by Andrew Hill
The shower spayed noisily and her grey skirt fell to the floor. She picked it up and removed her blouse and underwear. The bra, black, fine lace, she dangled from one finger for a second, before placing it on a stool next to some tiny briefs. Through the steam she looked down at her own body. She reached up with both arms outstretched then crossed arms and brought them slowly down to rest, hanging by her fingertips from opposite shoulders. She then allowed her hands to slide gently down, her fingers stroking her faintly freckled skin, now moist from the hazy steam filling the room. She stepped over the edge of the bath into the stream of water, not feeling so lonely any more and letting out a small sigh at the same time as the rivulets of water reached her finger tips and strayed across the straggly hair between them. The long muscles running up her inside leg trembled an, from being slightly apart, her legs came together, her right knee moving gradually across the top of the other. Her palms moved up and caressed her navel, parting and spreading out to her hips and then back to lift each small breast in turn to meet the water. Her deep red nipples stood in its flow, the pink tips slowly receding.
In another room the electronic unit switched on automatically and Crispin St Peter's Pied Piper came from the speakers as the theme tune of a local radio station.
Collette turned up her jacket collar in the cool morning air and placed her case in the back of her car. Driving off fiercely, the front wheels spinning on a damp street, she sped into the distance. On the motorway she settled at a swift eighty-five to ninety, alert eyes constantly checking the mirror. She drew heavily on a cigarette and tapped the ash into an open tray in front of the gearshift. The smoke swirled up and out the slightly open passenger window.
Large blue signs flashed past. The sky began to pale and, being once alone on the road, she noticed the steady increase of morning traffic around her. Soon, the bright yellow airport signs shone above as she entered the tunnel outside Heathrow. Emerging from the orange-lit underpass she switched lanes to head for the ramp leading up to a car park and swung the car round the sharp bend and into the concrete, multi-storey construction. Another Sixties track played on the radio. Collette hummed along with it. From her handbag she took a small piece of paper and placed it, folded so that it could be read from outside the car, on the dashboard. Still humming, she switched off the radio and collected her things then locked the door and strode off towards the building. The walk to Terminal 2 was welcome exercise and brought her fully awake. The bright, airy building was quiet and her stiletto heels clicked sharply as she walked to the Swissair desk.
From there, ticket in hand, she climbed the double stairway to a coffee lounge. A cheery young Asian served a remarkably palatable coffee in a shiny dark green mug on a cream saucer. He whistled obviously as she moved away from the counter, her tight burgundy skirt emphasising her trim figure to his decided satisfaction. She didn't turn, but a smile flickered on her lips.
One hour thirty minutes later, Collette was in Switzerland. A bright morning and a bustling Basel airport with its clean, almost shining floors and tubular plastic-coated steel barriers. Bright signs with occasional English, as well as French and German, met her gaze as she walked from the Customs control area. Just outside the main ground floor area, she recognised the car hire stands, the red, yellow and striped uniforms matching the international motifs splashed across them but clashing disastrously with each other. She couldn't resist a brief smile as the image of plastic Fabuland figures came into mind. Seriousness returned soon, as she set about spotting the slate-grey Opel Monza GSE parked outside. Its British registration plate looked so strange next to the white oval Swiss plates of surrounding vehicles. It was also covered with a fine layer of dust, resembling the wax protective coating on a brand new car. Putting her case down, she fumbled in her bag for the key and then walked on again clutching it tightly.
Inside she adjusted the firm Recaro seat to her frame and looked around. The engine turned and fired smoothly. A touch on the accelerator and it roared. She pressed a button above her head and the roof opened to let in the morning sun. A glance at the display showed an almost full tank and pressing another button on the dash brought up a display of 217 miles range. Pulling the central lever back from Park and into Drive, she moved gingerly out of the car park space and then onto the airport exit road. From there, thankfully without any problems of crossing traffic, she drove towards the city centre. Slowly becoming accustomed to driving on the right and adjusting the left mirror from a switch in the armrest, she moved into the faster lane of the wide road. Following a BMW, she found the first part of her drive rather less troublesome than she had expected. Traffic lights brought the flow of cars to a halt and she pulled out one of five drawers holding cassettes. Dire Straits' Making Movies came to hand and she pressed it in, the sound coming forth from speakers all around her shortly afterwards. The traffic moved on and she looked ahead at the motorway indicators. Zurich was clearly signed and the distinct motorway sign in green couldn't be missed. She relaxed and began to enjoy the experience of driving in a strange city. She wondered whether she'd see it again, certain that it would not, however, be with the same feeling, and she tried to treasure some of the seemingly normal sights and sounds which, to her, would be precious moments she might one day wish to recall.
By just after nine, Collette was on the motorway and beginning to test the car's power. A white Mercedes 190E sped past. Collette strengthened her grip on the wheel and set off to try and catch it. Steadily climbing to one hundred, she reached forward and turned the knurled knob inside the display console, where the bright yellow digits changed to 138. At 145 they settled and she maintained the distance between the two cars. The city she left behind and to her right began to rise mountains. Real mountains, snowcaps reaching for the crystal blue sky. Smooth green fields lay between with neat houses scattered across them. She looked at the clock. 9:40. About six hundred kilometres to go. "At this speed I'll be there by tea time!" she laughed. But the smile faded. There was no-one laughing with her. She turned up the music, lit a cigarette and closed on the white Mercedes. A flash of her lights and she had passed it. A sober-suited businessman appeared almost to be sitting next to her and gliding backwards in the corner of her eye. He looked, then looked again. Collette didn't look back, just steeled herself for the long journey ahead.
"I'll get there, you can count on it," she whispered between her teeth.
Chapter LII Gone
Tyler threw the things he'd collected from the body onto the passenger seat and drove off. He felt sick. The young man had not been run down - he was pretty certain of that but the scene had been made to give that impression, and it would be difficult to prove otherwise. "Why should I care?" he thought.
He picked up the motorway out of town and sped east to the airport. Collette's car was still warm and he could smell her perfume as he pressed his face close against the driver's door pane to look inside. He spotted the paper immediately, repeated the number to himself then slammed a hand against the window to push and turn himself around. He walked quickly across to the airport lounge and picked up a phone. Dialling purposefully, he swore as he failed to get through. He tried again, deliberately slowly, and this time heard the long international ringing tones he was expecting. The phone rang and rang. Eventually a gruff voice answered unrecognisably.
"Hello!" shouter Tyler.
A jumble of words came across in the earpiece.
"Do you speak English?"
"English?" Another jumble.
"Mr Austin. English man. Please."
"No here. English gone."
"Shit!" muttered Tyler. "OK, thanks." He put the receiver down. "So she's right. He is over there. So what the hell am I doing running around here at this time of the morning?" The same question as he'd asked himself and as others had asked so often before. He had no answer this time either. "Someone got killed tonight - murdered - and I lose a night's sleep for another nobody!" He swore again.
Chapter LIII Hazy Horizon
Bob Lindon stood on the beach staring out to sea. There was no wind and the sun was hot. An island seemed close enough to touch. He was motionless, hands in the pockets of a creased pair of pinstriped trousers. A creamy-white shirt hung limply from his shoulders and his hair was unkempt. In the reflection in his glasses was a hazy horizon of blue against blue.
He ignored the passing traffic and continued to gaze out, now turning his head slowly from side to side. Eventually, he made a full turn and strolled back to the red estate car. Fritz opened the passenger door and started the engine as Bob climbed in.
"Thank you," said Bob. "Long time since I stood still. It's scary, you know. Real scary. There was this crazy old man standing and everyone else goes on. Don't know when I last remember not running somewhere. That old water's got some secrets. Sure thing. Looks still, doesn't it. No way. Under that surface it's swirling up and down - never still. No part ever more than once in the same place. That water I touched out there could be the same water that washes my old home in Florida. Used to spend a lot of time watching the water there when I was first married."
"You sure strange guy!" remarked Fritz. "We think you dead yesterday night."
"We all die a little every day, Fritz," said Bob. "I don't know what happened but something was coming through - real strong. Felt it again this morning. When I get that strange feeling I know - I mean I know - something's coming my way. Think I'm crazy, eh? You'll see." Bob made a visible effort to change the subject. "Now, where the shit are we?"
Fritz laughed and pointed to the sign in front of them. "Arlierac." he announced.
"Glad you can read that," joked Bob. "How far to the border?"
"We have about five hundred kilometres since this morning. We stop tonight about three hundred from border near Karlobag - should be there this evening."
"And Good Morning Austria tomorrow - huh?"
"Ja, Osterreich tomorrow," confirmed Fritz.
"This littl' ol' cart goes pretty well," said Bob, "but all those bends make me wobbly - why don't they make the road straight?!"
The German showed Bob a map and ran his finger in illustration in and out of the series of inlets running up the Adriatic coast. A heavy lorry thundered by and Bob let out a volley of abuse in its wake.
"We pass him again soon." remarked Fritz.
"That'll make a change," commented Bob, "to see more than one thing twice will be a record for me during the last few weeks. Boy! Have I had a time!"
Fritz would have liked to enquire how, but decided not to. His passenger was still good company, albeit particularly subdued that day, only now beginning to revert to his cheerier self but even that seemed put on rather than natural good humour. The German had also found the requests to stop so that Bob could 'get some air' at the edge of the sea confusing. He was certain he had caught falseness in some of the conversation on his return and, this time, a tinge of regret fighting to get through the relentless jokes and pronouncements.
Chapter LIV One Of The Two
Far in the blue above them that afternoon had been a small plane but neither had noticed the other.
"I see lots of red cars, but I guess we can hardly check each one!" said Chris to Maria.
"We do not even know if they come this way," she remarked, not appreciating that Chris was not being serious. "We land soon near Ljubljana - I must go inland. Are you sure your girlfriend will get to the pass tonight?"
"Yes." confirmed Chris confidently. "I am. Collette's a good girl. She's gone from strength to strength recently and has had to cope with some pretty heavy stuff."
"Hmm." Maria nodded. "Michaelis will be at Wurzenpass. But he has not far to come."
"Where has he been?" asked Chris.
He will be in Austria now. A new film. For him it is strange to be somewhere so far from the sea but he gets tired in England, and, well, there's not much for him in Greece yet . . ."
"Yet." repeated Chris, then adding, pensively: "Strange that Michaelis was so close. You are being straight with me, aren't you, Maria? Has your brother got information about Bob already?"
Maria didn't reply immediately. Chris pounced on the delay.
"Maria. Answer me. Is Michaelis filming in Austria or have you already arranged something?"
Unusually for the adept Greek lady, she appeared flustered.
"You have, haven't you? You've got your brother on the border already! But - why not tell me? Surely that's good - you said before that we'd need at least two people on each route out and with Collette on her way you've got it."
"That's not the whole story, Chris." replied Maria, at last. "We didn't know you would be able to get someone across that quickly . . ."
"OK. So you took some precautions. But why the secrecy?"
"The less anyone knows about anything the better," she said, regaining some degree of composure. "You may know people you talk to and may be able to trust them. It doesn't matter so much for you. But for us it is a cause. For a whole community of people, if there is a chance that we can advance that cause - their cause - then that is too important an opportunity to risk losing."
Chris wanted to argue further. Something still didn't ring true but he couldn't put his finger on it. The atmosphere had also tensened considerably whilst they had been talking and he realised that he needed to avoid upsetting Maria if he was to be able to complete the task he had set out to do. He relaxed a little, therefore, and took the map, now folded to depict the northern part of Yugoslavia and its borders to the east with Hungary, north with Austria and Italy to the west.
Steadily rising now, the land below became increasingly sharper in profile. Huge pine trees reached upwards towards them and narrow tracks wound their way in and out and round the grey slabs of rock that jutted from the green. So unlike the previous hour or so's flight of pure blue to the west and drab grey-greens to the east. It was also noticeably colder and Chris found himself rubbing his arms, still covered only by the thin cotton shirt that had seemed quite adequate in the warmth of the sun on the ground.
Ljubljana came into view as a comparative levelling out of the ground's contours developed. The yellow-grey four-lane motorway running from Zagreb came into clearer view and Chris watched countless huge trucks vie for position in a seemingly endless convoy. The occasional passenger car was conspicuous by its tiny size and brighter colour. He was glad that they had not had to do battle with that lot along the long and stultifying stretch of old road in the heart of the country. A virtually straight, two-lane, two-way stretch of road ran for over two hundred kilometres and had a surface resembling a pot-holed cart track in Spring. He could almost hear the sort of remarks the American would have made had he been subjected to that route. Chris hoped that he had. It would be shorter in both distance and time, but, oh, so boring. Perhaps, during a period of particular tedium, Bob might have had time to search his conscience and be a little more human when they next met.
"There!" shouted Maria.
A fairly large and apparently commercial airfield was evident some ten kilometres out of Ljubljana and south east of Kranj. "That's it." she confirmed. "Not long for you now in this machine!"
"It's been marvellous," said Chris. "You're very good. I would like to learn one day but I guess there are a few things I need to attend to first."
"It will be three by the time we get out of the control place. I am hungry. We should find a car and then a restaurant that has some good meat and will still serve lunch at this time."
"We'll be lucky." joked Chris. "A cup of that stuff they call coffee in this country is about all we can expect. Unless, of course, you have somewhere in mind."
"No." said Maria. "No - I expect you're right." She sighed and began an exchange in the now familiar broken English with the airport control staff. Cleared for descent and landing, she adjusted the controls accordingly and began to concentrate on the view ahead. "I could fly all day," she said, "but I hate landing."
"At least it's light." remarked Chris, recalling
the previous night. "Will there be a Rusan to welcome us this time - oh, and are we Mr & Mrs Canterbury again? he added.
"No and Yes, but . . ." said Maria, "there should be no problem. It will be our first official arrival in the country and so expect the usual checks but nothing to worry about. Anyway - we are not carrying anything except knowledge."
"And secrets." said Chris deliberately. Maria did not rise to the bait.
Delayed by security arrangements for a political group passing through it was nearly four by the time the two travellers stood outside the airport building. They faced the car park and taxi stand and waited for the two hire cars to pull up.
"So much for that steak." commented Chris, ruefully. "I suppose Kranj will have something open - it is a tourist place, after all."
"Yes," agreed Maria, "and we need to discuss arrangements."
"Does Michaelis know what time to expect you?" asked Chris.
"No. I have to call him. We'll talk later," came the cool response, slightly curt and matter-of-fact. "Ah, here they come."
Maria looked to her right. Two Opel Kadetts parked in front of them. One was light blue, one white and both remarkably new and fresh-looking unlike the norm for Slav transport of either the public or private variety. The enthusiastic representative proudly started to show them round the basic versions of the three door hatchbacks. Maria waved him away impatiently, "OK. OK. I know the car."
Chris let him complete his presentation and signed for both vehicles. He paused before doing so but realised that his licence had been his own and that Mr Christopher Austin had returned to existence.