The Angry Hills - Leon Uris [63]
“My dear fellow,” Chesney held up his fat hand in protest. “By all appearances you’ve had some dealings with—er—unsavory characters.”
“You don’t look like the keeper of the privy seal to me.”
He contorted his fleshy face into what may have been mistaken for a smile. “I like you.... What is your name?”
“Smith—Joe Smith.”
“Come, come.”
“Linden—Jay Linden.”
The conversation stopped as a German and his girl hovered nearby searching for an empty table. They drifted away.
Mike leaned over the table. “Look, Mr. Chesney, I wouldn’t trust you any further than I could throw a bull by the horns. Now be a good fellow and let me go.”
“Sit still, Linden, sit still,” he wheezed. Chesney sipped his drink and drummed his fat fingers on the table slowly. Mike gritted his teeth in discomfort. “Let me put my cards on the table. Perhaps if I presented my proposition in a more—er—open light, you’d like to...”
“All right—shoot.”
“You came here to contact Nico. Nico or the Underground can’t help you. Heilser and his Greek friend, Zervos, know every move they are making. You have heard of Herr Heilser, haven’t you?”
“I’ve heard his name mentioned.”
Mike had to admit to himself that Chesney was certainly well informed.
“Man to man, plain and simple. My hobby is collecting drachmas. I like drachmas—you represent a lot of them to me.”
“Why don’t you open up a whorehouse?”
Chesney smiled. “To repeat an old cliché—too many amateurs are ruining the business these days. Escapees are much more profitable.” He wheezed and placed his hand to his chest. “I’m getting along in years—bad heart. Let us say I’m starting a little nest egg.”
“Dealing in hot British skins.”
“My dear fellow. Escapees are all the rage these days. In some quarters I’m looked upon as quite a martyr.”
“How do I know you won’t doublecross me?” Mike said.
“You don’t know, except for my honest face.”
Mike was forced to smile. Moreover, Chesney interested him. He was obviously a slick operator—well informed and there was a fifty-fifty chance he was on the level. It would do no harm to string him out, Mike thought.
“What’s your deal?”
“Good. I see you are a man of sound judgment, Linden. Now meet me at the Piccadilly Café off Concord Square this Thursday at noon. Mr. Choleva, your benefactor, will want to meet you. He has already sponsored four escapees. All of them are safe in Egypt, I may add.”
“Do you know what’s going to happen if you cross me, Chesney?”
“No—tell me.”
“I’ll kill you.”
Chesney sighed. “My dear fellow. That was quite hammy and entirely uncalled for. Now, see those two gentlemen across the street?”
Mike looked over Chesney’s shoulder. A pair of civilians in German-cut clothes leaned against a building feigning conversation with each other.
“Those two chaps are Gestapo. They hang about the Square just hoping British boys like you will drop in. It appears that you’ve been spotted. Now, Mr. Linden, if your brain is as large as your mouth you should have no trouble in shaking them. They are quite stupid. I’ll see you on Thursday, Piccadilly Café.”
Mike’s heart skipped a beat as Julius Chesney arose and waddled away.
TEN
MIKE GULPED DOWN ANOTHER half glass of krasi. The two Gestapo men across the street watched. He got to his feet, rubber-legged, and started to cross the square. The two men began to follow some distance behind him. Mike quickened his pace and fought off an impulse to break into a run.
He turned the corner and passed a row of shops. Halfway down the block, he paused, looked into a window on which there was a sign, Anton’s Dress Shop, and lit a cigarette.
The two Gestapo men sped around the corner and stopped abruptly when they saw Mike.
Mike looked about frantically. A tram was coming to a stop at the intersection down the block. He quickly crossed the street. The tram moved past the intersection, picked up speed and bore down toward the middle of the block where Mike stood. It came closer—closer—closer....
Mike leaped from the curb onto the