Circus (10 page)

Bruno said: ‘You have a great gift for encouraging people.'

‘You'd rather not know these things? There are only two ways of escaping from this place – death by torture or death by suicide. No one has ever escaped.' Dr Harper indicated the other diagram. ‘This is the plan layout of the ninth floor of the west building. This is why the government is mounting a multi-million-dollar operation – to get you in here. This is where Van Diemen works, eats, sleeps and has his being.'

‘Should I know the name?'

‘Most unlikely. He's almost totally unknown to the public. In the Western world fellow-scientists speak of him with awe. An acknowledged genius –
the
only indisputable genius – in particle research. The discoverer of anti-matter – the only man in the world who has the secret of making, storing and harnessing this fearful weapon.'

‘He's Dutch?'

‘Despite his name, no. He's a renegade West German, a defector. God only knows why he defected. Here you can see his laboratories and office. Here is the guards' room – the place, understandably, is guarded like Fort Knox twenty-four hours a day. And this is his living quarters – just a small bedroom, an even smaller bathroom and a tiny kitchenette.'

‘You mean he hasn't got a home? It would make things a damn sight easier if he had.'

‘He's got a home, all right, a splendid lake-forest mansion given him by the government. He's
never even been there. He lives for nothing but his work and he never leaves here. One suspects the government is just as happy that he continues to do so: it makes their security problem comparatively simple.'

‘Yes. To come back to another simple problem. You say that no one has ever escaped from Lubylan. Then how the hell do you expect me to get in there?'

‘Well, now.' Harper cleared his throat; he was putting his first foot on very delicate ground. ‘We'd given the matter some thought, of course, before we approached you. Which is why we approached you and only you. The place, as I've said, is ringed with a two-thousand-volt fence of steel. The power has to come from someplace: it comes from the electric power station at the back of the east building. Like most high-power transmissions it comes by an overhead cable. It comes in a single loop, three hundred yards long, from a pylon in the power station to the top of the east building.'

‘You're way out of your mind. You must be. If you're so crazy as to suggest – '

Harper prepared to be diplomatic, persuasive and reasonable all at once. ‘Let's look at it this way. Let's think of it as just another high wire. As long as you are in contact with this cable with either hands or feet, and don't earth yourself to anything such as the anchor wire for a pylon insulator, then – '

‘Let's think of it as just another high wire,' Bruno mimicked. ‘Two thousand volts – that's what they use, or used to use, in the electric chair, isn't it?'

Harper nodded unhappily.

‘In the circus you step from a platform on to the wire, and step off on to another platform at the other end. If I step off from the pylon on to the wire or from the wire on to the prison wall, I'll have one foot on the cable and the other to earth. I'll be frizzled in a second flat. And three hundred yards long – have you
any
kind of idea what kind of sag that entails? Can you imagine what the effects of that sag combined with whatever wind may be blowing would be like? Has it occurred to you that, at this time of year, there might be both ice and snow on that wire? God's sake, Dr Harper, don't you know that our lives depend on the friction coefficient between the soles of our feet and the wire – the cable, in this case. Believe me, Doctor, you may know a lot about counter-espionage but you know damn all about the high wire.'

Harper looked even more unhappy.

‘And should I ever live to cross that cable how do I ever live to cross that courtyard – that
illuminated
courtyard patrolled by Dobermanns – or cross over that transparent aerial corridor, assuming I could ever get to it in the first place? And if I do get to the west building, how am I going to get past the guards?'

Harper was now looking acutely unhappy.

‘And if I do manage that – I'm not a gambler but I'll lay a thousand to one I never make it – how am I going to locate the place where those papers are kept? I mean, I don't suppose they'd just be lying around on a table. They'll be locked away – Van Diemen may just even sleep with them under his pillow.'

Harper studiously avoided Bruno's eye. He was distinctly and understandably uncomfortable. He said: ‘Locked filing cabinets or safes are no problems – I can give you keys that should open any commercial office lock.'

‘And if it's a combination?'

‘Looks as if you're going to need a little luck all the way.'

Bruno gazed at the deckhead, considered the enormity of this understatement, pushed the papers away and relapsed into speechlessness. After quite some time he stirred, looked at Harper, sighed and said: ‘I'm afraid I'm going to need a gun. A silenced gun. With plenty of ammunition.'

Harper went through his own speechless act then said: ‘You mean you're going to try?' If he were experiencing any feelings of hope or relief he didn't show them: there was only a dull disbelief in his voice.

‘Once a nut, always a nut. Not a gun that fires bullets. A gas gun or one that fires anaesthetic darts. Possible?'

‘That's what diplomatic bags are for,' Harper said, almost absently. ‘Look, I don't think I'd
properly appreciated the difficulties myself. If you think it's outright impossible – '

‘You're mad. I'm mad. We're all mad. But you've got the whole damned circus at sea now – as far as I'm concerned we're at sea in more ways than one – and if nothing else we owe it to your murdered colleagues. The gun.'

Harper, clearly, was searching for suitable words and failed. He said: ‘You will keep those diagrams and pictures in a place of absolute safety?'

‘Yes.' Bruno rose, picked up papers and photographs, tore them into little pieces, took them to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet. He returned and said: ‘They're safe now.'

‘It would be difficult for anyone to get their hands on them now. A remarkable gift. I'd be grateful if you didn't fall down the stairs – genuinely, this time – land on your head and give yourself amnesia. Any idea how you're going to set about this?'

‘Look, I'm a mentalist, not Merlin the wizard. How long have you known about this?'

‘Not long. A few weeks.'

‘Not long. A few weeks.' Bruno made it sound like a few years. ‘And have
you
worked out any solution yet?'

‘No.'

‘And you expect me to do it in a few minutes?'

Harper shook his head and rose. ‘I suppose Wrinfield will be along to see you in a short time – he's bound to hear of your accident any
moment and he doesn't know it was rigged, although you can tell him that. How much do you propose telling him?'

‘Nothing. If I told him this suicidal scheme you have in mind for me he'd have this ship turned round in less time than it could take him to wash his hands of you.'

The days passed uneventfully enough, if somewhat unsteadily: the
Carpentaria
's stabilizers didn't seem quite to understand what was expected of them. For the circus crew there was little enough to do other than feed the animals and keep their quarters clean. Those performers who could practise their esoteric arts practised them: those who couldn't possessed their souls in patience.

Bruno spent sufficient time with Maria to lend credence to the now almost universal belief among the circus people that here indeed was a romance that was steadily blossoming: what was even more intriguing was that there seemed to be a distinct possibility that there might be two romances getting under way, for whenever Bruno was not with her Henry Wrinfield was solicitously unsparing in the attentions he paid her. And, as Bruno spent most of his time with Kan Dahn, Roebuck and Manuelo, Henry lacked neither the time nor the opportunity; he made the most of both.

The lounge bar, a large room that seated well over a hundred people, was invariably well patronized before dinner. On the third night out Henry sat at a remote corner table, talking earnestly to Maria. On the far side of the lounge Bruno sat playing cards with his three friends. Before the game, Roebuck and Manuelo spent their ritual ten minutes bemoaning the fact that they had no opportunity to practise their arts with lasso and knife respectively. Kan Dahn was in no way concerned about himself: clearly he was of the belief that his massive strength wasn't going to drain away from him in a matter of days: it was a belief that was widely shared.

Poker was their game. They played for low stakes and Bruno almost invariably won. The others claimed that this was because he could see through their cards, a claim that Bruno stoutly denied, although the fact that on the previous night, wearing a blindfold, he had won four consecutive hands put a query mark to his assertion. Not that he was ever in pocket at the end of a game: the winner paid for the drinks and although he, Roebuck and Manuelo consumed very little, the capacity of Kan Dahn's three-hundred-pound frame for beer was awesome.

Kan Dahn drained another uncounted pint, glanced across the room and tapped Bruno on the arm. ‘You'd best look to your defences, my lad. Your lady-love is under siege.'

Bruno glanced across and said mildly: ‘She's not my lady-love. Even if she were I don't think
Henry is the type to snatch her and run. Not that he could run very far in the middle of the Atlantic.'

‘Far enough,' Roebuck said darkly.

‘His fair-haired dear one is back in the States,' Manuelo said severely. ‘Our little Maria is here. It makes a difference.'

‘Somebody,' Roebuck said, ‘should tell her about Cecily.'

‘Our little Maria knows all about Cecily. She told me so herself. Even knows the kind of engagement ring she wears.' Bruno glanced at the couple again, then returned to his cards. ‘I do not think that they are discussing affairs of the heart.'

Maria and Henry were not, indeed, discussing affairs of the heart. Henry was being very very earnest, very intense and very genuinely concerned. He suddenly broke off, looked across to the bar, then back to Maria again.

‘That proves it!' Henry's voice held a mixture of triumph and apprehension.

Maria said patiently: ‘What proves what, Henry?'

‘The fellow I told you about. The fellow who's been following you. That steward that just entered and went behind the bar. The chap with the weasel face. He's no right to be here. He doesn't work here.'

‘Oh, come on now, Henry. He hasn't got a weasel face, just thin, that's all.'

‘He's English,' Henry said inconsequentially.

‘I've met some Englishmen who weren't criminals. And you haven't overlooked the fact that this is a British ship?'

Henry was persistent. ‘I've seen him follow you half a dozen times. I know, because I've followed the two of you.' She looked at him in surprise, but this time without smiling. ‘He also follows my uncle.'

‘Ah!' She looked thoughtful. ‘His name's Wherry. He's a cabin steward.'

‘I told you he shouldn't be here. Keeping tabs on you, that's what.' He checked himself. ‘A cabin steward. How do you know? Your cabin steward?'

‘Your uncle's. That's where I saw him first. In your uncle's cabin.' Her thoughtful expression deepened. ‘Now that you mention it, I have seen him around rather a lot.
And
, two or three times when I've been walking about, I turned around and found him close behind.'

‘You bet you did.'

‘And what's that meant to mean, Henry?'

‘I don't know,' he admitted. ‘But I'm making no mistake.'

‘Why should anyone follow me? Do you think he's a detective in disguise and I'm a wanted criminal? Or do I look like a counter-spy or a secret agent or Mata Hari fifty years on?'

Henry considered. ‘No, you don't look the part. Besides, Mata Hari was ugly. You're beautiful.' He adjusted his glasses the better to confirm his judgement. ‘Really beautiful.'

‘Henry! Remember this morning? We had agreed to confine our discussions to intellectual matters.'

‘The hell with intellectual matters.' Henry thought and weighed his words with care. ‘I really believe I'm falling in love with you.' He thought some more. ‘Fallen.'

‘I don't think Cecily would – '

‘The hell with her, too – no, I didn't mean that. Sorry. Although I did mean what I said about you.' He half-turned in his seat. ‘Look, Wherry's leaving.'

They watched him go, a small thin dark man with a small thin dark moustache. At his nearest approach to their table, which was about ten feet away, he flickered a glance at them then as quickly looked away again. Henry leaned back in his seat and gave her his ‘I-told-you-so' look.

‘A criminal. Written all over him. You saw that?'

‘Yes.' She was troubled. ‘But why, Henry, why?'

He shrugged. ‘Do you have any valuables? Any jewellery?'

‘I don't wear jewellery.'

Henry nodded his approval. ‘Jewellery is for women who need it. But when a person is as lovely as you are – '

‘Henry, it's getting so I just can't talk to you. This morning I said it was a lovely day and you put on your soulful expression and made disparaging remarks about the day. When I commend my peach melba you say it's not half as sweet as I am.
And when we looked at the beautiful colourings of the sunset tonight – '

‘I have a poetic soul. Ask Cecily. No, on second thoughts, don't ask Cecily. I can see that I'm going to have to keep a very, very close eye on you.'

‘I should say that you are making a pretty good start already.'

‘Ah.' An unrepentant Henry, eyes slightly glazed but not from alcohol, made no attempt to switch his adoring gaze to pastures less green. He said wistfully: ‘You know, I've always wanted to be someone's Sir Galahad.'

‘I wouldn't, if I were you, Henry. There's no place in the world today for Sir Galahads. Chivalry is dead, Henry. The lances and the bright swords and the days of knightly combat are gone: this is the era of the knife in the back.'

Alas for Henry, all his senses, except that of sight, were temporarily in abeyance. Her words fell on deaf ears.

On the fourth night out Dr Harper joined Bruno in his stateroom. He was accompanied by Carter, the purser, who had been so busy with the debugging equipment on the first night out. Carter extended his customary courteous good evening, wordlessly repeated the search performance, shook his head and left.

Harper nodded to the cocktail cabinet, poured himself a drink, savoured it and said with some satisfaction: ‘We will pick up your guns in Vienna.'

‘Guns?'

‘Indeed.'

‘You have been in touch with the States? Doesn't the radio operator raise an eyebrow?'

It was Harper's night to indulge himself to a moderate degree. He smiled. He said: ‘I am my own radio operator. I have a very high frequency radio transceiver, no bigger than the average book, which can't possibly interfere with normal ship's frequencies. As Charles says, it could reach the moon. Anyway, I transmit in code. Show you the thing some time – in fact, I'll have to show it to you and explain its operation in case you have to use it. In case something should go wrong with me.'

‘What should go wrong with you?'

‘What should have gone wrong with Pilgrim and Fawcett? Now, we'll be picking up two guns for you, not one, and that for a reason. The anaesthetic dart gun – the missiles are more like needles, actually – is the more effective, but the word is that Van Diemen has a long-standing heart condition. So, if you should have to quieten him, the use of a dart gun is, as they say, contra-indicated. For him, the gas gun. Have you figured out a way to get inside yet?'

‘A battery-powered helicopter would be splendid only there are no such things. No, I haven't figured out a way into the damned place yet.'

‘Early days and fingers crossed. You know you're slated to dine with me at the captain's table tonight?'

‘No.'

‘Passengers are rotated for the privilege. A normal courtesy. See you then.'

They had just seated themselves at the table when a steward approached, bent and whispered something discreetly into the captain's ear. The captain rose, excused himself and followed the steward from the dining saloon. He was back inside two or three minutes, looking more than vaguely perturbed.

‘Odd,' he said. ‘Very odd. Carter – you've met him, he's chief purser – claims that he has just been assaulted by some thug. “Mugged”, I believe, is the American term for it. You know, caught round the neck from behind and choked. No marks on him, but he does seem a trifle upset.'

Harper said: ‘Couldn't he just have taken a turn?'

‘If he did, then his wallet left his inside pocket of its own volition.'

‘In which case he's been attacked and his wallet – minus the contents, of course – is now probably at the bottom of the Atlantic. Shall I have a look at him?'

‘It might be wise. Berenson is holding hands with some silly old trout who thinks she's having a heart attack. Thank you, Doctor. I'll get a steward to take you.'

Harper left, Bruno said: ‘That pleasant, courteous man. Who would rob a person like that?'

‘I don't think Carter's character would come into it. Just someone who was short of money and reasoned that if any person would be liable to be carrying money it would be the ship's purser. An unpleasant thing to have happen on one's ship – in fact I've never known or heard of an instance before. I'll have my chief officer and some men investigate.'

Bruno smiled. ‘I hope we circus people don't automatically come under suspicion. Among some otherwise reasonable citizens our reputation is not what it could be. But I don't know more honest people.'

‘I don't know who is responsible, and the question, I'm afraid, is of academic importance anyway. I don't think my chief has a hope in hell of finding him.'

Bruno leaned over the taffrail of the
Carpentaria
, gazing contemplatively at the slight phosphorescence of the ship's wake. He stirred and turned as someone came up beside him. He said: ‘Anyone in the vicinity?'

‘No one,' Manuelo said.

‘No bother?'

‘No bother.' The startlingly white teeth gleamed in the darkness. ‘You were quite right. The unfortunate Mr Carter does indeed take a regular – what do you call it –?'

‘Constitutional.'

‘Right. Takes his constitutional at that time of evening on the boat deck. Lots of shadows on the boat deck. Kan Dahn kind of leaned on him a little bit, Roebuck took the purser's cabin keys, brought them down to me and kept watch in the passageway while I went inside. I didn't take long. There was a funny electrical gadget inside a brief-case – '

‘I think I know about that. Looked like a small radio except there were no wavebands on it?'

‘Yes. What is it?'

‘A device for locating listening devices. They're a very suspicious lot aboard this boat.'

‘With us around you're surprised?'

‘What else?'

‘There was fifteen hundred dollars, in tens, at the bottom of a trunk – '

‘I didn't know about
that
. Used?'

‘No. New. And in sequence.'

‘How careless.'

‘Looks like.' He handed a piece of paper to Bruno. ‘I wrote down the serial numbers of the first and last numbers.'

‘Good, good. You're quite sure they were genuine notes?'

‘My life on it. I wasn't in all that hurry and I passed one out to Roebuck. He agrees.'

‘That was all?'

‘There were some letters addressed to him. Not to any particular address but to Poste Restante in a few cities, mostly London and New York.'

‘What language? English?'

‘No. I didn't recognize it. The postmark said Gdynia. That would make it Polish, wouldn't it?'

‘It would indeed. Then everything was left as found, door locked and the keys returned to the sleeping Mr Carter.'

Manuelo nodded. Bruno thanked him, left, returned to his stateroom, glanced briefly at the serial numbers on the piece of paper that Manuelo had given him then flushed it down the toilet.

To no one's surprise, Carter's assailant was never found.

On the evening before their arrival in Genoa Dr Harper came to Bruno's stateroom. He helped himself to a Scotch from Bruno's virtually untouched liquor cabinet.

He said: ‘How goes the thinking on this entry business? Mine, I'm afraid, has bogged down to a halt.'

Bruno said gloomily: ‘Maybe it would have been better, especially for the sake of my health, if mine had bogged down, too.'