by John Creasey
‘Thanks,’ said Kerr drily. ‘In better circumstances next time, I hope. By the way, a lager –’
‘My dear man, yes. Holst – der laager! Let us drop formalities, Kerr. When you came in and saw me, you had a shock?’
Kerr nodded.
‘You are remarkably like – an acquaintance of mine.’
‘Ye-es. Poor Jules, who died so unfortunately after seeing you, was my brother, Kerr. That enables you to understand a little?’
‘A lot, Doriennet. I’m – sorry.’
‘About Jules? It was, I suppose, inevitable. If the poor fellow had only told me, instead of trying to deal with it himself – well, a great deal might have been done. As it is, we are in an unfortunate position, you no more than I. I have mentioned the rumbles of revolution. They are distressingly near. Every time the door opens I wonder whether it is to announce the new order of things. As a military man, of course, I will be assumed to support the ruling Government. If it is a peaceful revolution – that might be – all will be well. But I am afraid of trouble, Kerr, just as you are. I cannot imagine how Vallena will avoid it now. Things have reached too bad a pass.’
Kerr shrugged his shoulders.
‘You doubtless know more about it than I.’
‘Yes. Your point of interest lies only in the effect on England, of course. Well, now. A word of explanation. A statement was made to the effect that you were plotting against the Government. The alleged facts were too grave for us to do anything but order your arrest. And now I am in the peculiar position of having to ask one of my political prisoners for information. You understand, I am sure?’
The vague pictures of third degree that had flitted through Kerr’s mind when he had been shut in the cell returned. ‘This had gone on far too smoothly.
‘Sorry, Doriennet. But – supposing I don’t, or can’t, answer? What happens?’
Doriennet waved his hands.
‘I had not considered the possibility, Kerr. I give you my assurance that I have one thing in mind only: to stop the revolution. I have discovered many of the people who are working for it. I know that the whole Meggel Party is ready to take up arms. I know that Count Vonath’s Nazi group will jump into a battle as quickly. The revolution waits only for the match. Politics are hotter here than in England– but you hardly need telling that. The Communist and Nazi element has been straining at the leash for years. Unless we can act quickly we shall have a repetition of the Austrian trouble, after Dolfuss. Perhaps a repetition of Spain, with the added difficulty of Russia and Germany being very close to us. Germany, of course, virtually possesses a corridor through Poland to Vallena, just as they have at Danzig. Well –’
He broke off, inquiring, inviting. Kerr was trying to convince himself that the man was wholly sincere. Certainly he was Doriennet’s brother, and the revolutionaries – if the break came – had murdered Jules Doriennet.
‘Well – what exactly do you want to know, Komandant?’
Doriennet smiled, quickly.
‘Excellent! I had imagined, Kerr, you would not allow your rough handling to prejudice you. One forgets oneself in these things. Well – I have discovered small arms factories, and broken them. I have found ammunition dumps and confiscated them. A dozen, perhaps, in all. I know that your countryman, Criff, was in it. I know that Prell was mixed up in it. All these things have come to light since Prell’s assassination. But – I do not know who is behind it, and I must. The three party leaders? I do not think so. Meggel will fight, but he is a fanatic. Paul Vonath is a shouting fool. Nestal Silf, if not a genius, is a diplomat, and a true diplomat these days wishes for peace. So it is someone outside. Some country. Which one, Kerr?’
Kerr was very wideawake now.
‘Which one – I’d like to know, too, Kommandant. But you talk as though you are sure it is an outsider.’
For the first time Kerr saw anger in those smiling blue eyes.
‘Kerr! I had assumed you would talk –’
So he had no idea of Katrina, Kerr thought slowly. The man was genuine. He was friendly towards Kerr: he was an ex-spy, and he knew that Kerr and Craigie worked for peace. He was on Kerr’s side.
‘I’ve just decided that I will talk,’ said Kerr slowly, ‘but I’ll repeat the question: you’re sure it’s someone outside?’
‘Ach, it must be!’
Kerr was nodding slowly.
‘In a way, yes. But the mainspring is here. The Prince, Doriennet?’
The Kommandant had pushed his chair back, and was now leaning forward and gripping his desk with both hands.
‘The Prince – madness! He is weak, he is hated. No one would follow the Prince. Vonath, Meggel, Silf, they all have their supporters, but the wastrel Renol – no one!’
Kerr said very slowly: ‘Is there any other personality connected with the throne who might win public favour? Who might get supporters from the army, the police, from all parties? As if, for instance, Renol was popular and wanted to set up a dictator state, with himself as dictator? Can you think of anyone?’
Doriennet was staring, his eyes very prominent.
‘Kerr – you know something. You know. The – Princess?’
‘I think,’ said Kerr, ‘that I can very nearly prove it. Listen, Doriennet –’
He talked quickly, for five minutes. He knew that Doriennet was incredulous at first, but was slowly convinced. He learned afterwards that Kryn was the Princess’s personal adviser, he knew of course that Katrina had travelled all over the world, and that year she had spent a great deal of time in the Tyrol.
‘Accessible,’ exclaimed Doriennet excitedly, ‘to both Russia and Germany. She is in the pay of one or the other! She can win the people for they love Katrina. She has been badly treated, so they are her friends. Even I – But, Kerr, there must be something else!’
‘There probably is something else,’ said Kerr, ‘but Katrina’s leading it here.’
He heard the running of feet outside, and saw the riflemen jump towards the doors. A word was shouted, another came from the opposite side of the door.
The door was unlocked, and Kerr and Doriennet, on their feet, saw the fierce-looking Lieutenant Davos burst in. Davos with his uniform torn almost to ribbons; Davos with a wicked wound over his right eye; Davos whom Kerr admired in that moment.
‘Kommandant – it has come! The revolution! They are attacking the Palace! They are firing at the House of Representatives! They are mad, Kommandant, it is the end of all!’
* * *
It had come.
The revolution in Vallena that Kerr and Craigie had foreseen and so desperately tried to stop. That Doriennet had foreseen and worked against. That the three parties of the House had been half-afraid to face and yet half-welcomed.
It was happening.
The next five minutes passed like a nightmare to Kerr, a crazy kaleidoscope of the impossible. Davos had seemed to forget the Englishman was a political prisoner, had run alongside him, with the Kommandant and two riflemen slightly ahead. Kerr had had time to get his automatic from Doriennet’s desk, and more than time to wonder whether the rabble had got as far as the Hotel Renol.
As they hurried up a wide flight of stairs they heard an occasional rifle shot, while in the background was a murmuring, like distant thunder, and the sharp tap-tap-tap of a machine-gun.
Kerr had no time to notice the spaciousness of the main hall of that section of the star-shaped castle, its tapestries, its magnificent furniture. He saw the crowd of men by the doors and the rough barricade that had been thrown up. Men were still working on it, and behind a priceless settle a machine-gunner was entrenched, pouring lead into the attacking forces.
There would be no peaceful revolution in Vallena.
The darkness beyond was speckled with the flashes from rifles. Bullets were humming over their heads. The crowd facing them was a jumbled mass of yelling people, the only light coming from the guns and a few hand-torches – an inevitable insignia of rabble rebellion.
But for how long?
The revolt must have spread like wild-fire, and Kerr knew it was no exaggeration to say that it had been smouldering for years. It had come, of course, as a clash of Nazi versus Communist, but it went deeper than that, and Katrina was directing it.
Who was directing Katrina?
And how would England be affected?
And – Lois. How was she?
Davos could only tell them that he had been off-duty but in uniform, when the crowd had raided the café he had been sitting in, and he had fled for his life. Police, military, anyone who refused to help the rebel forces had been slaughtered – his words came incoherently, starkly informing Kerr of the bloodshed that had come to the stricken city like a plague.
Kerr turned to Doriennet.
‘I’ve got to get out!’
‘But how can you?’
‘There must be a way, back entrance, a window. I can’t stay here, I’ve told you all that I know.’
‘I am not asking for more – but how –’
Kerr swung round. Doriennet was making a desperate bid to pit fifty against a crazy multitude, he could do no more. Kerr must act on his own. He was confused with thoughts of Lois, and the less personal issue of what and who was the power behind this revolution.
A German corridor to Russia? Vallena over-run with the armies of both countries: the long-threatened war which, in the end, no one could keep out of, a war ruinous to British interests, to sanity, to civilisation. The mad dogs had started, how could they be stopped?
Kerr was racing up another flight of steps. He met no one, wanted to meet no one. He could hear the roar through the open windows, and suddenly, just in front of him, a brick crashed through a large pane of glass. It showered over him but left him unmarked, and he flattened himself against the wall.
The rabble was filling the courtyard of the palace, up to now held at bay by a thin line of military. The crackle of gunfire came plainly, the flares more brilliant, the roar deeper. He looked out on the heads of that seething mass, saw men and women alike moving to the insensate impulse of their fury.
To the west he could see the ‘islands’ of the hotel quarter. The roads were blocked by the screaming masses, cars were overturned, here and there one was blazing, its red glare flaring to the skies.
The neon lighting of the Hotel Renol – the hotel of the King whose palace they were attacking, whose blood they wanted – showed up clearly. Kerr moved on.
At every third window he peered out. There must be a way of getting down, of mixing with the crowd. An individual would be lost in them, if once he could get there.
He stopped suddenly.
He heard the roar of a cannon that seemed to detonate inside the palace itself, and as he looked out of the window he saw a space cleaved among the masses. He saw worse, humanity tossed to the air like so many scraps of cloth. Shrieks and screams replaced what had been but a menacing roar.
The gun came again.
The shell split them asunder, sent them rushing back, crowding away from the part of the palace he was in. Someone just below him was firing a nine-pounder.
But the crowd at the back still pushed forward. The guncrew must have been well-hidden, for the boom of the gun came again, but the fighting was growing fiercer. Grenades were being thrown like tennis balls. There was the crash of falling masonry, another boom.
A roar, the like of which Kerr had never heard in his life, came, and an explosion that smashed every window in sight. The floor under him seemed to sink. Kerr had a desperate fear that he was falling – falling.
The floor held, but bricks had fallen from the walls. The rabble had found the ammunition of the nine-pounder below, and now that the gun was silenced they were surging forward.
There was nothing he could do to help, little to save himself.
He peered out, careless now of being seen.
The rebels were streaming towards the breach in the walls, and Kerr saw the gaps in the masonry close to him, and a pipe leaning drunkenly away from the wall.
If they got in and found him it would be the finish. He had to get out.
He climbed out the window, reaching towards the drainpipe. It sagged sickeningly, but by keeping his toes against the walls, it bore him. Beneath him the crowd was like a sea of infuriated madmen – but no one looked up.
Kerr scrambled down, his heart in his mouth. Ten yards, Eight. Six –
A bullet pecked into the wall beside him, and he knew he had been seen. Another struck close to his hand, a brick glanced off his shoulder, but immediately beneath him the people were rushing through the breach.
Four yards – and Kerr jumped.
He had no idea whether the people he would jump on knew he was there, but he was hoping desperately that those who had sighted him were further away. His foot crashed on a shoulder, a man swore, Kerr staggered against three others and sent them reeling back, cleaving a passage. He jumped into it but people were grabbing at him, he heard the ugly yell of: ‘Renol – Renol!’
They wanted the Prince.
They had seen Kerr coming from the Palace and by God, if they got him they would tear him to pieces.
Hands shot out, ugly, demoniac faces loomed in front of him. Kerr was fighting, kicking, but they were all round him, the odds were hopeless, and he knew despair. He had his head well down and his fists were working like battering rams, but they were on him, ravenous for blood. He heard a loud roaring in his ears, something that sounded unnatural and horrible, and then he was swept off his feet.
Chapter 19
Came Chaos
The first bomb dropped fifty yards from Kerr.
The mob had hardly realised what was coming; frenzy had made them unconscious of anything but the storming of the Palace and the man they wanted to kill. They were men and women, ordinary decent human beings temporarily filled with a madness fostered, insidious, vicious and damning.
Kerr was beyond philosophising. He was thinking of nothing but the pain in his wrists, the blood on his lacerated knuckles, the thunder in his ears. And then, as he seemed lifted off his feet for a second time, an odd thing happened.
But for that roaring, most distant now, there was silence.
There was no shouting and screeching, no cracking of shots. Silence that seemed heightened and not decreased by the roar from the skies.
And then the explosion.
Kerr did not know what it was even then. It echoed in his ears, seeming to shake the ground on which he was lying. Almost unconscious, he lay there, unmoving. The voices had surged back again, but now they were shrill with panic. The rabble was running.
The second boom came.
He knew what it was then. He saw the whole thing. The bomb struck, and burst. The flame was a lurid yellow-red flare, and smoke shot out, darkening the already gloomy skies. And then the top of the doomed building began to disintegrate. It toppled slowly, sickeningly. About its base thousands of people struggled to find shelter.
Kerr was getting to his knees unsteadily when the third bomb fell. He saw it like a man who was seeing something on a film. It could not be happening.
It was.
He saw people literally buried in tumbling masonry, men running from the terror and falling beneath it. He saw a woman – no more than a girl – with her dress torn at the shoulder and hanging from her waist, with a smear of blood across her face – and he saw a crooked girder falling towards her. She was running with the very fear of death at her heels, and death struck before she could evade it.
Kerr wiped his hand across his brow. Both were wet with blood. He looked away from the frightened, screeching mass of people, shocked by the suddenness of the terror from the air.
There were ten planes, all clearly outlined in the
star-decked sky. They were well past the Palace now, but their instruments of death were still falling, while from the building which had been struck flames were shooting viciously, and the cries of the stricken were coming louder, more terribly to his ears.
Turned from rabble to rabble: from blood-lust to dreadful fear. Men and women were gibbering and shrieking. Pitiful wrecks, broken irredeemably.
Kerr lurched to his feet. From somewhere, God knew how, men in uniform were springing. A peaceful uniform with the badge of the Red Cross on the armlets.
Kerr went forward, to help.
The picture of Lois had to be forced away. He had to do what he could.
He saw three men trying to lift a girder pinning down five or six women. He went forward at a weak double, and his added weight brought the girder off. Then he forgot that he was Bob Kerr, forgot Craigie, Lois, everything but the desperate need these people had for help.
He was running with sweat, and his sleeves were blood-soaked to the elbows as he toiled on.
There was a lull. More helpers arrived and there was less need of amateur intervention.
He had no idea how long he had been there, how long it was since he had left the prison. Kommandant Doriennet, Davos, the first news of the rebellion, all seemed a long way off. There were still sounds of the roaring of voices, but distant. Here and there the gloom was illuminated by the ominous red flare of fires.
Kerr stood up shakily, and made towards the hotel quarter. He told himself now that he had been wrong, he should have gone to Lois first, should have made contact with the other agents, although God knew he was useless enough. Useless?
That spirit in Kerr that so often made him attempt the impossible, stirred again. This was only the start. It could get worse. This was one city, a city of the dead; supposing it had happened all over Europe? It was the thing called modern war, and could happen in London, Paris, Berlin, Prague, Rome –