Dark Wanton

1: Tango-2

Quayle said: "Michael, I had a telegram at home last night. Those damned lists haven't got to Rumania yet."

Frewin raised his eyebrows. He took a cigarette case from his pocket and lighted a cigarette. He seldom stopped smoking.

He said: "That means that somebody is still trying to negotiate them; that the job hasn't been done; that they're not actually sold yet."

"That's what I think," said Quayle. "I'm going to do something about it."

Frewin said nothing. He continued to lean against the wall and smoke.

Quayle went on: "I've got an idea that Kiernan's coming to England. I thought we might use him in this."

Frewin asked: "Why? You know he finished after Nüremberg. He got a gratuity, and that was that!"

Quayle grinned. "I don't think he was very pleased with the gratuity. I'm rather inclined to agree with him that it wasn't worth the work he'd done. He took an awful lot of chances in the war, you know."

Frewin nodded. "You feel you want to use him?"

Quayle got up. He walked over to the window and stood looking out. He asked: "Why not? Kiernan's got all the qualifications. He's tough, tenacious, very intelligent."

Frewin said: "All right. I think he's on holiday in France. You want me to let you know when he arrives; where he is?"

Quayle nodded. "Just let me know when he gets here and his whereabouts. I'll do the rest."

Frewin pushed himself lazily away from the wall. He asked: "Anything else?"

Quayle said: "Yes. Can you remember off-hand any women who worked for us in the war— one or two? People who would rate as first-class?"

Frewin smiled reminiscently. "There's one," he said. "You remember her? She was pretty good, that one— Antoinette Brown. I think she's more or less got everything you want."

Quayle said: "I remember her vaguely. Isn't she doing some sort of job in a Government office somewhere?"

Frewin nodded. He knew that Quayle knew perfectly well just where she was and what she was doing.

He said: "Yes. Do I get her?"

"Yes," said Quayle. "Arrange that she has leave of absence. Let her come here and work for a bit. Have you anybody in your mind for a second string?"

Frewin said: "No. Most of the girls we used in the war who were lucky enough to come out of it decided they'd like a quiet life. Most of them are married or doing some normal sort of job. I might think of somebody."

"Well, think about it," said Quayle. "I'll think too. We'll compare notes. But you'd better arrange this Brown transfer as soon as you can." He went on casually: "If I remember rightly, she was rather a nice girl."

Frewin opened the door. He looked over his shoulder. He said: "Very nice. I believe they call her the Practical Virgin."

Quayle said: "No! Why?"

Frewin shrugged his shoulders as he went out. "I don't know," he said in his affectedly quiet voice. "I suppose because she's practical and a virgin."

He closed the door.

Quayle lighted a cigarette and began to think about the lists. He realised grimly that for the six years when the war was on and even now, when it wasn't supposed to be on, he had been thinking in terms of lists. Lists of agents, parachute Intelligence details, lists of espionage and counter-espionage details, lists of people who were too dangerous to everybody to go on living, lists of people who were so valuable to everybody that they must be kept living. He sighed.

Now there were two more lists. Just two. One containing seventeen names, the other four names. Twenty-one names in all. Two lists that had been collected after a comb-out search by one of the best mixed Allied Intelligence details in operation immediately after the war. Two lists that had got as far as the G.I. office in Nüremberg and had then disappeared into thin air. Two pieces of paper which silently revealed the identity of twenty-one individuals who were very badly wanted for all sorts of nastiness. Twenty-one individuals who were being hidden away in some place in some country so that, at some time or other, they could use their own special techniques for the purpose of starting some more trouble.

Quayle stubbed out his cigarette. He began to map out a plan of campaign.

There might be a development at any time now. Why not?

He went out to lunch.

On that afternoon at four o'clock a telephone call came through to Quayle. When the voice came through he listened, drawing easily on his cigarette, his eyes quietly regarding the blotter before them. After a few minutes he hung up the receiver. Then he got up; began to walk about the office impatiently. Now vague ideas began to take shape in his mind.

Quayle's secretary came into the room. She was a tall, thin girl. She appeared dull and uninteresting. To look at her you would find it difficult to believe that she had been parachuted behind enemy lines seven times during the war.

She said: "A Miss Brown to see you. Mr. Frewin said you'd see her."

Quayle nodded. "Ask her to come in. And bring some tea."

She went away.

Antoinette Brown came into the room. She was quietly dressed in black with a smart black hat, and her shell-rimmed glasses had slipped a little on her nose.

Quayle grinned at her. "There'll be some tea in a minute. Sit down and smoke a cigarette if you want to."

She sat down placidly. The secretary came in with the tea.

Quayle went back to his chair. When the secretary had gone, he said: "You worked for me during the war, Antoinette. You did very well."

She said: "Thank you, Mr. Quayle."

He went on: "Something's turned up in which you can help. I asked Michael Frewin to get in touch with you and get you away from that department where you've been so efficiently working at an uninteresting civil service job"— he smiled at her—"because I think that I've got something that's a little more up your street."

"If you say so I'm sure that's right, Mr. Quayle," she said.

Quayle flipped open the folder on his desk. He asked: "When you were in Nüremberg you met Anthony Kiernan, didn't you— that would be about two months after the war ended in Europe? You knew what he was doing of course?"

She nodded. "I assisted him in a secretarial capacity for a little while. I knew he was one of your principal agents, Mr. Quayle; he carried out four or five important assignments whilst I was there."

He asked: "Did you like him?"

"Yes, I always try to like the people I work with. It's so much easier. And Mr. Kiernan was quite a pleasant person."

Quayle grinned. "He never made a pass at you?"

She shook her head. "No."

He went on: "Kiernan's going to do a job for me. You'll be helping him in a rather indirect way. I thought I'd get you to come here this afternoon so that I might have a general talk with you about it, because there won't be any necessity for you to be seen in or around this office while this particular work is in progress. Do you understand?"

She said: "I understand."

"You'll get your instructions through Michael Frewin," said Quayle. "He'll contact you outside."

She said: "Oh!" There was something in her voice.

Quayle grinned again, "You don't like Frewin?"

"No, Mr. Quayle, not very much. Not that that makes any difference."

Quayle said: "Exactly." He went on: "I'll give you an outline of the business. We're looking for two lists— mixed lists of secondary war criminals and enemy agents. The two lists were made in the first place by one of the Allied Investigation teams that went into Europe looking for these men. There were no duplicates. The lists went to 21 Army Group Headquarters in Nüremberg and disappeared. There could be only one reason for their disappearance. Somebody was looking after the people whose names were on those lists. They're being hidden somewhere in Rumania or the Russian satellite countries. Somebody feels that some time they might be useful for something or other, Understand?"

She said: "Yes."

Quayle continued: "I've got good reason to believe that the lists were stolen so that somebody could make quite a piece of money out of them. It would be worth a great deal of money to conceal the identity of the men whose names were on those lists. Somebody knew that, but as far as I know— and I have no reason to believe to the contrary— the lists are still in existence." He smiled a trifle whimsically. "Possibly," he said, "because the man or the woman who stole them is holding out for a lot of money."

He lighted a fresh cigarette. "I want those two lists," he said. "I want them badly. I want them before the sale is completed and they are handed over to the purchaser. I haven't very much information but I have a little. And I have decided to use Kiernan in this matter. He is, as you know, tough and extremely intelligent. There's another reason that I have for wanting to use him. He was supposed to finish with us over a year ago. He's been on holiday ever since. I think he's in France at the moment. The fact that he's left my own particular organisation will certainly be known to people who may be interested. That's going to make it easier for him if this thing is played the way I want it played. Understand?"

She said. "Yes, Mr. Quayle."

He smoked silently for a few moments; then: "I'm probably going to want to use another woman. I asked Frewin about it this morning. He couldn't think of one"— he smiled at her—"not of one who had the necessary qualifications. Can you think of one?"

She said: "No, Mr. Quayle."

He went on ruminatively: "Actually the second woman doesn't matter an awful lot. One might almost say that she matters very little. Tell me, Antoinette, when you were in Nüremberg did you know any of Kiernan's women friends? Was there anybody that he was fond of— someone who might be expected to be seen in his company to-day?"

She thought for a moment; then: "Mr. Quayle, there was a woman. I met her. I rather liked her. I think that Mr. Kiernan seemed rather fascinated by her. She was doing some work in Germany under the Control. Her name was Aurora Francis."

Quayle asked: "Do you know where she is?"

"Yes. I had a letter from her the day before yesterday. She's finished her job in Germany, She's coming back to England to-morrow."

She smiled. "She's a fearfully attractive person." There was a pause; then: "Mr. Quayle, are you thinking of using her in any confidential capacity?"

He said: "No." He grinned at her. For a moment his expression was almost mischievous. "Why did you ask?"

She shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly. "Only that I think she is fearfully attracted to men. Don't misunderstand me, Mr. Quayle. She's very efficient and awfully good at any work she does. She's well educated. She's good-looking, but I think she's too much interested in men generally all the time."

Quayle asked: "Exactly what do you mean by that?"

She said vaguely: "I don't really know. I suppose I meant just what I said."

Quayle sat drumming quietly on the blotter with his fingertips. After a long silence he said: "Where are you living?"

She told him.

Quayle said: "You'd better leave there on some pretext or other. Go and stay at some good second-class hotel, some place where you'll be on your own and which you could use as a headquarters. You can arrange that to-day. Come back here in about an hour's time and see Frewin. You'll find him in his office. I shall have had a chance to talk to him before then. You'll get your further instructions from him. He'll arrange about money and a banking account for you. He'll tell you just what you have to do. Understand?"