There were already a number of people on the beach, either swimming or lying under sun umbrellas. An African set up an umbrella for her and laid out a Li-lo mattress.
Opening her beach bag, she took out the last novel by Franchise Sagan and stretching out on the mattress, she began aimlessly to turn the pages of the book.
But her mind was too occupied for reading and she laid down the novel and reached for a cigarette. As she began to hunt for her lighter, a shadow fell across her and looking up sharply, she saw a tall man, wearing only brief swimming trunks, had come up silently and was now offering her a light from a gas lighter.
She had seldom seen such a powerfully built giant of a man. His muscular body was burned to a golden brown by the sun. He was so blond, his hair, cut short, was the colour of silver. His square shaped face, with its high cheek bones, its powerful, aggressive jaw, its short blunt nose told her he was of Slav extraction. He would be twenty-eight or nine: a splendid looking athlete until she looked into his flat green eyes that were windows revealing a ruthlessness combined with something so evil that Janine recoiled from him.
Staring intently at her, he bent, thrusting the flame of his lighter towards her cigarette. Recovering, Janine lit her cigarette.
She forced a smile of thanks.
“Four and two and six are twelve,” he said in guttural French. “I’m Malik.”
She stiffened, staring at him, her violet coloured eyes opening wide.
“A car will be outside the hotel at 15.00 hrs.,” he said. “Be ready,” and turning, he walked with long, swinging strides across the hot sand and into the sea.
Janine watched the movements of his muscles as he walked and watched as he dived into the sea. He began swimming away from the beach with the power and ease of a professional.
She inhaled a lungful of smoke, then settled down on the mattress again.
Malik! She had heard of him. So this was Malik. She had once heard someone say of him: “The only difference between Malik and a Black Mamba is that Malik can walk and the snake only crawl.”
She was still thinking about him when Girland, wearing swimming trunks, came across the sand and paused at her side.
“Hello,” he said, his eyes moving with inquisitive frankness over her body. “Have you been in yet?”
She sat up.
“No.” She suddenly wondered now Malik had appeared on the scene if it was wise to get friendly with this handsome American.
“Let’s go in and then have lunch, shall we?” Girland offered his hand.
She grasped it and let him pull her to her feet, then together, they ran down to the water. She saw that he, like Malik, was a powerful, expert swimmer.
They swam for ten minutes, then came in. Slipping into beach wraps, they walked to the thatched roofed open air restaurant that was only a few yards from the beach.
“That was fine,” Girland said as they sat down at a table for two. “Let’s have a drink.”
An African waiter approached.
Janine asked for a vodka martini and Girland a double gin and tonic. He then studied the menu.
“How about king sized prawns, cold chicken and green salad with a bottle of very cold Chablis?” he asked, looking at her.
“Perfect for me.” When he had given the order, she asked, “Did you have a successful morning?”
“I’ve been exploring Dakar. I’m supposed to find a site for my Company,” Girland said glibly. “What are you doing this afternoon? I have hired a car. Will you come for a drive with me? I thought I’d go inland and see what the country looks like.”
The waiter brought their drinks.
“I can’t this afternoon. I have a friend to see.”
Girland glanced at her.
“You have friends here?”
“Just a girl friend.”
They drank, sighed and smiled at each other. “This is a lot better than Paris,” Girland said.
“You don’t live in Paris, do you?”
“No. Florida.” He paused and a quizzing expression came into his eyes. Janine followed his glance and she saw Malik coming towards the restaurant.
“Wow!” Girland said softly. “Now there’s a real hunk of gorgeous male.”
Malik went up the bar and ordered a coke.
Janine studied his long, muscular back and nodded.
“You’re right. Perfectly cast to play Samson.”
“A Russian,” Girland’s expression was thoughtful. “I wonder what he’s doing here?”
He didn’t notice Janine’s slight start nor the quick hard look she threw at him.
“He’s probably thinking the same about you,” she said.
At this moment the waiter came with their order and Malik, finishing his drink, turned and walked with his long, swinging strides towards the hotel.
Girland watched him go. He remembered Radnitz’s warning about the Russians who were also hunting for Carey. Was this blond giant one of them?
“You’ve become very thoughtful all of a sudden,” Janine said as she peeled an enormous prawn. “What are you thinking about?”
“Don’t insist or you’ll be embarrassed.”
“About me?”
“Well, of course.”
She laughed.
“Oh, I can guess. I have lived long enough in the company of men to know what they often think when they are with me.”
“You have only your beauty to blame for that.”
She deliberately changed the subject, asking him to tell her about Florida. It was some years since Girland had been to Great Miami, but he managed to give an interesting account of the City. They were still chatting idly when he paid the bill.
“I must run,” she said, getting to her feet, “or I’ll be late.”
“I’m coming up too. You’re sure I can’t give you a lift in my car?”
“No, a car’s being sent for me, thank you.”
They rode up together in the lift and parted at their doors.
Girland took a shower, dressed, and then moved to the window that looked down on the entrance to the hotel. He was in time to see Janine, wearing a sleeveless emerald green frock, get into a black Cadillac, driven by an African, wearing a red fez, and he watched the car drive rapidly towards the Autoroute.
Janine had no idea where she was being driven. She stared at the back of the chauffeur’s black neck and wondered if she should ask him, but decided not to.
The chauffeur slowed the big car and turned to the left and she saw a signpost that read:
Rufisque.
That meant nothing to her. She found the heat of the afternoon sun stronger than she had imagined it would be, but she didn’t dislike it.
After driving for some miles, the car left the main road and slowing, began to bump along a sandy road, throwing up a cloud of fine sand either side of the car. An avenue of trees made a welcome shade, and finally, the car turned into a concealed drive and pulled up outside a large, bungalow type house, each window covered with green sun shutters.
The chauffeur got out and opened the car door for her. Janine stepped into the violent sunshine, and then followed the chauffeur onto the terrace and to the front door of the bungalow. He opened the door and waved her to go on ahead.
She moved into a cool, dimly lit lobby and the driver went away.
Malik appeared from a room off the lobby. He was wearing white shorts, a white sports shirt and sandals.
He stood aside, motioning her to enter the room which she found to be large and cool, sparsely furnished and pinned on one of the walls, a big map of Senegal.
Malik waved her to one of the chairs and sat down at the table.
“The reason why we told you to come here,” he said, staring at her, “is that we want to know exactly what has been going on in Paris and how much Dorey knows or guesses. The situation here is complicated.”
Without omitting any details, Janine told him what had been happening since Madame Foucher had first telephoned Dorey.
Malik listened intently. When she had finished, he said, “So the fool has no idea what she had to sell?”
“He has no idea.”
The evil green eyes examined her.
“And you have no idea?”
“No.”
“So the only other people who know are Radnitz and this man Girland.”
Janine didn’t say anything.
“Dorey thinks Girland is dead?”
“Yes.”
“He isn’t dead. He’s here,” Malik said. Janine looked sharply at him.
“What makes you think that? Dorey told me if he happened to be alive, it would be impossible for him to leave Paris.”
“Dorey is a fool. Girland is here. You lunched with him this afternoon.”
Janine lost colour.
“The man I had lunch with is an American business man. I have a description of Girland. These two men are utterly unlike. I think you have made a mistake.”
Malik’s thin lips tightened.
“I don’t make mistakes. I searched his room when you were lunching. He had a trick suitcase with him. Why should a business man carry with him a gun, a knife, a cosh and drug pills? He is also representing a certain company in Florida and this company is owned by Radnitz. It’s Girland all right. A clever make up. Obviously he is no longer working for Dorey. Radnitz has bought him.”
“Do you think he knows about me?” Janine asked, her hands in tight fists, her knuckles showing white.
“Why should he? Girland is a womaniser,” Malik said. He paused for a moment, then went on, “When I heard a representative of the Orangeolo Company was going to stay at the N’Gor, I guessed he would be Radnitz’s man. I arranged for him to have a room next to yours.” He stared at her, then said, “That is another reason why I wanted you here. You are going to cultivate Girland. Do you understand?”
Janine nodded.
“You are going to do a thorough job on him,” Malik went on.
“You should be sleeping with him by tomorrow night.”
“I can do a job on him without sleeping with him!” Janine said, her eyes suddenly flashing. “I don’t take that kind of an order from anyone!”
“You have no choice,” Malik said. “You will sleep with Girland tomorrow night unless, of course, you want him to find out you are a double agent, passing information from the American Embassy to the Russian Embassy.”
Janine stiffened.
“But you said Girland is working now for Radnitz. He has no reason to betray me.”
“You say that because you don’t know what this coloured woman had to sell. I’ll tell you. Do you remember Robert Henry Carey?”
“Carey? Yes, of course. What has he to do with it?”
“Everything. Carey is in Senegal. Girland is here to talk to him. Dorey didn’t realise this woman could tell him where Carey is hiding, but she has told Girland and he has told Radnitz. Before Carey left Russia he managed to get hold of quite a lot of very dangerous information. For instance, he has your Russian dossier. He has enough information on microfilm to send Radnitz to prison for life. Girland would give your dossier to Dorey. Even if he no longer works for Dorey, he is still an American, and Americans don’t let Russian agents operate if they can stop them.”
“If you know Carey is here,” Janine said, sitting forward, “why haven’t you caught up with him? Don’t you intend to protect me? I’m useful to your people, aren’t I?”
“I know he is here, but I don’t know where he is hiding. Senegal is a big place. Girland will lead us to him if you handle him right.”
“Why don’t you take Girland somewhere and persuade him to talk?”
“You’re being stupid. Girland can’t know exactly where Carey is hiding. Carey must have a contact who arranged for this Senegalese woman to go to Paris. Girland must lead us to this contact who in his turn will lead Girland and us to Carey.” He got to his feet and crossed over to the map of Senegal. “Come here.” When Janine joined him, he pointed to a vast blank space on the map. “This is the bush. Unless you have actually seen the African bush, you can’t imagine what it looks like. It is flat country. You can walk two miles and believe you haven’t moved. Every tree, every shrub, every clump of grass looks alike. Getting lost is the easiest thing in the world, and when you are lost in the bush, you are lost for good.” He tapped the map. “Somewhere in this vast space, Carey is hiding. There are hundreds of villages, peopled by Africans, some big, some consisting only of three or four hovels. When he was a young man, Carey worked in Senegal. He knows how to handle the natives: he speaks their language. I am sure he is staying in one of the smaller villages and he can stay there as long as he likes.”
“But why are you so sure he is in the bush?”
“We have been chasing him ever since he escaped from Moscow. We headed him off from Europe and he turned to Egypt. We nearly caught up with him in Cairo and he flew to Africa. He kept just ahead of us by using chartered aircraft. He took an air taxi for Dakar, but something went wrong. The plane crashed ten miles outside Diourbel. We knew he was trying to reach Dakar and we were already in Diourbel. We drove out to the crash. The pilot was dead. Carey had vanished. There was nowhere else for him to go but into the bush. He’s still there. I have men at Linguere, Bakel, Matam and Kadlack. He’s hemmed in. I have hired thirty Arabs who know the bush and they are searching every yard of it, but unless they have some luck, Carey could still slip past them. A search like that could take months. We must find him quickly. Girland is our best bet. Now, perhaps, you understand why you must get onto intimate terms with him. You must persuade him to tell you who Carey’s contact is.”
Malik moved away from the map and lighting a cigarette, he sat down. After staring at the map for some moments, Janine came and sat near him.
“I’ll do what I can,” she said.
“Who is Kerman?”
Janine looked sharply at him.
“How do you know about him?”
“I make it my business to know such things. I had a copy of Dorey’s cable to you before you had it. The code is like Dorey: simple and stupid. Who is Kerman?”
“He is one of Dorey’s special agents.”
“We don’t want him at the N’Gor. He could spoil your chances with Girland. When he arrives, tell him to stay in Dakar. The less you see of him the better.”
“It won’t be that easy.” Janine looked worried. ‘‘Kerman has very decided ideas of his own. He won’t take orders from me,” Malik thought for a moment.