Windfall

When the waiter had gone Abercrombie-Smith said, 'I recommend something to take away the taste of curry before we have coffee. What do you say to lychees? They're fresh, dear boy; not like those tinned monstrosities you get in England.'

'Yes,' Stafford said mechanically. 'I'll have lychees.'

So they had lychees and then went into the lounge for coffee. On the way there Stafford excused himself and went into the entrance hall where he found the hall porter and asked him to order a taxi. 'How long will it take?'

'Five minutes, sah; no longer.'

'Let me know as soon as it arrives. I'll be in the lounge.'

'Yes, sah. Immediately.'

When he returned Abercrombie-Smith offered him a cigar which he declined. Abercrombie-Smith produced a silver cutter and nipped the end from his cigar and proceeded to light it with great concentration. When he had got it going to his satisfaction he put the cutter away and said, 'Now, my dear boy; I think we can get down to business.'

'I thought you didn't discuss business in your club.'

'Pah!' he said. 'I was referring to commercial business.'

'You mean the sordid business of making money.'

'Precisely. This is different.'

Stafford put some sugar into his coffee and stirred. 'Sam Johnson, whom you seem to despise, had something to say about that. He said that there are few ways in which a man can be more innocently employed than in getting money. Is the proposition you have just made to me in your club any less sordid than commerce?"

Abercrombie-Smith raised his eyebrows. 'My dear chap; I see your are a moralist. Scruples? I would have thought scruples to be undesirable in your profession; positively a hindrance.' His voice sharpened. 'I suggest you address yourself to self preservation and the protection of your – er -business interests since you seem to have such a high regard for money getting.' He was openly contemptuous.

His contempt Stafford could survive. 'I'm Max. Do you mind if I call you Anthony?' He sipped the coffee.

The switch took Abercrombie-Smith by surprise. 'If you must,' he said stiffly. He came from the formal world of English public schools and London Clubland in which the informality of the use of Christian names is looked down upon.

Stafford said, 'Well, Tony; you're nothing but a cheap blackmailer – a common criminal. If the security of the United Kingdom has to depend on you, or the likes of you, then God help us all. I have nothing against blackmail, of course, but clumsiness is intolerable. Your approach to me had all the subtlety of a Soho whore.'

Abercrombie-Smith was taken aback as though he had been attacked and bitten by a newborn lamb. He reddened and said, 'Don't talk to me in those terms.'

'I'll talk to you in any way I damn well like.'

'So you won't co-operate. That could be dangerous as I have pointed out.'

Stafford put down the coffee cup and leaned back. 'I like your idea of co-operation, but I doubt if it's an acceptable dictionary definition. Do what I say or else – is that it?' He leaned forward. 'I've built up quite an organization in the last ten years. Stafford Security Consultants is primarily a defensive organization but it can be used for attack. If I find any change for the worse in the way I do my business I have the capability of finding the reason. If you are the reason I'll smash you. Not your department or whatever idiot employs you but you, personally. Personal ruin. Do I make myself quite clear?'

Abercrombie-Smith was apoplectic. He gobbled for a moment then said breathily, 'This is outrageous. I've never been spoken to like that before; not by anyone.'

'A pity,' Stafford said, and stood up as the hall porter came into the lounge. 'You might have made a half-way decent man if someone had taken you in hand earlier.' He held up his hand. 'Don't get up. I'll find my own way back.'

By the time the taxi deposited him in front of the Norfolk he had cooled down somewhat. As he paid off the driver he wondered if he had made a rod for his own back. Stafford had always deemed it a virtue not to make unnecessary enemies and he had been hard on Abercrombie-Smith. Still, the man had been nauseating with his casual assumption that he had but to crook a finger and Stafford would come to heel. Stafford reflected that he had better look to his defences.

He picked up his key at the desk and found a message from Hardin saying he was at the hotel pool. He walked through the courtyard, past the aviaries with their twittering and chirping birds, and through the archway to the pool. There he found Hardin who said, 'Where have you been? Pasternak rang again, and said he'd have to make it earlier. He'll be here any minute.'

'I've been having my brains washed,' Stafford said sourly. 'Pasternak wouldn't be boss of the Kenya CIA station by any chance?'

' He might be,' said Hardin with a grin. 'But he's not saying.'

'Tell me more,' Stafford said.