Harlequin Read online

  The headquarters of Creative Systems Incorporated occupied six floors of glass and aluminium skyscraper on Park Avenue. There were three stories of gleaming hardware, patrolled by armed guards, and two tiers of aseptic offices where sober young men circulated among tribes and sub-tribes of secretaries. The sixth floor was Basil Yanko’s private domain, a sacred place panelled in exotic wood, hushed by deep carpets, glowing with costly pictures and artifacts. The anteroom was dominated by a middle-aged duchess and two guards, one of whom conducted visitors through the silent corridors, while the other stood watch and ward against intruders.

  When I arrived, it lacked two minutes to eleven. The guard checked my name on a typed list; the duchess announced me on the intercom and begged me to be seated. At eleven, precisely, a red light flashed on the panel; the duchess signalled to the guard, who conducted me to the holy of holies, a long chamber where Basil Yanko sat behind a vast buhl desk, bare of papers. The guard retired; the door closed and I walked across half an acre of carpet to shake the cold hand of the master.

  He was brusque as ever, but he favoured me with a smile and a brief concern for my well-being. ‘I trust you are rested, Mr Desmond.’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  ‘And George Harlequin?’

  ‘He has been discharged from hospital. I expect him in New York today. I’m not happy with the arrangement, but he insisted. He will remain under medical care for a time yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Has he reached any decision on my offer?’

  ‘Yes. He asks me to tell you he is prepared to negotiate, as soon as he is well enough to engage in business discussions.’

  ‘And when might that be?’

  ‘Soon, I hope. It’s a matter for his physician in New York.’

  ‘Of course. Meantime, I take it you and I can set the groundwork for the talks?’

  ‘Harlequin has given me a directive on that.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘He is not prepared to engage in any negotiations while he, himself, is under a cloud. He has ordered me to set up a full investigation of the computer frauds, using an independent outfit.’

  ‘Have you chosen one?’

  ‘Lichtman Wells. I have my first conference with them this afternoon.’

  ‘They’re good people. Their operatives are well-trained.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  ‘We stand ready, of course, to assist them in every way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The time element is important to us both.’

  ‘We understand that.’

  ‘I think we need to be precise about it, Mr Desmond.’

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘Our offer of a hundred dollars a share is firm as of today’s date. However, we do have to set a term to it. The money market is volatile, as you well know. We could not be held indefinitely to a premium offer.’

  ‘What terms do you suggest?’

  ‘Thirty days from now.’

  ‘Too short, Mr Yanko. It represents only twenty-two working days. We could not possibly complete an international investigation in that time. We need ninety days, at least.’

  ‘The way the market is today? Not a hope.’

  ‘Your telex stated that your offer was made – and I quote – “on a three year forward projection”.’

  ‘The valuation, not the premium.’

  ‘Still, let’s not quibble over three months.’

  ‘Sixty days. No more.’

  ‘I’m outside my brief. I’ll have to refer to Harlequin.’

  ‘Do that, please. When may I expect to know his answer?’

  ‘That’s up to him. However, he is a man susceptible to courtesy.’

  ‘Which I sometimes lack. I know, Mr Desmond. Let’s put it this way. If Harlequin chooses to delay his response, I must feel free to reduce my time limit by an equivalent period. Fair?’

  ‘Rough. I’ll pass it on.’

  ‘You’re a rough man yourself, Mr Desmond. However, I respect that. If ever you felt like a change of pace or scenery, I’d be happy to talk terms with you – generous terms.’

  So, in the sober, legal fashion of business, the threat was spelled out. If we couldn’t be bluffed or bought, we would be squeezed between the millstones. The sardonic skill of the predator affronted me. I wanted to spit in his eye. Instead I thanked him for his courtesy and walked out into the more human madness of Park Avenue.

  At three in the afternoon, I called on Lichtman Wells. The experience was less than comforting, since security people, like insurance salesmen, make their living from the prospect of disaster. The senior partner, a white-haired ex-Colonel of Military Police, read me a horrifying list of cases from his files, none of which would have happened if the victims had used the services of Lichtman Wells. Saul Wells, the junior partner, sat patiently through the performance and, when the contract had been signed, revived me with coffee in his own office. He was a small, sandy ferret of a man who champed incessantly on an unlit cigar and punctuated his talk with winks and gestures.

  ‘Don’t let the old man worry you, Mr Desmond. He’s the salesman of the outfit, so he has to make the big spiel. From me, you get the action, without the dreck… How do we work? Well, on the inside it’s straight detection. Our operative goes in the front door – no secrets, no false noses – checks procedures, takes statements, looks for holes and contradictions. Outside?… Well, that’s different. We poke around, find out who sleeps where, who spends more than he makes, who plays sex games and who plays the tracks… that sort of thing. It’s like a jig-saw, you know? All the pieces have to fit in the end. If there’s a piece missing, it’s got to be in someone’s pocket or dropped down a drain. I remember once…’

  He remembered and remembered, and replayed each episode like a baggy-pants comedian. But, somehow, I warmed to him and I realised that at the end of two hours his roustabout method had prised out of me a whole mass of detail which otherwise I would never have thought to give him. Finally, he stubbed out his cigar and announced, cheerfully:

  ‘…So! You know me and I know you. I think we’ll get along fine. Now, we’ll cut the comedy. Put your managers on notice that we’ll be moving in immediately. Languages are no problem. I’ve even got a girl who talks Eskimo. One thing though, Mr Desmond. From here on in, it’s guts football. Anyone leans on you, you call our mutual friend.’

  So far so good. On the one side we had Yanko, who knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. On the other, we had promises, promises, and very high charges and a series of jeremiads about how dangerous it was and how much we needed protection.

  I cut across town towards First Avenue where my friend, Gully Gordon, runs a quiet singles bar and plays piano for the customers at cocktail time. Gully is a Jamaican, the only coloured man I know with a Scots burr. He also does Irish, Creole, Nebraska and Italian, because he used to be an actor until, as he said himself, ‘I got wise, laddie, and found myself a captive audience.’

  I was walking briskly along the left-hand side of the street when I was jostled, violently, and sent staggering against a man standing in a door-way. I went down on one knee, and, as I tried to get up, I was chopped hard on the neck. I must have blacked out because the next thing I remember was standing against the wall and being dusted down by a shabby-looking fellow in a torn sweater and blue jeans. Instinctively, I patted my breast pocket.

  He grinned and shook his head: ‘No, they didn’t get it.’

  I asked, shakily, who ‘they’ were.

  ‘Roller-coasters! One to push, one to dip for your pocket-book. Lucky I was right on your heels. You okay now?’

  ‘I think so. Thanks! Would you like to join me for a drink?’

  ‘Some other time. Take care now, Mr Desmond.’

  He left me and melted into the press of the crowd. I was still dazed and shaken and it did not even occur to me to ask how he knew my name. I was held by a single, sickening thought: how simple the viole
nce was, how swift and sudden, and how little stir it made in the passing throng.

  The second thought shaped itself slowly as I leaned on the piano and sipped my drink and listened to Gully’s dream-music: I belonged in this half-world of lone travellers and raw adventurers. No matter that I had climbed out of it years ago and cushioned myself against it with money and comfort. I knew it from the underside: the restless rhythm, the whore-fragrance, the sour blood-taste, the sidling touch, the pidgin dialect of the market. Sometimes, desperate and solitary, I went back to it, putting on the past like an old coat, musty but comforting.

  My friend, Harlequin, belonged to another world. He was a scholar and a gentleman, bred to all the old decencies of Europe. Sure, he could play my role and twenty others; but he was still the schauspieler, the actor, miming his way through the plot, with no other commitment than to entertain himself and his audience. I asked myself how he would perform without a script, without a prompter, when the buttons were off the foils and only the winner went home after the duel scene.

  Gully Gordon looked up from his keyboard and said softly, ‘You’re sad tonight, laddie. The bastards are getting to you.’

  ‘They’re getting to me, Gully.’

  ‘You need a good woman.’

  ‘I do, at that.’

  ‘There’s one at the bar.’

  I looked; and there was Valerie Hallstrom, alone, nursing a drink and chatting to the barman. I turned away before she saw me.

  ‘I’ve met her, Gully. Tell me more.’

  ‘Lonely, I know. Two drinks that last an hour, so she’s no lush. Then, she goes home – I think.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘You know how it is, laddie. This is a singles bar. You come here looking. When you’ve found what you want, you stay home.’

  ‘Has she been looking long?’

  ‘Six months, more or less. But you said you’d met her.’

  ‘I do business with her boss. I wondered if tonight were a set-up.’

  ‘No way. She’s a regular.’

  He fingered a soft cadenza and then began to improvise, crooning the melody and signalling to me over the phrases.

  ‘She likes it, laddie. Softly, softly, catchee monkey. Come on, lassie. Come on… If you blow this one, Paul, I’ll never forgive you… And good evening to you, Miss Hallstrom! Do you have any requests?’

  We were side by side, glasses touching, before she recognised me.

  She was surprised but not displeased. ‘Well, Mr Desmond! Small world.’

  Thank God for Gully Gordon. He could pick up a cue with the best of them. ‘He’s an old friend, Miss Hallstrom. Only we don’t see enough of him – too busy piling up the shekels.’

  ‘It’s getting harder, Gully; I’m getting older. Do you come here often, Miss Hallstrom?’

  ‘She’s a friend of mine, too,’ said Gully. ‘What can I play for you, lassie?’

  ‘You’re doing fine, Gully. Just play. Had a big day, Mr Desmond?’

  ‘Paul… And I’ve had a long, lousy day.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’

  ‘Mine isn’t over yet. Otherwise I’d ask you to dinner.’

  ‘There’s no contract.’

  ‘Care to sign one for tomorrow?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Where do I pick you up?’

  ‘My place at seven-thirty.’

  ‘Sealed and delivered.’

  ‘You know, you’re rather nice.’

  ‘I know. My twin brother’s the bastard. He’s off-duty tonight.’

  It was an old line, but it raised a smile from her and a wink from Gully, and it carried us over to a booth, where we sat nursing our drinks while the music washed round us.

  After a while, she said, ‘Gully’s is a very special place for me.’

  ‘Me, too. I was here the night he opened. All I owned was a pile of debts and the cash I had in my pocket.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He must have brought me luck. Next day, the market jumped and I made a small killing.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll be lucky again.’

  ‘I am. Look what I found.’

  ‘Now you say what’s a girl like you doing in a singles bar.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I say this is a lonely town and it’s nice to have a place where you’re welcomed and nobody asks who you are or what you do. It’s better than being a number in a computer bank.’

  ‘A philosopher, yet!’

  ‘No. A middle-aged man with a lot of living behind him.’

  ‘I think you’ve worn pretty well.’

  ‘And you, young Valerie, are hardly worn at all.’

  ‘That’s not what you thought yesterday.’

  ‘I’m older today.’

  ‘I’m sorry I had to give you a hard time.’

  ‘Standard practice?’

  ‘No. Orders. And I get seven-fifty a week with fringe benefits for doing what I’m told.’

  If it was a bait, I wasn’t going to rise to it. If it was an indiscretion, there would be more to follow. I decided it was time to go.

  ‘Look, I hate to leave, Valerie, but I must. My president arrived this afternoon. I have to change and dine with him at eight. Which still leaves me time to walk you home, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll stay awhile.’

  ‘Until tomorrow then.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it. Goodnight, Paul!’

  It ended with a smile and a hand’s touch. I paid the score and carried a drink to Gully at the piano. He still played left-hand chords as he raised the glass in salute.

  ‘Slainte, laddie! You’ll be around for a while, eh?’

  ‘I’ll be around, Gully. Look after the lady for me!’

  ‘On my soul’s honour, sir! Have a nice evening.’

  When I arrived at the Salvador for dinner, I found Harlequin and Julie relaxed and cheerful. Harlequin had slept most of the journey. There was colour in his cheeks. He was restless and eager for my report, but Julie announced firmly that we would have no business talk at dinner, and that she would leave us private afterwards – provided I sent George to bed before midnight. I thought it was a splendid arrangement. I had no wish to introduce Aaron Bogdanovich over the french cutlets; and there were thorny matters to settle with Harlequin himself. I gave him my report over the coffee.

  He heard me out in silence and then questioned me closely. ‘So we have two parallel investigations; one by Lichtman Wells, which will follow conventional lines, the other by Aaron Bogdanovich, which may involve illegality and violence. Correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meantime, we have unhappy staff, who must be kept comfortable and loyal?’

  ‘That’s your job, George. It can’t be done by proxy.’

  ‘And on the outside we have Yanko, who is now pressing for a decision in sixty days?’

  ‘Possibly less. He’s expecting a discussion with you as soon as you’re fit.’

  ‘I’m fit now. I’ll call him in a day or two.’

  ‘Why not let him sweat awhile?’

  ‘Because he’s not sweating, Paul. We are. I don’t like that. Now, what’s the rest of the strategy?’

  ‘Let’s be clear on what we have first. Lichtman Wells are investigating the computer frauds. That’s defensive, to clear the bank and clear you. Aaron Bogdanovich is investigating Yanko. That’s attack, to tie him and his company to the frauds and discredit him.’

  ‘But it’s still not enough, is it?’

  ‘No. It represents forty-eight hours’ work on my part; but I’m only a delegate, not a principal.’

  ‘Another question, then. Yanko wants to buy a bank. Why did he choose ours? Why not Herman Wolff or Laszlo Horvath, who are both willing sellers?’

  ‘Well, Harlequin et Cie is an older and more conservative institution. We have more branches – London, Paris and Hamburg, New York, Buenos Aires, Rio, Lisbon, Mexico City.’

  ‘Good reasons, but still not enough.’

  ‘W
e use his systems; therefore, we’re more vulnerable.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘That’s the best I can do so far, George.’

  ‘Then I’ll give you two more. As underwriters, we acquired and we still hold significant blocks of shares in Creative Systems and its international affiliates. Therefore, we represent a dissident voice in the affairs of the corporation.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware of any dissent.’

  ‘Believe me, there is. Although it is not yet formal, it is deep and personal. The biggest projects of Creative Systems, those in which Yanko is most personally interested, are in two related fields: police documentation and what is politely called urban control. In effect, we are talking about the surveillance, documentation, strategic control and manipulation of vast masses of people in every continent of the globe. The instrumentation is already in existence, personnel are already in training, existing systems are being enlarged and improved. They are being used not merely against criminals, but against political dissidents and indeed to determine the daily destinies of ordinary people. They lead inevitably to terror, repression, counter-terror and the torture chambers. The company which devises such systems is in a position of immense power and privilege in every jurisdiction, even under opposing systems and regimes. Now, if such a company can enter the international money market, if it can manipulate currency and credit, then you have an empire straddling all geographical frontiers… I’ve seen this situation developing for a long time. I talked about it last year at a bankers’ dinner in London. I tried to distinguish between legitimate use of computer facilities and those which constituted a threat to personal liberty. The speech was, I believe, widely reported. I had it printed and circulated to friends. Not all of them received it kindly. Yanko received a copy, which he never acknowledged. I believe now that it determined his present strategy against me and against the Company.’

  ‘I’ll admit it’s very possible, George. Yanko’s a sardonic bastard. It’s the kind of joke he’d relish. But I don’t see how it changes our present situation.’

  ‘It doesn’t. It simply tells me what I ought to do.’

  ‘Let me point out, George, that we can do nothing without evidence. Evidence that clears you and convicts Yanko.’

  ‘I don’t agree, Paul. I have to run a business. I have to deal in an open manner with a public situation. I can’t have Yanko, you or anyone else dictate a role for me.’