The Other Side of Midnight

Demiris had chosen as his personal pilots a Greek flyer named Paul Metaxas and an English ex-RAF fighter pilot named Ian Whitestone. Metaxas was a stocky, amiable man with a perpetual smile on his face and a hearty, contagious laugh. He had been a mechanic, had taught himself how to fly and had served with the RAF in the Battle of Britain, where he had met Ian Whitestone. Whitestone was tall, red-haired and painfully thin, with the diffident manner of a schoolmaster on his first day of the term at a second-rate school for incorrigible boys. In the air Whitestone was something else again. He had the rare, natural skill of a born pilot, a feel that can never be taught or learned. Whitestone and Metaxas had flown together for three years against the Luftwaffe and each had a high regard for the other.

Noelle made frequent trips in the large plane, sometimes on business with Demiris, sometimes for pleasure. She had gotten to know the pilots but had paid no particular attention to them.

And then one day she overheard them reminiscing about an experience they had had in the RAF.

From that moment on Noelle either spent some part of each flight in the cockpit talking to the two men or invited one of them to join her back in the cabin. She encouraged them to talk about their war experiences and, without ever asking a direct question, eventually learned that Whitestone had been a liaison officer in Larry Douglas' squadron before Douglas had left the RAF and that Metaxas had joined the squadron too late to meet Larry. Noelle began to concentrate on the English pilot. Encouraged and flattered by the interest of his boss' mistress, Whitestone talked freely about his past life and his future ambitions. He told Noelle he had always been interested in electronics. His brother-in-law in Australia had opened a small electronics firm and wanted Whitestone to go in with him, but Whitestone lacked the capital.

"The way I live," he said to Noelle, grinning, "I'll never make it."

Noelle continued to visit Paris once a month to see Christian Barbet. Barbet had established a liaison with a private detective agency in Washington, and there was a constant stream of reports on Larry Douglas. Cautiously testing Noelle, the little detective had offered to send the reports to her in Athens, but she told him that she preferred picking them up in person. Barbet had nodded his head slyly and said in a conspiratorial tone, "I understand, Miss Page." So she did not want Constantin Demiris to know about her interest in Larry Douglas. The possibilities for blackmail staggered Barbet's mind.

"You have been most helpful, Monsieur Barbet," Noelle said, "and most discreet."

He smiled unctuously. "Thank you, Miss Page. My business depends on discretion."

"Exactly," Noelle replied, "I know you are discreet because Constantin Demiris has never mentioned your name to me. The day he does, I will ask him to destroy you." Her tone was pleasant and conversational, but the effect was like a bombshell.

Monsieur Barbet stared at Noelle for a long, shocked moment, licking his lips. He scratched his crotch nervously and stammered, "I--I assure you, Mademoiselle, that I would n--never..."

"I'm sure you won't," Noelle said and departed.

On the commercial plane taking her back to Greece, Noelle read the confidential report in the sealed manila envelope.

ACME SECURITY AGENCY

1402 "D" Street

Washington, D.C.

Reference: #2-179-210 February 2, 1946

Dear Monsieur Barbet:

One of our operatives spoke to a contact in the personnel office at Pan Am: Subject is regarded as a skilled combat pilot, but they question whether he is disciplined enough to work out satisfactorily within a large, structured organization.

Subject's personal life-style follows the same pattern as in our previous reports. We have followed him to the apartments of various women whom he had picked up, where he remained for periods of from one hour to as long as five hours, and we presume that he is having a series of casual sexual relations with these women. (Names and addresses are on file if you wish them.)

In view of the Subject's new employment, it is possible that this pattern may change. We will follow up on this per your request.

Please find our bill enclosed.

Very truly yours,

R. Ruttenberg,

Managing Supervisor

Noelle returned the report to the folder and leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She visualized Larry, restless and tormented, married to a woman he did not love, caught in a trap baited with his own weaknesses.

His new job with the airline might slow Noelle's plan down a bit, but she had patience. In time she would bring Larry to her. Meanwhile there were certain steps she could take to move things along.

Ian Whitestone was delighted to be invited to lunch with Noelle Page. In the beginning he had flattered himself that she was attracted to him, but all of their encounters had been on a pleasant but formal basis that let him know that he was an employee, and she was an untouchable. He had often puzzled over what Noelle wanted of him, for Whitestone was an intelligent man, and he had the odd feeling that their random conversations meant something more to her than they meant to him.

On this particular day Whitestone and Noelle drove to a small seaside town near Cape Sunion, where they were having lunch. Noelle was dressed in a white summer frock and sandals, with her soft blond hair blowing free, and she had never looked more beautiful. Ian Whitestone was engaged to a model in London and while she was pretty, she could not compare to Noelle. Whitestone had never met anyone who could, and he would have envied Constantin Demiris except that Noelle always seemed more desirable to him in retrospect. When Whitestone was actually with her, he found himself slightly intimidated. Now Noelle had turned the conversation to his plans for the future, and he wondered, not for the first time, whether she was probing on Demiris' orders to find out whether he was loyal to his employer.

"I love my job," the pilot assured Noelle earnestly. "I'd like to keep it until I'm too old to see where I'm flying."

Noelle studied him a moment, aware of his suspicions. "I'm disappointed," she said ruefully. "I was hoping that you had more ambition than that."