thing?’ asked Follet alertly.
‘Never mind, Johnny; carry on with what you were saying.’
Follet shrugged. ‘This guy – Javid Raqi – is a bright boy. He speaks English well, he’s had a good education and he’s ambitious. I guess that chief clerk won’t last long with friend Javid on his heels. He has only one flaw – he’s a gambler.’
Tozier smiled. ‘Your flaw, Johnny?’
‘Not mine,’ said Follet promptly. ‘He’s a sucker gambler. Now, that doesn’t mean he’s a fool. He’s learned to play poker – the guys working on the gas line taught him – and he’s a good player. I know because he’s gotten some of my dough right now, and I didn’t have to let him win it, either – he gouged it out of me like a pro. But it means he can be got at – he can be had; and once he’s been got at then we squeeze him goddam hard.’
Warren wrinkled his nose distastefully. ‘I wish there were some other way of doing this.’
‘Never give a sucker an even break,’ said Follet, and turned to Tozier. ‘The whole scheme hinges on that videotape gadget. How well does it work?’
‘I have it set up in my room; it works very well.’
‘That I have to see for myself,’ said Follet. ‘Let’s all go up there.’
They all went up to Tozier’s room and Tozier switched on the TV and pointed to the videotape machine. ‘There it is. It’s already connected to the TV set.’
The machine looked very much like an ordinary tape recorder, although bulkier than most. The tape, however, was an inch wide and the reels were oversized. Follet bent down and examined it interestedly. ‘I’d like to get this just right; this gadget will take in everything – sight and sound both?’
‘That’s it,’ said Tozier.
‘How’s the quality?’
‘If you use the video-camera there’s a bit of blurring, particularly on movement, but if you take a taping of a TV programme then the reproduction is indistinguishable from the original.’ He looked at the TV screen. ‘I’ll show you now.’
A man was speaking and his voice was heard as Tozier turned up the volume. Warren did not know the language but it seemed to be a news broadcast because the man disappeared and a street scene replaced him, although his voice continued. Tozier bent down and flicked a switch and the reels began to turn, much faster than a normal recording machine. ‘We’re recording now.’
‘That tape’s fairly whipping through,’ commented Follet. ‘How long can you record?’
‘An hour.’
‘Hell, that’s plenty.’ He regarded the television screen for a while, then said, ‘Okay, let’s have a repeat.’
Tozier ran the tape back and switched the television set to a previously selected unused channel. He stopped the recorder and set it to playback, then snapped the starting switch. On the television screen appeared the street scene they had just witnessed, together with the voice of the announcer.
Follet bent forward with a critical eye on the screen. ‘Hey, this quality’s fine. It’s just about as good as the original, like you said. This is going to work.’
He straightened. ‘Now, look, the action starts on Saturday and you’ve got to get it right. Not only have you got to get every word right, but the way you say the word. No false notes.’ He looked at them appraisingly. ‘You’re amateurs at this game, so we’ll have some rehearsals. Imagine we’re putting on a play and I’m the producer. You only have to play to an audience of one.’
‘I can’t act,’ said Bryan. ‘I never could.’
‘That’s okay – you can work this television gadget. As for the rest of us – I’ll play the easy guy, Andy does the hard-nosed stuff, and Warren can be the boss.’ Follet grinned as he saw the expression on Warren’s face. ‘You don’t say much and you say it quietly. The way I figure it the less acting you do the better. An ordinary conversational tone can sound real menacing in some situations.’
He looked about the room. ‘Now, where do we put Ben and the videotape?’
Tozier went to the window, opened it and looked out. ‘I think I can run a line into your room, Johnny. We can settle Ben in there.’
‘Good enough,’ said Follet. He slapped his hands together, ‘Okay, first rehearsal – beginners, please.’
III
At twelve-thirty on Saturday they waited in a lounge just off the foyer of the hotel, not exactly in hiding but certainly concealed from casual inspection. Follet nudged Warren. ‘There he is – I told him to wait for me in the bar. You go in first; Andy will give you time to settle, and I’ll be in right after. Get going.’
As Warren left, he said a little worriedly to Tozier, ‘I hope Ben doesn’t ball up his bit with the television.’
Warren crossed the foyer and entered the bar where he ordered a drink. Javid Raqi was seated at a table and appeared to be somewhat nervous, although probably not as nervous as Warren as he steeled himself to play his part in the charade. Raqi was a young man of about twenty-five, smartly dressed in European fashion from top to toe. He was darkly handsome if you like Valentino looks, and probably had a great future. Warren felt sorry for him.
Tozier appeared at the door, his jacket draped carelessly over his arm. He walked forward, past Raqi, and something apparently dropped from a pocket to plop right at Raqi’s feet. It was a fat wallet of brown leather. Raqi looked down and stooped, then straightened with the wallet in his hand. He looked towards Tozier who had walked on without missing a pace, then followed him to the bar.
Warren heard the murmur of voices and then the louder tones of Tozier. ‘Well, thank you. That was very careless of me. Allow me to buy you a drink.’
Johnny Follet was now in the room, on Raqi’s heels. ‘Hi, Javid; I didn’t know you two knew each other.’ There was surprise in his voice.
‘We don’t, Mr Follet,’ said Raqi.
‘Oh!’ said Tozier. ‘So this is who you were talking about, Johnny. Mr Raqi – that’s the name, isn’t it? – just rescued my wallet.’ He opened it to display a thick wad of notes. ‘He could have taken the lot without winning it.’
Follet chuckled. ‘He’ll probably take it anyway. He’s a right sharp poker-player.’ He looked around. ‘There’s Nick. It’ll be a foursome, Javid; does that suit you?’
Raqi said a little shyly, ‘That’s all right, Mr Follet.’
‘The hell with Mr Follet. We’re all friends here. I’m Johnny and this is Andy Tozier – and coming over is Nick Warren. Gentlemen, Javid Raqi, the best poker-player I’ve come across in Tehran – and I’m not kidding.’
Warren smiled stiffly at Raqi and murmured something conventional. Follet said, ‘Don’t buy a drink, Andy; let’s
