Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,27

also concerns your visit to New Orleans.”

That could mean only one thing. Jackie asked, “Walker’s treasure?”

Dulles put up his hands. He obviously didn’t want to give too much away.

“Patience, Jackie. The man who will brief you is somewhat unconventional and will get in touch with you in his own way and his own time. His name is Robert Maheu. He’s a former FBI agent. He now works as a freelance security consultant. And we sometimes make use of his—how shall we say—unusual abilities.”

And with that, Jackie had found herself dismissed.

Now, here she was, at the Uptown Theatre, watching 5 Fingers and waiting for this Robert Maheu to show up, as he was obviously the one who had left that unorthodox invitation in her car yesterday.

At three o’clock on the dot, Jackie’s patience was finally rewarded. A man came down the aisle and sat in the seat next to her. Jackie looked around at the empty balcony. It seemed that they had the place all to themselves. In his right hand, he held a briefcase, in his left a bag of popcorn. She wondered if the popcorn was just for the sake of verisimilitude or whether he really planned to snack on it during their meeting. He seated himself, put the briefcase down on the floor, then offered the bag of popcorn to Jackie.

Jackie looked at him and said, “No, thank you.” Jackie loved going to the movies, but she drew the line at eating fattening snacks from the concession stand.

“Okay, then, more for me,” the man responded and shoveled a handful of popcorn kernels into his mouth. Jackie tried to get a good look at him, but it was difficult in the darkness of the theatre. She did get a sense, though, that he was a man who felt at home in both darkness and shadow.

“Oh, I’m Robert Maheu,” the man said. He held out his hand for Jackie to take, then thought better of it. He produced a handkerchief, used it to wipe the butter off his hand, then offered his hand again to Jackie.

Taking his hand, she said, “I’m Jackie—”

But Maheu cut her off. “Yes, I know who you are. Thanks for meeting me here. I know this is an unusual location.”

Jackie nodded in appreciation of his understatement.

Maheu glanced up at the screen. Jackie had lost track of the narrative, but it looked like James Mason was navigating the back alleys of Ankara in order to lose a Nazi tail.

“How do you like the movie so far?” Maheu asked.

Jackie tried not to look exasperated. Surely Maheu hadn’t asked to meet her here to discuss the cinematic merits of 5 Fingers. She turned to him and said, “I’m afraid I’m finding it difficult to concentrate.”

“You know what I find so interesting about this movie?” Maheu asked, and charged on before she could even respond to his question.

“James Mason’s character is a spy for the Nazis. But he doesn’t do so out of any political or ideological commitment. He does it because he wants to make money and become a man of leisure. I think that’s kind of interesting, don’t you? Especially in light of the reason I’ve asked you to meet me here.”

Finally, Jackie thought, then broke in before Maheu could have the chance to continue. “Does it have something to do with Walker’s treasure?”

“I’m coming to that,” Maheu said, as though the question was impertinent on Jackie’s part.

He put aside the paper bag of popcorn, now empty, and picked up the briefcase and put it on his lap.

While fiddling with the combination lock on the briefcase—Jackie had no idea how he could see the numbers in such dim light—Maheu said, “Your boss, Mr. Dulles, asked me to do a little investigating on your account. Apparently, you were doing some research and took things as far as you could go. I have my own… special… resources, so he thought he’d let me take a crack at it.”

Having opened the briefcase, Maheu reached in, removing a spiral-bound reporter’s notepad and riffling through it until he found the page he wanted. He looked at it, causing Jackie to wonder if the man had eyes like an owl’s that could pierce the darkness.

After conferring with the notebook, Maheu looked up and said, “This Malachi Simon was a real character. He would pretend to be a scholar, complete with forged credentials from Oxford or Cambridge, and talk his way into university libraries and private collections, where he would then razor map illustrations out