Curtain of Fear (32 page)

Nicholas smiled. “I suppose that's true. But what of the future? Do you think the Kremlin will succeed, one way or another, in dominating the world?”

Mr. Smutný returned his smile. “I can, thank God, say ‘no' to that. Communism is already a dying faith. The only danger of its revival now lies in the West. If any country on your side of the Iron Curtain went Communist that would give the movement
a fresh lease of life. But whatever happens now, the years—not the days but the years—of Communism are numbered. It has been tried and found wanting. It is maintained only by terror. Except for a few fanatics who are still too young to appreciate the whole picture, even the members of the Party do not believe in it any more. They carry on because they are the privileged cast and receive jam with their bread and butter, but they go in constant fear of one another. Christianity, Islam, Judaism are still living faiths, but Communism has had its brief day, and is recognised by all who have lived for any length of time under it as the negation of all that man has ever striven for. In fact it is already a back number.”

“You amaze me. Do you think, then, that it is likely to collapse?”

“Oh, no. Too many people have vested interests in keeping it going. The only hope of its total dissolution in our time lies in the Western Powers getting really tough.”

“Do you mean by their launching a war aimed at destroying it root and branch?” asked Nicholas apprehensively.

“No. To challenge Moscow outright would be too great a risk. One side or other might then resort to atomic warfare, and that would mean the destruction of most of the great cities in Europe and America as well as in the U.S.S.R. Any attempt to bring about the personal downfall of the men in the Kremlin would result in their fighting like rats in a corner. But their claws can be cut.”

“How?”

“When the Western Powers have completed their rearmament programme they could demand the withdrawal of Russian control over Eastern Germany. The Kremlin would give way on that, rather than fight. I am convinced, too, that they would give up Czechoslovakia, and all the other satellite countries in turn, rather than face a show-down.”

“What leads you to suppose that?”

“The fact that they did not fight to retain Yugoslavia, although they were relatively very much stronger when it broke away than they are now. Marshal Tito was the one fellow-traveller
who in due course openly declared himself, but had the sense to get out from under before his country was properly in the bag. He must have known much more about the minds of the men in the Kremlin than any of the Western Powers, and at that time they were in no state to give him effective military support, even if they had been willingto do so. But he took the gamble and he won.”

“Yet their military might compared to his is overwhelming. Why do you think they refrained from marching in?”

“Because they cannot trust their troops. In the initial stages of Hitler's invasion, the Russians surrendered by whole divisions and hailed the Germans as liberators. Communism would have been finished then, had it not been for the incredible stupidity of the Nazis. They shot their Soviet officer prisoners, devastated the countryside as they advanced, slaughtered half the population, and destroyed the towns. Naturally, once the Russians realised what they were up against they began to fight back.”

“Do you think the Soviet troops would betray the Kremlin now?”

“Yes; given the chance. The trouble is that since Tito's secession the whole situation has been changed by the Soviet's success in developing the atomic bomb. Atomic warfare could be launched by a handful of picked men whose interests are bound up with the survival of the Party. That is why it would be dangerous to challenge the Kremlin direct. But their censorship is so complete, and their internal propaganda so all-pervading, that they would find no more difficulty in saving face if they were forced, bit by bit, out of central Europe than they did when they were forced out of Yugoslavia.”

“Such withdrawals would have very serious economic effects on Russia.”

“Yes, they would undoubtedly aggravate the pernicious anæmia to which Communism is inevitably subject. But the process would naturally have to be a gradual one, as the Kremlin might be maddened into throwing down the gauntlet if too much were asked from it at any one time. It may well be twenty-five
years before all the subject territories have been liberated and Russia herself is freed from the tyranny under which her people now groan. The only thing we can say with certainty is that Communism is a dying faith, and that everyone of us has it in our power to contribute something towards hastening its death.”

Fedora and Nicholas had finished their meal, and their host now got up to bring them coffee. As he set the tray down on the table the telephone rang. Going into the next room, he answered it, and they heard him say: “Yes” three times at intervals; then, setting it down, he returned to them and said:

“That was Lutonský. He has seen Jirka and he thinks that to-morrow he will be able to get you both on the one o'clock 'plane for Frankfurt. Lutonský agrees that it would be all to the good if you could be got out of Prague while darkness lasts, and if I can take you to him he will put you up for the rest of the night. That depends on whether I can borrow a car; and I know of only one place where I might do so at this hour. If I fail we must get you to him not later than midday; but that should not be difficult. I will go out now, and if the car is available I will be back in it to collect you in about half an hour.”

When they had thanked him he left them, and they drank their coffee. As Nicholas finished his, he said: “Owing to that long sleep I had this afternoon I don't feel at all tired; but you must be. Why don't you snatch a nap, while I wash up?”

“I don't feel particularly tired either,” she replied. “I'm still too wrought up. I'll just stay quietly in the sitting-room.”

He carried the things they had used for supper into the well-equipped little kitchen, and washed and dried them carefully. As he put the last plate in the rack he glanced at the clock. It was ten past one, and Mr. Smutný had been gone about a quarter of an hour.

It was at that moment that the alarm bell shrilled.

For a moment Nicholas stood rigid, the blood slowly draining from his face. Then he ran towards the sitting-room. Fedora had already thrown open the door and was standing in the doorway. The bell continued to ring with a shrill, high note. They stared at one another in dismay.

“It … it may be only burglars,” he faltered.

“Or a rat. One may have jumped against a trip wire.”

On a simultaneous impulse they ran along the hall-way. Mr. Smutný had left the trap-door open and the ladder was hanging from it. They peered down into the darkness below. Beyond the circle of faint light that lit the ladder from above, the stacks of cases made a well of blackness. Both of them strained their ears; but the shrilling of the alarm made it almost impossible to catch any sounds that might have been coming up from the warehouse, and Fedora exlaimed:

“For God's sake find that bell and stop it!”

Nicholas had already noticed it, up near the low ceiling, just outside the kitchen door. Running back there, he pushed the door open, snatched up a table mat and stuffed it between the gong and its clapper. When he rejoined Fedora she was kneeling down, still listening; but now the clangour of the bell was stilled, the flat and the depths below it were as silent as the grave.

“I had better go down and investigate.” Instinctively Nicholas spoke in a whisper.

She gave him a doubtful look, and whispered back, “You would never be able to find your way in the darkness. And if it is the Coms you might run right into them. It would be wiser to pull up the ladder and lie doggo here. Pan Smutný said that only a few of his most trusted workmen know about this penthouse, so the police might search the building all night without finding the trap-door that leads to it.”

“It was of Mr. Smutný I was thinking. If it were a false alarm, well and good; but if the place is being raided we ought to try to warn him, otherwise on his return he may walk straight into the arms of the Coms.”

“You are right about that. But I don't see how you can manage to warn him before he enters the building, and by then it will be too late.”

“I can fire some shots through a window. The neighbourhood appears to be deserted, but it's extraordinary how a crowd collects from nowhere at the first sign of any excitement. He will see it as he comes back along the street, realise what is happening, and sheer off.”

“All right, then. But will you be able to find your way back here?”

“There is a spare torch in the kitchen, I'll take that.”

She got to her feet and laid a hand on his arm. “Nicky, do be careful. If it is the Coms, and they see a light approaching before you spot them, they will shoot first.”

“I'll be as careful as I can.” He gave her a reassuring smile, and pulled from his pocket the small automatic he had taken from Kmoch.

As her glance fell on it she said, “That's all right for close work, but you would be better off with something bigger for a job like this. Beside, Kmoch fired it three times and you did once, so it can have only half a load left in it. Pan Smutný must have some weapons up here. While you get the torch I'll see if I can find a man-sized gun.”

He collected the torch and rejoined her in the sitting-room. She was rummaging in Mr. Smutný's bureau, and when she got to its bottom drawer they saw there three pistols and a store of ammunition. Selecting a big Luger, she loaded it and two spare clips with bullets for him. As she handed them over she said:

“Give me the little gun. I may need one before we're through, and it will easily go into my bag.”

Having exchanged weapons, they hurried out into the hall and knelt down to listen by the trap again. There was still no
sound from below, so he said, “Here goes,” and slid his legs over the edge.

“Good luck, Nicky!” she whispered. “I pray to God it was a false alarm. Good luck, my dear.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, and slid down the ladder. After a final wave from the floor, he tiptoed round the end of the stack of boxes. Beyond them it was pitch dark, so he had to switch on the torch; but he held it so that its beam shone downwards about a yard in front of his feet, and used his pistol hand to screen the bulb from direct sight.

With his ears cocked to catch any sound he advanced on tiptoe down the narrow alley formed by two walls of crates, until he reached the first staircase. There he paused to listen, but he could hear nothing except the steady gnawing of a mouse. Gingerly he made his way down the flight, then through a maze of turnings, trying to memorise the merchandise stacked on each corner, so that he would be able to find his way back.

At the second staircase he halted again. There was still no sound from below. Somewhat reassured, he crept down it, and on the next floor went forward a little more quickly, urged on by the thought that Mr. Smutný would soon be due back, and that if anything was wrong no time must now be lost in creating a situation which would warn him of what was afoot.

Including its ground level the warehouse had five floors, and he was now half way down them. At the head of the staircase leading from the second to the first floor he again stopped to listen. His heart began to beat more rapidly. For a moment he was not certain; then a raised voice came distinctly to him. There were people moving about and calling to one another somewhere below him in the darkness.

There was still a possibility that they were burglars. If so, to fire off his gun through a window would be to invite real trouble. It would bring the police on the scene, and that was the very last thing that he wanted. With a sharp intake of his breath he realised that there was only one thing for it. He must go down and find out for certain who the intruders were.

Very cautiously now he tiptoed down to the first floor, then put out his torch. Flashing it only at intervals, when he bumped into bales and boxes, he felt his way along the alleys, until he reached the lowest staircase. The voices were clearly audible now, and a glow of subdued light was coming up from the ground floor.

At the stairhead he knelt down and peered over the edge. He could hear the intruders moving about but could not see anyone. Craning forward, he leaned over further. The light from torches held beyond his view made weird shadows move across the floor. One bright beam cut a circle of light upon a stack of large cardboard cartons near the foot of the stairway. The circle swiftly increased in size. Nicholas could hear the footsteps of the man who held the torch approaching just beneath him. He drew back a little, and held his gun ready in case he had to use it.

Suddenly there was a movement on the far side of the stairway. A man had stepped out from the shadows. He must have caught sight of Nicholas as he moved, or heard the slight noise he made as he drew back. He was staring straight up into Nicholas' face, and he was wearing the uniform of a State policeman. As his hand jumped to the pistol at his belt, Nicholas fired.

The man clawed at his chest. His eyes opened very wide, then his head fell forward and he went down with a crash across the lowest steps of the stairs. As Nicholas sprang to his feet the man with the torch ran out from beneath where he was standing. Again Nicholas fired. His bullet caught the policeman in the left shoulder. He was knocked sideways and stumbled over the body of his dead comrade. His torch was dashed from his left hand and went out; but in his right he still clutched his pistol. Swivelling round, he fired wildly up into the darkness that shrouded the top of the stairway. One bullet smacked into a beam just above Nicholas' head; three more thudded into the ceiling further off to his right at intervals of a few feet.

By now pandemonium had broken loose on the ground floor. Evidently a dozen or more men had been systematically searching
it, to make certain that no one was hidden there, before proceeding to the upper floors. At the sound of the shots they had all come running back down the several alleys that converged on the open space at the foot of the stairway. Above the noisy trampling of their heavy boots came shouted orders and counter orders: