1967 - Have This One on Me by James Hadley Chase

of course, he thought, not himself that now made her change her mind.
    ‘You must see Vlast tomorrow. Tell him you need a British passport. He’ll get you one if the money is there.’ Worthington turned the packet in his hands. ‘Have you an envelope to take this?’
    ‘There’s a plastic bag in the kitchen ... would that do?’
    ‘That would do.’
    She saw the sad, disillusioned expression on his face and she felt ashamed.
    ‘Thank you. Alec. I can’t help it if I don’t love you. can I? I’m sorry about the way I’ve treated you I’m just scared stiff.’
    Worthington smiled at her.
    ‘That’s all right. I’m scared stiff too. We’ll make it. Mala. Once you are in Geneva, you may see things differently. You never know ... you might even come to like me.’
    While they were talking two thickset men, wearing black mackintoshes and black slouch hats took over a room that overlooked Mala’s apartment on the opposite side of the street.
    An elderly woman who had lived in this room for many years was ruthlessly bundled out to stay in an old people’s home.
    Smernoff had given his orders. From the moment the two men took up their positions behind the lace curtains of the window. Mala was under the G.R.U.’s microscope.
     
    * * *
     
    Mavis Paul, Corey’s secretary, dark, beautifully built and very assured, glanced up as O’Halloran came into her office.
    ‘Good morning. Captain,’ she said and gave him her bright smile she reserved for her favourites. ‘He is expecting you ... go right on in.’
    O’Halloran grinned, giving her a dashing salute.
    ‘You look pretty good this morning,’ he said gallantly. ‘Come to think of it, when don’t you look good?’

She laughed
    ‘I’ve heard that story dozens of times. Anyway, thanks,’ and she flicked a finger at Dorey’s office door. ‘Right in there Captain,’ and she began to hammer away at her I.B.M. electric typewriter.
    O’Halloran pulled a resigned face.
    ‘I’ve nothing to do tonight,’ he said. ‘How about a gorgeous dinner at Lasserre? Three stars and a sliding roof? Interest you?’
    ‘My roof doesn’t slide,’ she said, pausing for a brief moment.
    ‘No dates . . . but thanks,’ and she continued to type.
    ‘Well, I guess a guy can always try,’ O’Halloran said and walked over to Corey’s office door. ‘Take a raincheck on it.’
    ‘I will and thank you.’
    But he knew she wouldn’t. He had come to realise that Mavis Paul not only took her work seriously, but also her after working hours. She just did not make dates.
    He tapped on the door and entered.
    As usual, Dorey was immersed in a file. He glanced up, waved to a chair and went on reading.
    O’Halloran sat down and put his service cap on the floor by his side. A minute later, Dorey signed the file and pushed it out of his way. He sat back and smiled at O’Halloran.
    ‘Glad to see you back, Tim. Had a good trip?’
    O’Halloran had been to Antwerp on a dull and unprofitable assignment. This had kept him out of Paris for the past three days.
    ‘Okay . . . nothing much.’ he said. ‘You’ll get my report tomorrow.’
    ‘Things go well this end,’ Dorey said with satisfaction. ‘I’ve had confirmation from Bruckman that Girland has arrived in Prague. Latimer is waiting to fly in. This has to be carefully timed. The moment Girland’s picked up, Latimer goes in. I have an open reservation for him so there’ll be no delay. Probably in a couple of days, Latimer will be in Prague. Girland works fast. He’ll grab the money and then try to get out. Bruckman is covering him all the time.’
    ‘Anyone else out there?’ O’Halloran asked. ‘It’s throwing a lot on Bruckman.’
    ‘He can handle it. I asked him if he wanted help, but he said no. I have a lot of confidence in him.’
    O’Halloran looked dubious.
    ‘Yeah. I’d have thought he should have had help. Girland is tricky. If he once gets the idea that Bruckman is tailing him, I don’t think Bruckman