Passport to Peril (Hard Case Crime (Mass Market Paperback))

by Robert B. Parker

  Then someone moved. I heard his shoes scrape the bare floor and I saw his shadow move ahead of him through the doorway. The shadow moved to where I was crouching.

  Then he spoke.

  “Get up,” Hiram Carr said. “Get up, John, and join us in the other room.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  NEW STRATEGY

  For a moment I was faint with relief. Then relief gave way to anger. No man likes to know he’s made a fool of himself.

  “Goddamit,” I said, “how the hell was I supposed to know? Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t someone come out and tell me?”

  I was so let down and ashamed of myself and angry with Carr that I could only stare at him.

  “I’m sorry,” Hiram said. “It’s my fault. I should have let you know. But I wanted you to stay out there in case we have any more visitors. That was a smart plan of yours just the same.”

  I was damned if I was going to be patronized by that birdlike little man with the pince-nez and the ridiculous coonskin cap on his grotesque head. But I noticed the two Russians seated against the wall and I shut my mouth. I could tell Hiram Carr what I thought of him sometime in the future—now that we had a future again.

  It wasn’t until I sat down on the sofa next to Walter that I noticed that Carr had a gun in his hand. The Russians were his prisoners all right; I guessed one of them had to be Major Felix Borodin. The other was a captain.

  “Where is Maria Torres?” I said.

  Carr shook his head. “She isn’t here,” he said. “There’s no reason to believe she’s ever been in this house.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “I’m trying to get Major Borodin to tell us. He swears he doesn’t know.”

  I was surprised to find that Hiram spoke fluent Russian. I suppose I was still thinking of him as the hick he’d pretended to be when Maria and I had met him in the dining car. Of course he wouldn’t have received his assignment unless he’d known Russian.

  When my temper had cooled, Hiram asked me to watch the street from inside the front door. He said something in Russian to Borodin, who nodded. Then Hiram told Walter that Borodin would go with him to get the car.

  “He’s going to ride back to Budapest with us,” Hiram said. “He’ll have to get us past the roadblocks.”

  “You told him you’d kill him if he didn’t?”

  “No,” Hiram said, “but I’ve a stronger persuader than that. I told him I’d tell Lavrentiev about his connection with Doctor Schmidt.”

  “What about this other guy, the captain?”

  “He doesn’t know anything,” Hiram said. “He’s apparently one of Borodin’s pupils in that security class. He says he came here with the major to get some books.”

  “What do we do with him?” I wasn’t feeling very sore at Hiram any longer because the “we” slipped out naturally.

  “Tie him and leave him,” Hiram said. “Borodin can release him or whatever he plans to do when he gets back from Budapest.”

  “What do you mean ‘or whatever he plans to do’?” I asked.

  Hiram shrugged his shoulders. “It’s none of our business,” he said, “what Felix Borodin does with the captain. But he heard our conversation and he knows a lot of things about his instructor in security that Borodin would rather nobody knew.”

  When Walter returned with the car, he and Teensy hogtied the captain and stuck a gag in his mouth.

  We were about to close the front door behind us when the telephone rang. Hiram hesitated a moment, then went back in the hallway and picked up the receiver. He listened, then beckoned to me. He held the receiver to my ear.

  “Hello, hello, Felix?”

  I’d have recognized that clipped, hard, and precise voice anywhere. I tried to disguise mine.

  “Ja?” I said.

  “You are late. Our engagement was for nine o’clock. I am very busy. Are you taking the next train?”

  The doctor had been busy, all right. Busy enough to get away from Orlovska’s before Lavrentiev’s men arrived.

  “Sehr gut,” I said. “Ich kommt schnell.”

  “At the usual place, then, in thirty minutes.”

  “But where?” I asked Hiram when he’d replaced the receiver.

  “Borodin will tell us, one way or another.”

  Hiram drove, and Teensy sat in front, with Borodin between them.

  We hit the first roadblock on the outskirts of the city, near the race track. They waved us on when they saw the major’s uniform. We had to produce identification to pass the police lines in front of the Keleti station, in spite of Borodin’s presence. Hiram had satisfactory documents for all of us.

  The gendarmery captain saluted. “Sorry,” he said, “but it’s orders from the MVD. Those foreigners who murdered the Russian Major Strakhov on the train.”

  “Any luck?” Hiram said.

  “We’ll catch them,” the gendarmery captain said. “It takes time, that’s all.”

  We drove toward the Danube, stopping in front of the Belvarosi coffeehouse, and Hiram went inside, coonskin cap and all. I suppose it was part of his front as the American agricultural attaché, the sort of costume Hungarians saw in Western movies and took to be typically American. I think Hiram figured nobody would believe flamboyant dress could hide an undercover operative.

  When Hiram returned to the car, he told Borodin he could leave. The Russian went off without a word, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

  I thought Hiram had lost his mind to let Borodin go but I put it another way. I said, “Bet you a dollar he goes to Schmidt as fast as he can.”

  “No takers,” Hiram said. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  “Did he tell you where they’re meeting?”

  “Of course not,” Hiram said, “and I didn’t bother to ask him because he would have lied. He’s got to see Schmidt. Their only chance is to kill all four of us, now. Borodin’s smart enough to know what would happen to him if Lavrentiev learns his connection with the German.”

  “So you calmly let him go free in the middle of Budapest,” I said.

  “I’ve got a man following him,” Hiram said. “Why do you think I went into the Belvarosi?”

  I still wasn’t convinced. If Borodin was an instructor in security, he’d certainly be suspicious. And know how to duck Hiram’s operative in short order. Our only chance to find Maria was through Dr. Schmidt. And Borodin was our only link with the German.

  We hadn’t been at Hiram’s house fifteen minutes when the operative telephoned to say he’d lost Borodin. The Russian had pulled the ancient trick of boarding a crowded bus, getting on first because of his uniform, then ducking out the side door when the bus was about to start and Hiram’s man was helplessly jammed inside.

  “You said Schmidt and Borodin will figure they have to kill all four of us to keep us quiet,” I said to Hiram. “What do we do? Wait around like sitting ducks? I don’t see how we can find them now. We never should have let Borodin out of our sight.”

  “We haven’t time to wait,” Hiram said. “Come over to the window.”

  He drew aside the curtain. There were two men against the building across the street.

  “We’ve had too much luck so far.” I couldn’t help laughing, but he ignored it. “It can’t last much longer. We’ve only a few hours left. We’ve got to find Marcel Blaye’s envelope and get the hell out of Hungary.”

  “What about Maria Torres?”

  Hiram put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but there’s nothing we can do. There isn’t time. Schmidt knows where the envelope is. If you guessed by questioning Orlovska, the Russians can put two and two together and get the answer if they have time. We’ve got to move, John. We’ve got to get that envelope tonight.”

  “I’m not going to leave Maria,” I said. “I can’t do it. I went after Orlovska because you promised we’d find Maria. I took two hours of hell from Schmidt. I got you the answer you wanted. I found out where t
he envelope is. You haven’t the right to let me down now.”

  “You’re in love aren’t you, John?”

  “Of course I am,” I said.

  “How do you know Maria Torres didn’t leave willingly with Schmidt? How do you know what her game is?”

  “I know she didn’t go of her own accord. There isn’t any way for me to prove it. But I’m not going to leave her.”

  Hiram said, “But, John, I told you what possession of that Manila envelope means to Russia or the United States. It could mean the difference between war and peace. I’m an official of the United States Government, John. I haven’t the right to risk the success of my mission for any individual. Believe me, I’m terribly sorry.”

  After a long pause, I said, “What can we do about the envelope? Jozsefvaros station must be crawling with armed Russians. We can’t take over the way you did in Borodin’s house. What’s the plan?”

  “I don’t know,” Hiram said. “All I know is that we’ve got to act in a hurry.”

  He took a large-scale map of Budapest from his desk and spread it on the floor.

  “I’d suggest you get some rest. I’ll ask Teensy to change those bandages on your hands.”

  When I left the room Hiram was down on all fours studying the map.

  I went upstairs to the room I’d occupied briefly the night before and stretched out on the bed. I tried to sleep but there was nothing doing. Each time I closed my eyes I saw Maria’s face.

  I had come to Hungary to discover what had happened to my brother. I knew the answer. If I managed to stay alive a few more hours, I was due to leave without knowing what had happened to the girl I loved.

  It seemed incredible Maria and I had been together only twenty-four hours, that little more than twice that time had passed since I boarded the Orient Express at the Westbahnhof in Vienna.

  I remembered how Maria had looked the last time I had seen her. She’d turned to wave as she reached the door of the coffeehouse. Then Schmidt had opened the door as Otto, Hermann, and I were rounding the corner into the driving snow, and we heard the sobbing of the gypsy violins:

  There’s a Romany tale that up in the moon,

  Each midnight a gypsy is playing a tune.

  The melodies sweet from his fiddle that flow,

  Are heard only by lovers as silent they go.

  Then, my love, let us try while the moonlight is clear,

  Amid the dark forest that fiddle to hear.

  I recalled how my heart beat faster when I went back to the coffeehouse with Hiram and Teensy, how happy I’d been when we found Schmidt’s car was still in front. For five minutes, until the Carrs came out, that had meant reunion with Maria.

  Teensy had broken the news. She’d said, “I’m afraid there’s a hitch. Your girl isn’t there. The proprietor said she and Schmidt left an hour ago.”

  How had the German doctor forced Maria to leave the coffeehouse? She’d told me, “Hurry back, I’ll be waiting.” I would never believe she went of her own free will. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have risked threatening her with a gun in that crowded place.

  And why had he abandoned his car? Not to mislead us. He hadn’t known I was coming back. Just the opposite. He was sure Otto and Hermann would follow his instructions to kill me in the Keleti yards after I found the envelope.

  The doctor might have left his car if he’d held up the coffeehouse, if he’d forced the proprietor and the patrons to stand by while he took Maria away at gun point. He wouldn’t have trusted the car to start immediately with a crowd pursuing him. It would be easier to shake them off by heading into the storm.

  But if that had been the case, Schmidt wouldn’t have come back for the car. The proprietor would have called the police, who would have taken it. Yet Schmidt or one of his men had returned for it, or at least I assumed that was the car whose tires Hiram had slashed when they rescued me from Orlovska’s.

  The proprietor had told Teensy and Hiram that the German and Maria departed shortly after I had gone to the yards, nearly an hour before my return. He hadn’t said anything about Schmidt using force. And that would have been a major event in the life of a coffeehouse keeper.

  None of these hypotheses made sense. There had to be another answer.

  I’d told Teensy when she broke the news, “You didn’t look far enough. The proprietor’s a liar.”

  The next thing I realized, I was going down the stairs two steps at a time. I nearly broke down the door into Hiram’s study.

  “The proprietor was a liar,” I shouted at the startled Hiram. “That’s the answer. Can’t you see?”

  The intelligence agent looked at me as if he thought I’d lost my mind. He scrambled to his feet. Teensy came running from the other room.

  “Take it easy, take it easy,” Teensy said.

  “Easy nothing,” I said. “That’s the answer. Schmidt never took Maria out of the coffeehouse. His car was still there because he was still there. Don’t you see it?”

  Hiram fixed me a Scotch and soda.

  “We’ve been so busy we haven’t had time to think,” I said. I took half the drink at one gulp. I told Hiram and Teensy what had been running through my mind before I leaped from the bed like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Schmidt wouldn’t have waited in just any coffeehouse,” I said. “He’s in just as much trouble with the authorities as we are. He has to be even more careful because he hasn’t diplomatic plates on his car. He wouldn’t have picked the coffeehouse he did unless he had good reason. Ordinarily, he would have been afraid of being recognized by the train crews who go there. They would certainly have remembered a beauty like Maria.

  “The doctor went there for only one reason. Because the proprietor was a member of the gang. Because he could be trusted to lie to anyone asking questions.

  “Maria is still there. I’ll stake my life on it.”

  “You’re going to,” Hiram said. He took off his pincenez and rubbed his nose. “What was it Schmidt said on the telephone at Borodin’s?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?” I said.

  “A lot. What did he say?”

  “Well, he said Borodin was late and I said yes. He asked if Borodin was taking the next train and I said yes again. Then he said he’d see him at the usual place in thirty minutes.”

  Hiram took a copy of the Hungarian railway guide from the bookshelf.

  “The train that Borodin would have caught gets to Keleti in twenty-two minutes. It’s about five minutes from his house to the station. That means that the ‘usual place’ Schmidt mentioned is three minutes from Keleti.”

  “That would fit our coffeehouse,” I said. “It’s worth trying. Will you try it?”

  “I’ve got business with Herr Doktor Schmidt,” Hiram said. “We’ve got to try the railway car at Jozsefvaros tonight.” He rubbed his chin. “It would help if we could eliminate any possible competition from Schmidt before we start.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE BODY IN THE CELLAR

  The two men were still across the street when Hiram, Teensy, Walter, and I drove off. They made no move to follow.

  “They won’t arrest me yet,” Hiram said. “They’d rather wait to catch me red-handed. Then they’ll stage the biggest trial you ever saw.” He spoke without emotion, as if he were discussing a bridge tournament or a birthday party. He had no nerves.

  I felt an urge to keep the conversation going.

  “Why do you suppose Borodin, a major in the Russian Army, got mixed up with Schmidt?”

  “Why do any of them sell out?” Hiram said. “Usually it’s money or women or both. Sometimes it’s ambition, sometimes wounded vanity.

  “Marcel Blaye fell for Orlovska. He wanted to go back to Germany, and the Russians promised him a high post in their East German government.

  “Look at Orlovska. She wants money and luxury. She’ll sell out to anybody to get an easy life. But in this racket, the Blayes, the Orlovskas, and the Borodins don’t last too long.
Traitors and double-dealers usually hang themselves. Men like Schmidt are the tough ones. They’re dedicated fanatics, men with one idea that dominates their lives. You can’t buy them or convert them or curb them. In a normal world, Blaye, Orlovska, and Borodin would probably be in jail but Schmidt would be confined to an insane asylum.”

  We drove past the coffeehouse. There were two stories above the café. The roof was flat. There was an alley on one side, separating the coffeehouse from the shop of a stonecutter whose sign announced he made tombstones for the Kerepesitemetö, the huge municipal cemetery across the street. There was a four-story tenement against the other wall of the coffeehouse.

  We swung round the block, and the illuminated clock in the Keleti station tower said the time was ten thirty-five. It was more than an hour since we’d dropped Major Felix Borodin. Considering the time required to shake Hiram’s operative, Borodin had met Schmidt in the coffeehouse a good half hour earlier.

  We couldn’t see the rear of the coffeehouse because of the surrounding buildings. Hiram said it was probable there was an open space behind, to which the alley led.

  When we had made almost a full circle, Walter and I dropped off. We would go inside the café. Teensy and Hiram would be outside, to cover our exit in case of trouble. The proprietor had never seen either Walter or me but he would remember the Carrs as having inquired about Maria and Schmidt. The car would be parked on the far side of the cemetery, an area of warehouses deserted at night.

  Teensy had changed the bandages on my hands for skimpier dressings, and I was sure I could handle a gun, although with a good deal of pain. At any rate, I carried the Luger in the shoulder holster.

  We stood just inside the door for a moment. I took a quick look but I saw neither Schmidt nor Borodin. There weren’t more than twenty-five or thirty patrons, seated at small tables. The headwaiter beckoned to us to take a table near the gypsy band which was on a platform, but I shook my head, and we sat near the door. As soon as we had ordered, I took a couple of newspapers from the rack so that we could hide our faces if we had to. We drank our coffee and pretended to read. It didn’t help any that I’d picked papers in Turkish and Greek, of which neither Walter nor I understood a word.