Cade

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘I can keep that up for hours,’ Baumann said softly. ‘You and I have to work together. I said no drinking, and that means no drinking? Get it?’

  Cade braced himself, then he came off the bed in a rush, his fist wildly seeking Baumann’s dead-pan face. Baumann shifted his head avoided Cade’s blow with humiliating ease and banged his fist with all his weight and strength in a devastating punch that landed just below Cade’s heart.

  Cade dropped to his knees, gasping.

  Baumann grabbed Cade by his hair, dragged him half upright and then slapped his already bruising face three more times with a vicious violence that stunned Cade into helplessness.

  Leaving Cade on the floor, Baumann walked across the room and opened the door. He took the coffee from the porter, winked and put the tray on the dressing-table. He turned in time as Cade, gathering his remaining strength and self respect, struggled off the floor and came staggering towards him. Brushing aside Cade’s weak lead, Baumann slammed another punch into Cade’s body, bringing him with thudding violence to the floor.

  Baumann sat on the bed, took out a pack of cigarettes and lit a cigarette.

  Cade lay on the floor, then he stirred and dragged himself to a sitting position. He stared at Baumann, his eyes hating him.

  ‘You’re quite a bastard, aren’t you?’ he said.

  Baumann smiled.

  ‘That’s just what I am. Now we have that behind us, have some coffee.’

  He got up and poured coffee into a cup.

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘No.’

  Baumann handed Cade the cup and then sat on the bed again.

  Cade remained on the floor. His body ached from the two heavy punches he had taken. His mind had become clear. He suddenly realised how he must look to a man like Baumann, sitting there on the floor, a lush with a bruised face, his clothes crumpled and his defeat showing so plainly. His tiny spark of self respect asserted itself. He got painfully to his feet, drank the scalding coffee, crossed the room and poured more coffee.

  ‘Cigarette?’ Baumann asked, offering his pack of Marrocaine.

  ‘Thanks,’ Cade said and lit the cigarette. He drank more coffee, then putting: down the cup, he went into the bathroom and bathed his aching face. Feeling clearer in mind than he had felt since he left New York, he came back to the bedroom and went over to the open window and looked across at the Frontier Post, breathing in the cold, crisp air.

  ‘She should be arriving in about three hours. We have plenty of time,’ Baumann said. ‘Feel like eating?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I do. If you want anything, ring. They won’t serve you with any alcohol, so don’t try that one on.’ He went to the door. ‘See you,’ he said and left.

  Cade drank another cup of coffee, then sat down in a lounging chair.

  After a while he got bored with his depressing thoughts, and getting up, he went down to the lobby. Taking his overcoat off the peg, he walked across to the Boutique shop. The Magnum-sized bottles of Scotch whisky made him stare, but he resisted the urge to buy one. Instead, he bought a packet of wine gums and seeing Baumann had come out of the hotel, he joined him.

  ‘Feel like something to eat now?’ Baumann asked. ‘They have some pretty good steaks. You should eat something.’

  ‘I guess,’ Cade said. He wasn’t hungry, and his ribs still ached, but he had the impulse to become normal again.

  When he had finished a very late lunch, Baumann paid the check, and the two men went out into the growing dusk and sat in the Jaguar, facing away from the frontier post.

  Anita Strelik arrived at the frontier post at 17.50 hours: an hour ahead of Baumann’s estimated time. By now it was dark, but Baumann spotted her red Aston Martin as it pulled up under the bright lights of the frontier post.

  ‘Here she comes,’ he said. ‘She won’t be more than five minutes passing through the customs. We’ll get moving.’ He started the engine and headed towards the Lausanne road.

  Turning in his seat, Cade looked through the rear window. He caught a glimpse of a tall woman, wearing ski-ing trousers, a white windcheater and a white helmet that concealed her hair. She was standing by the Aston Martin, talking to one of the grey-uniformed frontier guards. Then he lost sight of her.

  He felt suddenly excited: a feeling that hadn’t come to him for many months.

  ‘We’ll let her pass,’ Baumann said.

  A few minutes later, the impatient note of a horn made Baumann pull to his near side and the Aston Martin stormed past, travelling at over a hundred kilometres an hour.

  ‘That’s the way to get yourself killed on these narrow roads,’ Baumann said, slightly accelerating.

  He switched on the short wave receiving set on the dashboard and picking up the microphone, said, ‘Horst calling YR. Come in, YR.’

  A man’s voice came through the loudspeaker, ‘Listening in, Horst.’

  ‘Our party is heading for Lausanne. Where are you?’

  ‘By Grand Pont.’

  ‘She’ll come that way. Follow from in front, but watch it. She’s moving fast.’

  ‘Roger.’

  They didn’t see the Aston Martin again until they had reached the outskirts of Lausanne. Baumann who knew the road from Vallorbe like the back of his hand, had driven with tremendous bursts of speed when the road was straight, and with carefully controlled speed on the bends. He knew he couldn’t be much more than three minutes behind the Aston Martin, but he was relieved when he caught sight of the red car now slowed down in the heavy traffic entering Lausanne.

  They crawled along the traffic congested road until they began to cross the Grand Pont. They had already lost sight of the Aston Martin. The car had weaved through the traffic much faster than Baumann could drive. The short wave set came to life.

  ‘YR calling. She’s right behind me, trying to pass. We are on Avenue du Leman, heading for Vevey.’

  ‘Don’t let her pass,’ Baumann said. ‘I’m closing up.’

  ‘Roger.’ There was a sudden curse. ‘Hell! She’s passed me! That was nearly a pile up! She snaked around me right in the teeth of an oncoming truck and she scraped by it by the paint of her fender! She’s way out of sight and I’m blocked in!’

  ‘Call yourself a driver?’ Baumann snarled. He accelerated and threaded the Jaguar dangerously through the traffic, and in a few seconds, swept past a T.R.4. He waved and the driver waved back.

  Cade was sitting forward now, tense and excited. He couldn’t but admire the way Baumann was handling his powerful car.

  ‘If she thinks she can shake me off she has another think coming,’ Baumann muttered. He reached for the microphone. ‘Calling Grau. Come in, Grau.’

  Another man’s voice came from the loudspeaker.

  ‘Listening in, Horst.’

  ‘Our party is heading your way. Where exactly are you?’

  ‘I’m parked on the lake road between Claren and Montreux.’

  ‘Stand by. She’s moving fast.’

  ‘Roger.’

  They were through Lausanne and moving fast along the lake road. The traffic was heavy and Baumann took chances, cutting in, overtaking when he shouldn’t, but always watchful for any sign of a policeman.

  It was now very dark, and there was a light mist coming in from the lake. The on-coming traffic with undipped headlights bothered Baumann.

  ‘We could lose her in this visibility,’ he said and he sounded uneasy. ‘I’ll have to hope Grau picks her up.’

  They drove through Vevey, then as they increased speed on the straight road to Montreux, Cade said suddenly, ‘You’re passing her! She’s stopped! He had just seen the Aston Martin parked in the shadows as Baumann swept past.

  Cursing, Baumann stood on his brakes and the Jaguar squealed as it slowed. He pulled to the kerb.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Cade leaned out of the car and looked back along the dark road.

  ‘Yes … she’s talking to a cop. She’s been flagged down.’
<
br />   ‘About time,’ Baumann said and picked up the microphone. ‘Grau, our party has been stopped for speeding. She’ll be along in a while. It’s my guess she won’t be racing this time.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Baumann replaced the microphone.

  ‘We’ll have to watch her. This is where we lost her before,’ he said to Cade. ‘What’s happening?’

  Cade was still staring back along the road.

  ‘The usual. He’s giving her a ticket. She should be through any moment now.’

  Baumann set the Jaguar moving at a sedate sixty kilometres an hour.

  ‘Here she comes,’ Cade said.

  The Aston Martin passed them and Baumann tagged along behind its twin rear lights. From then on, through Montreux, Villeneuve and towards Agile, they had no trouble keeping behind the Aston Martin.

  ‘Is she heading for the Italian border or will she go up into the mountains?’ Baumann muttered. ‘It’s going to snow.’ As rain began to blur his windshield, he switched on the wipers.

  A car behind them flashed on its headlights and flashed them off.

  ‘That’s Grau.’ He reached for the microphone. ‘She’s just ahead, Grau, overtake me and get in front of her. Watch out you don’t lose her at the fork road to Italy. She could turn off for Villars.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Twenty minutes later with Grau some metres ahead of the Aston Martin and with Baumann a hundred metres behind, they saw the car swing to the left.

  ‘She’s going to Villars,’ Baumann said. ‘It’ll be rough up there,’ and he accelerated. ‘The visibility as you climb gets bad, and it is certain to be snowing.’

  They hadn’t climbed more than a kilometre before snow started flaking on the windshield. The Aston Martin had increased speed and was travelling dangerously fast, taking the sharp bends with a skill that hinted the driver knew the road well. Baumann had turned off his lights and he drove after the Aston Martin, keeping close, scared that on this stretch of road he would lose sight of the car.

  Grau had gone on the Italian road and he had had to stop, reverse and come after them.

  Through the narrow bottleneck of the small village of Huemoz, the Aston Martin slowed and Baumann had to brake sharply to avoid a collision. He cursed under his breath.

  ‘I wonder if she spotted us,’ he said. ‘There she goes. Goddamn it! She can certainly handle that lump of metal!’

  They stormed up the steep ascent and into the village of Chesieres, empty in the mist and snow. The Aston Martin was now a hundred metres ahead. Baumann took the slight turn out of the village too fast and got into a skid. He steered into the skid, slowed and for a moment the Jaguar threatened to turn right around. Then Baumann got control and straightened the car.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Cade said in a flat voice. He had been sitting forward, staring through the misting windshield, his eyes glued on the bright red rearlights: now they had vanished.

  ‘She’s heading for Villars … there’s nowhere else for her to go,’ Baumann said. He slowed and began the steep approach that led to the town.

  ‘To your right!’ Cade exclaimed. ‘She’s gone in there! Double gates! I saw two men closing them!’

  Baumann kept on, but slowed. A few metres further on, he pulled up. Grau in a Lancia drew alongside. Cade looked at him as he leaned out of his car window, snow whitening his green Swiss hat and his raincoat. Grau was around the same age as Baumann. He was fat and broad-shouldered and typically Swiss.

  ‘She turned off into some estate,’ Baumann said. ‘Did you spot her?’

  ‘No. How can you see anything in this snow?’

  Baumann got out of his car.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said and bending his head against the driving snow, he walked back down the road.

  Grau manoeuvred his car ahead of the Jaguar to get off the road. He lit a cigarette and getting out, came over to Cade.

  ‘So you’re Cade,’ he said, peering at him. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about myself,’ Cade said indifferently. He shifted around so he wasn’t looking directly at Grau and fumbled for his cigarettes.

  ‘You certainly can take photographs,’ Grau went on. ‘I’ve followed all your work.’

  ‘So have I,’ Cade said.

  There was a long pause, then Grau sensing he wasn’t wanted, walked back to his car.

  After a five minute wait, Baumann returned.

  ‘She’s gone in there all right,’ he said. ‘High walls; iron gates and a long drive-in. Can’t see any sign of a house. Okay, Grau you stay here. Watch the gates. We are going on to Villars. I have to find out what this place is.’

  ‘Okay,’ Grau said and waved as Baumann, getting into the Jaguar, drove on towards Villars.

  EIGHT

  The lounge of the Bellavista Hotel was deserted at this time of 20.00 hours. The few visitors who had come up to Villars with the optimistic hope of early sport were in the dining-room. A big log fire crackled in the grate. The parchment-shaded lights cast a red glow on the highly polished parquet floor. The room was homely and pleasant.

  Cade sat in a lounge chair in a corner, away from the fire, his eyes closed. He wanted a drink, but he fought off the urge. He had gradually become intrigued by Braddock’s assignment, and he knew if he started drinking, he wouldn’t get pictures. He now wanted to prove to himself that he was still capable of getting pictures.

  The door pushed open and Baumann with Ben Sherman on his heels, came in. They joined Cade and sat down.

  Cade opened his eyes and stared at Sherman.

  ‘Where did you spring from?’

  ‘Don’t talk about it,’ Sherman said with an exaggerated shudder. ‘I nearly killed myself trying to follow that bitch from Paris. I’m still in a state of shock.’

  ‘I’ve heard all that,’ Baumann said impatiently. ‘You knew what you were in for. Give it a rest.’ He leaned forward and tapped Cade on his knee. ‘I have been asking around. Anita has gone to ground in the Château owned by General Fritz van Ludwig. Remember him? He surrendered his army to the Russians in 1943 at Stalingrad. He has been living in retirement in this Château for the past twenty years. What do you make of that?’

  Cade shrugged.

  ‘Nothing … what do you?’

  Sherman said, ‘I remember him. When the Russians made him a prisoner, he broadcast anti-Hitler propaganda from Moscow. Anita is Russian by birth, isn’t she?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Baumann said. ‘The idea was she came to Switzerland to meet a lover, not an eighty-year-old German General.’

  ‘That should disappoint Braddock, shouldn’t it?’ Cade said.

  The two men looked at him.

  ‘This intrigues me,’ Baumann said. ‘You and I are going to take a look at that Château tonight.’

  ‘Is that such a hot idea?’ Sherman asked. ‘You’ll leave footprints all over the place. Do you want to alert Anita we are on to her?’

  ‘It won’t matter if it goes on snowing this hard,’ Baumann pointed out. ‘Any prints we make will be covered by the morning. Look, Ben, suppose you go and relieve Grau? He’s been out there for the past two hours.’

  ‘Why should I care?’ Sherman said. He got up and went over to the fire, holding out his hands to the comforting warmth.

  ‘Get going!’ Baumann snapped. ‘He’ll relieve you at midnight.’

  ‘How nice,’ Sherman said, but he left the lounge.

  Baumann lit a cigarette.

  ‘S.B. has a fantastic instinct for news. This could turn out to be a lot more interesting than a love affair. An aged German General with Russian sympathies and one of our top movie stars. Could be quite a story. You and I are going to get it, Cade.’ As Cade said nothing, Baumann stood up. ‘Let’s eat. We have a cold night ahead of us.’

  After dinner, the two men went to their rooms. Baumann had booked three bedrooms all leading into one another with a sitting-room at the far end. He had ski clothes for Cade and both
men changed. Then equipped with ski-ing boots and gloves, they left by the service door of the hotel and drove down to where Sherman, cold and miserable, was sitting in his Simca.

  There was now a high wind and the snow made visibility difficult. It was also freezing.

  ‘We’ll take a look around,’ Baumann said as Sherman lowered his car window.

  ‘Rather you than me,’ Sherman said sourly. ‘God! It’s cold!’

  Cade and Baumann reached the high wrought iron gates after a few minutes of difficult walking. They paused outside the gates. Beyond them, they could make out the dim outlines of a small lodge. A light showed in one of the lower windows.

  ‘We don’t go in that way,’ Baumann said. ‘Come on … follow me.’

  He continued on down the road by the high flint and concrete wall of the estate. After walking some thirty metres, he stopped.

  ‘We’ll go over the wall.’

  He stepped down into the ditch, the snow covering his boots, and set his back against the wall.

  ‘Come on. I’ll give you a lift up.’

  Cade put his foot in Baumann’s clasped hands and Braumann heaved him up. Cade’s fingers reached the top of the wall, got a grip and he swung his leg over. He sat astride the wall and looked down at Baumann.

  Baumann tried to reach Cade’s outstretched hand, but he was too short and he cursed.

  ‘Okay. I’ll wait here. You take a look. Be careful. See if you can get a look at the Château.’

  ‘How do you expect me to get back over the wall on my own?’ Cade asked mildly. He was careful not to let Baumann see how intrigued he was and how he welcomed this adventure.

  ‘I’ll get a rope. Ben has one in his car. I should have thought of that. You wait here. I won’t be long,’ and Baumann vanished into the darkness.

  Snow pelted down on Cade as he crouched on the wall. He decided not to wait for Baumann. He scraped a high pile of snow off the wall where he was sitting, marking his place of entry, then he swung his leg over and dropped down into the deep snow. Although the snow broke his fall, the drop came as a jar. His feet stinging, his legs a little shaky he set off through the trees, moving cautiously and silently.