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Authors: Alistair MacLean

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BOOK: Circus
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‘Just polishing up our act.' She stopped smiling and put down her glass. He reached forward quickly and touched the back of her hand. ‘Don't be a silly goose, Maria.' She looked at him uncertainly, smiled a token smile, and picked up her glass again. ‘Tell me. What am I supposed to do when we get to Crau – and how am I supposed to do it?'

‘Only Dr Harper knows, and he's not ready to talk yet. I should imagine that he'll tell you – us – either on the way across or when we get to Europe. But two things he did tell me this morning – '

‘I knew you had something to tell me.'

‘Yes. I was just trying to be a tease. It didn't work, did it? Remember those two so-called electrical engineers that the police escorted to the train? They were our people, electronic experts searching for listening devices – bugs. They concentrated on your apartment.'

‘Bugs? In my apartment? Come on, Maria, that
is
a bit melodramatic.'

‘Is it? The second item of news is that a few days ago they found two bugs in Mr Wrinfield's office – one for the room, one for the telephone. I suppose that's melodramatic, too?' When Bruno
made no reply she went on: ‘They haven't removed the bugs. Mr Wrinfield, on Dr Harper's suggestion, is on the phone to Charles several times a day, dropping vague hints and making veiled suggestions about certain members of the circus who might be of interest to him. Nothing about us, of course. In fact he's made so many suggestions that if they – whoever “they” may be – are keeping tabs on the suggested suspects they won't have time to look at far less think about anyone else. Which, of course, includes us.'

‘I think they're nuts,' Bruno said candidly. ‘And by “they”, this time, I don't mean “they”, I mean Wrinfield and Harper. Playing little kiddies' games.'

‘The murders of Pilgrim and Fawcett. That was a game?'

‘Preserve me from feminine logic. I wasn't talking about them.'

‘Dr Harper has twenty years' experience behind him.'

‘Or one year's twenty times over. OK, so I leave myself in the safe arms of the experts. Meantime, I suppose there's nothing for the sacrificial calf to do?'

‘No. Well, yes. You can tell me how to get in touch with you.'

‘Knock twice and ask for Bruno.'

‘You have a sealed-off suite here. I won't be able to see you when the train is in motion.'

‘Well, well.' Bruno smiled widely, a rare thing for him: it was the first time she had seen his smile
touch his eyes. ‘I make progress. You think you'll be wanting to see me?'

‘Don't be silly. I may
have
to see you.'

Bruno nodded forwards. ‘It's illegal to seal off any part of a coach in motion. There's a door in the corner of my bedroom that leads to the passage beyond. But it's only got one handle and that's on my side.'

‘If I knock tat-tat, tat-tat, you'll know it's me.'

‘Tat-tat, tat-tat,' he said solemnly. ‘I love those kiddies' games.'

He escorted her back to her compartment. At the foot of the steps he said: ‘Well, goodnight. Thanks for the visit.' He bent forward and kissed her lightly.

She didn't object, just said mildly: ‘Isn't that carrying realism a bit too far?'

‘Not at all. Orders are orders. We are supposed to be creating a certain impression, and the chance was too good to pass up. There are at least a dozen people watching us.'

She made a face, turned and went up the steps.

Most of the following day was given up to dismantling the bewildering variety and daunting amount of equipment inside the arena, the backstage and the fairground and loading up the half-mile-long train. To transfer this, the animal cages, the prefabricated offices, the fairground booths and Bruno's ramshackle mentalist theatre, not to mention the animals and circus members to the coaches and flat-cars, was a massive undertaking that to the layman would have appeared well-nigh impossible: the circus, with its generations of experience behind it, performed the task with an almost ludicrous ease, a smooth efficiency that reduced a seemingly hopeless confusion to a near-miracle of precision and order. Even the loading up of provisions for the hundreds of animals and humans would have seemed a most formidable task: in the event the last of the provision trucks departed less than an hour after the first had arrived. The whole
operation could have been likened to an exercise in military logistics with the sole proviso that any unbiased and expert observer would have conceded that the circus had unquestionably the edge in efficiency.

   

The circus train was due to pull out at ten o'clock that night. At nine o'clock, Dr Harper was still closeted with the admiral, studying two very complicated diagrams.

The admiral had a pipe in one hand, a brandy in the other. He looked relaxed, calm and unconcerned. It was possible that he might just have been relaxed and calm but, as the sole instigator of the forthcoming operation, the man who had conceived and planned it all down to the last and most intimate details possible, it was impossible that he should not be concerned. He said: ‘You have it all? Guards, entry, interior layout, exit and escape route to the Baltic?'

‘I have it all. I just hope that damned ship is there for rendezvous.' Harper folded the diagrams and pushed them deeply into the inside pocket of his coat.

‘You break in on a Tuesday night. They'll be cruising off-shore from the Friday to the following Friday. A whole week's grace.'

‘Won't the East Germans or the Poles or the Russians be suspicious, sir?'

‘Inevitably. Wouldn't you?'

‘Won't they object?'

‘How can they? Since when has the Baltic been anyone's private pond? Of course they're going to tie up the presence of the ship – or ships – with the presence of the circus in Crau. Inevitable, and nothing we can do about it. The circus, the circus.' The admiral sighed. ‘You'd better deliver the goods, Harper, or I'm going to be on welfare before the year is out.'

Harper smiled. ‘I wouldn't like that, sir. And you know better than anyone that the ultimate responsibility for the delivery of the goods doesn't lie in my hands.'

‘I know. Have you formed any personal impression of our latest recruit yet?'

‘Nothing more than is obvious to anyone else, sir. He's intelligent, tough, strong and appears to have been born without a nervous system. He's a very close person. Maria Hopkins says that it's impossible to get next to him.'

‘What?' The admiral quirked a bushy eyebrow. ‘That delightful young child? I'm sure if she really tried – '

‘I didn't quite mean it that way, sir.'

‘Peace, Harper, peace. I do not endeavour to be facetious. There are times that are sent to try men's souls. Although I know we have no option it is not easy to have to rely in the final analysis on an unknown. Apart from the fact that if he fails – well, there's only one way he can fail and then he'll be on my conscience for the remainder of my days. And don't you add to that burden.'

‘Sir?'

‘Mind your back is what I mean. Those papers you've just stuck – securely, I trust – in your inside pocket. You are aware, of course, what will happen if you are caught with those in your possession?'

Harper sighed. ‘I am aware. ‘I'll have my throat cut and end up, suitably weighted, in some canal or river. Doubtless you can always find a replacement.'

‘Doubtless. But the way things are going I'm going to be running out of replacements quite soon, so I'd rather not be put to the trouble. You are quite sure you have the times of transmission and the code totally memorized?'

Harper said gloomily: ‘You don't have much faith in your subordinates, sir.'

‘The way things have been going recently, I don't have much faith in myself, either.'

Harper touched the bottom of his medical bag. ‘This postage stamp receiver. You sure you can pick me up?'

‘We're using NASA equipment. We could pick you up on the moon.'

‘I somehow wish I was going there.'

   

Some six hours after departure the circus train drew into a shunting yard. Arc lamps apart, the darkness was total and the rain very heavy. There, after an interminable period of advancing, reversing, bumping, clanking and screeching of wheels on points – the combination of all of which effectively succeeded in waking up everybody
aboard – a considerable number of pre-selected coaches were detached, subsequently to be hauled south to their winter quarters in Florida. The main body of the train continued on its way to New York.

Nothing untoward happened en route. Bruno, who invariably cooked for himself, had not left his quarters once. He had been visited twice by his brothers, once by Wrinfield and once by Harper but by no one else: known to everybody as a loner, he was invariably treated as such.

Not until the train had arrived on the quay alongside the container-passenger ship that was to take them to Genoa – selected not so much for its strategic geographical position as the fact that it was one of the few Mediterranean ports with the facilities to off-load the crane-breaking coaches and flat-cars – did Bruno leave his quarters. It was still raining. One of the first persons he encountered was Maria. She was dressed in navy slacks, a voluminous yellow oilskin, and looked thoroughly miserable. She gave him the nearest she would ever be able to come to a scowl and came to the point with what he had now come to regard as her customary straightforwardness.

‘Not very sociable, are you?'

‘I'm sorry. But you did know where
I
was.'

‘I had nothing to tell you.' Then, inconsequentially: ‘You knew where
I
was.'

‘I find telephone boxes cramping.'

‘You could have invited me. While I know we're supposed to be striking up some special relationship I don't go openly chasing after men.'

‘You don't have to.' He smiled to rob the next words of offence. ‘Or do you prefer to do it discreetly?'

‘Very amusing. Very clever. You have no shame?'

‘For what?'

‘Your shameful neglect.'

‘Lots.'

‘Then take me to dinner tonight.'

‘Telepathy, Maria. Sheer telepathy.'

She gave him a look of disbelief and left to change.

   

They switched taxis three times on the way to the pleasant Italian restaurant Maria had chosen. When they were seated Bruno said: ‘Was all that necessary? The taxis, I mean?'

‘I don't know. I follow orders.'

‘Why are we here? You miss me so much?'

‘I have instructions for you.'

‘Not my dark eyes?' She smiled and shook her head and he sighed. ‘You can't win them all. What instructions?'

‘I suppose you're going to say that I could easily have whispered them to you in some dark corner on the quayside?'

‘A prospect not without its attractions. But not tonight.'

‘Why?'

‘It's raining.'

‘What is it like to be a romantic at heart?'

‘And I like it here. Very pleasant restaurant.' He looked at her consideringly, at the blue velvet dress, the fur cape that was far too expensive for a secretary, the sheen of rain on her shining dark hair. ‘Besides, in the dark I wouldn't be able to see you. Here I can. You're really very beautiful. What instructions?'

‘What?' She was momentarily flustered, unbalanced by the sudden switch, then compressed her lips in mock ferociousness. ‘We sail at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. Please be in your cabin at eleven o'clock in the evening. At that hour the purser will arrive to discuss seating arrangements, or some such, with you. He's a genuine purser but he's also something else. He will make absolutely certain that there are no listening devices in your cabin.' Bruno remained silent. ‘I notice you're not talking about melodrama this time.'

Bruno said with some weariness: ‘Because it hardly seems worth talking about. Why on earth should anyone plant bugs in my cabin? I'm not under suspicion. But I will be if you and Harper keep on behaving in this idiotic cloak-and-dagger fashion. Why the bugging of Wrinfield's office? Why were two men sent to look for bugs in my place aboard the train? Why this character now? Too many people seeing that I'm debugged, too
many people knowing that I can't possibly be all that I claim to be or that the circus claims that I am. Too many people having their attention called to me. I don't like it one little bit.'

‘Please. There's no need to be like that – '

‘Isn't there? Your opinion. And don't be soothing to me.'

‘Look, Bruno, I'm just a messenger. Directly, there's no reason on earth why you should be under suspicion. But we are – or we're going to be – up against an extremely efficient and suspicious secret police, who certainly won't overlook the slightest possibility. After all, the information we want is in Crau. We're going to Crau. You were born in Crau. And they will know that you have the strongest possible motivation – revenge. They killed your wife – '

‘Be quiet!' Maria recoiled, appalled by the quiet ferocity in his voice. ‘Nobody has spoken of her to me in six and a half years. Mention my dead wife again and I'll pull out, wreck the whole operation and leave you to explain to your precious chief why it was your gaucherie, your ill manners, your total lack of feeling, your incredible insensitivity that ruined everything. You understand?'

‘I understand.' She was very pale, shocked almost, tried to understand the enormity of her blunder and failed. She ran a slow tongue across her lips. ‘I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry. That was a bad mistake.' She still wasn't sure what the mistake was about. ‘But never again, I promise.'

He said nothing.

‘Dr Harper says please be outside your cabin at 6.30 p. m., sitting on the floor – sorry, deck – at the foot of the companionway. You have fallen down and damaged your ankle. You will be found and helped to your cabin. Dr Harper will, of course, be there almost immediately. He wishes to give you a full briefing on the nature of the operation.'

‘Has he told you?' There was still a singular lack of warmth in Bruno's voice.

‘He told me nothing. If I know Dr Harper he'll probably tell you to tell me nothing either.'

‘I will do what you ask. Now that you've completed your business, we may as well get back. Three taxis for you, of course, rules are rules. I'll take one straight back to the ship. It's quicker and cheaper and the hell with the CIA.'

She reached out a tentative hand and touched his arm.

‘I have apologized. Sincerely. How long must I keep on doing it?' When he made no answer she smiled at him and the smile was as her hand had been, tentative and uncertain. ‘You'd think a person who earns as much money as you do could afford to buy a meal for a working girl like myself. Or do we go Dutch? Please don't leave. I don't want to go back. Not yet.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know. It's – it's just one of those obscure – I don't know. I just want to make things right.'

‘
I
was right. First time out. You
are
a goose.' He sighed, reached out for a menu and handed it to her. He gave her an odd look. ‘Funny. I thought your eyes were dark. They've gone all brown. Dark, flecked brown, mind you, but still brown. How do you do it? Have you a switch or something?'

She looked at him solemnly. ‘No switch.'

‘Must be my eyes then. Tell me, why couldn't Dr Harper have come and told me all this himself?'

‘It would have created a very odd impression if you two were seen leaving together. You never speak to each other. What's he to you or you to him?'

‘Ah!'

‘With us it's different. Or had you forgotten? The most natural thing in the world. I'm in love with you and you're in love with me.'

    

‘He's still in love with his dead wife.' Maria's voice was flat, neutral. Elbows on the guard-rail, she was standing on the passenger deck of the
MC
Carpentaria
, apparently oblivious to the chill night wind, watching in apparent fascination but without really registering what she was seeing as the giant dockside cranes, with their blazing attached arc-lamps, swung the coaches inboard.

She started as a hand laid itself on her arm and a teasing voice said: ‘Who's in love with whose wife, then?'

She turned and looked at Henry Wrinfield. The thin intelligent face, chalk-white in the glare of the arc-lamps, was smiling.

‘You might have coughed or something,' she said reproachfully. ‘You did give me a fright, you know.'

‘Sorry. But I could have been wearing hobnailed boots and you wouldn't have heard me above the racket of those damned cranes. Well, come out with it, who's in love with who?'

‘What
are
you talking about?'

‘Love,' Henry said patiently. ‘You were declaiming something about it when I came up.'

‘Was I?' Her voice was vague. ‘I wouldn't be surprised. My sister says I talk non-stop in my sleep. Maybe I was asleep on my feet. Did you hear any other Freudian slips or whatever?'

‘Alas, no. My loss, I'm sure. What on earth are you doing out here? It's cold and starting to rain.' He had lost interest in the remark he'd overheard.

BOOK: Circus
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