Free East of Desolation by Jack Higgins Page A

afford to wear eighty-guinea Savile Row suits. Salary scales in insurance offices musthave risen considerably since I worked in the City.”
    “What are you getting at?” he demanded.
    “I can smell fish as well as the next man and in this case you don’t need to stand too close.” He stared at me blankly. “It’s shot full of holes, Jack, the whole tale. There are so many loose ends I wouldn’t know where to start.”
    “Are you trying to tell me that Vogel’s some kind of crook?”
    Is anything ever that simple? I shook my head. “Maybe you’re right, Jack. Perhaps you’ve been acting one part after another for so long that you’ve lost all touch with reality. Do you think the villain of the piece always has to look like Sidney Greenstreet or his bully boy like Bogart or Cagney?”
    “Stratton?” he said incredulously. “You’re trying to tell me that two-by-four is some kind of tough guy?”
    “At a rough guess I’d say he’d slice your throat for a packet of cigarettes in the right circumstances.”
    He stared up at me, eyes wide. “Brother, do you need a good night’s sleep.”
    “Which is just what I intend to get,” I said sweetly and stood up. “See you around, Jack.” And I turned and pushed my way through the crowd to the hall.
     
    I didn’t go to bed straight away, there was too much to think about. Outside the wind drove hail like lead bullets against the window and I lit a cigarette and lay on the bed with the radio playing.
    When I first heard the knock I thought I was mistaken, it was so gentle, but it came again, a little louder thistime and I crossed to the door and opened it.
    Sarah Kelso smiled diffidently. “Could you spare me a minute?”
    “My pleasure.”
    As I closed the door she moved to the window and looked out into the darkness. “Is it always as rough as this?”
    I crossed to the bed and turned down the radio. “I don’t get the impression you came here to discuss the weather, Mrs. Kelso.”
    She turned, a wan smile on her face. “You’re very direct, aren’t you, Mr. Martin? In a way that makes it easier. You’re quite right, of course. I didn’t come here to discuss the weather. To tell you the truth I was hoping you might put me in touch with this pilot you mentioned—Arnie Fassberg I think you said his name was.”
    “You mean tonight?” I shook my head. “I thought I made it clear that he was otherwise engaged.”
    “Yes, I know,” she said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “He’s with some girl. Surely that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him.”
    “What’s Vogel think of this?”
    “As far as I know he’s in bed.” She moved closer and said with a sort of quiet desperation that was very convincing, “I just want to talk to him, Mr. Martin. I want to know now, tonight, if he can help us. I can’t stand much more of this uncertainty.”
    I frowned down at her, trying to work out what was going on behind that clear, pure mask she called a face, but she held my gaze unwaveringly.
    “All right,” I said. “Wait here and I’ll see what I can do.”
     
    It was quiet at the end of the corridor and there was no sound from inside Gudrid’s room. I glanced at my watch. It was just coming up to midnight and according to Arnie she was on duty till one a.m. When I tried the door it was locked, but as I started to turn away, Gudrid came down the service stairs holding a pile of blankets.
    There was a glow to her skin and her eyes were shining, giving her the sort of look you find on the face of the cat that’s had the cream. Whatever else you could say about him Arnie always seemed to give satisfaction.
    “And what can I do for you?” she demanded brightly.
    “I thought Arnie might be here.”
    “He left about an hour ago. He told me he wanted a good night’s sleep for once. He’s flying down to Itvak first thing in the morning. Was it something important?”
    I shook my head. “It can wait. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
     
    Sarah