The Corners of the Globe (38 page)

‘Join me?’ Morahan asked, flourishing a bottle of Jim Beam.

‘All right.’

Morahan poured a generous measure and handed him the glass.

‘You don’t seem surprised to see me,’ said Max.

‘Nothing much surprises me. But I am relieved to see you. I wouldn’t want another death on my conscience.’

‘Sam told me about Ireton. I’m sorry.’

‘No reason for you to be. Travis was a snake at heart. He did you no favours.’

‘But he was your friend, snake or not.’

Morahan nodded and stared into his glass. ‘He was.’ He slumped down into a chair.

Max sat opposite him. ‘Sam said you blame yourself for what happened.’

‘I tipped off Carver that Travis was doing business with the German delegation through their hotel’s deputy manager, Blachette. The police bungled Blachette’s arrest. He went on the run. And he assumed Travis had betrayed him. So, I can’t deny being responsible.’

‘That was merely cause and effect, Schools. Travis was
responsible
for deciding to deal with the Germans. And for the consequences.’

‘You think so?’ Morahan gazed blearily at Max. ‘Well, maybe you’re right. I just can’t seem to persuade myself to believe it.’

‘You said you wouldn’t want another death on your conscience. Why would you ever feel responsible for mine?’

‘Not sure. It’s been a rough day. I’ve had to answer a lot of questions, some of them pretty damn cagily. And you’ll have guessed I’m not exactly sober. So, maybe I’m not seeing everything as it truly is.’

‘I wondered if it might be because you didn’t tell me the full extent of your dealings with my father.’

‘Ah.’ Morahan lit a cigarette. ‘Sam filled you in about that, did he?’

‘You must’ve known he would.’

‘Sure. Even though I advised him not to. But Sam isn’t the keeping-things-to-himself type, is he?’

‘Not where I am concerned.’

‘He explained how Henry and I first met?’

‘He did.’

‘Then you’ll understand I owed Henry my life. I promised him I’d say nothing to you. I kept my promise as long as I could.’

‘So did Ribeiro. And Kuroda. My father seems to have sworn quite a few people to secrecy.’

‘It’s a measure of his character that they could be sworn.’

‘According to Sam, you agreed to recruit a team to help my father rescue someone from captivity in Japan.’

‘I did.’

‘Jack Farngold?’

‘Very possibly. Henry never gave me the particulars.’

‘How can I be sure of that?’

Morahan sighed. ‘You’ll have to answer that question yourself.’

‘What was Jack Farngold to my father?’

‘Dunno. Like I said, Henry never gave me the particulars.’

‘And you’re baffled by Count Tomura’s decision to leave Paris and abandon his attempts to lay hands on the documents le Singe stole?’

‘I am.’

‘I think my mother’s responsible.’

‘Your
mother
?’

‘She’s here. In Paris. Staying at the Mirabeau with Uncle George. I suspect they both know what this is about. I think my mother threatened to reveal something she knows damaging to Tomura if he didn’t retreat.’

Morahan considered the point. ‘I see.’

‘During the account he gave you of his interrogation by Tomura junior, George never mentioned being questioned about Farngold, did he?’

‘No. He didn’t.’

‘But he would’ve been questioned about Farngold. That’s certain. He just didn’t want to tell you.’

‘Because he knew how important it was.’ Morahan reached for his glass, then thought better of it. Suddenly, drunkenness had lost its appeal. ‘You may be right.’

‘Oh, I’m right.’

‘Why don’t you just ask your mother what it’s all about, then?’

‘Because she wouldn’t tell me. She’ll have promised Tomura she’ll keep quiet whatever happens. But it’s what she means to do anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. If she was ever going to tell me, she already would have. And Uncle George backs her up loyally, so asking him is pointless. They’ll say whatever they judge will dissuade me from going on with this.’

‘How can you go on?’

‘We don’t know if it was Jack Farngold my father meant to rescue, but we do know Jack Farngold is held captive. Agreed?’

Morahan shrugged. ‘It seems so.’

‘On Count Tomura’s orders?’

‘Probably.’

‘You had some people in mind for this mission?’

‘Yuh.’

‘You just needed enough money to secure their services.’

‘I needed enough to stand a
chance
of securing their services.’

‘Then go ahead and try. I have the money my father raised, Schools. Lemmer sent it back to me after emptying the safe-deposit box at the Banque Ornal of the things he really wanted. It was his idea of a peace offering, I think. Appleby banked the money for me. It’s accessible whenever I want it. I’ll make it available to you if you’re willing to have a crack at this.’

Morahan stared at Max in some amazement. ‘You mean to go through with what Henry planned?”

‘Yes.’

‘Even though you can’t be sure it was Jack Farngold he meant to rescue?’

‘I’m certain Jack Farngold will lead us to the truth.’

‘Us?’

‘You and me and your hand-picked team, Schools. How about it?’

‘Can I remind you Tomura’s given me an explicit warning not to go after him?’

‘To hell with his warning.’

‘You don’t believe in doing things by halves, do you?’

‘Do you?’

Morahan sat back in his chair and looked long and hard at Max. ‘It’d be hard to overestimate how risky such an operation would be.’

‘You were willing to do it for my father.’

‘I’d have been relying on the information he assured me he had about exactly what was involved. We don’t have that information. We’d be . . . flying in the dark.’

‘I’ve done that. It can be quite exhilarating.’

‘Exhilarating?’ Morahan smiled at Max. ‘Well, that’s one word for it.’

‘How long would you need to recruit a team?’

‘A week in New York. Maybe two to assemble them ready to go. I might have to go to Chicago as well. It’d be six weeks at the very least before I could have them on the ground in Japan. More likely a couple of months.’

‘So be it.’

‘What would you be doing in the meantime?’

‘I have something to finish for Appleby.’

‘Concerning Lemmer?’

‘Yes. But I’m not free to talk about it.’

‘Even though it may have a bearing on this mission you want me to undertake?’

‘If we both make it as far as Japan, Schools, I’ll tell you everything there is to tell.’

‘And if I make it but you don’t?’

‘Pay off your team and forget the whole damn thing.’

‘Forget? I should say that’d be next to impossible, Max. You and your father are part of my life now, whether I like it or not.’

‘Does that mean you’ll do it?’

‘It means I’ll think about it when I’m sober. Henry was adamant you shouldn’t be allowed to involve yourself. He wouldn’t want me to help you.’

‘But I am involved now. And I’m not going to drop it. You have my word on that. So I suppose the question is: would my father want you to help me if I was set on doing this come what may?’

‘Yuh. That’s the question.’ Morahan stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I’ll sleep on it. Come to the office tomorrow morning. I’ll have an answer for you then.’

‘I can’t promise to be there much before noon.’

‘Busy on Appleby’s account, are you?’ Morahan smiled when no immediate answer was forthcoming. ‘OK. Noon it is.’

SAM HAD GONE
by the time Max returned to his hotel.

He had left a note on the desk:
Let me know if you need anything, sir. S
. The
sir
was a habit Max wished but very much doubted he could cure Sam of.

Max headed out early the following morning and took a taxi from the Gare du Nord to the Gare des Invalides. The driver was in good spirits because of the arrival of warmer weather. ‘
Le printemps, monsieur
,’ he said, chuckling. ‘
Le printemps enfin
.’ Spring at last? Well, maybe it was. Max hardly cared.

It was a forty-minute train ride from Invalides to Versailles and a short walk from Rive Gauche station to the stationer’s in Rue de la Chancellerie. Finding himself early, Max treated himself to a light breakfast at a café near the station.

The taxi-driver was right about the weather. It was genuinely balmy. Max sat on the pavement terrace, sipping coffee as a gentle breeze stirred the trees in the centre of the avenue and the town slowly woke around him.

‘May I join you for a moment?’

The question took Max by surprise. He looked up to be met by the lambent gaze of a thin, middle-aged man clad in a morning-suit and bowler hat. He had a clipped moustache and a sharp-featured face and was trailing a cigarette in his right hand. The arm of a pair of metal-framed glasses was visible over the top of his breast pocket.

‘Mr Carr?’ the man added as he sat down.

‘Yes,’ Max replied cautiously. He was virtually certain he recognized Otto Krenz’s voice and accent, but he could hardly afford to assume anything.

‘I believe I’ve seen you at the
papeterie
in Rue de la Chancellerie.’

‘I sometimes go there, yes.’

‘An excellent shop.’

‘Indeed it is.’

‘Is that what brings you here this morning?’

‘No. I’m, er, hoping to speak to someone who’s presently staying in Versailles.’

‘A tourist?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Someone here on business?’

‘Yes. State business.’

‘Perhaps I can help you.’

‘Perhaps you can.’

‘What is the name of the person?’

‘Schmidt,’ Max said quietly. ‘Anna Schmidt.’

‘I see.’ Krenz waved the waiter away. ‘If you’ve finished, would you care to walk with me to the
papeterie
?’

‘Certainly.’ Max drained his coffee, doled some coins onto the table and stood up.

They set off at an ambling pace. Krenz finished his cigarette and paused to light another. Then, as they moved on, he said, ‘Who sent you to me, Mr Carr?’

‘You know the answer to that question. How about an answer to mine?’

‘Frau Schmidt?’

‘I want to see her.’

‘What business do you have with her?’

‘Are you being deliberately obtuse, Krenz?’ Max hardened his tone. ‘You’re a bought man. We tell you what we want. You supply it.’

‘If possible.’

‘And is it possible?’

‘No. It is not.’

‘I suggest you—’

‘She’s no longer here, Mr Carr. She left yesterday.’

‘
What?
’

‘Gone. A few hours before you called.’

‘Gone where?”

‘Officially, Berlin. Due to the illness of a close relative. But she has not gone to Berlin. I have paid her careful attention since the delegation left Germany. I do not need to tell you who she serves.’

He did not. Nor did Max propose to mention that Appleby had warned him Krenz might well serve the same person. Max could place little confidence in what Krenz told him. He intended to telephone the delegation later to confirm Frau Schmidt had actually left. Meanwhile . . . ‘Where has she gone
un
officially?’

‘Marseilles.’

‘
Marseilles?
How d’you know?’

‘The telephone system at our hotel offers many opportunities to overhear conversations. A woman called and spoke to Frau Schmidt yesterday afternoon. I listened to what they said. The caller did not give her name. They spoke in French. Frau Schmidt was instructed to proceed to Marseilles as soon as possible and lodge at the Pension Marguerite in Rue du Baignoir.’

‘What is Frau Schmidt required to do in Marseilles?’

‘Wait until called for.’

‘Called for by whom?’

‘No name was given. But it was obvious to me who had summoned her. She was not surprised. It seemed to be something she had expected. She has a French passport as well as her German papers and speaks the language quite well. She can travel freely.’

‘What name’s on her French passport?’

‘Camille Strauss.’

‘There was no objection to her sudden departure?’

‘It is known who her master is, Mr Carr. No one would be so foolish as to obstruct him.’

‘But he no longer has any standing with the German government.’

‘Nevertheless he is widely feared by those who know what he is capable of. I detected only relief at her going. It means there is one less spy in the camp.’

‘Are the delegation’s loyalties divided, then, Krenz?’

‘Divided, no. Shattered, yes.’

‘What do you know about Blachette?’

‘Deputy manager of our hotel. Suspected by
le Deuxième Bureau
of acting as an intermediary between our delegation and an American intelligence broker, Travis Ireton. Both men were killed yesterday. As I feel certain you are aware.’

‘How’s that gone down with your bosses?’

‘Count Brockdorff-Rantzau has personally assured the French Foreign Ministry that we had no improper dealings with Blachette – or Ireton.’

‘A lie, of course.’

‘No, no. The Count believed what he said. Others do what needs to be done without informing our leader. As it is, with no means of predicting the demands likely to be made of us . . . we are chickens in a coop, waiting to be plucked. There is consequently unspoken admiration for Frau Schmidt’s master. And occasionally it is not unspoken.’

‘Is he your master too, Krenz?’

‘Such a question.’ Krenz took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed it away. ‘You said it yourself. I am a bought man. And you represent those who bought me. What else is there to say?’

They had reached the Place d’Armes. Before them, beyond the gilded entrance gate, stood the vast and imposing Palace of Versailles. Its frontage glowed like honey in the morning sun.

‘Look there, Mr Carr.’ Krenz pointed to the centre of the building, the pillared and pedimented section within the inner courtyard. ‘On some day to be determined by our conquerors, we shall be led in there to sign a treaty of shame and humiliation. Count Brockdorff-Rantzau will protest. He may even resign. But his resignation will be as useless as his protests. We will sign. We will have no choice. Unless . . .’