2

Richard Curtis was supposed to be in Singapore right now. He was not supposed to be in this suite atop the Heritage, with its views out over the gaudy Botanic Gardens and Town Reach of the river, a fine hotel, a fine view, everything perfectly fine, except that Richard Curtis was not supposed to be here now, and the fact that it had become necessary was making him furious.

Morgan Pallifer was as furious as Curtis, and embarrassed and ashamed as well, which made him pace the sitting room like a wolf, punching his knuckles together, staring out past the terrace at the river as though magically he would see George Manville and the girl out there. He’d gone out last night with three men to do what should have been a simple task, getting rid of an already-injured girl and an engineer, and he’d come back with two men dead and the job not done. “He isn’t what you said he is,” he insisted, so angry and discomfited he was even daring to take out his feelings on Curtis.

All right. Curtis would permit that, just this once, for a little while. He understood and sympathized, up to a point. Pallifer had always been reliable and discreet, a good man for bad work, and Curtis could cut him a little slack. “Manville always used to be who I said he was,” he answered. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe he has some kind of Green Beret background I don’t know anything about.”

“I think your Chink captain told him we were coming,” Pallifer said.

“I don’t much care, one way or another,” Curtis said, and shrugged. “It’s over, and the only question is, what next.”

He had still been up north in Townsville when Pallifer made that second call last night, being so damn circumspect over the telephone that Curtis finally realized he was going to have to fly down to Brisbane and meet the man face to face this morning just to find out what in hell had gone wrong, even though he was supposed to fly to Singapore today, the three thousand miles over the land mass of Australia and the thousand islands of Indonesia to his new home at the tip of Malaysia. He had business there, other details of his construction deals around the world, but clearly it would have to wait.

Coming down here, he hadn’t believed it possible that both Manville and the girl could have escaped from Pallifer, both still be alive. He’d thought something had screwed up involving the crew of the Mallory, or maybe one of Pallifer’s team had turned out to be untrustworthy.

But, no. It was Manville, and he’d got clean away, and killed two of Pallifer’s people en passant.

Would Manville and the girl have come on to Brisbane? Yes. Manville wouldn’t want to keep her jouncing around on the water any longer than necessary, so they would certainly have come here, probably arriving an hour or two ago.

And then what? Do they go straight to the authorities? What do they say, and how much can they prove? And is there a way to head them off?

Possibly. Pallifer had been waiting here in the suite, pacing and raging, when Curtis had arrived. He’d told his story, in gruff monosyllables, and even before he was finished Curtis was making his first phone call, to Geneva. Nine hours earlier there, or fifteen hours later; in any case, around midnight. Bendix was not an early riser, Curtis knew. He left a message with Bendix’s secretary at the estate, then listened to the rest of Pallifer’s story, and now he was simply waiting.

Robert Bendix was a competitor of Curtis’s, in construction and finance. At their level, being competitors meant they were mostly partners, rarely fighting for an entire pie, usually content to share slices of the very large pies that came their way. Bendix was not one of the people he’d approached about the Kanowit Island deal, because Bendix was far too shrewd, far too skeptical; he’d have seen through Curtis’s Ponzi scheme in a minute. But there were other ways in which Robert Bendix could be of use to Curtis, just as, once or twice, Curtis had been of use to Bendix.

Now there was nothing to do but wait for Bendix to return the call, and in the meantime see if there was any way that Pallifer could still be useful, could make up for last night’s failure, God knows the man was willing. Glaring out the glass doors of the terrace, showing his teeth, Pallifer said, “They’re around here somewhere. The girl’s as weak as a kitten, they won’t travel a lot.”

“How would you find them?”

Pallifer said, “If they go to the law, the law’s gonna come to you, and that puts me on their tail. In a big city like this, automobile accidents happen all the time.”

“What if Manville doesn’t go to the law? He doesn’t have a very good hand to play with them right now, no proof, no witnesses. What if he’s smart enough to hide out for a while, until he and the girl can go somewhere else?”

Pallifer nodded, considering that. “You say the girl came off another ship. No documents on her?”

“Identification? None. No passport, no driver’s license, nothing.”

“If I was them,” Pallifer said, “and I didn’t want to bother with the law just yet, I’d hole up in one of the tourist sections around here, up or down the coast.”

“And how would you find them?” Curtis asked. “Drive up and down the beach?”

“Well, he has to pay his way, doesn’t he?” Pallifer said. “He’ll use credit cards, won’t he?” Pallifer turned his head to look at Curtis, and he was almost smiling. He said, “How hard is it to get a look at a man’s credit card history?”

“Not hard,” Curtis said, “if you want to wait two weeks or a month, to find out where they used to be.”

“He’s an American,” Pallifer pointed out. “Lots of tourists around here, but damn few of them American. He’s got to use his own name, because that’s what’s on the card. The transactions go through one of the banks here in Brisbane, don’t they?”

“I’m not sure how that works,” Curtis said, “but I have people who know. We’re looking for an American credit card being used somewhere around here today.”

“When I find ’em,” Pallifer said, “is it the same as before?”

“The girl should disappear,” Curtis told him. “No body, no questions, she doesn’t get to tell anything to Diedrich. If you can hold onto Manville, do, and let me know. He’s the engineer, he could still be valuable.”

“He could be trouble,” Pallifer said, and the phone rang.

“If he’s trouble, of course, you kill him.” Curtis picked up the phone: “Curtis.”

“Richard. It’s Robert here.” Bendix, though American, had been living in Switzerland for so long, avoiding U.S. Federal tax indictments, that he was beginning to develop a faint German accent.

Curtis said, “Robert, I have to admit I’m a little disappointed in you.”

Surprised, Bendix said, “What? Have I done something?”

“I have an engineer that works for me,” Curtis told him, “a brilliant man, George Manville.”

“I’ve heard the name.”

“Of course you have. I just now learned that he’s been betraying me.”

“I’m shocked to hear that,” Bendix said, sounding calm.

“He offered several of my business secrets for sale,” Curtis said. “Bids on projects, sourcings of materiel, things like that.”

“These grubby little people,” Bendix said. “Tsk, tsk.” He said it that way: tsk, tsk.

“He offered this information to you,” Curtis said.

“Why, the swine,” Bendix said. “I hope I threw him out on his ear.”

“I’m afraid,” Curtis said, “you gave him a hearing. I believe you even looked at some of the documents he’d stolen from me.”

“Perhaps I was drunk.”

“I’m here in Brisbane now,” Curtis went on, “where I just discovered this thievery, and I’m sorry, Robert, but I have no choice but to go to the police.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Bendix assured him. “Unfortunate, of course, but I quite see where you have no alternative.”

“None. It will probably mean, as well, that I’ll be forced to say some unpleasant things about you in the press.”

“Speaking of swine,” Bendix said. “Well, I’ve been spoken of unkindly before.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“Now, you know, Richard,” Bendix said, “I’m certainly not going to admit to having encouraged this fellow.”

“No, of course not.”

“However,” Bendix said, “I suppose I could manage not to deny it very forcefully either. I’m rather good, in fact, at being coy.”

Curtis laughed. “I’m sure you are. I’d like to watch some time.”

“Never. How’s Brisbane?”

“Warm. How’s Geneva?”

“Cold. Nice talking to you.”

“And you, Robert.” Curtis broke the connection, then dialed the hotel operator: “Police headquarters, please.”