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Gly pulled a jeweler's eyepiece from his pocket and began studying a random sampling of bills. After nearly ten minutes he re pocketed the eyepiece and closed the suitcases.
"You weren't joking when you said 'well-worn.' Most of these bills are so wallet-battered you can hardly read the denominations."
As per your instructions," Finn said testily. "It was no simple matter scraping up that much used currency on such short notice. I think you'll find them all negotiable."
Gly walked over to Sarveux and held out his hand. "Nice doing business with you, Prime Minister."
Sarveux rebuffed Gly's gesture. "I'm only happy we caught onto your imposter scheme in time."
Gly shrugged and withdrew his empty hand. "Who's to say? I might have made a damned good President, better maybe than Villon."
"Pure luck on my part that you didn't," said Sarveux. "If Commissioner Finn hadn't known Henri's exact whereabouts when you brazenly walked into my office, you might never have been apprehended. As it is, my sad regret is that I can't have your neck stretched on the gallows."
"A good reason why I keep records for insurance," Gly said contemptuously. "A chronological journal of my actions on behalf of the Free Quebec Society, tape recordings of my conversations with Villon, videotapes of your wife in wild postures with your minister of internal affairs. The stuff major scandals are made of. I'd say that's a fair exchange for my life."
"When will I get them?" Sarveux demanded.
"I'll send you directions to their hiding place after I'm safely out of your reach."
"What assurances do I have? How can I trust you not to keep blackmailing me?" Gly grinned fiendishly.
"None, none at all."
"You're filth," Sarveux hissed angrily. "The excretion of the earth.
"Are you any better?" Gly snapped back. "You stood mute in all your sanctity and watched while I wasted your political rival and your cheating wife. And then you had the gall to pay for the job with government funds. You stink even worse than I do, Sarveux. The best of the bargain was yours. So save your insults and sermons for the mirror."
Sarveux trembled, the rage seething inside him. "I think you better get out get out of Canada."
"Gladly."
Sarveux got a mental hold on himself. "Goodbye, Mr. Gly, perhaps we'll meet in hell."
"We already have," grunted Gly.
He snapped the suitcases shut, carried them outside and entered the airplane. As the pilot taxied to the end of the runway, he relaxed in the main cabin and poured himself a drink.
Not bad, he thought, thirty million bucks and a jet airplane. Nothing like making an exit in style.
The phone on the bar buzzed and he picked it up. It was the pilot.
"We're ready for takeoff. Would you care to give me flight instructions now?"
"Head due south for the United States. Stay low to avoid radar. A hundred miles over the border, come to cruising altitude and set a course for Montserrat."
"Never heard of it."
"One of the Leeward Islands in the Lesser Antilles, southeast of Puerto Rico. Wake me when we get there."
"Sweet dreams, boss."
Gly slumped in his seat, not bothering to fasten the safety belt. At that moment he felt immortal. He grinned to himself as he gazed through the cabin window at The two figures silhouetted against the lights of the hangar.
Sarveux was a fool, he thought. If he had been in the Prime Minister's shoes he would have hidden a bomb in the plane, rigged it to crash, or perhaps ordered the air force to shoot it down. The latter was still a possibility, though a slim one.
But there was no bomb and all the flight controls checked out from nose to tail. He had done it. He was home free.
As the aircraft picked up speed and disappeared into the rainy night, Sarveux turned to Finn.
