“Don’t mention it to Esteban or anyone else.”
“But why shouldn’t I—”
“It would be one way of saying thank you to all of us.”
“You come from Madrid. I knew it. Your accent. Your manner—so self-contained, so independent.”
“No, my mother came from Madrid. My father from Barcelona. I am strictly Toledo. Toledo, Ohio.” He broke into a wide grin.
She looked at him, incredulous. And then she thought how pleasant it was to be startled only by something as simple as a joke. “Very well,” she said. “I shall tell no one—not Esteban, not anyone—about the bomb. I shall put everything out of my mind. Except—when I dance and the music is angry. Then I shall think of these men.”
Sam glanced in the rear-view mirror before he turned off this stretch of quiet dark road with gardens walling it on either side. Ian Ferrier had come out of the driveway. He was walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head bent.
“You see him?” Tavita asked quickly. She turned to look, but the car had swung to the left.
“Yes. He’s all right. The walk is just what he needed.” What I need, too, thought Sam. A rough day for all and everyone, and I have a couple of hours ahead of me before I can relax and take a deep breath and have a little time to feel and think. Then as the car passed under an avenue of trees, broken moonlight dappling the road ahead of them, he heard the murmur of little fountains, flowing water, sad and plaintive. “Do you know Machado’s poem?” he asked. She didn’t, of course, but he quoted a line from it, anyway. “Granada, agua oculta que llora.”
She shook her head. “That is too sad. There is another Granada. A hundred other Granadas. When you come back—you will come back?”
He laughed and nodded a half-promise, which was all he could ever guarantee. Here today, and tomorrow where? “I’ll see you dance in Málaga.” That was one promise he would like to keep.
* * *
Ferrier went out on to his small balcony, leaned his arms on the railings, looked down over the steep drop to a cluster of lighted streets far below. The noises were distant, rising in muted waves to reach him up here on these heights. Pleasant to hear: faraway laughter, a child’s high voice calling, a surge of guitars. There was a little square strung with bright-coloured bulbs, crowded with strolling couples. And beside it, the old church, with its small tower illuminated and its bells silenced, stood guard.
“Come in. The door’s open,” he called over his shoulder. He wasn’t the least surprised to see Sam. “Everything under control?” he asked briskly. Sam looked relieved, came out to join him on the balcony. “Just getting a bird’s-eye view,” Ferrier said, and pointed down. “Odd, isn’t it? Every Sunday night that little square will be lighted, the same people will walk there, new children will appear and the older ones will start strolling with their girls instead of throwing a ball around. Every Sunday night...”
“Not for me,” Sam decided. “Not for you, either.”
“I guess not. But it’s kind of nice to watch.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I didn’t feel too hungry. Thought I’d get to bed early. But I don’t feel much in the need of sleep, either.”
“What about dinner with me?”
“It’s after midnight.”
“The kitchen is still cooking its head off.”
Sam relaxed completely. Ferrier’s voice was easy, his manner natural. He had taken off his tie, opened the neck of his shirt, and now he sat down on the sill of the French windows and stretched his legs comfortably. “That walk did you good.”
“Yes. It cleared my head. Got the old brains working again. And I came to a decision.”
“Oh?” Sam lit himself a cigarette.
“I’m giving you all six months, Sam.”
Sam took the cigarette out of his mouth, stared at Ferrier. “What’s that?”
“Six months to watch Gene Lucas, learn everything you can about him and his contacts, find out just how much danger he is to the country. And then I’m coming back. To Málaga. And I’ll deal with him myself.”
“What?” repeated Sam.
“I’ll take care of him,” Ferrier’s calm, quiet voice said.
There was a pause. “We may take care of him ourselves before that.”
“Then good and well. But if some of the higher-ups start stalling, want more time, keep thinking up new notions—well, they are going to be disappointed. You’ll know all you need to know in six months.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Now that,” said Ferrier with some amusement, “is just a little below your normal level of thought. On the contrary, Sam, I’m being very sane when I say that Gene Lucas has already done too much damage. And you are crazy if you let him run around loose. Are you?”
“Not that crazy.”
“So you agree with me?”
“I see your point.”
“That’s that,” said Ferrier. He rose to his feet. “I’ll be moving off early tomorrow.” For Madrid. And a meeting, if that was possible, with Adam Reid. What shall I get? A sullen look, a smart-alec snub? Or some human questions, a willingness to listen even a little to another side of an unhappy story, perhaps a show—just one small show—of compassion? Useless, Rodriguez had said yesterday; but he had kept his promise and delivered Adam’s address, a small scrap of paper slipped quietly under Ferrier’s door this evening. Useless? All I can do is try, thought Ferrier. That is all that Jeff Reid would ask for. A try.
Sam was watching him. “You know, you might do better to take it easy for the next day or so. What’s the rush?”
Yes, thought Ferrier, take it easy for a day and then find Adam Reid had gone before I reached Madrid. He smiled and said, “I’m tougher than I look.” He held out his hand, added, “You did a good job, Sam. All of you. Glad you are on our side.”
They shook hands firmly. “See you around,” Sam said.
“Sometime,” Ferrier completed. They both laughed.
“Oh, by the way—” Sam signed to Ferrier to come indoors. He dropped his voice back to the old conspiratorial level. “I’ve just had word from Bob O’Connor. They got to Seville without incident. He’s now aboard the plane, en route for Madrid.”
“And Waterman?”
“Churning out all his oldest jokes. Just a little ray of sunshine.”
“How many men does O’Connor have with him on that flight?”
“Five. Enough to please you?” Then he turned serious. “We owe you a lot, Ian. That’s what Bob said. Special thanks to you.”
“I’ll pass it on to Jeff Reid. And Amanda.”
Sam hesitated. “There was a film in that camera. Two clear pictures, a third blurred. Waterman is cooked. She got the proof.”
There was a long silence.
Sam spoke again. “She would say it was worth it, Ian. If she did not believe that she would never have been in this job.” He paused, asked with real sympathy, “Did you know her well?”
Ferrier thought about that. “No. And yes.” Then he said in that quiet, cool voice, “I only met her twice.” But she will be hard to forget. “Good night, Sam.”
And when he was alone, Ferrier went back to the window, sat down on the sill again. From here, he had a wide view of the dark-blue canopy overhead, soft and rich, like a throw of velvet. A solitary guitar was playing, its slow unhappy music rising to him from a distant street, losing itself as it tried to reach the stars. This, thought Ferrier, was how it all began. A guitar in a courtyard, the night sky above... Jeff, and Tavita. And Amanda.
Yes, she would be hard to forget.
The guitar died away. He rose and went back into his room. Tomorrow was an early start.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Helen MacInnes, whom the Sunday Express called ‘the Queen of spy writers’, was the author of many distinguished suspense novels.
Born in Scotland, she studied at the University of Glasgow and University College, London, then went to Oxford after her marriage t
o Gilbert Highet, the eminent critic and educator. In 1937 the Highets went to New York, and except during her husband’s war service, Helen MacInnes lived there ever since.
Since her first novel Above Suspicion was published in 1941 to immediate success, all her novels have been bestsellers; The Salzburg Connection was also a major film.
Helen MacInnes died in September 1985.
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HELEN MacINNES
A series of slick espionage thrillers from the New York Times bestselling “Queen of Spy Writers.”
Pray for a Brave Heart
Above Suspicion
Assignment in Brittany
North From Rome
Decision at Delphi
The Venetian Affair
The Salzburg Connection
While We Still Live
The Double Image
Neither Five Nor Three
Horizon
Snare of the Hunter
Agent in Place
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PRAISE FOR HELEN MacINNES
“The queen of spy writers.” Sunday Express
“Definitely in the top class.” Daily Mail
“The hallmarks of a MacInnes novel of suspense are as individual and as clearly stamped as a Hitchcock thriller.” The New York Times
“A sophisticated thriller. The story builds up to an exciting climax.” Times Literary Supplement
“Absorbing, vivid, often genuinely terrifying.” Observer
“She can hang her cloak and dagger right up there with Eric Ambler and Graham Greene.” Newsweek
“An atmosphere that is ready to explode with tension... a wonderfully readable book.” The New Yorker
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THE MATT HELM SERIES
BY DONALD HAMILTON
The long awaited return of the United States’ toughest special agent.
Death of a Citizen (February 2013)
The Wrecking Crew (February 2013)
The Removers (April 2013)
The Silencers (June 2013)
Murderers’ Row (August 2013)
The Ambushers (October 2013)
The Shadowers (December 2013)
The Ravagers (February 2014)
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PRAISE FOR DONALD HAMILTON
“Donald Hamilton has brought to the spy novel the authentic hard realism of Dashiell Hammett; and his stories are as compelling, and probably as close to the sordid truth of espionage, as any now being told.” Anthony Boucher, New York Times
“This series by Donald Hamilton is the top-ranking American secret agent fare, with its intelligent protagonist and an author who consistently writes in high style. Good writing, slick plotting and stimulating characters, all tartly flavored with wit.” Book Week
“Matt Helm is as credible a man of violence as has ever figured in the fiction of intrigue.” The New York Sunday Times
“Fast, tightly written, brutal, and very good...” Milwaukee Journal
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THE HARRY HOUDINI MYSTERIES
BY DANIEL STASHOWER
The Dime Museum Murders
The Floating Lady Murder
The Houdini Specter
In turn-of-the-century New York, the Great Houdini’s confidence in his own abilities is matched only by the indifference of the paying public. Now the young performer has the opportunity to make a name for himself by attempting the most amazing feats of his fledgling career—solving what seem to be impenetrable crimes. With the reluctant help of his brother Dash, Houdini must unravel murders, debunk frauds and escape from danger that is no illusion...
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PRAISE FOR DANIEL STASHOWER
“A romp that cleverly combines history and legend, taking a few liberties with each. Mr. Stashower has done his homework...This is charming...it might have amused Conan Doyle.” The New York Times
“In his first mystery, Stashower paired Harry Houdini and Sherlock Holmes to marvelous effect.” Chicago Tribune
“Stashower’s clever adaptation of the Conan Doyle conventions—Holmes’s uncanny powers of observation and of disguise, the scenes and customs of Victorian life—makes it fun to read. Descriptions and explanations of some of Houdini’s astonishing magic routines add an extra dimension to this pleasant adventure.” Publishers Weekly
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Helen Macinnes, Message From Malaga
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