Whiff Of Money

I knew I could rely on you, John. Goddamn it! You and I are old friends. When this mess blew up, I told Mary you were the only one I could trust to help. Mary fixed it. Without her, I'd never have got here.' There was a pause, then Sherman went on, T haven't much time. I want you to see something, then we'll talk. Sit where you are.'

He got to his feet, crossing the room to where his suitcase stood against the wall. From the suitcase he took an 8 mm film projector, neatly stowed away in its blue carrying case. Quickly, he assembled the machine, threaded on a spool of film, then set the projector on the shabby dressing-table. He plugged into the lamp socket, pulled the thick, dusty curtains, shutting out the late morning sunlight.

Dorey watched all this uneasily.

Neither man said anything until Sherman had switched on the projector, quickly focusing the picture on the grubby white wall in front of Dorey, then he said, 'I've seen this. I don't want to see it again.' He crossed the room, his body cutting off the picture on the wall for a brief moment, then he sat on the bed, his face in his hands, his eyes staring bleakly at the threadbare carpet by the bed.

Dorey watched the film. It was one of those blue films so popular at American stag parties: obscene, crude, sexually brash and to Dorey utterly disgusting. The male participant had a black hood over his head, disguising his features. The girl was around twenty-two years of age, dark, sun-tanned and sensually and sensationally built. The film lasted some five minutes and Dorey was relieved when the spool ran out. He had often heard of these blue films, but he had never seen one before. He was shocked to see living proof on this film that a man and a woman could behave in a way no animal would behave. He felt a sense of outrage. What was Sherman thinking of, showing him this filth?

As the end of the film began to flick around in its spool, Sherman got up, switched off the projector, then walked across the room and drew back the curtains. He turned and looked at Dorey who had taken off his spectacles and was looking anywhere but at Sherman.

Sherman said quietly, his voice unsteady, 'The girl in that film, John, is my daughter.'

* * *

As Captain O'Halloran was pleased that his agent, Alec Hammer, had been alert enough to identify Henry Sherman so too was Serge Kovski, head of the Paris division of Soviet Security, pleased that his agent, Boris Drina, had also identified Sherman.

Drina, a fat, suety-faced, nondescript-looking man in his late forties, spent much of his time hanging around Orly airport. Kovski had placed him there because he knew Drina lacked courage and brains and was idle. The only reason why Drina was retained as an agent was because he possessed an extraordinary photographic memory. Once he had had a glimpse of someone, he could identify him, even after a long period of time. Imprinted on his mind were this man's characteristics, his features and even the sound of his voice.

Four years ago, Henry Sherman, with his wife, had arrived at Orly for a dinner with the President of France. Drina had seen this tall, massively-built man leave Orly, and the camera in Drina's mind had photographed this man's movements, his swinging walk, the quick jerk of his head and the sound of his voice. All this remained an undeveloped negative in Drina's mind until he spotted Sherman, now wearing a moustache and dark glasses move from behind the Douane barrier and make his way quickly to the taxi rank.

Drina knew immediately that this man was the likely President of the United States. Unlike Alec Hammer who couldn't believe the evidence of his eyes and hesitated, Drina relied on his photographic memory and immediately moved into action. He followed Sherman, and as Sherman was taking the only taxi on the rank, Drina was close enough to hear him say, 'Hotel Pare, Rue Meslay.'

Drina had managed to get this close by pretending to take the taxi while Sherman was speaking to the driver.

Seeing him about to get into the taxi, Sherman said curtly, 'This is mine, monsieur.'

Drina lifted his shabby hat that looked like a drowned cat and backed away.

'Excuse me.'

As soon as the taxi had driven off, Drina walked quickly to the nearest telephone kiosk. Any exertion made him breathless as he lived on a diet of vodka, onion soup and too much bread. Before putting through the call to Kovski, he paused to get back his breath.

His report electrified Kovski. Knowing Drina's reliable, photographic memory, Kovski didn't waste time querying if Drina just might be mistaken.

The two men spoke in Russian.

Kovski said, 'Go to the Hotel Pare immediately. I will send Labrey there. Every move Sherman makes must be reported to me. I will see Labrey has a radio car. Go at once. You have done well.'

Drina had his own car parked at Orly. Even while Alec Hammer was still talking to O'Halloran, Drina half-ran, half-walked to his car, then scrambling breathlessly into the car, he started the engine.