The Salzburg Connection

by Helen Macinnes

  “Possibly.”

  “Make sure of that. Now, for what you’ll wear—” Nield rose, went to the wardrobe and opened it. “Tweed jacket, I suppose?” He seemed to be memorising its colour and double vents. “You could sport that tie you have on now,” he said as he turned to face Mathison. “That’s just for tomorrow, when you do your job. After that, dress as you like; you’re on your own.” He glanced at his watch quite openly, announcing time was running short and silencing any further questions most efficiently. “The important thing is to keep everything outwardly normal. You have a real excuse for going to see Anna Bryant, and play that angle hard. Make no secret of it. Any Nazi observer will accept that. Remember, the Nazis don’t know you at all, and Elissa’s friends are probably just as ignorant about you and Lynn Conway. So it’s a perfectly natural business visit to Anna Bryant. Got that?”

  “Yes. But I don’t like dragging Lynn—”

  “Two are safer than one.”

  Meaning? wondered Mathison. That Lynn lends me something of her cloak of innocence? Or that one person was easier to abduct than two? Or that I’ll not risk any chances if I have her to worry about? “Damn your eyes,” he said very quietly.

  “You’ll keep a closer watch on her than any of Keller’s men could,” Nield said cheerfully. “Now here is your timetable. You’ll both visit Anna Bryant tomorrow afternoon—as early as possible. When can you make it?”

  “Around half-past two.”

  “How long will it take to discuss the contract with her?”

  “You just can’t go in and say, ‘Sign here’. I can’t time myself. Exactly. Or Lynn, for that matter. They may start a lot of conversation, those two. Give us about an hour.”

  “That would be normal time for such a business visit?”

  “Look—I can’t talk with my eyes on my watch.”

  “I think you’d better. Keep it brief. First, business; then, Finstersee. But send Lynn Conway away before that subject is brought up.”

  “Where? And using what excuse?”

  “That’s your problem. For Christ’s sake, Bill—” Nield looked at him sharply, mastered his brief exasperation. “Do you know where Tomaselli’s coffee-house is?”

  “Yes, it’s on the old market square.” Tomaselli’s was a pleasant café only a few minutes from the Neugasse, filled with people at the rush hours, never really empty of patrons who read newspapers and made a cup of coffee last the whole afternoon. He would have taken Lynn there as a matter of course; it was the kind of place foreigners visited to feel they were at home in Salzburg.

  “Drop in there with Mrs. Conway after you’ve seen Anna Bryant. Choose a table in the main room downstairs. You’ll have a newspaper under one arm, and you’ll carry that small red-covered guide to Salzburg.” Nield pointed briefly to the dressing-table where Baedeker’s short edition lay beside travel folders and a map of the Salzburg area. “It will fit neatly into your pocket.”

  “I’ll also be carrying a briefcase,” Mathison reminded him. “Actually, a leather envelope, black in colour.”

  Nield’s eyes widened. “Thanks for that. And wear exactly the clothes we discussed. Right? They’ll identify you quickly.”

  “How do I recognise the man we’ll meet in Tomaselli’s?”

  “You won’t meet him. He could be one of any of the people at the tables in that room.”

  The main room wasn’t too large, Mathison remembered, but it was big enough. “I’d better choose a table in its emptiest section, so that he can see us clearly. But how do I pass on the news I got from Anna Bryant?”

  “You’ll have three possible pieces of information to give him. One: Anna Bryant has what we need and is willing to help. In that case, you lay your newspaper aside on a chair and light up cigarettes as you wait for your coffee. Two: Anna Bryant knows nothing and therefore can’t help. If so, unfold your newspaper and—with Mrs. Conway—you can study the concert or movie advertisements. Three: Anna Bryant knows something but refuses to tell. If that happens, you’ll take out the guide book and puzzle over it with Mrs. Conway. Got that?”

  Mathison went over the three signals quickly. “If all is well, I relax and smoke. If it’s a complete dead end, I give up worrying and start looking for some entertainment. If it’s a no-help answer, I turn to Baedeker for guidance.”

  “That’s it. One positive signal, two negatives. If you have to give one of the negative signs, then that’s the end of your job. Enjoy your coffee and cakes. Leave. Your mission is over. We’ll handle it another way.”

  I bet you will, thought Mathison, and I bet you’ve even got your plans all laid for that too. “And if I give the okay-on-all-counts signal?”

  “You’ll leave Tomaselli’s with Lynn Conway. Don’t let her do too much window-shopping. Keep your eye quietly on your watch and get back to Bryant’s place within twenty minutes. Don’t be late. Please! Because a couple of minutes later, I’ll be coming in by the back door. Keep Lynn Conway in the front shop. Make a likely excuse and be in the kitchen along with Anna Bryant to meet me. It will only take two seconds to introduce me—you’ll have prepared Mrs. Bryant for that in your first visit. Then you take Lynn Conway and get the hell out, but walking slowly.”

  “And after that?”

  “Stay out, Bill. Your job is done. And we add our thanks.” Then as Nield saw the obvious disappointment in Mathison’s face, he added, “You and I will get together some day when it’s all over, one way or another. And I’ll tell you what I can, if I can. That’s about everything, I think...” He was ready to leave, glancing at his watch again. “You’ve got it all straight? Repeat it briefly, will you? The timing is important.”

  Mathison got it straight, all right, and as briefly as possible. Nield was relieved, and definitely pleased. He had a small shock at the end, though, when Mathison added, “Didn’t you forget something?”

  “What?”

  “Your name. Or do I introduce you to Anna Bryant as Chuck?”

  “There’s no need for any name.”

  “I tell her you are just the man from Washington?”

  “I’m the man who knows someone in Washington.”

  “Pretty cagey, aren’t you?”

  “We have to be.”

  “I think you should have a name. Women like names. They are reassuring. She’ll feel uncertain enough as it is.”

  “You’ve a point there. What about Cliff? That will give her something to hang on to.” Nield began moving towards the door.

  “I suppose a bad joke is better than none at all for an exit,” Mathison said. Or for a casual farewell? This might indeed be the last time he’d be talking to Charles Nield—apart from those two seconds they’d have in Anna Bryant’s kitchen. Too bad he wasn’t going all the way. Again he felt the stab of disappointment, as if he had been cheated of learning the full answers. “I know why you were so keen to have Lynn Conway in Salzburg,” he said, joking in earnest. “She’s the excuse to keep me in line.”

  Nield tried to look surprised, even slightly hurt, at such an idea. “Now, Bill,” he said in his most persuasive style, “we are just keeping everything as simple and natural as possible.”

  “Sure. You could have made me meet your unseen agent in the cemetery and had us match the torn top of a Jell-O box.”

  Nield recovered. “Now why didn’t we think of that?” He held out his hand. “Good luck!”

  “You, too.” Then as they shook hands Mathison had one last doubt.

  “Yes?” said Nield.

  “What if Anna Bryant isn’t in Salzburg? Her brother lives—”

  “She’s there, all right. She is trying to make an inventory of the shop. She is selling all the equipment, giving up her lease.”

  “You have good sources,” Mathison said, but he felt better about that. Someone had been keeping a friendly eye on Anna Bryant. “I’ll call her this evening and make the appointment for tomorrow.”

  “Just be careful what you say over the telephone. It’s quit
e easy to tap it from the outside, you know.” And as Mathison stared at him, he added, “So far, we don’t think that any bugs have been planted inside her shop. She turned away two businessmen who wanted to inspect her place with the idea of taking it over from her intact. Very tempting offer. But they made the mistake of coming on the morning of the funeral. So she turned them out. We think they were Nazis, not Elissa’s KGB friends. Elissa was too busy in Zürich this week.” He opened the door slightly, waited, looked out. He stepped into the corridor. Quickly, gently, the door closed.

  Three calls to make: Lynn, Anna Bryant, James Newhart. But first Mathison ordered a couple of sandwiches, a double Scotch, and a pot of coffee. It wasn’t too late to reach Anna Bryant—Austria was in the same time zone as Switzerland and didn’t indulge in daylight saving either. So he’d call Lynn first, work out the change in plans. He downed the Scotch in order to add to his courage. She would begin to think he was the man who was always late both in keeping appointments and in changing his mind, a variable type, hardly dependable. But there was one thing he had determined to do: he wasn’t going to start lying to her. He couldn’t tell her much more than she already knew, if anything at all. But no lies, not to Lynn Conway. He wasn’t quite sure what he would say or how he would say it, and the longer he thought about it the less sure he was. Lynn wasn’t the kind of girl for whom you prepared set speeches. He picked up the receiver before he could start imagining a hundred reasons why she might not want to go with him to Salzburg, after all. He cursed silently, remembering just in time the virgin ears down at the switchboard. And then, as he braced himself for his first sentence, the call went through to Lynn’s hotel. And stuck there. Mrs. Conway’s line was engaged.

  Three minutes later it was still engaged.

  Two minutes later, engaged.

  This is important,” he said. “I must talk with Mrs. Conway. Could you give her my name when she is free?” He spelled it out carefully. That was all he could do.

  Almost ten o’clock, and he could not risk delaying his call to Salzburg. He’d content himself with a cable to Jimmy Newhart telling him about Greta Freytag’s death; that would save a lot of backing and filling, and, more importantly, time. Everything was becoming so damned urgent, he thought in a fresh attack of anxiety. All of Nield’s careful plans could start falling apart because of one small change, one piece of mistiming. No doubt Nield allowed for that; but if anything went not according to plan, Mathison didn’t want it to happen at his end.

  His luck began to turn. He reached Anna Bryant in Salzburg. Except that he had the uneasy feeling that she was in some new kind of trouble. She was in a strange mood: angry at first, until she realised who was talking to her; then surprised, and pleased; then restrained, almost diffident, about James Newhart’s offer of a very fair settlement.

  “One of the editors from the New York office just arrived here this morning. Her name is Mrs. Conway. I think she’d like to come through to Salzburg to talk with you about that contract.”

  “You will come, too?”

  “Yes, I’ll bring the legal papers. They won’t be complicated. We can clear everything up about that contract tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I may have to leave—All right, tomorrow afternoon.”

  “About half-past two?”

  “I’ll be here.” She must have turned her head; she was speaking to someone at her elbow, her voice muffled and indistinct but annoyed. Someone else was trying to get into the act, someone with a question or two of his own. Brother Johann? wondered Mathison. Whoever it was, she managed to keep him out of it. Her voice quickened, became stronger as she spoke once more into the telephone. “I’ll be here. At half-past two. Have you seen Mr. Yates? What did he have to say about the contract?”

  “No. I didn’t see him. And there is a piece of news I ought to tell you. There was a boating accident. Eric Yates is dead.”

  “A boating accident.” The words were calm, fatalistic. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Mathison.” There was a slight scuffle at the end of the line. “Stop that!” she told someone angrily. And then to Mathison, as she ended the call abruptly, almost in tears, “Thank you.”

  Tomorrow...that was one thing he’d better make sure of. Something had gone wrong in Salzburg. He began packing.

  It did not take long. He was almost finished, ready to step out early in the morning and make the first flight, when Lynn Conway’s return call came through. She was annoyed. Not with him, but with Inspector Keller. “We argued for at least five minutes over the phone,” she told Mathison. “D’you know what he wants me to do?”

  “What?”

  “Stay in my hotel for the next four or five days!”

  “That’s dreary.”

  “It’s impossible. I ask you—”

  “I agree. Did he say why?”

  Lynn’s voice changed. “He told me Miss Freytag had died. Very suddenly. Bill, did you know about that?”

  “Yes. I was calling you to tell you—”

  “I can’t believe it. She was so full of determination—the kind of woman who lives until ninety. And what about her mother? I think I’ll go and see her first thing tomorrow.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “No. Leave that all to Keller.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I’ve been thinking over that trip to Salzburg, and I hope you’ll come along. It would be more cheerful than Zürich at the moment. I don’t suppose the office will be functioning anyway for several days at least.”

  There was a startled pause. “I’d only be in your way in Salzburg.”

  “I’d like you to be with me.”

  There was another pause, and then a small laugh. “Why does everyone want to get me out of Zürich? That was Inspector Keller’s idea, too. He offered it as an alternative to the four-day siege.” Another pause. “What’s wrong, Bill? I thought you’d have found that funny.”

  “If you join me on that first flight out tomorrow, I’ll promise to laugh at all your jokes.”

  “That’s terrifying—enough to silence me for the whole trip. When are you planning to leave?”

  “I’ll pick you up at six o’clock at your hotel.”

  “In the morning? Now, you’re joking!”

  “It’s the best connection,” he said vaguely. “We have to see Anna Bryant in the early afternoon. I’ve just been talking with her on the phone. I think she has some new troubles. She’s selling everything, planning to move away. Pretty miserable, all around.”

  “Do you really want me to go with you?”

  “I’d like you to go,” he said, sticking to the exact truth.

  “All right,” she said, turning businesslike. “If I can be of help, I’ll be delighted. I’ll see you at six. Oh, Bill, what’s the temperature in Salzburg?”

  “Cool and crisp. Why?”

  “Clothes.”

  He had to laugh. The switch from executive to feminine was beguiling. And reassuring, too. “It’s fleece-coat weather. Take the blue one you had on today, and that dress you wore at lunchtime.”

  “But I have something else—”

  “Never change a winning game. With that blue coat, your eyes can’t lose. Oh, and Lynn—I’ll cable Jimmy about all this. You get on with your repacking.”

  “For four days?” she asked, now serious, no doubt thinking of Inspector Keller.

  “Why not? We can hire a car and do some exploring once we get the contract properly settled. We might even drive all the way back to Zürich.”

  “I’d love that. Good night, Bill.” She rang off.

  He replaced the receiver slowly, still hearing the happy excitement in her voice. What have I done? he wondered. But it was too late for after-thoughts. He would just have to believe that Nield and Keller were right; if these two hardnosed professionals couldn’t give correct advice, who could? They had come to the same decision independently. That was at least in its favour.

  He finished his packing, called the desk to make reserva
tions for the first part of the journey, checked on the connection at Innsbruck, ordered a car for ten minutes to six, sent a night cable to New York, and buried his worries about Lynn Conway in those of Salzburg. Something had gone wrong there, something to upset Anna Bryant. A family matter? A quarrel between Anna and her brother? None of my business, he told himself as he climbed into bed and stretched his spine. But the sooner he was in Salzburg the better.

  17

  “Stop that!” Anna had said angrily, and pulled the receiver away from Johann’s reaching hand. She ended the call from Mathison with a quick sentence of thanks before her brother tried another grab.

  He was just as angry as she was. He caught her by the shoulders. “I wanted to speak to him. Why didn’t you—”

  “What would you have said? That you had something you wanted to sell to the highest bidder?”

  “You’re damned right. But I wouldn’t have been as stupid as to blurt that out over a telephone.”

  “No?”

  “No! I was only going to ask him if he wanted to look at some of our mountains. I’d guide him around for a couple of days. Why not? The weather is good and clear now. He used to climb.”

  “He isn’t an agent. I told you that.”

  “He’s coming back to see you, isn’t he? That’s proof of something.”

  “It’s proof that Newhart and Morris are honest, that’s all. He is coming to clear up the mess about the contract.”

  “Oh.” But Johann didn’t quite believe that was all. “Look, Anna, I can’t be here tomorrow. When you see him—”

  She wrenched herself free and marched, head high, back through the narrow hall towards the kitchen.

  His first impulse was to leave, continue his interrupted journey to Unterwald. He hadn’t seen Trudi since Monday night, or rather Tuesday dawn, which was almost the same thing. The funeral, Anna’s plans and business arrangements had used up these last four days. And all that time he had his own problems. He could trust Trudi—the Finstersee box was as safe in her room as any place—but he couldn’t stop worrying. Today he had telephoned, left a message to tell her he was coming. He had to get back to Unterwald, no matter how late his arrival.