Not My Thing

For a brief moment, he paused, wondering if he should alert Kling that they were being watched by FBI agents. No! That could lead to complications. Kling might not let him go. To hell with him!

Lucan went out into the hot sunshine, looked furtively to right and left, then brought his car to the cabin.

Watched by Howard Jackson and Beryl, he threw his suitcases into the car’s trunk and drove to the reception desk. There he settled his check, saying he had to return home immediately, then he drove off.

‘Are you letting that creep get away?’ Beryl asked.

‘We can’t stop him,’ Jackson said. ‘So far, we have nothing on him. I guess he must have recognized me and has taken fright. After all, the big catch is the tough and the Vietnamese.’

***

A few minutes before 20.00, Maurice Felder arrived at the Baur au Lac hotel. He was immediately conducted to Sherman Jamison’s suite where he found Jamison pacing restlessly up and down the big living-room. He saw a table was laid for dinner, and this pleased Felder who liked good food.

‘Ah, there you are, Felder,’ Jamison said, shaking hands. ‘No doubt you have news for me. Dinner will be served at once, then we can talk.’

Even as he was speaking, there came a tap on the door, and two waiters pushed a trolley into the room.

‘A simple meal,’ Jamison said. ‘Smoked salmon, came d’agneau and cheese. I understand they have a bottle of Margaux ’61 which should be drinkable.’

The two men sat at the table. While eating the thick slices of smoked salmon, Felder, aware that Jamison didn’t want to talk about immediate business as the waiters remained in the room, talked about Zurich, the weather, the currency situation and the strengthening of the dollar. He was an expert at harmless small talk.

Jamison, who hadn’t eaten since he had flown from Paradise City, ate well. He grunted, nodded, but made no effort to contribute to Felder’s gentle flow of waffle.

Finally the meal ended. The waiters removed the dishes. It was then that Jamison came alive. He stared at Felder.

‘Now… what have you to tell me?’

‘I believe, Mr Jamison, with your approval, I have solved your problem,’ Felder said, relaxing back in an armchair and fingering the balloon glass of cognac the waiter had poured before leaving. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you that an American citizen, residing in the States, is not allowed to have an undeclared bank account in Switzerland. Further, although the Swiss banks will accept payments, they will not accept money that can be proved comes from criminal sources. This man Kling is a resident of the States and an American citizen. For the past five or six years, he has been using the Bovay Bank to pay in sums of money. Henri Bovay appears to be in debt to this man… some important favour, but we need not go into that. He has allowed Kling to pay in money without question of its origin. I have talked to Paul Bovay. He understands the problem. He is more than willing to co-operate.’ Felder paused to sip his excellent cognac. ‘I suggest, Mr Jamison, you pay into Kling’s account the five-million-dollar ransom demand. Bovay will notify Kling that the money has been placed to his credit.’

‘How will he do that?’ Jamison asked.

‘Naturally, Kling wouldn’t want an official receipt. Some letters with Swiss stamps are often examined by the American authorities. So it has been agreed between Henri Bovay and Kling that when money has been received into his account, he will receive a tourist postcard. In this case, he will get a postcard saying ‘Five of your friends are hoping to see you soon’ and signed with Bovay’s initials. That will tell Kling the five million has been paid into his account.’

Jamison nodded.

‘Then…?’

‘Bovay will then alert the Zurich police that he has received ransom money and the kidnapper will claim it. Kling will have to come to the bank to claim the money and he will be arrested.’ Felder paused, then went on, ‘By the time it takes Kling to fly to Zurich, he will have released Mrs Jamison, convinced he has the money, and she will be safe.’

‘No,’ Jamison thought, his face expressionless, ‘she will be dead, and I will be free to marry Tarnia.’

‘You are sure this postcard will convince Kling the money has been paid?’

‘Bovay tells me so,’ Felder said. ‘Yes, I think there is no doubt about that.’

‘Then I see no reason why my wife shouldn’t be released.’ Jamison sat back, thinking. Yes! he told himself, as soon as Kling got the postcard he would murder Shannon. He now wanted to be rid of Felder so he could take a long, earnest look at this dangerous and complicated situation.

‘You have done extremely well, Felder,’ he said, and got to his feet. ‘Thank you. I take it the Organization will advance the five million quickly?’

‘No problem, Mr Jamison. We have plenty of liquid assets.’ Felder felt he was being dismissed. He hurriedly swallowed the last of the cognac and got to his feet.

‘I suppose it will take a few days for the postcard to reach Kling?’ Jamison asked.