THE NEXT MORNING, IT WAS THE REPRISE OF THE OLD BLUES SONG. I was just as glad she was gone. She wouldn’t have gone far, and I had things to do. And my wallet was still on the dresser.
I called King and made a date to get together with him at his villa at ten o’clock. I thought that would be better than discussing Amanda over the phone. I had my doubts about the security of the phone lines.
Just before ten, Moshe pulled up outside the hotel. King had apparently told him to pick me up. The old Chevy was pulling a small wooden trailer. It had a peaked roof over it and looked a lot like a doghouse on two wheels. It was maybe four feet long and three feet wide.
“What’s this?” I asked, even though I knew.
“Mr. King told me to attach it. It is something we use to carry spare cans of petrol, when we are going on a trip of some kind. I assume that we are going on a trip of some kind.”
“Talmudic deduction.”
“Yes. That, and the fact that Mr. King told me about it.”
King had evidently located Jean-Loup. Events were moving fast.
We drove to King’s villa. Moshe waited in the car while I went inside.
“Found him?” I said.
“Yes. The trailer gave it away, I suppose. As we suspected, he’s in the medina in a shabby one-room apartment above a hashish store. Very sinister neighborhood. The snatch is best done in daylight in that neighborhood—for the safety of the snatchers, rather than the snatchee.”
“We go today?”
“Yes. The sooner, the better. I’ve put together a package of things you’ll need. Here’s a case containing three hypodermic needles with the sleepytime stuff already loaded. That will give him twenty-four hours of peaceful dreams, if you decide to use it. Here’s a glass vial for you, personally. In the vial are three capsules—Benzedrine, in case you need to stay awake for twenty-four hours or so; a Mickey Finn, in case you want to spike someone’s drink; and a cyanide capsule in case you get captured. Try not to get them confused. The cyanide is the brown one. I’m told it’s painless and works extremely fast.”
“Suddenly the romance of this adventure is evaporating.”
“Well, it’s just a precaution. We all carry them around. Standard-issue. It will make you feel you’re one of the OSS boys. Jack Armstrong, Secret Agent. I don’t know anyone who’s actually used any of the stuff. Or rather, seen it used, since in the case of the cyanide, personal testimonials are unlikely.”
“I feel better now. Speaking of romantic adventures, our friend Amanda asked me to help her escape to Tangier. She’s got herself mixed up with a Gestapo agent who will not take nein for an answer.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Not entirely. But it could be true. Some of it is certainly true.”
“Who’s the swain?”
“The Valkyrie.”
“Really? I had no idea Amanda was so . . . encyclopedic.”
“It was a mistake committed under the influence of champagne. Now she wants to get out of here and up to Tangier to catch a flight to Lisbon. But the real question is—would taking her along jeopardize the safety of the mission? Under normal circumstances, I would be happy to help her out.”
“Yes, as would I. I like her, as a matter of fact. She’s as phony as the proverbial three-dollar bill, but I don’t think there’s anything really wrong about her. I mean, she takes a few bucks from us to spread some minor lies, and I’m sure she does the same for Vichy. But I don’t think there’s much more to her than that.”
“You’ve checked?”
“Of course we have. She’s harmless. The only danger she poses is talking about things she’s overheard and probably doesn’t understand. That’s why it’s critical to say nothing of interest when you’re with her. That’s a good rule for when you’re with anyone, for that matter. Common sense.”
I was more than a little relieved to hear it. Surprisingly so.
“So what do you think? Shall I give her a ride?”
“I’m sure it would be okay. You could make a case that taking her even adds to the appearance of an innocent trip. Very domestic. Family outing. Husband, wife . . . rabbi. A typical ménage.”
“Not in Ohio. Or even Hollywood, for that matter.”
“Just joking. But the key is, no one aside from you knows what this trip is all about, anyway. Moshe’s just the driver. Jean-Loup will know he’s been hired, but he won’t know for what.”
“He may well be asleep in the trailer.”
“Asleep or awake, he’ll definitely be in the trailer. So even if you were all arrested for some strange reason, they could question all three of the others and get nothing.”
“Won’t they be suspicious, if they find Jean-Loup hiding back there?”
“They probably won’t search the trailer. Those things are common on the roads, and there are some gas cans in there to add to the illusion. But if they do happen to find him, just tell them he’s not really hiding. He’s a random hitchhiker you picked up. He had to sit back there, because there was no room in the car, or because he smelled like a goat.”
“What about me?”
“You don’t smell like a goat.”
“Good to know. But is there anything special about my cover story?”
“No. You simply play the Consulate card. It’s entirely legitimate. The other three don’t know anything and you are a diplomat of a recognized foreign nation with your papers entirely in order. An official naval attaché. Just demand your release. Be firm, but not imperious or obnoxious. They’ll be suspicious of bluster, since you’re not a Kraut. Chances are, you’ll be on your way again in no time.”
“No need for the cyanide pill?”
“Too drastic. Anyone who stops you will just be run-of-the-mill Vichy cops or native troops. No Gestapo goons. They like to stay in the city. The desert is too hot for leather trench coats.”
“All right. Now what are the next steps with Jean-Loup?”
“I have everything ready for you. In your package are ten thousand dollars in twenties. He’ll be happy that they’re dollars and not any other kind of European currency.”
“Even Reichsmarks?”
“In a couple of years the Reichsmarks won’t be good for anything but blowing your nose. There won’t even be a Reich.”
“Jean-Loup won’t know that.”
“No. Not as certainly as we do. But he’ll have considered it. He’ll want dollars. It’s the currency of all black markets in Morocco—and, I suspect, all black markets everywhere. Something all Americans should be proud of, eh? There are travel papers for him in the package, too. Nothing fancy. He’s just a peasant going north to visit his aged mother. Since he was once picked up by the Vichy cops, they’ll have a record of his name, so we’ve given him a nom de guerre—Marcel Proust.”
“The guy who made a big deal out of eating a cookie?”
“The same. There’s not a Vichy cop in all of Morocco who’ll know that name. And there’ll certainly be no problem with the native troops. Most of them can’t read. The ones who can wouldn’t like Proust. I mean, who does? Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Moshe has his documents—all legit—and we can assume that Amanda has hers—a transit visa and an exit visa for Lisbon.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’re talking about Amanda, aren’t we? But I’d make sure before you leave.”
“I see your point. And I suppose even if she doesn’t have an exit visa, she could hole up in Tangier until she gets one, one way or the other.”
“She’s a big girl.”
“Yes. So . . . how much of the ten thousand should I offer?”
“Start with a thousand, and if he bites—which he may very well do—pocket the rest for expenses.”
“A gangster friend of mine in Hollywood always says, ‘When the girl says yes, stop talking and keep the jewelry in your pocket.’”
“Words to live by.”
“Out of curiosity—is it real money? That same gangster refers to phony money as ‘fugazi.’”
“Real? Up to a point. It certainly appears to be, although I’m no expert. Put it this way—Jean-Loup will be able to spend it in places he frequents, so what’s the difference? Keep your receipts for expenses. The bean counters in London will be sure to check, and they’ll expect you to turn over any leftover cash.”
“Even if it’s . . . fugazi?”
“That’s why they’re bean counters. Of course, they’ll have to take your word for the amount you gave Jean-Loup. But that’s their problem. I’m not going to worry about it.”
“I’ve been told I have an honest face.”
“Really? I’m surprised. Now, here’s the address of Jean-Loup’s hole. Moshe can find it without any trouble. He’s been briefed and knows how to get there and what to do, if you need help. Any questions?”
“Just one. To be absolutely clear—I am not to tell Jean-Loup what he’s being hired to do, nor even hint at it. Just that it’s a routine and safe job that will involve a little travel—albeit involving some secrecy.”
“Yes, he’ll know you’re an American, and he’ll know this has something to do with the war. He may suspect what the job’s about. He’ll be reluctant, until you’ve offered him more cash today than he’s been able to steal in the last twelve months—with the promise of much more to come, once you’re out of the country. That’s all he’ll need to know, and he’ll be satisfied with that, most likely. If not, sweet dreams, and Moshe will help you carry the sleeping beauty to the trailer.”
“What are the odds of having to do that?”
“Fifty-fifty, I’d say. As I said before, he tends toward the timorous end of the animal spectrum.”
“Okay. I think that’s it.”
“Good. Well, then, anchors aweigh. I hope we meet again sometime.”
“I do, too. And thanks.”
“One last thing. I have a present for you. A little something to remember us by.”
It was a fez.
“Gee, thanks, again. I’ve always wanted one of these.”
“Like socks at Christmas? Who says dreams don’t come true. Well, as Moshe would say, wear it in good health. It will look very dashing on Piccadilly. Tell Amanda so long for me, and thanks for the memories. Good luck.”
Moshe was waiting, as expected.
“You know what we’re doing?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. King gave me the general outlines.”
“Well, before we pick up the passenger for the trailer, we’ve got to make a quick stop back at the hotel. I need to get my things together, and we’ll have a last-minute, unexpected guest passenger. I suppose there’s a schnorrer joke about people popping up unexpectedly.”
“Yes, there is. But I have forgotten it.”
“Then how can you be sure there is one?”
“Ah! Another philosophical dilemma. Much like the old yeshiva question—if a man tells a joke and no one hears it, is it a joke?”
We hurried back to the Anfa Hotel, and Moshe found a place to wait near the front. I ran upstairs and knocked on Amanda’s door. Luckily, she was in, and even up and dressed for the day.
“Darling! This is a pleasant surprise. But it’s so early. You are impetuous this morning. I’m flattered.”
“Pack your bags, honey, if you want a ride to Tangier. We leave in ten minutes. I’ve got to get my stuff together, but I’ll be back for you in just a minute. Okay? Yes or no. I can’t wait for you to write in your diary.”
“Yes. I’ll be ready.”
I went to my room and got my few things together. I forgot to ask King about wearing my uniform. Maybe it would be better cover than the suit I had on, but maybe not. I decided against it, threw my things in my navy duffel, big enough to pack a small piano, and hurried back to Amanda’s room.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” she said. “But darling, there’s a slight problem.”
“Another shock.”
“It’s only a little one. You see, I haven’t actually paid my hotel bill. And I’m a little short.”
“I only get a lieutenant’s pay.”
“I’m not asking you for money. But you’re sweet to offer. All you need to do is carry my suitcase down with your things. If I walk through the lobby with it, they might think I was trying to get away without paying.”
“People can be suspicious.”
“I know. Will you do that for me, darling? Then I can meet you out front maybe five minutes later. They won’t say anything if I’m just coming and going as usual.”
“All right. We’ll be in a green Chevrolet with a doghouse trailer, across the street. Don’t forget to look both ways before you cross.”
“Thank you, darling. That will give me just enough time to put on the rest of my makeup. I want to look nice for you.”
“You look beautiful just the way you are.”
And that was true. It was a good thing. Would I have left her there otherwise? Probably. After all, she was in no danger except from the embraces of a hairy Valkyrie with halitosis.
On the other hand, it was just possible there was something else going on. You never could tell with Amanda. There was only one thing she was ever sincere about, and in that case she really had no control over it, or herself. It just came naturally, after twenty minutes or so.
“Here,” I said. “Put this in your purse.”
It was my snub-nosed .38 Special.
“What for?”
“Just in case.”
She pushed the barrel-release button on the side below the hammer and the barrel dropped open. She knew what she was doing.
“There are only five bullets.”
“I always keep the hammer closed on an empty chamber. That way if you drop it, it won’t go off. Besides, if you need more than five shots, you’re in trouble. Having a sixth probably wouldn’t matter.”
I didn’t think it would be gentlemanly of me to remind her that, when she’d shot her husband, by accident, she’d only needed one.
“What about you? Won’t you need it?”
“I have another one. Now hurry up, please.”
My bill was sent to the Consulate automatically, so there was no reason to stop at the checkout desk.
I shouldered my duffel and picked up Amanda’s one suitcase, which was surprisingly light, and took the elevator to the main floor. A minute later and I was in the front seat of the Chevy.
“We have to wait for the mystery guest, but only a few minutes.”
“I remembered the joke,” said Moshe.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Hershel the schnorrer goes to one of his usual benefactors, but this time he has a young man with him. He rings the bell and the benefactor looks at Hershel, sorrowfully, of course. Who likes to open the door and see a schnorrer ? Anyway, the benefactor asks Hershel who the young man is, and Hershel says, ‘It’s my son-in-law. I’m bringing him into the business.’”
“Only marginally relevant, Moshe.”
“Maybe it’s not the one I remembered.”