Harlow moved across to the man who had made the vain attempt to pull his gun. Tablet in hand, he sank to his knees. Totally panic-stricken, the man started screaming at Harlow before the latter could speak.
‘Are you mad? Are you mad? For God’s sake, it’s true! The Chevalier. Bandol. Blue and white. She’s anchored two hundred metres off-shore.’
Harlow stared at the man for a long moment, nodded, rose, crossed to the wall phone, lifted the receiver and dialed 17 — Police secours, which can be variously interpreted as police-help or police-emergency. He made contact almost instantly.
Harlow said : ‘I’m speaking from the Villa Hermitage in the rue Georges Sand. Yes, that’s it. In a basement room you will find a fortune in heroin. In the same room you will find the equipment for the bulk manufacture of heroin. Also in the same room you will find six people responsible for the manufacture and distribution of this heroin. They will offer no resistance — they are securely bound. Three of them are the Marzio brothers. I have taken their identification papers along with those of a wanted murderess called Anne-Marie Puccelli. These will be given to you later tonight.’ There came from the earpiece the sound of a voice talking rapidly, urgently, but Harlow ignored it. He said : ‘I will not repeat myself. I know that every emergency call is tape-recorded, so there’s no point in trying t© detain me until you get here.’ He hung up, to find Rory gripping his arm.
Rory said desperately : ‘You’ve got your information. The three minutes aren’t up. You could still get that tablet from Neubauer’s mouth.’
‘Ah, that.’ Harlow put four of the tablets back in the small bottle, held up the fifth, ‘five grains acetylsalicylic acid. Aspirin. That’s why I taped his mouth — I didn’t want him shouting to his pals that all he had been fed was an aspirin — there can’t be an adult human being in the western world who doesn’t know the taste of aspirin. Look at his face —he’s not terrified any more, he’s just hopping mad. Come to that, they all look hopping mad. Ah, well.’ He picked up the girl’s handbag and looked at her. ‘We’ll borrow this temporarily – fifteen, twenty years, whatever the judge cares to give you.’
They left, bolting and locking the door behind them, took the gate key from the hall table, ran through the open front door, down the driveway then unlocked and opened the gates. Harlow pulled Rory into the shadow of a cluster of pine trees.
Rory said: ‘How long do we stay here?’
‘Just till we make sure that the right people get here first.’
Only seconds later they heard the ululating wails of approaching sirens. Very shortly afterwards, sirens still on and lights flashing, two police cars and a police van came at speed through the gateway and pulled up in a shower of spraying gravel and at least seven policemen ran up the steps and through the open doorway. Despite Harlow’s reassurance that the prisoners had been immobilized, they all considered it necessary to have their guns in their hands.
Harlow said : The right people got here first.’
Fifteen minutes later, Harlow was seated in an armchair in Giancarlo’s laboratory. Giancarlo, leafing through a bundle of documents in his hands, heaved a long sigh.
‘You do lead an interesting life, John. Here, there, everywhere. You’ve done us a great service tonight. The three men you speak of are indeed the notorious Marzio brothers. Widely supposed to be Sicilians and in the Mafia, but they’re not. As you’ve discovered, they’re Corsicans. Corsicans regard the Sicilian Mafiosa as bungling amateurs. Those three have been at the top of our list for years. Never any evidence — but they won’t get out of this one. Not when they’re found alongside several million francs’ worth of heroin. Well, one good turn deserves another.’ He handed some papers over to Harlow. ‘Jean-Claude has preserved his honour. He broke the code this evening. Interesting reading, no?’
After about a minute Harlow said : ‘Yes. A list of Tracchia’s and Neubauer’s drop-offs throughout Europe.’
‘No less.’
‘How long to get through to Dunnet?’
Giancarlo looked at him almost pityingly. ‘I can reach any place in France inside thirty seconds.’
There were almost a dozen policemen in the outer office of the police station together with Neubauer and his five felonious companions. Neubauer approached the sergeant at the desk.
‘I have been charged. I wish to phone my lawyer. I have the right.’
‘You have the right.’ The sergeant nodded to the phone on the desk.
‘Communications between lawyer and client are privileged.’ He indicated an adjacent phone booth. ‘I know what that’s for. So that the accused can talk to their lawyers. May I?’
The sergeant nodded again.
A phone rang in a rather luxurious flat not half a mile from the police station. Tracchia was reclining at his ease on a couch in the lounge. Beside him was a luscious brunette who evinced a powerful aversion to wearing too many clothes. Tracchia scowled, picked the phone up and said : ‘My dear Willi! I am desolate. I was unavoidably detained —’
Neubauer’s voice carried clearly.
‘Are you alone?’
‘No.’
Then be alone.’
Tracchia said to the girl: ‘Georgette, my dear, go powder your nose.’ She rose, sulkily, and left the room. Into the phone he said : ‘Clear now.’
You can thank your lucky stars that you were unavoidably detained otherwise you’d be where I am now — on the way to prison. Now listen.’ Tracchia listened very intently indeed, his normally handsome face ugly in anger as Neubauer gave a brief account of what had happened. He finished by saying: ‘So. Take the Lee Enfield and binoculars. If he gets there first pick him off when he comes ashore — if he survives Pauli’s attentions. If you get there first, go aboard and wait for him. Then lose the gun in the water. Who’s aboard The Chevalier now?’
‘Just Pauli. I’ll take Yonnie with me. I may need a lookout or signal-man. And look, Willi, not to worry. You’ll be sprung tomorrow. Associating with criminals is not a crime in itself and there’s not a single shred of evidence against you.’
‘How can we be sure? How can you be sure that you yourself are in the clear? I wouldn’t put anything beyond that bastard Harlow. Just get him for me.’
That, Willi, will be a pleasure.’
Harlow was on the phone in Giancarlo’s laboratory. He said : ‘So. Simultaneous arrests 5 a.m. tomorrow. There’s going to be an awful lot of unhappy people in Europe by 5.10 a.m. I’m in a bit of a hurry so I’ll leave Giancarlo to give you all the details. Hope to see you later tonight. Meantime, I have an appointment.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rory said: ‘Mr. Harlow, are you secret service or special agent or something?’
Harlow glanced at him, then returned his eyes to the road. He was driving quickly but nowhere near his limit: there seemed to be no compelling urgency about the task on hand. He said: ‘I’m an out of work race driver.’
‘Come on. Who are you kidding?’
‘No one. In your own phraseology, Rory,, just giving Mr. Dunnet a bit of a hand, like.’
‘Doing what, Mr. Harlow? I mean, Mr. Dunnet doesn’t seem to be doing very much, does he?’
‘Mr. Dunnet is a co-ordinator. I suppose I’m what might be called his field man.’
‘Yes. But doing what?’
‘Investigating other Grand Prix drivers. Keeping an eye on them, rather. And mechanics — anyone connected with racing.’
‘I see.’ Rory, clearly, did not see at all. ‘I’m not being rude, Mr. Harlow, but why pick you? Why not investigate you?’
‘A fair question. Probably because I’ve been so very lucky in the last two years or so that they figured that I was making more money honestly than I possibly could dishonestly.’
‘That figures.’ Rory was in a very judicial mood. ‘But why were you investigating?’
‘Because something has been smelling and smelling badly on the Grand Prix circuits for over a year now. Cars were losing that seemed a certainty to win. Cars were winning that shouldn’t have had a chance. Cars had mysterious accidents. Gars went off the track where Acre was no earthly reason why they should have gone off the track. They ran out of petrol when they shouldn’t have run out of petrol. Engines over-heated through a mysterious loss of oil or coolant or both. Drivers fell ill at the most mysterious times — and the most inconvenient times. And as there is so much prestige, pride, power and above all profit in running a highly successful racing car, it was at first thought that a manufacturer or, more likely, a race team owner was trying to corner the market for himself.’
‘But he wasn’t?’