by Mark Mills
Pippi hesitated. “No.”
“No. So what’s his real game, then? Money? Blackmail?” Another glance at Luke. “And what are we to make of the fact that he evidently lied to you? I mean, why go to the bother of fabricating a story about your being mistaken for a spy? Why not simply tell you the truth?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I have to be in Zurich on Tuesday.” It was a direct appeal.
“I’d strongly advise against it, even if I do decide to let you go.”
“Sir?” There was a note of alarm in Hapgood’s voice.
“We’re talking about a man’s life, Hapgood. If we send him back to Paris, we could be turning him into a sitting duck.”
“You would be,” said Luke.
“I’m just advising caution,” said Hapgood. “For all of us.”
A wry smile crept across Kendrick’s face. “That’s the other thing about Hapgood: he has high ambitions. Fortunately for you, some of us are cut from slightly different cloth.”
Kendrick passed the remainder of the journey in silent reflection; Luke, in restless anticipation. When Bern finally loomed out of the moonless night, they found it almost entirely deserted, a slumbering ghost town.
The British embassy lay beyond tall wooden gates set in a featureless facade. Kendrick had phoned ahead from a roadside inn, and a reception committee was waiting to greet the two cars as they pulled to a halt in the courtyard.
Kendrick took immediate charge, issuing orders in a low, confidential voice. The Weintraubs were promptly whisked away by a gangling man and a uniformed nurse. Luke found himself separated from Pippi and Otto, who were also escorted up the stone steps into the building. Erwin was hauled out of the boot. Spitting fury and a few choice German expressions, he was led away by Hapgood and Pitchforth.
Two soldiers armed with rifles had been overseeing the proceedings, but only now that the crowd had thinned out to just four men did Luke sense their looming presence. They were at his shoulder, flanking him. Kendrick lit a cigarette. “Quite a day,” he said to no one in particular. “Has Paris been informed?”
“Yes sir,” replied one of the soldiers.
“What’s their view on transport?”
“They’re happy to leave the details to us, just as long we get him there in one piece.”
Were they talking about Professor Weintraub? Because if they weren’t, Luke had just been royally stitched up.
“I thought …”
“What?” said Kendrick. “That I would really send you on your way with a ‘good luck’ and a fare-thee-well?”
“So why all that talk?”
“Because nothing tames a desperate man like hope. I couldn’t have you trying anything rash en route.”
“You bastard—”
The blow from the rifle butt caught Luke on the back of the thigh and brought him to his knees.
Kendrick came and stood over him. “Maybe you really are innocent, or maybe you fed me a big pack of lies. Either way, it’s for others to decide.” He ground out his cigarette and turned on his heel. “Give him something to eat; then lock him up.”
Chapter Eighteen
Petrovic was about to hang up when someone answered the telephone. “It’s me,” he said warily into the silence.
“I had a feeling it might be.”
“Borodin called. He wants to meet in Zurich.”
“Zurich?”
“To hand over Hamilton.”
“Borodin spent time in Zurich.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, now you do, so be careful. What about backup?”
“He’s already on his way to Geneva. I’m meeting him there.”
“Just the one man?”
“If you knew him, you’d understand.”
“When it’s done, kill him, too.”
Petrovic hesitated. “He’s a good man.”
“The world is full of good men. Our client doesn’t want any loose ends.”
“Client? I thought this was personal.”
“Don’t concern yourself with the details. And don’t call us again until it’s done.”
Chapter Nineteen
The room had one window, not barred, but with metal shutters that allowed nothing of the new day to penetrate. It might as well still be night. Breakfast had arrived earlier on a Bakelite tray: cold toast, already buttered, which shattered when he bit into it, and a pot of black coffee, strong and hot, now tepid.
He drained the last of it from his cup and dropped onto the bed where he had tried to fall asleep last night. Life at St. Theresa’s had taught him never to walk away from an unmade bed, and the blanket was pulled tight as a drum skin, the pillow plumped for a fresh head. The moment he closed his eyes, he knew he would sleep, even with the coffee in him.
The rasp of a key in the lock hauled him back from the brink.
The guard entered. Following him were Professor Weintraub, Ilse, and the three children. Luke rose to greet them.
“They are moving us to Geneva,” said the professor. He looked exhausted. “We have come to say goodbye. Children …”
He ushered them forward, and one by one they shook hands with Luke, thanking him in German: “Danke, Herr Hamilton.” From Ilse he got a kiss on the cheek and a heartfelt whisper in his ear: “Können wir nicht genug danken.”
She led the children from the room. The professor remained. “A word in private, please,” he said to the guard.
“I’m sorry, sir, but my orders—”
“With the man who risked his life for my family,” came the professor’s firm interruption.
The guard’s gaze flicked between them. “Two minutes.” He withdrew, locking the door behind him.
The professor cast an eye around the room—not exactly a cell, but not much better: a basin, a bed, a coffee table, and a single chair of bentwood and wicker.
“It is like a dream for them,” he said. “But know this: when we are dead and they are old, they will still remember the tall man who came back to find them, and they will tell their grandchildren his name and how they shook his hand.”
“Anyone would have done it.”
“Maybe, if it was their job, their duty.” The professor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and set about cleaning his spectacles. “I assumed you were one of Kendrick’s men. Pippi tells me you are not.”
“No, not exactly.”
“And is it true what they say about you?”
“What do they say?”
“That two men in Paris are dead because of you.”
Luke hesitated. “Yes, it’s true. But I didn’t do it.”
The professor replaced his spectacles and stepped closer. “Say that again.”
“What?”
“Say it.”
“I didn’t do it.”
The professor’s pale eyes held Luke’s for a long moment. “Have you heard of Albert Einstein?”
“Of course.”
“He was a young man when he changed the way we look at the world. One simple equation. It was more than thirty years ago, and he was working here in Bern at the time—a humble clerk in the patent office. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Everything I am, everything I do, began here with that equation. And it begins again now. So you see, the circle is complete for me. I hope one day you can say the same thing.”
The professor rapped on the door, and as it swung open, he offered Luke his hand.
“Thank you, Luke. And good luck.”
He was deep asleep when Hapgood and Pitchforth came for him two hours later.
“I want to see Pippi.”
“That might be possible,” replied Hapgood. “After you’ve seen Major Kendrick.”
The major’s office was a grand room, large and
light, with lofty stuccoed ceilings and paintings of Swiss landscapes adorning the walls. Kendrick was standing at one of the tall windows, smoking and peering down into the courtyard below.
“Leave us,” he said without turning. Then, with a vague wave of his hand in the direction of the big pedestal desk: “Take a seat, Hamilton.” When Kendrick finally settled into his own chair at the desk, Luke could feel the tension coming off him.
“It’s a good job for you the ambassador is away at a conference in Locarno. He’s a man who does things strictly by the book.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the same cannot be said of Professor Weintraub.” Kendrick stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “He’s threatening to offer his services to the Americans. They’d love that. By God, they’d love it.”
“The Americans?”
“He didn’t say anything to you?”
“He wished me luck.”
There was a manic edge to Kendrick’s laugh. “Luck? Well, you’re going to need a bucketload of that.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kendrick twisted the point of an ebony letter opener into the blotter in front of him. “It’s very simple. It’s called blackmail. If we release you, Weintraub won’t go running to the Yanks.”
Luke let the news sink in. “He could be bluffing.”
“Very droll, Hamilton.”
“Does Pippi know?”
“Not yet, but she was the one who told Weintraub your story. None of this would have happened if we’d only kept them apart. I blame myself for that.”
“Don’t be too tough on yourself, Major. Everything I told you is true.”
“Everything?”
“I might have fudged a few of the details.”
Kendrick sat back in his chair. “I imagine I’m going to be doing a fair bit of that myself over the next couple of days, thanks to Miss Keller.” He reached for the phone console and flipped a switch. “Meredith, is she here yet?”
“Yes sir.”
“Send her in, please.”
Pippi looked disheveled but invigorated, as though she’d just returned from a long tramp across windswept moorland. Her dark hair was a mess, but there was color in her cheeks. If she was prepared for a battle, she soon discovered she wasn’t going to have to fight one. Kendrick spelled out the situation to her.
In true Pippi fashion, she took it in stride and stuck to the practical considerations. “What about Otto?”
“We’ll do what we can for him. I see no reason why the Swiss shouldn’t offer him asylum.” Erwin was a different matter: a German citizen held against his wishes by a foreign government in a fiercely neutral nation. “We have no choice but to let him go.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “In fact, he’ll be boarding a train any minute now.”
Galling though this was, Pippi seemed to accept it without too much trouble. “And the car?” she asked.
“What car?”
“We can’t arrive in Zurich by train. It’s too dangerous.”
Did she have any idea how good that one word “we” sounded to him? He hadn’t banked on her keeping her side of the bargain.
“No one said anything about a car.”
“It must have slipped the professor’s mind.”
“Don’t push your luck, Miss Keller.”
Pippi tossed a buff envelope onto the desk: the fee Kendrick had given her only yesterday.
He looked bemused. “You want me to sell you one from the embassy car pool?”
“It’s worth more than a car.”
“It’s also worth more than my job.” He slid the envelope back across the desk. “I can’t help you, but I know someone who can.”
“I have one more favor to ask,” said Luke.
“Wicken four seventeen.”
The expectant note in his father’s voice cut right through him, and there was a waver in his own as he replied, “Pa, it’s me.”
“Oh, Luke, oh, dear God, my dear boy, are you all right? Lorna, it’s Luke! Yes, Luke!” He heard a strangled yelp in the background. “Pick up in the hallway! Yes, the hallway! Your mother’s picking up in the hallway.”
Luke smiled. “Yes, I thought she might be.”
“Are you all right? Are you safe?”
“I’m fine, Pa.”
“I thought … I don’t know what I thought. We didn’t know what to think. But you’re safe.”
“Safe enough.”
There was a click on the line. “Luke?” came his mother’s eager voice.
“He’s safe. Tell her, Luke.”
“It’s true, Ma, I’m all right.”
“Thank God,” she gasped. “Where are you?”
“It’s best I don’t say. And I have to be quick. Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m innocent.”
“Of course you are. I told him, didn’t I, Lorna, that man who called from the Ministry? I told him exactly where he could park his bike.”
“For goodness’ sake, Ramsay, stop babbling and let the poor boy speak.”
He kept it concise. Someone was trying to kill him for reasons unknown, although it quite possibly had something to do with who he was, reaching right back to his earliest days at the orphanage and beyond. There was also a strong likelihood that the murder of Sister Agnes was connected.
“It’s how they found me, which means there’s a good chance they know about you, too.” He paused. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave—go away somewhere, stay with friends.”
“Leave?” said his father.
“They might try to get to me through you.”
“We can stay with—”
“No, Ma, don’t say it over the phone. And don’t tell anyone where you’re going—only Rip van Winkle.” It was their private nickname for Solomon. “When this is all over, I’ll find you.”
“How long?” asked his mother.
“I can’t say.”
He heard her give a sudden loud sob, then choke back her upset.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I love you.”
He had been shown into a small office for some privacy, which was no bad thing. It gave him a chance to pinch the tears from his eyes and compose himself before rejoining the others.
Otto had shown up in the meantime, and it was immediately clear that his mood had darkened overnight. He now held Pippi entirely to blame for turning him into a fugitive. Her contention that he might well be languishing in a German jail right now if she hadn’t foiled the plan fell on deaf ears. He sneered at the notion of traveling with them to Zurich and asked for his cut of the fee, promptly increasing his demand to half, seeing as Erwin would no longer be getting a slice. He had a cousin married to a lawyer in Lausanne; he would beg a bed off them while his application for asylum was being processed.
When Pippi suggested that one day he would see that this was the best thing that could have happened to him, he swore at her. She remained remarkably calm in the face of his fury.
“Don’t be so naive, Otto. It was always going to end badly. And if you want to forget what we did and why we did it, that’s your choice.” Most of the last sentence was spoken to the paneled door that Otto had slammed behind him.
Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t there to see them off. Neither was Major Kendrick, though Hapgood and Pitchforth were. Pitchforth insisted on carrying Luke’s jacket to the taxi waiting outside on the street. The reason for this became clear only when Luke had placed his suitcase in the boot and Pitchforth handed him back the jacket.
He felt the extra weight.
“I reloaded it,” said Pitchforth under his breath.
“Thank you.”
“This never happened.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Hapgood extended his hand and said f
or all to hear, “Goodbye, Mr. Hamilton. I hope our paths never have the misfortune of crossing again.”
“Where do they make people like that in your country?” asked Pippi as the taxi pulled away.
“Pitchforth’s okay.”
“You think so?”
He flashed her a glimpse of the Browning, and she laughed: a high, almost childlike tinkle.
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you properly laugh.”
She smiled weakly. “I used to more, it’s true.”
The garage, a big concrete structure painted gleaming white, stood on the outskirts of the city, close to the river. On the forecourt, a couple of boys with chamois leathers were buffing up an open-top roadster.
They found Herr Knecht in his office, a small box of a room crammed into a corner of the garage. He cast a monocled eye over Major Kendrick’s letter of introduction, written on embassy paper. “As a rule, we only provide cars for guests staying at the Bellevue Palace Hotel.”
“We’d be happy to take a room,” said Pippi. “We’re going to need somewhere to stay when we get back from our excursion.”
Herr Knecht laid the letter aside. “No, I think we can make an exception, although your choice of vehicles is somewhat limited, I’m afraid.” He spread his hands and raised his eyes to the heavens. “Fine weather is good for business.”
It soon became clear that Herr Knecht, for all his affability, knew a thing or two about business. He demanded a hefty cash deposit and a steep daily rate (topped up with obligatory insurance) for a Citroën coupé of the type to be found all over Paris. Luke hoped the insurance was for real, for Herr Knecht’s sake—it was highly unlikely they would be returning the car.
Pippi insisted on driving and retraced the route taken by their taxi driver, heading back toward the city center.
“Where are we going?”
“Shopping.” She plucked at the hem of her summer dress. “This old thing is all I have.”