, don’t you agree?’
‘Oh, yes, yes,’ smiled Hillier. ‘How did you get into my cabin?’
Theodorescu sighed. ‘My dear fellow. There are duplicates in the purser’s office. I said I’d lost my key and I was made free of the board on which the duplicates hang.’
‘You’re a bloody good bloke,’ said Hillier sincerely.
Theodorescu, looking down on Hillier by the porthole, heard the door behind him open. ‘Miss Devi,’ he said without turning. ‘You’ve been rather a long time.’
‘I have, have I?’ said Wriste in a girlish voice. He pouted, toothless, towards turning Theodorescu. ‘What you doing with him there? He’ll catch his death sat like that.’
‘He likes to sit like that, don’t you, Denis?’
‘Oh yes, yes, Theo, I do.’
‘Just because a bloke’s had a bit of a dip in the jampot,’ said Wriste, ‘there’s no call to get vindictive and sarky. She said she was your secretary. Now we know better, don’t we?’
‘This,’ said Theodorescu, ‘is a lady’s cabin. You’ve no right to enter without knocking. Now please leave.’
‘I’ll leave all right,’ said Wriste. ‘But he’s coming with me. I can see what you’ve been doing, beating him to a pulp with that bloody stick. Just because your bit can stand his weight better than yours.’
‘I shall report you to the purser.’
‘Report away.’ Wriste saw that Hillier had money grasped tight at his groin. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s possible. I hadn’t thought of that. Has he,’ he asked Hillier, ‘been giving you cabbage to let him bash you about a bit?’
‘Not at all,’ said Hillier, smiling truthfully. ‘Nothing like that at all. He gave me this money for giving him –’
‘He had it under the pillow,’ organed Theodorescu. ‘That’s where he had it. All right, take him away.’ He picked up the bathrobe from the floor and threw it at Hillier.
‘Thank you so very much, Theo. That’s awfully kind.’
‘I’ll take him away all right,’ said Wriste, ‘but not on your bleeding orders. Come on, old boy,’ he said to Hillier as to a dog. ‘Why did he have it under the pillow?’ he beetled at Theodorescu. ‘There’s something about all this that I don’t get.’
‘He doesn’t trust anybody,’ cried Theodorescu. ‘He won’t go anywhere without his money.’
‘He can trust me,’ said Wriste, taking Hillier’s hand. ‘You trust me, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes. I trust you.’
‘That’s all right, then. Now let Daddy put you to bed.’ He led his charge out. Hillier smiled, just starting to drop off.
7
A whole mahamanvantara later, he was shaken gently awake. ‘Come on, sir,’ coaxed Wriste, ‘if you don’t eat your breakfast now you won’t feel like lunch. ‘Hillier could smell coffee. He ungummed his eyelids, then retreated from the light a space so as to make a more cunning and cautious entry into it. He knew that he ought to expect to feel dry-mouthed, headachy, sore-limbed, but he did not yet know why. Then, knowing why, he found himself feeling well and surprisingly energetic. The energy had been pumped in for some urgent purpose. What was it? He was, he noted, in his Chinese pyjamas, the ‘happiness’ ideogram stitched on the breast pocket. On his bed-table he saw money, foreign money. The bearded face of an American president looked sternly at him. Dollars, a lot of dollars. He remembered. Oh, God. ‘Oh, God,’ he groaned aloud.
‘You’ll feel better after this lot,’ said Wriste. ‘Look.’ He arranged pillows behind Hillier, then, as Hillier sat up, placed the tray before him. Frosted orange-juice; a grilled kipper; bacon and devilled kidneys and two fried eggs; toast; vintage brandy marmalade; coffee. ‘Coffee?’ said Wriste. He poured into a cup as big as a soup-bowl from two silver jugs. Hillier’s tissues soaked in the healing aromatic warmth. Healing? It was not his body that required healing. The mingled coffee and milk were a little too light for Miss Devi’s colour. A television camera lurched on to last night, presenting it brightly lit and in full detail.
‘That man,’ he said. ‘That woman. Have they gone yet?’
Wriste nodded. ‘Quite a little diversion it was. A helicopter whizzing over the recreation-deck and a ladder coming down and then these two going up. I thought his weight would drag the bloody thing down, but it didn’t. Light as a fairy he went up, luggage and all. He waved to everybody. Oh, and he left a sort of a letter for you.’ Wriste handed over an envelope of an expensive silky weave. It was addressed, discreetly, to S. Jagger Esq. ‘Some of these tycoons looked a bit sheepish. That’s real big business, that is, when a helicopter comes to take you off in the middle of a cruise.’
Hillier read: ‘My dear friend. The offer still stands. A letter sent to Cumhuriyet Caddesi 15, Istanbul, will find me. Miss Devi sends her palpitating regards. Keep out of harm’s way when the ship reaches Yarylyuk. Seek sanctuary in the Captain’s private lavatory or somewhere. The authorities were grateful for the warning. They cabled their gratitude and promise of a tolerably substantial emolument in Swiss francs. Apparently there is a scientific conference on at the Chornoye Morye Hotel. Redoubling of precautions. What a devil you are! You must not die, you are too useful. Affectionately, R. Theodorescu.’
‘Bad news is it, sir?’
‘Abuse,’ invented Hillier. He put the letter in his pyjama-pocket, drank off his icy fruit-juice and began the kipper. Wriste, sitting on the bed, pouted as if to suck in more. Hillier obliged. ‘That money is in payment of a gambling debt,’ he improvised. ‘He’s a big man for betting. He bet me I couldn’t make Miss Devi.’
‘And then he got nasty, did he?’
‘A bit. A very nasty customer. It’s a good thing you came in when you did. What made you come in?’
‘I seen this Indian bint sending off a cable. I wondered a bit a
bout that, seeing as you was supposed to be making a sesh of it, as I thought. I thought this big fat bastard could get nasty. So I came along and could hear him on to you.’
‘I’m very grateful,’ said Hillier. ‘Would two hundred dollars be of any use?’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Wriste, swiftly pocketing three hundred. ‘A queer sort of a bugger in more ways than one. He was after that young lad, you know, the one that knows it all. Patting him and that. I don’t know whether he got anywhere. Too clever for him that lad, maybe. But he gave this lad a present before he went. I seen him do that, patting him. A nice little parcel in the ship’s-store gift-wrapping. But this lad didn’t open it, least I didn’t see him. Too upset he is. His dad’s had it, they say. Won’t be long now.’
‘And how is the prospective widow?’ Hillier forked in devilled kidneys.
‘Nice way of putting it, sir. Crying her eyes out whenever she thinks of it, then going off for a sly snog with this Spanish confectioner bloke. At least that’s what they say he is.’
‘And the daughter?’
Wriste showed the whole stretch of his hard gums, top and bottom. ‘I thought that would come into it sooner or later. You’re a man with a purpose in life, you are, I’ll say that for you, that you are. A purpose. She lies there on her bunk, reading away. Horrible hot stuff it is, too, all this sex. But sad, you can tell she’s sad. Well, it’s a horrible damper to throw on what should be all what they call pleasure, but there’ll be an empty place at their table from now on. You’re welcome to it if you’d like to have it fixed. Them two gone now, and you won’t want to be noshing all on your tod.’ He looked hungrily at the American president, pouting.
‘Would a hundred be of any use?’ Hillier paid out this time, then put the wad into his pyjama-pocket, where Theodorescu’s letter lay. He had finished his breakfast, and now the pocket seared his heart with guilt. It was time to be thinking about things. His watch said twelve-twenty. Wriste removed the tray; Hillier lighted a Churchill Danish. Wriste said: