Passport to Peril

by Lawrence Block

  “Please…”

  “I thought of the knife,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s a beautiful knife. It’s in the car, under the seat. A very long, very thin blade. Do you like knives, Ellen? Do you find them beautiful? A knife can be a very beautiful object, you know.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “Do you really think so?” The idea seemed to amuse him. “Perhaps. It’s been suggested before. I don’t let it bother me. I thought of the knife, Ellen, but I rejected it. There’s a great deal of variety with a knife. It can be fast or slow, painful or relatively painless. But I don’t think I like the knife, the more I think about it. Not for you. For David Clare, perhaps. Should I make it fast or slow for him?”

  She didn’t want to answer, didn’t have the strength to answer, couldn’t stand to listen to the filth he was spewing, much less reply to it. But she knew what happened to the mouse the moment the game became dull for the cat. So she said, “You don’t have to kill him. He doesn’t know a thing, not a thing. You can let him live—”

  “Oh, no. Because he knows you, and if you don’t turn up he’s going to find out why. And once he contacts the authorities, your passport won’t be much good to us, will it? No, he’ll have to die. With the knife. Quickly, I think. Why prolong it? We’re prolonging your death, Ellen, by standing here and talking about it. It’s not much fun, is it?”

  “You’re horrid!”

  “Horrid. That’s an interesting word. Like the little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead. ‘When she was bad, she was horrid.’ That’s how it goes, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you sing it for me?”

  “There’s no tune.”

  “A pity. I’ve never heard you sing, Ellen. What song would you like to sing for me?”

  She broke and started to cry. This seemed to delight him. He took another step closer.

  “We haven’t finished talking about your death, Ellen,” he said. “Strangling, perhaps? I think that may be best. To strangle an old woman one night and a pretty young girl the next. Yes. I’ll do it very slowly and watch your eyes all the while. Yes. That’s better than shoving you over the cliff, don’t you think? I’ll do that later, after you’re quite dead, but I thought of throwing you off alive, and I don’t think that would do at all, do you? No, because there’s no guarantee. It would cripple you, but it might not kill you, and I simply can’t afford to have you left alive. This whole operation has taken very careful planning, dear. It has to be done properly, and so I think I shall strangle you after all, like your Cornish friend, and I think I’ve wasted enough time already, wouldn’t you say? I think it’s time for you to die, Ellen, and I’ll watch your eyes turn, just as I watched hers turn last night, and you’ll struggle, yes, yes you will, you’ll struggle, and you won’t really believe it’s going to happen. All the while you’ll think there’s a way out, you’ll think a bolt of lightning will come out of the clouds and strike me dead and you’ll live. You’ll invent all sorts of ways you can be saved, and while you go on dreaming of them my hands will be tightening, tightening, and I’ll be looking into your pretty eyes, Ellen, and my hands will tighten and it will hurt you, it will hurt very badly, Ellen, and then while you go on dreaming all of a sudden you will stop, everything will stop for you, the world will stop for you, Ellen, and your eyes will turn and you’ll go completely slack and you will be dead, Ellen, dear, dear child, little girl, dead—”

  Just as his hands, curled like claws, reached for her, she lashed out. She ducked down and came at him in a rush, hands flailing out, her head butting him in the pit of the stomach. She took him completely by surprise—he fell, and she sprawled on the ground beside him. She scrambled to her feet, and then his hand hooked around her ankle and brought her crashing down.

  “Oh, Ellen,” he said. “So you’ll make a fight of it…”

  He had one hand on her ankle, the other hand higher up on her legs. She scrabbled at the ground with both hands, brought up fists full of dirt and tiny pebbles. She turned and threw the dirt at his face, and he let out a roar and rubbed furiously at his eyes with both hands. She pulled herself free and ran for the car.

  But he was up and after her. He caught her, and when his cold hands touched her she almost gave up, almost quit, but something made her fight on. She spun away from him and kicked out, and he laughed and kept coming, and she kicked again and caught him in the pit of the stomach and he doubled up in pain, a moan escaping his lips.

  For a moment she was frozen, almost unable to believe she had hurt him, unable to move now that the chance was hers. Then, as he was getting to his knees, she recovered herself and sprinted for the car. She almost ran around to the left-hand side, but then she remembered that the car had right-hand steering, and she got the door open and flung herself behind the wheel.

  The motor was still running. She put the car in gear and pressed down upon the accelerator, and nothing happened, the motor roared but the car stayed in place. There was a moment of panic, and then she remembered the handbrake and released it, and the car leaped forward.

  David, she had to find David!…

  She spun the car around in a tight U-turn. She made the turn all right, but then the tiny motor coughed and died, and he was racing toward her now, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to start the car. She put the clutch in and turned the key and the starter whined and the engine caught, and he was grabbing at the door, clutching at the handle just as she fed the car gas and the car rushed forward again, pulling away from him, and when she looked in the mirror she saw him sprawled out on the road behind her, sprawled on his hands and knees while she sped away, safe, free.

  She was safe.

  She was alive, alive.

  And he would not be able to come after her now. He had told her how deserted the road was, how days passed without another car appearing. He would be a long while on the road, and no one in Dingle would know what had happened. She could hurry back to Dingle. She could find David, somehow, and get him away from there. They would drive to Tralee and from Tralee to Shannon, and they would find someone, anyone, who could help them.

  But they would have to hurry.

  She checked the rear-view mirror. She could still see him, walking in the roadway behind her, covering the ground quickly in long, firm strides. He was coming after her on foot. She wanted to drive faster but didn’t dare. She was on the wrong side, it felt crazy driving on the wrong side of the car and the wrong side of the road. And the road was so narrow, and there were hills, and she was afraid, God she was afraid.

  No, she told herself. No, there was nothing to be afraid of. There was plenty of time. She had got away from him, that was the important thing. She was alive and she was free of him and he would never get near her again. That was the important thing. And David was innocent, David was really in love with her, David was hers, hers, and she would find him and he would drive the car and then she wouldn’t have to do it any more, and she would be safe, she would be David’s, everything would work out—

  She saw the car in the rear-view mirror, a long way back. It wasn’t fair, she thought. It wasn’t fair. Hardly any traffic at all, days going by without a car, and now there was a car coming at just this time. It wasn’t fair. She watched in the mirror as Farrell stepped easily to the side of the road and held up his hand toward the onrushing car.

  Maybe it wouldn’t stop for him. Maybe…

  The car slowed, stopped. Farrell opened the door, got into the car.

  Of course, she thought. Of course. And she burst out into hysterical laughter, humorless and involuntary laughter. Of course. For who in Ireland would think of refusing a ride to a priest?

  The car behind her began to move again Grimly, desperately she pressed down harder on the accelerator and urged the little red Triumph on toward Dingle and David.

  Fifteen

  When she hit the outskirts of Dingle town she slowed down. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead and trickled down her a
rms to the backs of her hands. She was past fear now; she had lived with it too long and was now running on momentum and adrenalin. Somewhere in front of her was David. Somewhere behind her was Father Farrell—no, not Father Farrell, not even Farrell, but that would do until she knew his real name. Somewhere behind her was Farrell. She had not caught a glimpse of the car in a long while, and her first thought had been that the false priest had been unable to persuade his driver to match her speed. Now, the more she thought about it, the more certain she was that the car behind her had stopped. Farrell would not want an innocent citizen for company if he caught up with her. So he would make the driver stop the car, and then those hands, those horrid hands, would reach out for the man’s throat…

  That would explain why the car had dropped back out of sight. And she knew he would do the deed without a second thought. He would probably yearn to do it, for that matter. She had seen the light in his eyes, had heard the wildness in his voice when he told her how he would kill her, told her all of it in heart-stopping detail. She had cheated him out of the thrill of a murder, and he would be hungry to kill, anxious to take any life, and the man who gave him a ride would have been sacrificed to that hunger.

  So he’d have a car of his own now. And what sort of car? She hadn’t recognized it. It was one of those British automobiles designed like a 1954 Ford, and all of them looked quite alike to her. But whatever sort it was, whatever make, it was probably faster than the Triumph. It was certainly larger and likely to be more powerful.

  So she didn’t have much of a head start.

  She went to his rooming house first, hardly daring to get out of the car but knowing it was the first place to look for him. She rushed up the stairs, calling his name, and got no answer; finally someone else, English and irritated, told her he had gone out.

  She went to the cafés, the pubs. And found him at last in a pub a block off Strand Street, sitting in an armchair and drinking a pint of stout. He gaped at the sight of her and got up from the chair.

  “Hurry!” she shouted. “Come with me, there’s no time!”

  “What on earth happened to you, Ellen? And what—”

  “I’ll explain later, there’s no time, you’ve got to come.” She was frantic. “I’ll explain, please, hurry, there’s a car out front, hurry, there’s no time—”

  A man on the other side of the room was out of his chair now, walking their way.

  Koenig.

  “Hurry!” she shrieked. She grabbed his arm, pulled him toward the door and the waiting car. “You drive,” she said. “You’re used to it, driving on the left, listen, I’m all flustered, I can’t think straight. Listen—”

  “I’ll say you’re flustered.”

  “David, drive. Drive as fast as you can. Drive out of town, drive to Tralee. Oh, God, Koenig’s got a car, he’s heading for it. Go, David. For God’s sake…”

  She stopped then, stopped because there were no words left, stopped because she had run out of breath, stopped because he had at last given up trying to get an explanation and was, thank the Lord, driving the car. He swung onto Strand Street, headed east, out of town.

  He said, later, “Tralee?”

  “Yes, I guess so. That direction, anyway. And as fast as you can.”

  “This isn’t exactly the fastest car on earth.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Ellen, are you all right? Is everything…”

  “I’m all right.”

  “I looked for you. When you ran yesterday I didn’t know what to think. Are you sure you’re okay now?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will you tell me what this is all about?”

  “In a few minutes.” She turned in her seat, looked out through the rear window. She could not see Koenig’s car yet.

  “I’ll explain it all,” she said. She took a deep breath, held it, let it out very slowly. “In just a few minutes, David. I have to catch my breath. And oh, I have some things to tell you, and they won’t be easy to tell.…”

  She sat back in her seat, a cigarette in her hand. She had finished, and he had not spoken a word throughout the recital. She was waiting for him to say something. The little red car was flying along the road to Tralee. David was a good driver, and he had the throttle wide-open and his hands poised lightly but firmly on the steering wheel. He drove intently, his eyes darting from the road to the rear-view mirror to the road again, his concentration absolute.

  For a hysterical moment she thought that he had not believed a word she said—that he was convinced she was insane and was humoring her. She could prove it, she thought. She could get her passport from her purse and peel off the photograph and show him the microfilm. She could prove it if she had to, and—

  But he said, “You poor kid. You poor, frightened kid.”

  “I’m all right now.”

  “What you must have gone through. It’s a miracle you’re alive, Ellen. A miracle.”

  “It’ll be more of a miracle if we’re both alive in another few hours.”

  “Are they behind us?”

  “I can’t see them, but with all the twists in this road they could be fifty yards behind us and I wouldn’t know it.” She turned to face forward once again. “Have you caught a glimpse of them in the mirror?”

  “Not yet. But Koenig has an American car, I saw that much. We’ve got an advantage on the winding roads, but we’re dead if we ever hit the straightaway for any length of time. That’s where his car’s power will come in handy. Do you have a map handy?”

  “In the glove compartment. Farrell used it yesterday, to find the oratory. David?”

  “What?”

  “You’re not…mad at me?”

  He looked at her. “For what?”

  “For what I thought. That you—you know.”

  “Why should I be mad at you? It was the sensible way for you to figure it from where you stood.”

  “No it wasn’t. I should have known better.”

  “You added up two and two and got four. Anything else would have been a surprise. To tell you the truth, it’s remarkable that you tumbled to Farrell at all. He had a perfect setup, Ellen. He never had to win your confidence. All he had to do was appear before you and act priestly, and he had it made. It might have been tougher for him if you were a Catholic. But now many priests have you known personally?”

  “None.”

  “Exactly. All you had was a general image of what a priest was, and any time he deviated from that image you would only think that he was an offbeat sort of priest, a little more colorful than the stereotype. No, I can’t blame you for trusting him before me. You’re just lucky to have tumbled to him at all.”

  “Lucky?” She frowned. “I don’t know if it was lucky or not. Suppose I had played along with him because I didn’t know any better. I’d have gone on to Berlin and then home. I might have helped him by doing his dirty work for him, but I wouldn’t even have known that.” She glanced nervously at the rear window again. “At least I’d have got out alive.”

  “Uh-huh. Of course, Koenig would have stuck a knife in me, somewhere along the way…”

  “Oh, I forgot!”

  “And you wouldn’t have got off alive in the long run, anyway. He couldn’t leave you around. You’d know too much, and if anything ever went sour they could trace you and get back to him through you. No, I’m afraid you would have had an accident arranged for you in Berlin, Ellen.” His voice hardened. “From what you’ve said, he’s a man who likes killing. History’s filled with men like that. They only kill for a reason, but somehow they can always find a reason. You’re lucky you found out what was happening, and lucky you got away from him at Conor Pass. If you can be lucky one more time, we might get out of this.”

  She didn’t say anything. Shakily she got two cigarettes from her purse. They were the last of her cigarettes. She lit them both and gave one to David, then crumpled the pack and tossed it out the window.

  “Littering,” he said.


  “Fifty-dollar fine in New York.”

  “No fine here, but criminal. And criminally wasteful, unless you’ve got more cigarettes.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, neither do I. We could have shared one and kept another for later. I don’t suppose it matters. Is that a car behind me?”

  She spun in her seat and leaned over it to look out the window. A big car, American, was hurtling toward them.

  “It’s him,” she said.

  “Koenig?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, there’s somebody with him. I can’t see the car now, it’s around the bend. Wait, there it is again. It’s not Farrell. I don’t know where he is, but that’s a woman with Koenig. Probably his wife, or whatever she is. The one who was going to use my passport.”

  “Can you still see them?”

  “Yes. No, not now.”

  He swung the wheel hard to the right, spun off on a narrow unpaved road. The road dipped down a hill, then curved off to the left.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but the Tralee road’s no good, not with them that close to us. The road’s too straight and we can’t get enough speed out of this buggy. They’d be on us in no time.” He took a sudden curve without slackening speed, and the car careened wildly but held the road. “These little monsters are good on roads like this one,” he said. “They’re built to take it. I wonder if he saw us turn off.”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t looking just then, I don’t know.”

  “Be a sweet piece of luck if he didn’t. If he stayed on the Tralee road and passed us by. Of course, this road probably does a loop-the-loop and deposits us right back on the Tralee road anyway. Have you got that map yet?”

  She got it and opened it.

  “Try to figure out where the hell we are and where we’re going. I think we can forget about Shannon. Farrell’s too smart to leave that open. He’ll have got to a phone by now, and there will be men waiting in and around Shannon for us. If we can find a way, I’d just as soon bypass Tralee completely.”