Topaz - Leon Uris [135]
“Jacques, you look dumbstruck. Let’s see how it all went. During the war you made a number of liaison missions to Moscow for the Free French. The Russians sized you up as a charming young reprobate who would remain close to La Croix and they knew that someday he would rule France. So you were approached and eighteen years ago your grooming started. Once in, one does not get out. That’s a long time for any man to lead a double life. But, even considering the normal graft of your office, the wealth of two of your ex-wives, and your own inheritance, it was not enough to keep up your style of living ... and you do have style, Jacques.
“What an astonishing rapport you have with the Swiss banks in Geneva,” André continued. “Blank numbered accounts XXF 12908 and BFI 2202 at the Bank de Groff alone hold over forty thousand American dollars. And the money flows in almost on demand to one C. S. Bouchard. Well, Monsieur Bouchard, alias Columbine, alias Jacques Granville, it’s not small business with you, but then why should it be when the Soviet Union has one of its agents briefing Disinformation to our half-blind President?
“I’ve seen them some and go, but by God, Jacques, you are the shrewdest son of a bitch of them all. You used everyone. You used the President of France to peddle your filth. You stole the fortunes of two women. You used Colonel Brune and twisted things around so that he carried on the dirty work of Disinformation on the pretense you were being his friend and saving his job. You used me. And you even used my wife to get information on Kuznetov’s whereabouts. Too bad, Jacques, his escape is a clean job.”
Granville had worked around to the study door, locked it quickly and turned, leveling a small Beretta pistol on André. “We’d better talk,” Granville growled.
“It’s your turn, Jacques, and put that pistol away. You look silly.”
Jacques continued to keep it aimed. André walked to him. Granville trembled. His hand became slippery wet. André took it from him as though it was an unwanted toy, removed the bullet clip and flipped it on the desk.
“You never did have the strength to pull your own trigger. But before you turn your hatchet men loose, I didn’t walk in here as a target and I’m not walking out that way. Several journalist friends have been given sealed envelopes containing my letter of resignation and further information on your bank accounts. The envelopes which name you as Columbine will be opened in the event of my death or disappearance.”
“If that letter is printed you won’t live twenty-four hours.”
“No, no, no, Jacques. I’m not going to publish it now. I still desire to live, very much. As long as I keep the envelopes sealed, then you’ll see to it I get out of France. But for now, even Jacques Granville cannot survive my murder without signing his own death warrant. We are in a position to serve each other mutually. Do you follow me?”
“Within hours,” Jacques cried, “all trace of the bank accounts will disappear. In a year ... two ... three ... we will build a case against you that you were a drunk, a thief, a malcontent ... that you were a Soviet agent trying to save his own neck. Issues will be so confused your precious letter will have no value. And then ... you’ll be hunted down like an animal to your dying day.”
“Jacques, I know a writer. A novelist. American, no less. He has an extremely faithful international audience, despite some of the critics’ complaints over his syntax. I personally would have preferred someone with a bit more literary flair ... like Hemingway or Faulkner, but no matter. I sent for him when I realized how it would be necessary for me to destroy you. He’s working on the story now ... all of it. We have even given it a name ... Topaz, what else. So no matter what happens to me, and that’s not important, the world will be alerted when Pierre La Croix dies to stop you and your pack of jackals from devouring France.”
André brushed Jacques away from the door and turned the key.
Jacques was seized with desperation. “André! There’s another way!