Menace (Department Z)

by John Creasey

  Rene hesitated before she spoke.

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t pleasant. And of course I waited in the hope that Fencer would get away.’ She had been at the White Star, Camberley, and had learned most of what she knew from local gossip – the story of the murdered Vallenan had travelled fast. ‘I came straight back.’

  Criff nodded, well-pleased.

  ‘Now off to your flat and bed.’

  She yawned, stretching gracefully with an unconscious voluptuousness that made Criff’s eyes narrow. When he had first met her he had been sure that she followed the oldest profession of all, but for once he had made a mistake.

  ‘All right. Adam – it’s not dangerous, is it?’

  Criff patted her shoulder.

  ‘Just a little more care to be exercised, my dear, that’s all. And I think in two weeks from now it will be finished. I shall not need to worry you again. Even that sad affair in Paris can be forgotten.’

  Rene Mondell shivered, and hurried out. The weary-eyed valet, waiting in the next room until summoned, was told that he could go to bed. Criff decided to rest in an easy chair. He had booked a passage for Poland on a plane leaving at noon, and he had several things to do in London first. He felt a little annoyed with himself for his momentary outburst of alarm. Rene was getting nervous, too nervous.

  Lady Mondell certainly was: she was also getting wary, and wondering whether it was wise to let herself be ruled so completely by Adam Criff. It was a peculiar fact that she had hidden one vital thing from him. She had, in fact, lied when she had said that she had come straight back from Camberley.

  Actually she had been to her own flat, two hours before she had visited Criff’s, and before that she had spent an hour riding in a taxi with a man named Falling. Falling was a little younger than Rene Mondell, and somewhat unhappily in love with her. But he had, she knew, something to distract him, for he had started a few months before working for a man named Craigie and a Department called Z.

  Rene Mondell had learned that when she had visited him once, to find Bob Kerr and Carruthers with him. But she had never disclosed this friendship to Adam Criff.

  She hurried now along the warm passages, wondering what Criff would say if he knew she had kept the friendship secret: or what he would do.

  She had been almost too eager that night to persuade Jim to leave England and go abroad for a year or two. Ostensibly because she was married, and he could never hope for her, actually because of her underlying fear that Criff would hurt him.

  She fell asleep thinking of the cheerful blue eyes and the fair, curly hair of broad-shouldered, easy-speaking Jim Falling, that most recent member of Department Z. And ten minutes after she fell asleep, the telephone on Gordon Craigie’s desk buzzed.

  Craigie was alert in a moment. He lifted the receiver, and the man at the other end of the wire spoke quickly, spelling his name backwards, an introduction that was the ruling Department code.

  ‘Craigie? G.N.I.L.L.A.F. speaking. All right?’

  ‘Yes, Falling,’ said the Chief of Department Z.

  ‘Rene Mondell’s just left Criff’s flat – she’s been there half-an-hour. Shirin, a Russian cove, came out ten minutes before her. No one seems to have seen him go in. Ashe, at the back, says a money-lender named von Hauf left that way. That’s the lot.’

  ‘Good work,’ said Craigie.

  He hesitated, for he fancied he detected an unusual note – almost one of reluctance – in the other man’s voice. But Falling said nothing more, and Craigie told him to go off duty.

  Falling, at a call-box at Marble Arch station, rang down and then walked slowly into the street.

  He was frowning, and he felt like the very devil.

  When he had first been told to keep an eye on Lady Mondell – not because of her association with Criff, but because she had been so frequently in foreign capitals at times which were difficult diplomatically, and Craigie’s foreign agents had of course reported it – he had not imagined it would be much of a job. A bit of fooling with a blonde, and no more.

  But Rene Mondell was not the usual type of blonde.

  And Jim Falling was beginning to realise that he was really, not feignedly, in love with her. It was a devil of a business.

  Had he been wise he would have told Craigie the truth, but he had not been able to bring himself to it.

  As he reached his flat in Jermyn Street, a little man of the name of Platt hurried along the other side of the road. He had a lot to report next morning, to a certain gentleman who would telephone him.

  Quite by chance, Platt had seen Rene Mondell with Falling, had followed them on their taxi ride, wondered what she was doing hob-nobbing with a man he had been told to watch carefully – in common with several other Department Z agents, for Criff was careful – and had hung around. She had spent an hour or so in her flat, come out for a breather, seen a couple more of the Z bozos around and scuttled in again. Maybe it was okay with the Boss, but maybe it wasn’t.

  Chapter 6

  So Easy

  At eleven o’clock next morning, after he had telephoned the man named Platt, Adam Criff discovered that Rene was playing a double game with him.

  His first temptation was to confront her with it. On reflection, however, he believed he could twist this development to his advantage. It needed his personal attention, he decided, and he cancelled his Polish flight – thereby making Craigie ponder when the fact was discovered in the normal routine of Department Z.

  While Craigie was trying to discover why Criff had suddenly changed his plans, and whether the man suspected that he was being watched, Criff was working out a new scheme. From the way he smiled from time to time it seemed as if it would be satisfactory. He even chuckled, and he sent out an order to Platt to get the man Falling, alive, and to take him to a small house in Essex bought and kept for such emergencies.

  Criff, of course, did not know exactly what Falling had reported, but he saw the possibility that Shirin’s visit had been discovered. He would have been less satisfied had he known that Department Z men were already making thorough inquiries about Shirin and von Hauf.

  * * *

  Meanwhile Mr Tino Platt was sitting in a small room in a large house in Harrow. The house was officially a private hotel, and at one time it had been a genuine concern. Later, however, Mr Adam Criff had bought it and a different management had taken over.

  From that time onwards, dating practically from the time that M. Jules Doriennet had started to lose business, and English companies had been annoyed at receiving the wrong shipments of Vallenian goods, a peculiar type of guest had taken up residence at 18, Grattle Street, Harrow.

  They were a mixed bunch. Some were well-educated, others practically illiterate. They apparently worked and rested in long stretches. A few, it was true, went out to work every day, but there were those who seemed to lounge about the house for weeks on end. The manager had let it be rumoured that he was building up a good connection with film ‘extras’ and that explanation satisfied the neighbours, as well as a tentative inquiry from the police.

  Actually, of course, the various members of Criff’s carefully organised English company lived there.

  By chance Fencer had not stayed at Grattle Street, but at a different and genuine boarding house, as he had told Bob Kerr. But Mr. Platt did, and he had now received orders to ‘bring in’ the guy named Falling. He had been told by telephone that he could take two other men to help him.

  Platt was uncertain whom to take, and he consulted the manager, a loose-limbed man named Jensen.

  ‘Giddy and Jo,’ said Jensen, as soon as the query was forthcoming. ‘They know the ropes all right. You’ve gotta take him, you say, not push him over?’

  ‘So de Essex place,’ said Tino Platt. ‘Dat’s what de Boss ses.’

  ‘Do what he says an’ you won’t come to no ‘arm,’ said Mr Jensen, and thus it was that two hours later Jim Falling – off duty for the day – had a visit from a tall, well-dressed man with an obv
iously professional manner.

  Falling looked at his caller inquiringly.

  ‘Lady Mondell asked me to come,’ said the professional-looking gentleman with a disarming smile. ‘If you could call at her flat sometime today, she would appreciate it. A slight accident –’

  The professional-looking one, whose name was Giddy at Grattle Street, Harrow, had a convincing manner, and yet he had some difficulty in keeping his elation from showing in his eyes. The young cove named Falling fell so easily.

  Jim Falling watched the door close, stepped sharply to the window, and watched Giddy walk quickly along the street. He eyed the telephone longingly and then, with sudden decision, grabbed his hat and left his flat.

  A comely maid admitted him to Lady Mondell’s flat. It was smaller than Criff’s, and less pretentiously furnished, though just as luxurious.

  ‘How is she?’ Falling asked sharply.

  ‘She – she asked you to go straight in, sir.’

  Falling nodded, and let the girl lead him to a bedroom door. At first only the foot of the bed was visible.

  And then Jim Falling pulled himself up short, but he had no time to do anything. Just behind the door was the professional-looking Giddy. In one corner of the room, training a gun on Falling, was Tino Platt; and from the bed appeared the ungainly figure of a crook known as Flash Jo.

  All three faces were split with grins at the ease of the catch. Falling made a sharp turn towards the hall, but Tino’s gun moved and warned him that silence and stillness were advisable. Giddy closed the door, and slipped his right hand in his pocket.

  ‘What the devil’s this?’ snapped Falling. ‘Where’s Lady Mondell?’

  Giddy laughed.

  ‘See what happens when young sparks like you fiddle around with married skirts, Mister Falling.’

  ‘Cut it,’ growled Tino Platt. ‘Put de cosh on de guy, Giddy, we ain’t got no time for shooting his mouth offen him.’

  ‘Look here –’ began Falling.

  He contrived one wild and useless swipe at the man named Jo, but the vicious swish of a cosh came first. Its leaded end cracked against Falling’s head and he pitched forward into the waiting arms of Tino Platt.

  Say, would you believe it? So easy I reckon we oughta apologise, Giddy. Let’s git de guy outside.’

  It was not difficult for them to make it appear that Jim Falling was either drunk or ill. They reached the outside of the block of flats, and Flash Jo jumped to the door of a Daimler saloon that was standing there. Far more quickly than they had moved upstairs, they had Falling in the tonneau. Tino Platt joined him, Jo took the wheel, and Giddy watched the car drive off before turning towards the nearest telephone kiosk.

  He saw, but did not specially notice, the battered-looking Austin 7 that rattled past in the wake of the Daimler. He did not see the driver of the Austin, five minutes later, lift two fingers towards a man at the wheel of a Frazer Nash car.

  Bob Kerr, driving the Frazer Nash, saw the signal, and his eyes turned towards the Daimler. He followed it as far as the first fringes of Epping Forest. Then he pulled the Frazer Nash into the courtyard of the Swan Inn, and the Daimler – whose driver had noticed the smaller car and had started to wonder – grew more cheerful.

  ‘Okay, he’s stopped,’ he said to Tino.

  ‘Sure,’ said Tino.

  Neither of them realised that as the Frazer Nash had gone off the trail, two other following cars had taken it up.

  They had been summoned after a general police car call had been put out, via the man in the Austin 7, and had quickly reached the Daimler and the Frazer Nash, whose progress had been followed by every sharp-eyed policeman along the route.

  Kerr was frowning, despite the ease of the chase.

  It demonstrated the power and the thoroughness of Department Z as few other things could have done. Now they were working hard on the Doriennet-Criff affair, they were at fever-pitch, and the smooth co-operation with the police helped them. But Kerr was worried.

  He thought back, to the hour before the chase had started.

  It had been after the professional-looking Giddy had called on him that Jim Falling grew uneasy. He had not confided in Craigie, but now, at the eleventh hour, he decided to tell Kerr.

  Kerr had told him how to act, but he had been worried about the youngster. Falling had blurted the whole thing out. His fondness for Lady Mondell, his belief that she returned his affection, the fact that he wished he had not started it. But Falling had guts. He was prepared to go as far as he could this time, even if he retired at the end of it.

  Kerr wondered whether Falling would have the chance to retire.

  If Criff was indeed the leader of the gang he had shown himself to be both brutal and unscrupulous. Kerr disliked the idea of sending a youngster to what might prove to be a nasty death. But – it was for the Department. They had to get further information on the strange happenings at Vallena, even at the price of a brave man’s life.

  As he waited for a message at the Swan, Kerr was thinking that at least six men he had known, grown friendly with, joked, eaten and worked with, had died in the past eighteen months; older, better, more valuable men than Falling, and all had died for the Department.

  Some twenty minutes after he had pulled in, a policeman entered the saloon bar of the pub. He recognised Kerr at once and stepped towards him.

  ‘Mr Kerr?’

  Kerr nodded.

  ‘I’ve just had a radio call, sir, asking you to go to Edge House, Elmswick.’

  Kerr’s eyes narrowed. So the others had traced the Daimler, and Falling was now at a house in Elmswick village, near Epping. The constable was able to give him explicit directions, and Kerr reached Edge House fifteen minutes after he had received the message.

  Two other agents – who played a small part in the affair of Doriennet, and can be nameless – were waiting in the shadows of a copse of trees conveniently near. The house stood half a mile from the nearest house or habitation. Even in the hot glow of that September afternoon sun it managed to look dark, gloomy and sombre.

  ‘Anyone gone in or out?’ asked Kerr.

  A fresh-faced young man said no. Kerr nodded, and gave instructions before walking boldly up the short drive of Edge House. There were times when direct approached was advisable and Kerr believed that this was one of them.

  * * *

  Jim Falling did not know whether to be pleased with or sorry for himself. The call from the man styling himself a doctor had convinced him it was essential to confide in someone. He had chosen Kerr, for there had always been something about the ex-flying ace that instilled confidence. Kerr had told him exactly what to do, but had also reminded him of the dangers of the game. There were many.

  ‘I’ll take them,’ Falling had said with a quick smile.

  Now, conscious and with a badly aching head, he was sitting on a couch in an upstairs room of a house that seemed as far as possible away from civilisation. Opposite him stood Tino Platt.

  Falling, his hands and feet bound tightly, licked his dry lips.

  ‘Who’s the swine who’s paying you for this?’

  ‘Now ain’t that too bad?’ drawled Tino. ‘He wants to know who de Boss is! Maybe he’ll tell you.’

  Tino, whose mentality was of the type to appreciate the humour of playing with a helpless victim, broke off as there came the sudden, strident ringing of a telephone bell. Seeing that the house had been unoccupied when they had arrived, it was something of a surprise. Tino stepped back, shut the door, and hurried downstairs. Flash Jo was holding the receiver in his hand as he stood in the small, gloomy hallway.

  ‘It’s him, Tino.’

  ‘De Boss? Reckon he’s aimin’ t’know whether we got de guy,’ said Tino. As the voice of the Boss came sharply over the line, Tino’s complacency disappeared.

  ‘You were followed,’ said Criff. ‘Put him away, and get off yourself. And move quickly.’

  Tino Platt swung from the telephone towards Flash Jo.

/>   ‘Get de car out an’ make it hum. Dere’s trailers on us.’

  ‘What!’ Jo’s startled face turned pale. He hurried towards the garage, while Tino Platt raced up the stairs towards Falling’s door.

  He flung it open with his left hand, and snatched his automatic from his right-shoulder holster. Falling, who had been trying desperately to loosen the cords, saw that red face twisted in savage anger, and was suddenly, dreadfully afraid. Pictures of Kerr, Rene, Craigie and a dozen others flashed through his mind, as Platt flicked the gun.

  And then Falling drew himself up, with a queer dignity. He knew what was coming. His lips were steady as Tino’s fingers tightened and relaxed, three times. The first bullet did its work. Falling sagged forward. Death had at least been instantaneous for the youngest member of Department Z.

  Tino reached the hall as the car with Flash Jo at the wheel drew up. Tino jumped towards it. He had been through stick-ups before, and he had never failed to shoot himself out. He reckoned that anyone who followed him would not dream he would shoot on sight.

  As the car moved off Bob Kerr was opening the drive gate. The bend in the drive hid the oncoming car from sight, but Kerr heard the engine and drew a little to one side. Tino Platt, his eyes narrowed, waited and watched, gun in hand.

  Chapter 7

  Kerr Takes It Hard

  Kerr had no idea that Falling had been murdered in cold blood. He had no idea that the men in the oncoming car were prepared to shoot on sight, but he had a memory of what had happened on the previous day. His face was quite expressionless as the Daimler turned the bend.

  He saw Jo, and he saw Tino. It was enough. Moving faster than it seemed possible a man could move, he reached the shelter of the trees, and as he did so bullets sprayed about him. They spattered on the trees and in the grass, one tugged at Kerr’s coat sleeve as he levelled his gun. He fired three times, at the wheels and not the men.