Cloak of Darkness by Helen MacInnes Page A

plenty to do in Djibouti. All agreed?”
    “Agreed,” said Gilman. “We’ll sleep on this information, and tomorrow morning we’ll have some ideas on how to deal with it.”
    “Without alerting Brimmer. Or else we may not get three pages of his illegal transactions. Assassination and corruption aren’t in our particular field of operations. But who supplies the weapons to terrorists, who arranges for expert instructors, who receives them and where and how—that is Interintell’s business. Let’s not cause any flap in Brimmer’s office. We need three samples of his secret accounts, photocopied in peace and tranquillity.”
    Gilman gave a nod of approval. Photocopies made hard evidence.
    Claudel broke his silence. And goodbye to my own plans for tonight, he told himself. “I think I’d better take the Tube straight to Blackfriars. It’s an easy walk from there to Merriman’s. Old Bernie never leaves before two or three. He’s an owl.” And a specialist in dealing with miniature tapes as well as with more sophisticated gadgets. Bernstein found late working hours provided less interruption than normal daytime, and never wandered into his basement laboratory at Merriman’s until early evening. “The quicker he makes this ready for Ron’s tape player tomorrow”—Claudel picked up the cigarette case—“the sooner we’ll hear it. He might even be cajoled into using his back room for us.” The lighter was picked up, too. “Okay?”
    Renwick nodded. “And while you’re there, Pierre, run off some copies of that list.”
    Gilman looked at the Minus List still in his hand. “Two names for D15, two for French Security, one for Rome, three for the FBI. Yes, that covers the nationalities. And Pierre—use my car. Safer. This is the pickpocket season.” A mild little joke, but it eased the tension.
    “We’ll move up the meeting tomorrow?” Claudel asked, pocketing all three items. “Eight o’clock?”
    “Seven,” Renwick suggested. “A lot of discussion, a lot of decisions.” Then we start moving.
    Gilman said, “I’ll call Bernie and tell him to expect you, Pierre. This could be one night he thinks he might knock off early for dinner at midnight. Odd bird.”
    “Our mad scientist,” Claudel said lightly, “but what would we do without him?”
    “We’ll need special care on this job. Sorry about that, Pierre. Hope you didn’t have a prior engagement.”
    Special care, tightest security. I stay with Bernie until the work is completed, Claudel thought. He will play the minitape, transfer it to a regular tape, filter it to diminish any scratch. And it will all be done behind the closed door of his soundproof closet with both of us on the outside—once he checks the voice level of the first sentence—and not a whit wiser about the words being recorded anew. That over, the two tapes will be placed in separate containers, sealed tight, and locked away in Gilman’s ultra-safe safe. Then I stretch out on Gilman’s emergency cot. “At seven tomorrow, first order of business, I’ll be listening to that recording. So”—he said with a grin—“what’s a sleepless night against that? But one thing, Bob—could the Minus List be a fake? This Moore fellow tricked us once today.”
    “Just another dodge to enlist our help and get Brimmer off his back? Yes, I thought about that. But he talked so damn much, let slip a lot of details that added up to a fairly complete picture. And from that I’d say that the Minus List is the logical development in Brimmer’s career. You shuck your moral sense, let greed take over, and one day you are talking murder and excusing it as expedient. That list is for real, Pierre.”
    “Well, if a man is judged by the enemies he makes, then the list could be taken as a compliment.”
    “One we could do without,” said Gilman. They entered the living-room in silence.
    It was a scene of concentration. With head bent, note pad on knee, Gemma was writing. Nina, slightly