THE PERFECT KILL by A. J. Quinnell Page A

an assumption that you are doing something on your own. I just hope you’re not doing something stupid.”
    “Am I a stupid man, Curtis?”
    The FBI man shook his head slowly.
    “No, Jim, you are not, but great grief can do strange things to a man.”
    The Senator nodded gravely. “That’s true, and I did something stupid a few weeks back.” Then he touched his friend on the shoulder.
    “But Curtis, I’m not doing anything stupid now…tell me, how’s the investigation going?”
    The FBI man said, “I think it will work out. I had a chat with Buck Revell, who’s handling liaison with the Scottish police. The guy in charge over there is a Peter Fleming. Apparently he’s doing a hell of a job. He’s dogged, determined and simply a damn good detective. We already know that the bomb was placed on the plane in Frankfurt or routed through that city, we know the possibilities, even the probabilities. I think in a matter of months this guy will come up with the name of the terrorist group and have the proof to back it up.”
    “And then our President will send in the Marines.”
    The FBI man’s shrug was eloquent. He finished his drink, picked up the briefcase and said, “I gotta be going.”
    Grainger said, “Wait a minute, Curtis. You’re a keen poker player. Have you ever heard the expression “Tap City Money”?”
    Bennett looked surprised. “Sure,” he said. “But it’s only used by pro poker players. They go into a game with a fixed stake, all they have except the clothes on their back. They all have the same stake. It could be hundreds or many thousands. If they lose their stake they’re out of the game. They call it being “tapped out”. Means they’re flat broke. Then, the players left in the game will contribute some cash so the guy can eat. That’s “Tap City Money”…You taking up poker, Jim?”
    Grainger smiled and answered, “Maybe I am. Thanks for everything, Curtis. It’s appreciated.”
    Bennett said, “You’re damn welcome and you know it.”
    He looked the Senator up and down and said, “You’re losing weight, Jim. You’re not eating enough. We’ll fix a date for next week, come by the house and Mary will make all your favourite things.”
    “I’ll do that…wait a second, Curtis.”
    Bennett turned. The Senator was deep in thought. Finally he said, “This man Creasy…if he is alive, how would you quantify him?”
    Bennett’s response was also thoughtful.
    “Since you first asked for an input on the guy I’ve taken a very personal interest. I’ve got reports in from the French Sûreté on his time in the Legion. I’ve got reports from the Belgians and the British on his time in Africa. I’ve got a report from the CIA on his time in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. I’ll be getting a report from Italian security shortly on what he was doing in Italy, when according to the good Professor Satta he ended up dead…Jim, I’ll send you the reports, and maybe soon you’ll send me something back, like a little info…like so I don’t have to feel like a messenger boy…See you next week. I’ll phone.”
    He had his hand on the doorknob when the Senator’s voice stopped him again.
    “Curtis, if he is alive…sum him up for me in a sentence.”
    Bennett was looking at the doorknob. He remained looking at it for half a minute, then he opened the door, turned and said, “I told you I studied the man’s files and all reports. He doesn’t exactly fit the mould. Sure he’s been a mercenary most of his life. Sure he’s the perfect killing machine. But I have a gut feeling that although he was a mercenary, money was never his only motive.”
    The Senator said again, “Curtis, sum him up for me in a sentence.” The FBI man shrugged.
    “If he’s alive…and if he has a motive…that man is death on a cold night.”
    He went through the door and closed it behind him.

Chapter 08
    Peter Fleming took two days away from Loccurbie. It was not to be a holiday, although he needed