Gilly flushed.
There are moments when I could kill you!’ she said fiercely. ‘You treat me like a child!’
‘No, Gilly… not a child.’
Girland regarded her for a long moment, then went up the turret stairs.
Gilly choked back a sob. That cool, indifferent look he had given her told her as no words could his opinion of her.
What really hurt her was that she knew his opinion of her was the same as her own.
* * *
Lu Silk sat motionless in his chair, his gun resting in his lap. The silence in this vast Schloss was depressing, but Silk was used to silence. He was also used to waiting. He was sure, sooner or later Girland would come down the stairs, and then he would have him.
While he sat there Silk recalled another long wait he once had -when was it? Three years back? He nodded to himself.
Yes, three years back.
There was an agitator, Jack Adams, who was stirring up trouble among the men working on one of Radnitz’s big building projects. The work was slowing down and Radnitz could see he could get caught on the compensation clause: big money, so he had given Silk the signal to get rid of Adams.
Adams had lived in a two room walk-up in Brooklyn. He knew he was in danger, but he had a lot of confidence in himself which was a mistake when dealing with a man like Silk.
Silk had rented a room across the road, facing Adams’ apartment block. He arrived there early one morning and took up a position on the hard kitchen chair, the curtains of the window half drawn. He had brought with him his favourite killing weapon: a .22 target rifle with a telescopic sight. He waited for Adams to show. He wasn’t to know that Adams was in bed with flu. There was an important mass meeting being held at 21.00 hrs. that evening and Radnitz had ordered Silk to stop Adams from attending. Silk imagined Adams was certain to go out during the day, so he waited. He waited for thirteen hours. He hadn’t brought food with him, and around 17.00 hrs. he was hungry, thirsty and viciously angry. He didn’t dare leave the window for a second. He knew that when Adams moved, he always moved fast, and his shabby car was parked only a few yards from the entrance to the apartment block.
Sitting in his chair, now waiting for Girland, Silk told himself the Adams’ affair had been the longest endurance test he had ever had, but it had taught him that if you wait long enough, were patient enough, you fixed what you were hired to fix.
Adams had finally shown at 20.30 hrs. The light was bad and he moved fast, running down the steps and heading for his car.
Because Silk hadn’t relaxed for a moment during those long thirteen hours, he was ready for him. As Adams paused briefly to unlock the car door, Silk got his head in the centre of the cross hairs of the telescopic sight and squeezed the trigger. That had been the end of Adams’ trouble making.
Because of this experience, Silk was prepared to wait all day for Girland. The count would keep his men out in the forest until dusk. Sooner or later, Girland would make his break. The success or failure of this trap depended on whether Girland believed the Schloss had been evacuated. If he suspected a trap, then he might remain out of sight in spite of hunger and thirst. Although he was unarmed, there were plenty of weapons to hand… swords, knives, battle-axes that adorned most of the walls, but these kind of weapons didn’t bother Silk. He knew no man bom could compete with him with a hand weapon against his gun.
Silk would have liked to smoke, but that would be a give away. He crossed one leg over the other and relaxed, his ears pricked and his one eye on the half open door.
In the big hall was a splendid grandfather clock. During the steady swing of its pendulum, the lead weight slightly touched the case of the clock, making a distinct and regular noise. After half an hour of listening to this noise, Silk found it was getting on his nerves. He wanted to go out into the hall and stop the dock, but this would be too dangerous. If Girland was somewhere upstairs, he too could hear the scrape… scrape… scrape from the clock, and he would be immediately alerted if the clock was stopped. The clock suddenly struck nine: its soft mellow chimes startling Silk. Later, it startled him again when it struck ten.
Although he imagined he had nerves of steel, he found the two hour wait had made him too tense. Twice during this time, he imagined he had heard another slight sound above the scraping of the pendulum and he had half-risen to his feet. Then satisfied that Girland wasn’t creeping down the stairs, he sat back, his hand closing over his pack of cigaretttes, then remembering, had silently cursed. He was now longing for a cigarette. At least during those thirteen hours when he had waited for Adams, he had smoked incessantly.
He began to think of Girland. This man was a trained CIA agent. Silk’s thin mouth formed into a wry grimace. His first murder assignment had been against a CIA agent, a man who had collected enough evidence to put Radnitz behind bars and had to be eliminated immediately.(see’Believed Violent’)
In those days, Silk had been very sure of himself: too sure. The agent had been almost too quick for him and had shot him in the face. Although he had finally managed to kill the agent, he had to spend six months in hospital and had come out with only one eye.
The experience had left him with a subconscious dread of facing another CIA man. But during his years with Radnitz, his victims had been easy… pigeons to be shot down without means, training or guts to protect themselves.
Radnitz had warned him about Girland. As he sat in the chair, he remembered von Goltz’s consternation. Are you quite sure you shouldn ‘t have two or three of my men with you?
Silk touched his forehead with the back of his hand. It infuriated him to find he was sweating.
The grandfather clock in the hall began to strike eleven.
* * *
Girland came down the turret stairs. For three weary, boring hours he had been watching the forest without seeing any of von Goltz’s men.
‘Gilly… make yourself useful. Go up in the turret and watch the forest. If you see anyone coming back, let me know. I want to talk to Malik.’
He left her and joined Malik in the corridor. ‘I think it’s time to start something’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘You’ve heard nothing?’
‘No’
‘We could be wasting time. They may have completely evacuated the place, but I’m not taking chances. The gunman could still be here, waiting. If he’s anywhere, he’ll be in the main living-room. It’s only from the door of that room you have a clear view of the stairs. I want to make sure he is there. I’m going down by the rope.’
Malik shook his head.
‘It’s too risky. You can’t climb down without making some noise. If he hears you, he’ll come out onto the terrace and you’re a dead duck.’ He paused for a moment, then went on, ‘How far can you go down the stairs without being seen?’
‘To the third floor.’
‘Then let’s go down. It’s time to put pressure on his nerves,’ Malik said. I’ll go out onto one of the balconies and start tapping on the balcony rail. It’s a trick I’ve used before, and it worked.’
This made sense to Girland. He nodded.
‘What do I do?’
‘Stay at the head of the stairs. If I spot him come out on the terrace, I’ll rap twice quickly. If you move fast you can get down to the second floor before he gets back.’
‘Right’
Both men drew their guns and moved down the stairs. Both of them were trained to move like ghosts and they reached the third floor landing without a sound.
While Girland remained by the stair head, Malik moved down the corridor. He spent some moments easing open one of the doors inch by inch until he had enough space to slide into the room. The shutters across the windows presented a problem. Would they creak when he opened them? With infinite patience he.unlatched and opened the shutters. The operation took nearly five minutes but he got them open without a sound. He stepped on to the balcony and saw that the big windows of the main living-room were below and to his right. He lay flat on
the balcony where he could peer through the balcony rails, yet squirm back instantly out of sight.
Using the barrel of his gun, he began to tap on the lower rung of the balcony rail. The silence, hanging over the Schloss, accentuated the sound.
He tapped at irregular intervals. Tap-tap-tap. A long pause; then tap-taptap-tap.
Silk heard the sound and stiffened to attention. He looked swiftly behind him as the sound came from that direction.
He came out of his chair like a cat, gun in hand. Standing motionless, listening, he looked what he was: a vicious, professional killer. The tapping sound stopped, and there was silence, except for the scrape-scrape-scrape from the grandfather clock.
A bird? Silk wondered. Water dripping?
He waited, listened, then decided the sound was of no importance. He wiped his sweating face savagely with the back of his hand and again longed for a cigarette.
Minutes dragged by. The pendulum ok the clock continued its soft irritating sound.
Then the tapping began again.
Silk looked out on to the sunlit terrace. A branch of a tree? No. The sound was too metallic for that. The sound was coming from outside. Silk moved to the open french windows.
The tapping continued. Silk was now certain it was coming from the terrace. Someone out there? A trap? He edged closer to the window, paused to look back and through the half open door where he could see the stairs: nothing moved out there.
The tapping stopped, and again silence closed in around Silk. He edged further forward. Nothing happened. He felt a surge of rage run through him, aware that he was jumpy and his nerves were crawling. Then just when he was deciding to return to his chair, the tapping began again.
He remembered von Goltz had assured him that Girland was unarmed. He decided he had to investigate this sound.
Moving like a black shadow, he stepped out on to the terrace, his gun ready.
Malik saw him and tapped twice fast, then squirmed back out of sight.
Girland heard the two quick taps and went down the stairs, fast and silently to the second floor. Now he could see the half open door leading into the living-room and caught a glimpse of the empty chair, pulled near the doorway. He stepped back into the corridor.
Silk looked up at the rows of balconies above him. He saw nothing suspicious. His nerves were now so taut that he became reckless with rage. He stepped right out on to the terrace where he had a good view of the balconies.
Malik grinned and lifted his pistol. It was a difficult shot as the bars of the balcony obstructed his view.
Silk saw the movement although he didn’t see the pistol. He fired instantly. The bullet slammed against the concrete just below Malik’s head, spraying splinters, one of which hit Malik across the bridge of his nose. He started back, and Silk, now knowing where his opponent was, dashed back into the living-room.
He had had enough of this cat and mouse business. He knew Girland had no gun and he knew he was on the third floor.
He didn’t hesitate. Rushing across the hall, he went up the stairs two at the time, not caring about the noise he was making.
In the corridor on the second floor, Girland heard him coming and quickly stepped into a nearby room.
Silk came pounding up the stairs. As he started up the next flight of stairs, Girland went after him. Half-way up the stairs, Silk heard him. He stopped short and spun around, but Girland was on him, grabbing at his ankles. Girland heaved and Silk went over his head to crash down the stairs, his gun flying out of his hand.
Girland spun around and launched himself at Silk as Silk was struggling to his feet. Silk couldn’t avoid the flying body and went down under Girland with a crash that set the weapons on the walls jangling.
With strength that startled Girland, Silk threw him off and the two men rolled apart. Girland was first into action. He was half up and slamming himself down on Silk before Silk could raise himself. Girland chopped with the side of his hand, smashing down on the side of Silk’s neck. Silk went out like a snuffed candle.
Malik came leaping down the stairs as Girland bent over Silk. Seeing the blood on Malik’s face, Girland asked, ‘You hurt?’
‘It’s nothing.’ Malik wiped his face with his handkerchief. He stared down at Silk.’Who is he?’
‘I wouldn’t know… sweet looking specimen isn’t he? You watch him. I’ll get a curtain cord.’
Girland went into one of the rooms and broke off a length of cord. He returned and bound Silk’s hands behind his back and his ankles together.
‘Let’s dump him out of the way.’
They carried Silk’s unconscious body into the room and put him on a bed.
‘He’ll be out for an hour or so.’ Girland tore off a piece of the dust sheet covering the bed and gagged Silk. ‘Let’s hunt up some food… I’ m starving. Hang on a moment, I’ll get Gilly.’
Ten minutes later, the three of them were sitting in the vast kitchen, hungrily eating cold chicken and thick slices of ham.
‘I have an idea,’ Malik said as he began to demolish another slice of ham. ‘We don’t have to stay here until the messenger arrives. We can meet him at the Munich airport. Between the two of us we can persuade him to part with the films. We could be back in Paris by midnight.’
‘Too risky. We might not spot the messenger.’
‘I had a good look at him… I’ll spot him.’
‘How about the electric fence?’
Malik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘We’ll take a car… there are four of them in the garage, go down to the lodge, take it, turn off the current and we’re on our way.’
Girland considered this idea. He checked his watch. The next plane from Paris wouldn’t arrive for another five hours.
They had plenty of time.
‘Okay… we’ll do it.’ He turned to Gilly. ‘Can you drive, baby?’
‘Of course… and don’t call me baby!’
Girland laughed.
‘Come on up and pack.’ He turned to Malik. Will you get the car?’
Ten minutes later, Girland, carrying Gilly’s bag and his own, followed by Gilly, ran down the steps to the waiting white Mercedes 200.
‘You drive,’ Girland said to Gilly as he dumped the bags in the boot of the car.
He and Malik got in the back. Gilly set the car in motion and drove down the long, twisting drive until Girland told her to stop,
‘We’ll go the rest of the way on foot. When I whistle, come on down to the gates.’
‘Please be careful!’ Gilly said. She was getting scared again.
‘Oh, sure… just relax and listen for my whistle.’
He joined Malik, and together they went swiftly on down the drive. When in sight of the lodge, they paused.
‘I’ll go around the back,’ Malik said,’drawing his-gun.’’Give me a couple of minutes.’
But they need not have taken precautions for the three guards in the lodge were having lunch. They were absorbed in a vast meal of white sausages with a mustard sauce and sauerkraut.
Girland kicked open the door and the three guards stared with stupefied eyes at his threatening gun. Malik joined him.
Turn the current off!’ Malik snarled and the threat of his green eyes so scared the head guard that he scrambled to his feet and pulled down a lever on the wall.
It took them a few minutes to tie each man securely to his chair, then Malik and Girland left the lodge.
While Malik ran to open the big gates, Girland went up the drive and whistled piercingly.
Later, as Girland drove the Mercedes into the crowded car park at the Munich airport, Gilly said, There’s the T.R.4.’ She pointed to where the scarlet T.R.4 was parked among other cars.
Malik, sitting in the back of the Mercedes, leaned forward.
I’ll handle this,’ he said. The messenger may have seen you. He hasn’t seen me. Here’s what we do…’
* * *
As the aircraft from Paris stopped at th
e arrival bay, Fritz Kirst reluctantly undid his safety belt. He wasn’t pleased to be back, but it had certainly been marvellous luck to have been sent to Paris on such an easy mission. When he had arrived, the bank had been closed so he had the whole evening and half the night to explore this city which he had never had the good fortune to visit before.
Kirst had only been working for von Goltz for two years. He had a badly paid job as an assistant to the estate manager who constantly bullied him. Kirst was far from satisfied with his job and was planning to make a change as soon as something better came along. However, the Paris trip had made up for a lot of his past grievances, and although he had spent more money than he could afford, he told himself, as he walked through the Customs, that it had been worth it.
A silver-haired giant of a man approached him.
‘Your name?’
The snap in the voice and the cold green eyes brought Kirst to attention. He was so used to being snapped at by his superiors he reacted automatically.
‘Fritz Kirst, sir,’ he said.
Malik nodded.
‘Good… your master told me to pick you up. Follow me,’ and without looking at Kirst, Malik, knowing the German weakness for obeying orders, turned on his heel and walked briskly to where the Mercedes was parked.
Kirst, a little bewilderd, had to break into a trot to keep up with him. Who was this man? he was asking himself. Why had the count sent him? But when he saw the count’s car, his uneasiness disappeared. Malik was already at the wheel, and Kirst had to scramble in as Malik eased the car out of the parking bay.
As Malik drove out on to the main road, Kirst said timidly, ‘Excuse me, sir,but…’
‘I don’t like people talking to me when I’m driving!’ Malik snapped. Kirst placed his brief-case on his knees and sat back, snubbed and silent.
This big man certainly could handle a car, he thought as Malik whipped the Mercedes through the traffic with expert ease. They quickly left Munich behind. As they reached the highway to Garmisch, Kirst happened to look in the off-side wing mirror. He stared… stared again, then stiffened.
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