Claudette got to her feet, unzipped her dress and carefully folded it.
“We are to switch boxes, aren’t we? Lu is only paying us a mean twenty thousand Swiss francs and expenses. He and Haddon will make millions. Switched, we have the icon.” She looked at Pierre. “We could live in luxury on money like that for years and years.”
“Don’t get too excited about this, sugar. We must think of the consequences. We would be double-crossing Lu and Haddon. We would never get any more of their business.”
“Would that matter if we had five million dollars?”
“You have a point, but we don’t know the icon is in the box nor do we know that Radnitz is the client.”
“Think, my treasure. I will take a shower. Let’s sleep on it. We have plenty of time.”
When she had gone into the bathroom, Pierre’s mind became busy.
Just suppose, he thought, that the icon really was in Carroll Lepski’s vanity box. What could either Lu or Haddon do to him if he did double-cross them? They couldn’t squeal to the cops without getting into trouble themselves. They were no thugs. They wouldn’t attempt a Mafia-like revenge. No, there was nothing they could do except accept the inevitable.
Then Pierre’s shrewd mind turned to Radnitz. Just suppose Haddon had done a deal with Radnitz. Pierre couldn’t think of any other collector with Russian art interests, who had a residence in Switzerland and with millions to spend. It must be Radnitz.
This man was dangerous. Pierre had heard rumours that Radnitz had once employed a professional killer. He would have to be very careful how he handled Radnitz.
Five million dollars!
A sum as big as that was worth any risk!
First, he must be sure the icon was in the vanity box. At the first opportunity he must examine the box. If satisfied the icon was in the box, then he must contact Radnitz who would surely do a deal if the price was right.
Even when Claudette took him lovingly in her arms, Pierre couldn’t sleep.
The thought of owning five million dollars, to be free forever from debt, made sleep impossible.
He was still awake when the sound of the telephone bell brought him upright. He looked at his watch. The time was 03.30.
“A call for you, sir,” the operator told him. “New York calling.”
Claudette came awake and switched on the bedside lamp.
“Pierre? This is Lu.”
“Hello there, Lu,” Pierre said. “I was meaning to call you.”
“Well, you didn’t, so I am calling you!” There was a rasp in Bradey’s voice. “What’s the news?”
“No problems.” Pierre was cautious, knowing they were speaking on an open line. “Our friends are real friends now. No problems.”
“Why haven’t you called before?” There was a snarl now in Bradey’s voice. “Sure about the problems?”
“I’m sure.”
“Right,” and the line went dead.
“That was Lu,” Pierre said, replacing the receiver. “He seems anxious. Sugar, I think your guess is right.”
Claudette snuggled against him.
“I know it is right.” Her arms slipped around him. “Show me how a millionaire makes love.”
Pierre showed her.
six
Carrying an over-night case and a gift-wrapped parcel, Ed Haddon took a cab from Kennedy airport to the Sheraton hotel where he found Lu Bradey in the main bar, nursing a Scotch on the rocks.
For a change, Bradey was as himself, wearing a dark lounge suit, his hair in a crew cut, his thin features pallid, his dark eyes alert. He lifted a hand, and Haddon joined him. Bradey signalled to a waiter. Haddon said he would have a Bourbon straight.
“Any news?” he asked as he lit a cigar.
“I talked to Duvine not an hour ago. No problems,” Bradey said. “He must be handling the job beautifully. He says the Lepskis are now old friends. No problem with the French customs.”
The waiter brought Haddon’s drink. When he had gone, Haddon sipped, then said, “Good news. Now the Swiss customs.”
“Pierre will drive them to Monaco, then to Montreux. He’ll pick one of the small Swiss customs posts. He knows what he is about.”
“Seen the newspapers?” Haddon pulled at his cigar.
“Yeah. Plenty of fuss: plenty of heat.”
“Front page news even in the continental papers.”
“Well, we expected it.”
“Yes.” Haddon finished his drink. “I have the replica of the vanity box.” He nodded to the gift wrapped parcel by his feet. “You’re taking it to Montreux... right?”
“To the Montreux Palace hotel when I hand it to Duvine who will switch. Something bothering you, Ed?”
“Could present a problem, Lu. A man carrying a lady’s vanity box could attract cop attention.”
Bradey chuckled.
“I’ve thought of that. My girlfriend’s coming with me.”
Haddon eyed him.
“I didn’t know you had a girl friend.”
“Oh, sure. She’s a nice piece of flesh. She’s out of her tiny mind at the thought she’s going to Switzerland.”
“Can you trust her? You know how women will yak. They can’t even keep their sex lives to themselves.”
“You don’t have to worry about Maggie. She’s so dumb she thinks Richard Nixon is a pop singer. She does exactly what I tell her to do.”
Haddon shrugged.
“Okay. It’s a good way to get the box into Switzerland. Now, how about the Duvines?”
Bradey finished his drink.
“What about them?”
“All this goddamn publicity. Every paper in the world is carrying a photo of the icon and a description and what it is worth. On the plane, I got thinking. Would you say the Duvines are smart?”
“Couldn’t be smarter. That’s why I’m using them.”
“Do you think they are that smart they could guess what’s in the vanity box?”
Bradey stiffened and a look of alarm jumped into his eyes.
“With all this publicity,” Haddon went on, “it struck me if they are really smart, they could guess right. We are paying them only twenty Swiss francs and expenses, and there’s a reward of two hundred thousand dollars. You know them. I don’t. Think we can trust them not to pull a double-cross?”
Tiny sweat beads appeared on Bradey’s forehead.
“I don’t know. They’re always in debt. Two hundred thousand would be a hell of a temptation.” He thought, then shook his head. “No. If they claimed the reward the French police would investigate them and that’s something the Duvines couldn’t afford. They are in all kinds of rackets. No, I’m sure they wouldn’t dare go for the reward.”
“Let’s take this a step further,” Haddon said, “but first let’s have another drink.”
Bradey signalled the waiter who brought refills.
“Go on,” Bradey said uneasily when the waiter had gone.
“They are going to switch boxes. Suppose when they get the Lepski box, they vanish,” Haddon said, staring at Bradey. “Have they any big contacts? Someone they could sell the icon to?”
Bradey took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“I doubt it. The Duvines deal with the little fish. No one who has millions to spend.”
“Have you wondered who Kendrick’s client is?” Haddon asked.
Bradey nodded.
“Could only be Herman Radnitz... right?”
“My thinking too. He fits the scene: Kendrick has had dealings with him. He has a villa in Zurich. He’s interested in Russian art, and he has money.” Haddon paused, then asked, “Do you know if Duvine has ever had contact with him?”
Bradey thought, and his expression became more and more unhappy.
“Come to think of it, I believe I did hear he sold a painting to Radnitz about a year ago.”