1954 - Mission to Venice

by James Hadley Chase

  “The passports!” he said.

  Without turning round, the cop handed the passports to Don.

  “Don’t think you can get far,” the cop said.

  “At least we can try,” Don said and grinned. “Walk down the road - the three of you. March!”

  The three cops went away into the darkness.

  Harry was already sitting astride one of the motorcycles.

  “Let’s show these Eye-ties what speed really means,” he said.

  Don swung his leg over the other machine and he settled himself in the saddle.

  “Let’s go.”

  With the throttles wide open, they roared out of Tavernelle and along the main road to Verona.

  Twelve: Out of the Sky

  After twenty minutes of fast riding during which time they had overtaken the C.I.T. bus and had long left it behind, Don signalled to Harry to reduce speed. He pulled in close to him, resting his hand on his shoulder so they could ride almost knee to knee.

  “We’ll have to get off the road soon. They’ll be after us like a swarm of hornets now, and you can bet they’ve alerted all the mobile police in the district.”

  Harry pulled a face.

  “I was enjoying this, boss. This bike can move.”

  “There’s a road ahead on the right we’ll take. It leads into the hills and it’s a dead end. From there we’ll have to walk again,” Don said. “With any luck they’ll think we’ve gone on to Verona.”

  “Okay,” Harry said. “I’ll be sorry to get off this bike; it’s a beaut.”

  They again increased speed and before long, Don pointed ahead.

  “There’s the road; coming up now,” he shouted. They both cut down speed, swung round to their right and found themselves on a narrow, twisting road that climbed steeply.

  Don went on ahead. They kept up a fifty mile an hour pace until the going got so rough and steep they had to cut down to a crawl.

  It was a magnificent night with a high, full moon to light up the hills, and they turned off their headlamps as they could see clearly enough where they were going.

  At the top of the hill, Don slowed and stopped. He sat astride the motorcycle while he looked down the steep hill at the small village away in the distance.

  “We’re not all that far from the Swiss frontier from here, Harry. I think we might have a shot at getting into Switzerland rather than try for a plane in Milan. The Swiss police won’t worry us, and we shouldn’t have any trouble getting a plane from Zurich. As far as I can judge from the map, it’ll take us about four days’ hard walking to get to Tirano, the frontier town. From there we can get a car.”

  “Okay,” Harry said. “How do we go?”

  “Time to ditch these bikes. We can’t ride past that village. They’ll hear our engines and might report us. Let’s get the bikes off the road and hidden.”

  It took them some minutes to find a thicket large enough in which to hide the motorcycles. They laid them down, covered them with scrub until Don was satisfied they wouldn’t be easily found.

  “Okay; let’s go,” he said, and started off down the road.

  They walked steadily for four hours; scarcely exchanging a word, keeping up the same swinging pace, climbing hills, scrambling down rocky inclines, bypassing sleeping villages, until suddenly Don called a halt.

  “We can’t be far from the main Trento road now,” he said. “Should be over the next lot of hills unless I’ve made an error somewhere. Anyway, let’s eat, have a drink and a smoke. We’re doing fine.”

  They sat down on the hilltop and ate a hasty meal.

  “Is that a lake over there, boss?” Harry asked, his mouth full.

  “That’s Lake Garda. We come out at the top end of it, then we have a long hike across the hills that are really small mountains. There are very few roads; mostly cart tracks. It’ll be a rough trip, Harry.”

  Harry stretched his sturdy legs and grinned.

  “I’m enjoying every bit of it up to now,” he said. “At least, I’m seeing the country.”

  Don laughed.

  “Am I glad I sent for you! This could be a pain in the neck alone.” He got to his feet. “Well, come on; let’s enjoy some more of it.”

  Sunlight was edging the distant mountain caps with a red rim as they reached and crossed the main Verona-Trento road, a few miles above the village of Ala. They once more began to climb, and by the time they reached the top of the first range of hills, the sun had swung up behind the mountains and the chill morning air began to warm up.

  “I guess we’ll bed down and have a sleep,” Don said, flopping on the damp grass. “How’s this for a view?”

  From where they were they had a clear view of Lake Garda as it lay asleep in the sunlight. Around the lake were the mountains; between the hill they were on and the lake were meadows, farmhouses and trees laid out like a child’s toy on a drawing room carpet.

  “Terrific!” Harry exclaimed. He took a long pull from a bottle of Chianti they had bought, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand with a contented sigh and unrolled two ground sheets he had taken from his rucksack. “Let’s hit the hay.”

  They settled down, and after a while, they fell asleep. They slept for a couple of hours, and it might have been longer had not Don been woken by what sounded to him like the drone of a big bumble bee. He frowned, opened his eyes, blinked up the dark blue sky. He listened lazily, then stiffening, he reached out and shook Harry’s arm.

  “Don’t move!” he cautioned. “Listen!”

  “Sounds like an aircraft. . .”

  “It’s a hover plane. Look, there it is . . .”

  Harry looked in the direction Don indicated.

  Against the sunlight, scarcely visible, he could just make out the hover plane, looking like a giant dragonfly several miles to their right.

  “Can’t be the police, boss?” Harry said.

  Don shook his head.

  “Might be Natzka’s lot. Get under the ground sheet. We won’t take any chances. If it comes this way, just stay still. He can’t spot us if we don’t move.”

  The hover plane flew on, passing them by several miles, then it turned back and flew in the opposite direction, this time a mile or so closer.

  “I bet it’s Natzka,” Don said. “He’s searching systematically. Two more journeys like that and he’ll be right over us.”

  “Not much we can do, boss.”

  “No. He’ll have a job to spot us. When he’s on the most distant leg, crawl over to those shrubs. I’ll go for those over there.”

  They waited until the hover plane was once more only a distant speck, then moving quickly, they parted, and each lay out under the shrubs where they felt sure they couldn’t be seen.

  Ten minutes later the hover plane returned. The sound of its engine was loud, and peering through the shrubs, Don could see how low it was now flying, skirting the tops of the hills with only twenty feet or so to spare. He suddenly wondered if they were all that safe, but it was too late to move now. The hover plane came on, flattening the rough grass with its slipstream: a whirring, buzzing menace. It passed their hiding place by a bare two hundred yards and flew on towards the lake.

  “That was too close,” Don said without moving from his hiding place. “If he turns and comes back, he’ll pass right over us.”

  “I’ve got something for him if he spots us,” Harry called, and he waved his automatic. “At that range, he’s going to get a surprise.”

  “Don’t show yourself or shoot at him unless he starts something first,” Don warned. “This may be nothing to do with Natzka.” “Okay,” Harry said, “but I bet it is.”

  “We must wait, Harry. . .”

  “I can’t see what he can do, anyway.”

  “He can bring the others on to us by radio.”

  “They’ve got a long way to come if he does.”

  “Watch out! Here he comes!”

  The hover plane had turned around was heading back towards them. The machine
had slowed and was scarcely moving. As it came towards the hilltop, it dipped a little coming down once more to twenty feet.

  Don felt naked and exposed. Could the pilot see him? He was obviously concentrating on this hill now. Looking up, Don saw the cabin door was open. He could see a man leaning out: a man with a dark, lean face - it was Curizo! Don had scarcely time to register this fact when the hover plane reached the exact spot where Harry and he were crouching.

  The shrubs that concealed them swayed and parted under the impact of the slipstream. He had one brief glimpse of Curizo’s face lighting up with a snarling smile; then something that looked like a cricket ball dropped from Curizo’s hand and came hurtling down towards him.

  “Look out!” he shouted. “It’s a grenade!”

  He heard the crack of Harry’s automatic, then the grenade landed between the two shrubs in which he and Harry were hiding.

  There was a flash and a bang. Don felt the earth heave a little, then something struck him on the side of his head, and the blue sky suddenly turned black.

  “Boss! Boss! Are you all right?”

  Harry, white-faced and anxious, was bending over him.

  Don grunted, raised his hand to his aching head and opened his eyes.

  For a moment Don couldn’t remember what had happened, then he half sat up, grimacing, feeling blood running down his face.

  “A stone must have caught me,” he muttered.

  “Don’t move yet, boss.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Let me fix that cut. It’ll stop bleeding in a moment.”

  Don relaxed back while Harry found the first-aid pack from the rucksack and attended to the cut on his forehead.

  “What happened?”

  “The rat threw down the grenade, but I hit him in the arm,” Harry said. “That put him out of action, and the kite steered off. It’s down in the valley. You can see it from here. They’ll be coming up on foot in a little while.”

  Don made an effort, sat up and then got unsteadily to his feet.

  “That was close, Harry. We were lucky it was no worse.”

  “I thought you had had it. It gave me a nasty turn,” Harry said, turned and pointed. “Look, there it is, by that farmhouse.”

  Don looked down the hill. Some ten miles away he could make out a small isolated farm house standing in lush greenfields; near the farmhouse stood the hover plane.

  Harry was staring through a pair of powerful field glasses.

  “They’re getting Curizo out. There are five men and there’s a girl. . .”

  “Let’s look, Harry.”

  Don took the glasses. The hover plane suddenly jumped into his vision as if it were only a hundred yards or so from him as he looked through the eyepieces of the glasses. He recognized Brun, Busso and Hans who were standing by the hover plane. In the doorway of the farmhouse was Maria Natzka. She was wearing a white silk shirt and black slacks, and from her expression, she seemed amused by the excitement that was going on around the hover plane. He could see Carl Natzka talking to a short, thin man who was holding a flying helmet and who Don guessed was the pilot.

  Curizo was lying on the grass, and no one seemed to be paying him any attention. The pilot turned and pointed directly at the hilltop where Don was standing. Natzka appeared to shout, for the three men grouped around the hover plane turned and went to him. He pointed to the hilltop. There was a moment’s talk, then they ran over to a big outbuilding. The double doors were opened and a car drove out, followed by another car. Four more men appeared and got into the first car. Busso, Hans and Brun got into the second car. The two cars drove down the cart track on to the road, and then, with increasing speed, they drove rapidly towards Don’s hilltop.

  “Here they come,” he said, slipping the glasses into the leather case. “It’ll take them the best part of two hours to get here, Harry. Our move is to get off this hill and get around the back of it. If we could get to that hover plane, I could handle it.”

  Harry’s face brightened.

  “That’s an idea, boss. But do you feel like a dash down there?”

  “I’ll have to feel like it. It’s our best bet.”

  For all that, Don still felt dazed and unsteady, and he was glad to have Harry’s help as they went down the hill. It took them a long ten minutes to get off the hill. Then began the cautious move around the hill into the rocky, shrub-covered ground that lay between them and the distant farmhouse. Don had calculated it was a good seven miles to the farmhouse from where they were, and with a badly aching head and legs that felt weak and unsteady, he realized it was going to be a tough journey.

  The rising road hid them from the distant road, and they slogged on for the next hour, plodding over the rough ground, alert and tense. They had covered about four miles when the ground suddenly began to slope, and at the ridge of the hill, they paused, went down on hands and knees and looked below. They could see the two cars now parted by the roadside.

  Busso had been left to guard the cars while the other men were moving towards the hill.

  Don studied the terrain.

  “Not much cover down there, Harry,” he said. “We’ll have to put those two cars out of action before we can make for the farmhouse, and we’ll have to take care of the guard.”

  Harry watched the seven men as they climbed slowly towards them. He judged where they would reach the ridge and decided they would be about fifty yards or so from where Don and he lay hidden in the scrub.

  “We’ll have to let them get to the foot of the hill before we can tackle fatso down there,” he muttered in Don’s ear. “They won’t be able to see him from there.”

  Don nodded and crouched lower as Brun pulled himself over the ridge.

  “I don’t see why we should all climb that hill,” Brun grumbled as another tall, heavily-built man joined him on the ridge. His voice came clearly to Don and Harry. “Curizo said they were both dead. He dropped the grenade right on top of them. Why can’t the others go up and we stay here?”

  “Busso said they might not be dead. Come on; and shut up!” the other man growled, and panting heavily, he continued his slow climb towards the hill.

  Grumbling, Brun went after him.

  Some twenty minutes crawled by before the seven men began to descend the slope that led to the foot of the hill. As soon as they were out of sight, Don and Harry, crouching low, slid over the ridge and made for the road.

  They could see Busso sitting on the bank, his back to them, smoking a cigarette.

  “I’ll take him, boss,” Harry muttered. “You stay behind the bush down there. When I’m ready I’ll raise my hand. I’ll have to rush him for the last few yards. May be if you threw a stone, you’d distract his attention.”

  Don nodded. That made sense. He was still feeling groggy and he knew Harry was much more capable in a rough house than he was.

  “As soon as you reach him, I’ll come down.”

  Harry grinned.

  “I won’t need any help. You fix the cars, boss.”

  Again Don nodded.

  They continued down the slope until they reached the bush Harry had indicated. Busso had got to his feet and was wandering up and down the road. From time to time he looked up towards the hill, scowling. Looking back, Don could see the seven men halfway up the hill; they were taking it very slowly, and he could hear Busso cursing them. Then, shrugging his fat shoulders, Busso went back to the bank and sat down again.

  Harry nudged Don.

  “Here I go,” he whispered, slipped off his rucksack and began to crawl quickly down the bank, keeping the odd shrubs that dotted the bank between himself and Busso.

  Don watched him, marvelling at Harry’s speed and silence.

  Harry paused behind the last scrap of cover. Busso’s broad back was within ten yards of him. He looked back over his shoulder at Don and raised his hand.

  Don had already located a big flint stone. He half rose and threw the stone with all his strength at Busso’s head
. The stone whizzed through the air, and Busso, hearing it, half started up. The stone caught him between the shoulders.

  He gave a startled grunt and staggered forward.

  Harry was up and moving while the stone was in mid-air.

  He jumped the remaining yards, dropped on Busso, bringing him sprawling into the dust.

  Don saw Harry’s fist rise and fall, then Busso went limp.

  Harry stood up and grinned.

  “Nothing to it, boss,” he said and ran over to one of the cars, lifted the bonnet and removed the distributor head.

  Don caught up Harry’s rucksack and came tumbling down into the road.

  “Well take the other car, Harry.” He bent and snatched up Busso’s big black hat. “Come on; get in!”

  He put on the hat, slid under the driving wheel and started the engine. Harry opened the off-side door and got in. Very far away there came a faint shout, and Harry looked back up the hill.

  Two of the men who had reached the top of the hill were waving to the others who were not high up enough to see the road.

  “They’ve spotted us,” Harry said as Don made a U-turn and sent the car shooting down the road towards the farmhouse.

  “They haven’t a hope of catching us,” Don said. “Keep out of sight, Harry. With any luck they’ll think I’m Busso come back to report.”

  “Good show!” Harry said and sat down on the floorboards.

  Don drove swiftly down the road. It was a three to four mile stretch to the farmhouse, and he reckoned it would take the men well over an hour, even if they ran most of the way, to get off the hill and get back to the farmhouse. He had that much in hand to put Natzka, the pilot and Maria out of action and get the hover plane going. It would be nip and tuck, he thought grimly, but it could be done.

  “Running through the farm gates in another minute,” he said to Harry and braked sharply. He slid down in the driver’s seat, jerked the big hat lower over his face and swung through the white gateposts.

  The car bumped over the uneven road. Not far off stood the hover plane. There was no one in it nor by it. Don was tempted to stop the car and make a dash for it, but he knew he had to immobilize those left in the house first.