Evil, Inc. Page 3

  “I told the girl we want to talk to the guy at the top,” said Frank.

  Yeah, no small fry,” said Joe.

  Frank was still holding the envelope stuffed with bills. He jammed it under his arm, and he and his brother made a show of turning to leave the office.

  “Wait a moment,” Duval said. “You are the Jackson brothers, yes? You are earlier than expected, but I am sure we can help you. Please follow me.”

  The Hardy boys followed Duval through the door leading to the inner offices. Duval led them first to his office, where he spoke briefly on the telephone. Then he led them down a corridor lined with closed office doors until they reached a large door at the end.

  “I will leave you gentlemen here,” he said. “Please go through this door. I’m sure you will find what you want. Reynard and Company always does its best to satisfy its clients.”

  “So this is the office of the big cheese,” said Joe, after Duval had left them.

  “At last we’ll meet Paul Reynard face-to face,” said Frank, turning the door knob.

  He swung the door open, and he and his brother stepped through it and found themselves facing not one but three men.

  The men sat behind a long conference table in a large office with windows looking out over Paris. They bore a distinct resemblance to each other, like triplets somehow born a few years apart. They had the same massive shoulders under the same pin-striped suits, and their faces had the same gorilla like features under slicked-down, thinning dark hair.

  They looked at the Hardys with the same gleaming eyes. Clearly, they, too, had been briefed on the size of the bankroll.

  “Allow me to introduce ourselves,” said the man in the center. “I am Pierre Reynard. On my left is my brother Yves. And on my right is my brother Maurice.”

  “Hey, I told the chick at the desk, and then that flunky Duval, that it’s the head man we want to see,” Frank said, still sounding tough. “What’s-his-name.” “Paul Reynard,” Joe supplied, on cue.

  “Yeah, Paul Reynard,” said Frank. “If we don’t see him, it’s no soap. Joe and I just cut deals with the dude in charge.”

  “An excellent business principle,” said Pierre Reynard, who apparently did the talking for the brothers. “But evidently you don’t understand the nature of our business. Our dear uncle Paul may be officially the head of this company, but he prefers to spend his time at his estate in Normandy, where he pursues his passion for breeding horses. His only connection with the company is that he receives his share of the profits. And as long as the profits continue to grow as they have, he is happy to leave Reynard and Company in the hands of us, his nephews.” One of the other brothers, Yves, finally spoke.

  His voice was harsher and cruder than Pierre’s cultivated tone. “So let’s get down to business,” he said. “Our time is valuable. What do you want from us? What are you willing to pay?”

  “We want as many handguns and assault rifles as one hundred and fifty thousand American dollars will buy,” said Frank. “We’d prefer the FNFAL assault rifle, French manufacture will do, and the NATO-issue Belgian nine-millimeter Browning automatic pistol. Needless to say, they all must have serial numbers that can’t be traced. “

  Frank had read a long article on terrorist weaponry the year before. He was grateful for his accurate memory as he saw the Reynard brothers nod in recognition of the names he had mentioned.

  “And exactly what do you plan to do with these weapons?” asked Pierre, after exchanging quick glances with his brothers. “Not that we are saying we can sell them to you,” he added.

  “Let’s just say I have a good use for them,” replied Frank. “The less you know, the better it is for everyone.”

  “And who recommended our firm to you?” asked Pierre, his eyes intently watchful now.

  “A friend who would prefer that his name not be revealed,” said Frank. “You know how it is with some people. They’re shy.”

  “Look, enough of this chatter,” Joe interrupted with a grimace of impatience. “As far as I’m concerned, money talks-and if you don’t want to listen, we’ll find somebody who does.”

  Pierre shrugged and said, “I am very sorry, gentlemen, but somebody gave you what I believe you Americans call ‘a bum steer.’ Reynard and Company does not engage in the sort of trade you have mentioned. In fact, if not for our tradition of complete business confidentiality, we would be forced to inform the police of your proposition. And in France, the penalty for illegal weapons possession is very harsh indeed.”

  Frank and Joe looked at the Reynard brothers one by one. Each brother gave the Hardys the same cold stare.

  “I believe you gentlemen know the way out,” said Pierre in a chilly voice.

  “Yeah,” replied Joe with disgust. “We’re on our way.”

  Without another word, the Hardys left the office and walked back through the corridor toward the reception area.

  “I could have sworn we had them on the hook,” said Frank, shaking his head. “I wonder what we did wrong.”

  They entered the reception area and were heading for the exit when they heard the voice of the receptionist calling after them.

  “Gentlemen, would you please leave me your address in Paris in case we should want to be in touch with you?” she asked. Clearly, she had been contacted over the intercom as soon as the Hardys had left the Reynard brothers’ office.

  Frank gave her the name of the hotel, and she said, “May I suggest you return there immediately.”

  “I figured we’d have some lunch first,” said Joe. “Say, maybe you could tell us a nice place to eat. In fact, why not have lunch with us? You know, make a couple of strangers feel at home.”

  Her response was simply, “May I suggest you return to your hotel immediately.”

  “Real French hospitality,” muttered Joe, as he and his brother left.

  “Don’t take it as an insult to your famous way with women,” said Frank. “Obviously, she had her orders. Let’s get back to the hotel fast. I have a hunch something’s waiting for us there.”

  What was waiting was a telephone message at the desk in the lobby. It was a very short message: a telephone number and the words “Call immediately.”

  When Frank made the call from their room, the person who answered obviously was expecting to hear from them. Before Frank could say a word, a voice answered the phone in English. “Mr. Jackson!” “Right,” Frank answered.

  “You and your brother will be sitting outside at the Cafe des Nations opposite the Pompidou Center at four this afternoon,” the voice said. “You will be contacted by someone who will say to you, ‘Brother, can you spare a million?’ Is that clear?”

  “Yes, but - ” Frank said.

  There was a click on the other end of the line. Frank turned to Joe.

  “I think we’re in business,” he said.

  Three hours later, though, sitting in the summer late-afternoon sunlight at the Cafe des Nations, Frank was having a hard time keeping Joe’s mind on business. He had no sooner made Joe break off a budding friendship with two pretty girls who had stopped in front of their table, when another one appeared. One look at her, and Frank knew that Joe would be hard to discourage.

  She looked about eighteen years old. Her pale complexion was flawless and untouched by makeup except for dark shading around her green eyes. Her hair was flaming red, and if it was dyed, it was very well done. She ‘wore a white T-shirt that showed off her slim figure, faded blue jeans that hugged her legs down to her bare ankles, and high-heeled sandals. Joe didn’t have to utter a word to say what he thought of her. His eyes said it all: Gorgeous!

  Even Frank wasn’t exactly eager to get rid of her.

  Especially when she leaned toward them, gave them a smile, and said, “Brother, can you spare a million ?” “Sit down,” Joe said instantly.

  But the girl remained standing. Her gaze flicked toward the policeman who stood watching them.

  “Too hot out here in the sun,” she said
with the faintest of French accents. “I know someplace that’s cooler. Come on.”

  Frank left some change on the table to pay for the coffees, then he and Joe hurried off with the girl.

  “What’s your name?” Joe asked. “Denise,” she replied. “And which brother are you, Joe or Frank?”

  “I’m Joe,” Joe said. “The handsome, charming one.” “Where are we going?” asked Frank. “And that’s Frank,” Joe added. “The dull, businesslike one.” “Speaking of business,” said Denise, “do you have the money?” “Do you have the goods?” asked Frank.

  “Trust the young lady,” Joe said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Anyone who looks as good as she does can’t be bad.”

  “First, you answer,” Denise said to Frank. “I’ve got the money,” said Frank. “Then I’ve got the goods,” said Denise. The Hardys and Denise were walking through a maze of twisting streets behind the Pompidou Center. Denise glanced over her shoulder each time they turned, making sure they weren’t being followed. Finally she seemed satisfied.

  “In here,” she said, indicating the entranceway to a grime-covered old building.

  They entered a dark hallway, and Denise flicked a switch.

  “We have to hurry up the stairs,” she said. “The light stays on for just sixty seconds.”

  At the top of the creaking stairs was a steel door, which clearly had been installed to discourage thieves. Denise rapped loudly on it: four raps, a pause, and then two more.

  The Hardys heard the sound of a bolt being unfastened and then a voice saying, “Entrez.”

  Denise swung the door open and motioned for Frank and Joe to go in first.

  They did.

  A man was waiting for them in the center of a shabbily furnished room.

  Neither Frank nor Joe could have said what he looked like.

  All they could see was what was in his hand.

  It was a pistol-and it was pointed directly at them.

  Chapter 5

  FRANK AND JOE froze.

  They heard Denise’s voice behind them. “That’s enough, Jacques. Stop joking.” The man shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and lowered the gun. The Hardys relaxed. “Jacques has a very crude sense of humor,” Denise said. Jacques grinned and began to chatter away in French. “Speak English, Jacques,” said Denise sharply. “These are important clients.” “Okay, okay. Sorry, guys, just wanted a couple of kicks,” said Jacques, with a heavy accent. “No bad feelings, okay?” “Look, man, I’m not into mixing business with pleasure,” said Frank.

  “Yeah,” agreed Joe. “Not-when the business is as serious as this is.”

  “Jacques was merely giving you a demonstration of-the goods,” said Denise soothingly.

  “Yes, of course,” said Jacques-, as he extended the pistol, butt end first, toward the Hardys.

  “Take a closer look.” Frank took the pistol and examined it.

  “You’ll find that it’s what you specified,” said Denise. “A NATO-issue Belgian nine millimeter.”

  “And take a look at this,” Jacques went on. He picked up a compact, deadly-looking rifle from a table and tossed it to Joe, who caught it and worked the action.

  “That is the greatest assault rifle on earth,” Jacques said fervently. “Seventy rounds a minute and no jamming.” “Looks fine to me,” said Joe.

  “Reynard and Company is certainly efficient,” Frank added. “Give my congratulations to your bosses. On second thought, I’ll do it myself, when we arrange delivery of the full shipment and I make payment.”

  “Who said-anything about Reynard and Company?” said Denise. “Did you hear that name mentioned, Jacques?”

  “What name?” replied Jacques, grinning again. “I hear nothing but what I am supposed to hear. Some things are dangerous to hear. Even more dangerous than these guns.”

  42

  “This time Jacques isn’t joking,” said Denise. “We are the people you two will be dealing with. You give us the money, and we deliver the goods. “

  Frank exchanged a quick glance with Joe. Things were taking a wrong turn, possibly heading toward a dead end. He had to get them back on the right track.

  “Hey, what do you take us for-suckers?” he asked. “We went to Reynard and Company because they had a good rep, too good a rep for them to risk damaging it by ripping us off. But there’s no way we’re going to cut a deal with small fry. What’s to stop you from grabbing our dough and offing us?”

  “Yeah,” said Joe. “Either we get the word from the big boys at Reynard, or we take our business elsewhere.”

  Denis merely looked thoughtful at the Hardys’ response, but Jacques did more than that. His face darkening, he pulled another pistol from his pocket. It was smaller than the first, but it looked just as efficient.

  “The weapons you have in your hands have no bullets,” he said. “This gun has. Now you will hand over your money.”

  “Are - you crazy?” exclaimed Frank. “You think we brought it with us?”

  “That’s a real joke,” said Joe. “You aren’t dealing with amateurs, you know.”

  “Of course we’re not,” replied Denise. Once again her voice was soothing. “I told you once, Jacques, no more jokes. Put your little toy away.” Scowling, Jacques reluctantly put his pistol back in his pocket. “Good,” said Frank, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. “Now let’s get back to business. You are working for Reynard then?” “I can see you’re too shrewd to try to fool,” said Denise, smiling. “You win. We do work for Reynard. “

  “We’ll need proof of that,” said Frank. Joe grinned at Denise. “Yeah, don’t think you can just bat your eyes at us and convince us.” He paused. “That’s not to say they’re not real pretty green eyes. In fact-” “Like I said, we can get back to business now,” said Frank. “Proof is what we want.” “And proof is what you’ll get,” Denise answered. “Please excuse me for a moment.” She disappeared into the next room of the apartment. The Hardys could hear her talking in a low voice over the telephone, but there was no way they could have caught what she said, even if they had understood her rapidly spoken French. Her conversation lasted a full five minutes. When she returned, she said, “Would you go to the phone, please?” Frank and Joe, followed by Denise and Jacques, went into the next room. It was a bedroom, as shabbily furnished as the living room. Frank noticed that the mattress on the bed was bare. He suspected that no one actually lived in the apartment.

  Denise indicated that he should pick up the phone receiver, which was off the hook. Frank did - so, with Joe standing next to him.

  “Hello, Mr. Jackson,” said a voice Frank recognized. “This is Pierre Reynard. I want to assure you that you can trust Denise and Jacques. Reynard and Company stands behind them. “

  “And I assume you will give a money-back guarantee if the goods prove unsatisfactory,” said Frank.

  “Of course, Mr. Jackson,” Pierre said. “Reynard and Company takes pride in providing the highest-quality service.”

  “That’s what I wanted to know,” said Frank and hung up. “Satisfied?” asked Denise. “Satisfied,” said Frank. “I knew a girl as pretty as you could be trusted,” said Joe.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” replied Denise, returning his winning smile.

  “When can we inspect the goods?” Frank wanted to know. “We need them in a hurry. You know, pressing business.”

  “Our customers usually do have pressing business,” said Jacques. “We, too, do not like to waste time. Come and take a look.”

  Jacques opened a bedroom closet. It was filled with neatly stacked wooden crates.

  “Do you want to open them and inspect each weapon?” Jacques asked.

  “That won’t be necessary now that we have a Reynard guarantee,” said Frank. “All we have to do is arrange the details of delivery.”

  As he spoke, Frank’s mind was working feverishly. He had wanted things to happen fast, but not this fast. “I’ll fill you in on the details tomorrow,” he
said. “It’ll take that long to work things out with the other members of my group. We’ll rendezvous here tomorrow, okay?”

  But before they could leave, Denise said, “Wait a moment. I have to see what my boss says.”

  She made another phone call and reported the situation. “He says that you have seen our goods, now we must be able to count your money, or else no deal. You can trust Reynard and Company, but we have no reason to trust you now that you know where the weapons are stored. If you don’t mind, we will accompany you back to your hotel room to look at your cash.”

  “No need to do that,” said Frank. He removed the money from his pockets.

  “So you had it on you all the time,” said Denise admiringly. “Very cool of you.”

  46

  “Got to be cool in this business,” said Joe. “Lose your cool and you’re done for.”

  “It is a pleasure to do business with such professionals.” Denise took the money and counted it rapidly, then handed it back to Frank. “I will not even ask to keep it before we make the delivery. I can see that you are too sharp a businessman to agree to that, just as I can be sure that you have too much to lose to try to double-cross us. I will tell the boss you are okay.”

  She spoke again briefly on the phone, and hung up. Then she turned to Frank and Joe. “Until tomorrow.” “See you,” said Frank. “Look, if you’re not doing anything tonight, maybe we can - ” Joe began.

  “Come on, Joe,” Frank said, eager to reach a phone of his own.

  “My brother may be a real sharp businessman, but he’s also a real wet blanket,” Joe said to Denise.

  “Come on,” Frank repeated, already on his way out.

  “Okay, okay,” said Joe.

  But the Hardys didn’t reach the front door before they were stopped in their tracks.

  They’d just gotten into the living room when the front door came crashing in, smashed off its hinges.

  Through the doorway burst a wave of men, some in suits, others in the uniforms of the French police.

  Each one had a gun in his hands. Instinctively, the Hardys turned to run.

  They found themselves facing another gun, this one in Jacques’s hand. “American stoolies,” he said, with a fierce snarl. “Die!” “No!” Frank shouted. “You’ve got us wrong. We didn’t - ” But his denial was blotted out by the roar of a pistol shot.