The Agency

33 - Time

René looked at her watch and then pointedly at Lupa.

"Thirty minutes are up, diretorre."

"Yes. Could I have the number for Signore Glebeholme, please."

"I will place the call because I have to explain to his attendant why he must be disturbed."

Lupa frowned but conceded the moment.

René dialed a number and when Richard answered she spoke as if to an official party, explaining the circumstance and necessity of the call. Richard listened and marveled at her composure and quick thinking. He said he would play the part and he told her he loved her.

René's face flushed slightly as she handed the phone to Lupa.

"He is not pleased."

Lupa took the phone and spoke immediately with a quick and precise explanation of the need for the call. He paused and listened, his eyes locked on René's. She returned the stare, praying that the performance would work.

"I understand, signore, but surely—" Lupa wiped at his forehead with his blunt fingers. "Si, I do appreciate, but Signorina Vitti had an appointment to do precisely— eh? What?" His eyes widened and he looked stricken.

"He wishes to speak with you." Lupa passed the phone back and withdrew a large handkerchief from his inside pocket.

"Yes, sir?" René listened to what Richard had said and had to struggle to suppress a smile. Playing her part she tried some feeble, artificial responses then finished with a series of verbal groveling before closing her phone.

Lupa stared in nervous silence.

"Did I not warn you? Now you have cost me my position with Signore Glebeholme if this isn't resolved immediately. And Signorina Vitti has been recalled and will likely suffer similar consequences."

"I had no idea . . . our government . . . Signore Glebeholme's investment is at the request of our government . . ."

René began enjoying her role and she continued, embellishing Richard's tale.

"You have been privy to information that was previously limited to very high government officials. I can't imagine the fallout on you and this bank should any of what has taken place is revealed . . . to anyone."

Lupa was sweating visibly and he licked his lips, pressing the button on his desk.

"I assure you, Signorina, on my mother's life, I will never speak of this to anyone."

The assistant popped into the room looking expectantly from one to the other.

"Get Signorina Morreau the necessary papers and a bank draft for the entire amount in Signore Glebeholme's account. Do not close the account; keep it open for fund transfers that will be coming in two weeks."

René's eyebrows rose and she marveled at the tale Richard had spun and the effect it was having on the banker.

"This is the correct thing to do, Diretorre Lupa. It can never be revealed, but your government would applaud your actions here today and I apologize if my demeanor was gruff and unsociable."

"Not at all! No, Signorina, it is I who has behaved too rigidly. I should have suspected that Signore Glebeholme's business was of the utmost importance."

She chuckled silently at his statement. The pompous little twerp. Moments later the assistant returned with a file, setting it on the desk in front of her and pointing to three places where she was to sign. Beside them lay the bank draft and when she saw the amount her fingers couldn't hold the pen for a second.

"Is something wrong?"

"Uh, no. Just worried about what my employer will have to say when I return with this."

"He should be pleased, no? Surely he will reconsider your situation?" Lupa leaned forward, forehead creased in worry.

"I meant about my ability to conclude this business without disturbing him." She lied easily but her eyes kept darting to the amount on the draft.

Forcing her concentration, she signed the papers with an illegible scribble, put the draft in her purse and with handshakes all around, she allowed the assistant to guide her out and hold the door as she left the bank.

The man with the scar was gone, and the long walk back to the boat was made on uncharacteristically shaky legs.

*************

Murray sat with his arms on his knees and his hands hanging down between his legs, listening carefully to Minnie's report. She related how she accidentally saw Monique at a restaurant and followed her and some young waiter home then kept an all night vigil.

In the morning she saw her come out of the building, followed her to a small rooming house and later when she emerged, looking very different . . . trashy . . . she followed her again. As she neared the bank a van pulled up and two men snatched her off the street.

She handed Murray a sheet with the addresses of both the man Monique was with and her own rooming house, the van's license plate number, and brief description of all the parties, feeling very much the efficient, diligent employee.

"Any sign of Carstairs?"

"Nothing, as I said. I stayed near the bank and watched for about another two hours then returned here as you ordered."

He looked at the sheet with the plate number and chewed a lip.

"This is Jean Tremblay's work for sure. I don't think we will be having any more business with Miss St. Croix."

"You think she knows where Richard is?"

"If she does, so will Jean."

"Something else I noticed you might be interested in. When they had the shootout at the restaurant, there was a young woman by herself. She managed to escape any injury and I saw her again right after Monique was snatched; she was heading into the bank and she was all dressed up in business attire. It might be coincidence but it might not.

She came out just before I left carrying her purse very close to her chest and she was walking with fragile steps down the trot to a small motor boat."

"Why is that suspicious?"

"Just natural, I guess. We learned that there is nothing coincidental in our business."

"What did she look like? What was the boat like? Where was it docked?"

Minnie's eyes opened wide at the Gatling gun hammering of questions.

"Uh, she was young, as I said. Maybe twenty-eight. The boat was white. Outboard. Stained wooden top on the prow. I couldn't see a name; she took it out in the opposite direction. She was in slot number six-oh-three."

"Very good, Minnie. I don't believe in coincidences either." What he did believe was that Richard had might somehow have found a helper and that he had already removed the money. He would make a call to the bank.

"So, what next then? Does Nathan have anything for me?"

"As a matter of fact." Murray stood and in the blink of an eye, his rigid hand shot out and struck Minnie in the throat, crushing her larynx. She choked, clutched at her throat and then toppled off her chair onto the rug. Murray stood over her, calmly watching her suffocate to death.

"Sorry, Minnie. Orders." He hefted her body up on to the bed and rolled it up in the bead spread. An hour later, Minnie was safely at the bottom of the Golfo Di Genova and Murray was on the phone to Nathan.