by John Creasey
Grant said hoarsely: “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you to,” she said.
It was Marlene’s voice, with the faint American accent and the trace of huskiness.
He gulped.
“Are you—”
“Yes, I am Marlene von Barlack.” She poked her fingers through her hair and smiled, but it was a mockery of a smile. “We talked this morning. You thought I was dead. I asked you to come back to me alone, do you remember?”
The impossible had happened.
“It has happened to me before, Grant. Three times the doctors have given me up for dead, but I’ve been alive, I’m cataleptic.” The word meant so much and yet, just then, meant nothing. “It has always come when I’ve been living under a strain. This morning, I knew that one might come, and then—I fought to bring it on.” Yes, it was her voice, but it lacked all vitality, something had been drained out of her. “I didn’t know whether I should succeed, but it worked well. I was unconscious for several hours, and did not come round until late this afternoon. I was in hospital.”
He ought to ask her how she had got here, but words wouldn’t come.
He swung round suddenly, opened the cabinet and poured out whisky, tossed it down. He held the bottle up to her, and she shook her head. He didn’t speak for a few stifling minutes, but waited for the whisky to stimulate him. He had to throw off the lassitude which had seeped through him. He felt it easing, found himself able to accept the thing that had happened; to believe in it. He lit a cigarette, and Marlene asked for one. He had to go close to her again, as he had when they had first met in the Hendon house.
“Don’t you know where you are?” she asked.
“No. No, and it doesn’t matter. Marlene, go and sit down.” When she hesitated, he took her arm and made her go to a chair. Not until she sat down did he see that her right leg was bandaged; she wore no stocking on it. He stood in front of her. “How did you get here? How did you get away from the hospital?”
“I was taken away in an ambulance.”
“Where did you go?”
“They were to take me to the Majestic Hotel. My husband was ill, and was asking for me. The ambulance didn’t go to the hotel. It stopped in a quiet street, and I was made to get out and enter a private car, which brought me here. Another car travelled just in front of us. I did not see who got out. I don’t know why they’ve troubled to do this, now. They must know that I have told the police all that I know.” She shivered. “Do you know what they want with me?”
“No,” said Grant. “All of them are meeting upstairs.”
“All?”
“Neilsen and Nieto, two others who’ve been here all the afternoon and a man who’s just arrived. They call him the leader. They’re making their final plans. They wouldn’t take the decision about what to do to-morrow until the leader arrived.”
“Do you know what—” she almost choked.
“No, I don’t know what they’re planning,” Grant said.
He wanted to tell her that he was in touch with Craigie and that the house was watched; but she was sick, and if they questioned her, she might break down and talk.
“We must find out,” she said harshly.
“The house is guarded, inside and out. They’re meeting behind locked doors. We—”
“We must find out!” She half-rose from her chair, and her eyes were burning. “It’s our last chance, we must find out, or—Grant! We can do better than that, we can fetch the police! You can. Get the police or your friends, have the house raided. If they’re all together we can catch them. Don’t stand staring at me, we can catch them—we must.”
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes too bright.
“We’ll get them,” he said, and tried to sound confident. “Don’t work yourself up. If it came to the point I could tackle them one by one.” He touched the gun in his pocket. “You’ve got to rest.”
“Rest! How can I rest, when there is so much to do?”
“Don’t raise your voice, they might hear you.” Grant went to the window. He could see a red glow opposite, all that remained of the bonfire. He had done much since seeing the flames, but was still far from the end of the chase, he mustn’t forget that. Marlene’s coming had unnerved him, but he was in command of himself again now. He went on: “They’ll probably send for me soon, to give me instructions for my next job. That will be the moment to act. I wish—”
He broke off.
“Yes.”
“Oh, it’s not worth saying. I wish you weren’t here. But if you were to get away, even if I could help you to, an alarm would be raised. They’d move to their next hiding-place, and it would start all over again. And if we don’t beat them here, we’ll never beat them.”
“You must forget me,” she said. “I think that they intend to kill me. That doesn’t matter. Forget me, do what you think best, and—”
“I can’t,” said Grant, and when she started, he stretched out a hand to touch hers. His voice was husky, his eyes glowed, as if all passion and desire were in them. “I can’t forget you, Marlene. Whatever happens, I shall never forget you. I am—”
He stopped again.
She said: “Yes, I know.”
“Marlene!”
“I sensed it at the other house,” she said softly. “You nearly threw your chance of success away by coming to see me. You should not have done that. I don’t matter, individuals do not matter. Forget that I exist. After all”—she actually smiled— “if you win, I shall probably be quite safe. If you lose, we’ll both lose. But we must not lose.” She jumped up, winced as she knocked her leg against the chair, and stumbled forward.
She leaned against him for support, and his arm went about her. The warm softness of her body was close to his, and the beating of his heart was against hers. He felt her arms tighten round his shoulders, felt her press against him.
Then, gently, she broke away.
“We must not let this interfere, Grant.”
“We can’t stop it!” he rasped.
“We must stop it. Listen to me. For years I have put the cause of European unity first in everything I have done. I pledged myself to it during the War, when I saw that the catastrophe might come again if there was no unity. Grant, listen to me. I was married to a Frenchman, a member of the French Secret Service. After the War he was murdered by these people. They were working then to prevent real unity, working against the United Nations Association—and they murdered him.”
The room was hushed.
“I knew something about them. I knew Nieto was one of them. I became Nieto’s mistress. Then I believed that von Barlack was one of them, and I had to find out, so I married von Barlack. I married him at a time when I hated him, but the hate didn’t last. I began to like him. I could not prove that he was in this plot, although it looked as if he were. I began to think that it was someone else, using him as a stooge. So I started to see Nieto again, and Casado, and others. I learned about the Star and Circle, which is their password. It has no other significance. I discovered how widespread the organization was, but knew that until I could identify the leaders there was little good that I could do.” There was bitterness in her laughter. “I once confided in a high official in England, and he scoffed at the idea. I stopped trying to get outside help, and worked alone. I met Neilsen and others; they took me into their confidence, although Neilsen never trusted me. I stood by while they tormented the Baron, trying to get military information from him—it was then that I finally believed that he was innocent. I worked with them. I worked with Fiori, who was in their pay. I worked with them against poor Hilde Neilsen, and stood by and watched her suffer, just to get information from her and so prove my loyalty to Neilsen and Nieto. I learned that Fiori was weakening, and told Nielsen, who had him killed. I knew that Casado was to kill him, that Neilsen ordered Casado’s death after the way he had killed Fiori. I was in their confidence, and I discovered one thing of great importance. Nieto and Neilsen, Harris
on and Paulus, were always taking orders from one man. One man—the leader—and he is here to-night. They are with him, plotting ruin. Now will you believe me when I say that you must forget me, forget everything but breaking them?”
Grant said very slowly: “Yes, I believe you.”
“There may be a future left for us,” said Marlene. “And if there is—who knows what you and I might do?” He thought there was passion in her violet eyes, believed that she responded to the call that was in him.
They were left together for an hour. Then Neilsen came for Grant.
Only the four men he already knew were there; the fifth was not in the room. Grant had heard no one leave the house, so the leader was not far away. Probably they had decided that Grant must not see the president.
They sat at the table like directors at a board-meeting. Grant was made to stand at the end of the table.
Neilsen was their spokesman.
“We have decided what to do, Grant, and that you shall do it.”
“Well?”
“We had planned a rebellion at the Congress. We had our men prepared to obstruct and oppose every resolution. We knew that with Benot assassinated, feeling would already run high and a few inflammatory speeches would break up the Congress.”
“What’s the matter with carrying on with that programme?” Grant asked.
Neilsen said: “The Baroness has talked too much. The authorities know most of our agents. They have already detained a great number of them. I wish she’d burned!” The words spat out viciously, but the Novian recovered himself quickly. “The delegates to the Congress will be gloomy and lifeless. They will pass a formal resolution deploring the assassination of Benot, but the most we can expect is a postponement of some of their plans. In fact, it is probable that some delegations will try to force through agreement on general policy. They will be urged to close their ranks more tightly because of this. They will be told of the fifth column that was among them. They might salvage a great deal from the ruins, Grant—thanks to the dear Baroness. But they can still lose everything—thanks to you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
He was conscious of all eyes turned towards him, of the tension in the room.
Neilsen opened a small box in front of him and took out a package, the size of a packet of twenty cigarettes. He put it gently in front of him. It was wrapped in white paper and tied with red string.
He said: “How badly do you want to smash them, Grant?”
“I’ll do anything.”
“Risk your life?”
“Haven’t I proved that?”
“Are you prepared to go farther and to throw your life away if you can be sure you will destroy them?” There was soft, sinister emphasis on the word destroy; Neilsen’s eyes narrowed, looked like tiny segments of blue steel.
Grant said clearly: “Yes.”
“Very well. In this package there is an explosive which will wreck the Conference hall and kill every man and woman inside it. You have only to toss it into the middle of the hall and it will explode. No one there will live to explain what happened. The hall and the delegates will disintegrate. So will the plans for unity in Europe.”
After an unending moment, Grant said: “And how am I to get into the hall?”
“It will be simple.” Neilsen smiled. “You will drive up to the entrance and say that you have an urgent message for the President of the Congress.”
The anti-climax was so absurd that Grant actually laughed.
“Oh, of course! They’ll lead me to him; they won’t search me for weapons or explosives? This dangerous assassin will be allowed to stroll in and toss the package in front of the President. With the compliments of Mr. Neilsen, I presume?”
Neilsen said softly: “We are not so simple. You will not go as yourself. You will go in the one disguise which will enable you to get into the Conference hall.”
“Oh, don’t be a fool!” Grant snapped. “The men on duty will see through any disguise. The fact that I’m wearing one will make them more suspicious. If you can’t think up something better than that, you might as well stop talking about it. You need someone unknown—”
“Oh, no,” said Neilsen. “We need someone known. Someone respected, almost venerated by the Congress. A man who will pass with little trouble and with only slight scrutiny. The well-known man is always taken for granted, isn’t he? With your wide experience you should know that. It is always the unknown man whose identity is questioned.”
He couldn’t argue about that; everyone had taken Benot’s identity for granted.
“You will be closely guarded until you are at the Conference hall,” Neilsen said. “We will look after you. We will take you there, and you will go straight in. In case your courage failed you at the last moment, men will be standing outside to shoot you if you tried to get away. So you wouldn’t be able to escape alive, Grant. You might as well go through with it.”
“I’ll go through with it if you can convince me there’s a chance,” said Grant.
The little paper packet lay on the table, looking rather like a doctor’s prescription, already made up by the chemist. He took it for granted that Neilsen was right about its explosive power. He didn’t think beyond that. If he made difficulties, if they doubted whether he would accept the task, they would find someone else; they mustn’t do that. He must fool them right up to the last moment—unless he could bring about the raid from Craigie’s men now. He didn’t think seriously about that then, but waited for Neilsen to go on.
The Novian said: “Oh, we can convince you. Look at me.”
Grant stared straight into his eyes.
There was a movement behind him, at the door. The other men looked towards it. He knew that Neilsen was forbidding him to turn around, but felt desperately anxious to look. He heard the door close. Shuffling footsteps sounded behind him; a man was approaching stealthily. It was almost as if he were going to be attacked, as if this meeting had been an absurd, elaborate hoax.
Neilsen said: “You will be disguised as the gentleman behind you. Look around now.”
Grant turned—and stared into the face of the Baron von Barlack.
27 / The Final Effort
The white beard, the flowing white hair, the ruddy complexion and the twinkling grey eyes, mocked Grant. He felt a shock as great as when he had seen Marlene. He leaned heavily against the table, staring at the old man; and von Barlack opened his mouth wide and chuckled.
“You are surprised, my friend! Yes, yes, very surprised. You have done so well, remarkably well. Thank you, thank you. Neilsen, I would like to sit down.”
He went to the vacant chair at the head of the table and lowered himself into it. His breath was wheezy, the movement had been a great physical effort. He put his hands on the table and clasped his fingers.
“Haven’t I fooled you all?” asked von Barlack. “You and your friend Craigie—yes, yes, fooled you all completely. As you have fooled my friends here! They believe in you, Grant; they think you are one of them. But no, no, I am aware of your real purpose. The same purpose as my lovely wife. And I fooled her, also—she was never able to prove the case against me. In fact, I convinced her that she had made a mistake. I convinced you and Craigie that I thought she was the traitor. Clever, wasn’t it? Eh? Very clever indeed! And I impressed you as a very frightened man, didn’t I? I told you why, everything was perfectly explained. The Baron von Barlack was a pet. A grand old man. A man who resisted all pressure to make him divulge his precious secrets. Whoever was the villain, it was not von Barlack. Oh, no. Yet here I am, Grant!”
Neilsen said hoarsely: “Grant is with us, Grant has undertaken to—”
“How credulous you are,” said von Barlack. “You accept my wife, you accept Grant. You forget that there are idealists who will make any sacrifice for their ideals. Grant killed Benot, yes—a desperate measure, to satisfy you. What did one man’s life matter?” He gave a little teetering laugh. “I have been thinking a great d
eal about that, Grant. What does one man’s life matter? One old man’s life, in particular. Not very much. No, not very much. True, I do not think that my friends here are capable of taking my place as a leader. But I am not alone. I have other, more powerful friends. I will tell you a very funny thing. Half-way through the last war it became obvious to me and others that Der Fuhrer could not win. No, he was not, after all, the right man. But he was right to fight the enemy, the real enemy everywhere. Communism.”
Von Barlack began to gasp for breath, and his wheezing was the only sound in the room. As soon as he could get words out, he started again.
“I, who had served him faithfully, in success, turned against him. I fooled the Allies into believing I had always worked against him. They accepted me. But my powerful friends and I bided our time. You would call us Fascists. We are more powerful than you have realized, and wealthy beyond dreams. Yes, yes. There was this talk of unity against Communism. A good thing? It might, yes, I believe it would, defeat Communism. But it would do it through democracy, and democracy would become very powerful indeed. My Fascist friends and I do not believe in democracy. We believe in the supreme rule of the supreme leader. I once thought I was destined to become that ruler, but—”
He broke off, in a fit of coughing, and his face went purply red.
As soon as he recovered, he went on: “No, it is not to be. I am too old, too near death. There will be another leader. After the destruction of this Congress and of all talk of unity, what will Russia do? Attack? No, no! They will sit back, those thirteen men in the Kremlin, and laugh themselves sick. They will wait for each nation to crumble, and expect to capture it from within. But it will not crumble, Grant. It will become very strong. Fascist régimes, already prepared to act, will take over. We have great weapons—like that little packet. We will take over and we will strike at Russia while she is laughing her inside out. We shall defeat Communism in battle, and after that there will be no enemy. The real unity under a supreme world leader will be achieved, and where there is opposition it will be crushed. You are saying, perhaps—no, no, this cannot happen in America. Perhaps America will be the last citadel to fall, but already in the South there are great Fascist forces. The rest of the world will be ours by conquest, America will be conquered also, but by attrition. Do you see exactly what I have planned, Grant?”