The Key to Midnight

answered it downstairs but rang through a moment later. 'London calling on line one.'
        'Marlowe?' Carrera asked.
        'No. Peterson.'
        'The fat man's in London? Put him through. And make sure that Madame Dumont doesn't get a chance to pick up an extension.'
        'Yes, sir,' said Paz.
        A scrambler was attached to the incoming line, and it could be activated from any phone. Carrera switched it on.
        Peterson said, 'Ignacio? Safe to talk?'
        'As safe as it ever gets. What're you doing in London?'
        'Hunter and the girl will arrive here tonight.'
        Carrera was surprised. 'Dr. Rotenhausen swore she'd never be able to leave Japan.'
        'He was wrong. Can you move fast? I want you to go to the good doctor in Saint Moritz.'
        'I'll leave this evening,' said Carrera.
        'We'll try to put Hunter on Rotenhausen's trail, as planned.'
        'Are you directing the show in London now?'
        'Not all of it. Just this business with Hunter and the girl.'
        'Good enough. Marlowe isn't fit to handle that. It's made him hypertense.'
        'I've noticed.'
        "He broke some rules. For one thing, he tried to pry her name out of me.'
        'Out of me too,' Peterson said.
        'He made some silly threats. I've recommended his removal.'
        'So have I,' Peterson said.
        'If approval comes through, I'll take care of him myself.'
        'Don't worry. No one's going to deny you your fun.'
        'See you in Moritz?' Carrera asked.
        'Certainly,' said the fat man. 'I think I'll take a few skiing lessons.'
        Carrera laughed. 'That would be an unforgettable sight.'
        'Wouldn't it?' Peterson laughed at his own expense and hung up.
        The telephone doubled as an intercom, and Carrera buzzed the front room downstairs.
        Paz answered. 'Yes, sir.'
        'Madame Dumont may come up now. And you should pack a suitcase for yourself. We'll be going to Saint Moritz in a few hours.'
        Carrera put down the receiver and went to a wall panel that concealed a fully equipped bar. It slid aside at the touch of a button, and he began to mix drinks: orange juice and a couple of raw eggs for himself, vodka and tonic for Madame Dumont.
        She arrived before he finished preparing her vodka, and she slammed the bedroom door behind her. She strode directly to him, in one of her best confrontational moods.
        'Hello, Marie.'
        'Who the hell do you think you are?' she demanded.
        'I think I'm Ignacio Carrera.'
        'You bastard.'
        'I've made vodka and tonic for you.'
        'You can't keep me waiting like that,' she said furiously.
        'Oh? I thought I just did.'
        'I hope you get rectal cancer and die.'
        'Such a sweet-talking young lady.'
        'Stuff it.'
        She was uncommonly beautiful, and she knew it. She was only twenty-six, wise and sophisticated beyond her years -though not nearly as wise as she thought. Her dark eyes revealed strange hungers and an intensely burning pain deep in her soul. Her fine features and the elegant carriage that she'd learned in expensive boarding schools gave her a haughty air.
        She was dressed beautifully too: Her well-tailored, two-piece suit was a five-thousand-dollar Paris original, brightened with a turqouise blouse and minimal jewelry. Her perfume was so subtle that it must have cost upward of a thousand dollars an ounce.
        'I expect an apology,' she announced.
        'There's your drink on the bar.'
        'You can't treat me like this. No one treats me like this.'
        She had been spoiled all her life. Her father was a wealthy Belgian merchant, and her much older husband was an even wealthier French industrialist. She had been denied nothing - even though her demands were never less than excessive.
        'Apologize,' she insisted.
        'You wouldn't like it if I did.'
        'Like it? I demand it, damn you.'
        'You're a snotty kid.'
        'Apologize, damn you.'
        'But a beautiful snotty kid.'
        'Listen, you greasy ape, if you don't apologize-'
        He slapped her face just hard enough to sting.
        'There's your drink,' he repeated, indicating the bar.
        'If you ever touch me again, I'll have you killed,' she said.
        He slapped her so hard that she staggered, almost fell, and had to grip the edge of the bar to keep her