Snare of the Hunter (13 page)

“And Ludvik’s too busy watching us to notice her?”

“That’s the idea.” And it could save time when Irina and he were leaving. They would need every moment. “We’ll manage it,” he told her more confidently than he felt. He even mustered an encouraging smile for her as they entered the hotel.

The terrace of Schloss Dürnstein (now a hotel) had been placed with a view in mind. It stretched along the side of the converted castle to overlook a sweeping curve of river. Below it a wall of sheer rock fell to the Danube’s edge. The contrast between this northern side of the river and its opposite bank was dramatic: here, a giant bulge of cliffs and crags stood strong as a mailed fist against the fast flow of water; over there, sandy beaches had been pushed by the current into a low shoreline, bordering a far-and-wide vista of gentle fields and undulating hills and scattered villages.

Jo Corelli reached the terrace by the safe route of the hotel’s dining-room. (The other approach was down some steps from the courtyard, and completely visible to the man who still waited up there by the parapet.) Bright sun, tables with gay umbrellas, and a host of people combining a midday meal with an admirable panorama. Food for body and soul, she thought as she stood well back against the dining-room wall, keeping out of sight from the courtyard. Among the mixture of tourists, their clothes as bewildering as their languages, she could not see any thatch of grey hair combined with heavy eyebrows, a moustache, and a pipe. No Walter Krieger.

Then she saw Mark Bohn, his long strands of black hair lifted by the slight breeze, grey sideburns fluffed over tanned cheeks. He had a small table to himself, probably because it was jammed close against the hotel wall at the far end of the terrace, with no view except the backs of other guests. He was reading a newspaper and enjoying his second bottle of beer. He didn’t even notice Jo until she sat down opposite him.

Bohn said, “You’re punctual. No trouble? How is she?”

“Fine. Where’s Walter Krieger?”

“Detained in Vienna,” Bohn grinned as he saw her consternation and, having had his mild joke, added, “Not to worry. I’m here.” He became serious. “Krieger had some business to finish—he didn’t say what it was when he called me at ten-thirty, but I suppose he didn’t feel like talking much over the ’phone.”

“Did he sound worried?”

“Not at all. Very brisk, very squared away. Asked me to substitute for him. Even sent his car round to my hotel. It was waiting for me ten minutes later. Now, is that co-operation or co-operation?”

“When do we see Krieger?”

“You don’t. He will call you from Vienna at one-thirty.”

Jo glanced automatically at her watch. “Call me where? Irina’s room?”

“Yes. It’s better than being paged around a hotel lobby,”

Jo nodded. Her stomach muscles untightened. “Oh, damn Krieger,” she said. There we were, chasing up here to be in time, and he was still finishing some deal in Vienna.”

“At police headquarters. The call came from there.”

“How on earth did you find that out?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson. I asked the man who brought the car around to my hotel.”

“Police headquarters?” Then she remembered. “Not on business, Holmes. A farewell visit with one of his wartime buddies. These old boys really hang on to their friendships, don’t they?”

“Knowing Krieger, it was also a useful visit.”

“Could be,” she admitted, and smiled. “Well, if you’re replacing him, you’d better order some lunch, and be ready to move out by—” She tried to calculate. “Half an hour after Dave and Irina leave. We’ll let you know when. You’ll stay here?” Mark was a wanderer: curiosity-driven.

He said, “Where else is there? I don’t intend to climb up that mountain behind the village to see the old castle, not even to pay homage to the memory of Richard the Lionheart. As for the cliffs—a nice plunge into the Danube? No, thanks. I’ll sit here with pleasure and think of the mobs in the main street.”

“Wish I could sit too. But I’d better pass the news to Dave. He’ll be mad. He wanted to leave as soon as I had seen Krieger.”

“Why the rush?”

“There’s a man hanging around the courtyard, with an eye on our Mercedes. Which reminds me”—she held out her hand—“Dave will need the Chrysler’s keys, Mark.”

“Oh? We’re switching?”

“Yes. You’ll take the Mercedes back to Salzburg: here are its keys and papers. You can turn it in to the rent-a-car place.”

“Look—I’ve done enough driving for one day. I’m not a god-damned chauffeur.”

“But I’ll probably be with you, sweetie. Think how pleasant that would make the journey! Besides, it isn’t too far, and a nice easy highway.”

“And then what?”

“You’re a free man. I’ll be heading for Graz.”

He looked at her in astonishment. “Where did you get that cockeyed idea?”

“It’s Dave’s.”

Bohn laughed and shook his head. “Where does he think he’s going—Yugoslavia?” Then he asked thoughtfully, “Or Italy? Is that where Jaromir Kusak has tucked himself away?”

“I hope so,” Jo said evasively. If Mark hadn’t been told about Switzerland as their target, she wouldn’t be the one to tell him. Not that she disliked Mark. On the contrary, he had brightened up many a Washington party for her. “Then I could recuperate at my parents’ house.”

“Where are they living now?” Her father, Bohn remembered, was a retired Italian diplomat, who had been stationed in Washington for years.

“Rome.” She rose. Mark’s perseverance never failed to amuse her. Next he’d be asking for their address, and find himself a pleasant stopover whenever he travelled in Italy.

“No need to hurry away. If Krieger said one-thirty, he meant one-thirty.”

“I’ve got to find Irina’s room.” And that could take ten minutes, judging by this labyrinth. She glanced up at the hotel windows, noting with dismay how several wings had been added on. “See you around two o’clock,” she said, and left.

The hotel clerk’s son (one of three small boys anywhere between the ages of nine and twelve, who were hovering around the lobby, eager to assist with baggage or questions) guided Jo along several narrow corridors twisting round an interior courtyard, until he reached the proper door. As he pointed to it, the smile of triumph on his face was as beguiling as his helpfulness.

“Thank you. I would have been lost without you,” said Jo in her best German. She slipped him five
Schilling
, which delighted him. “And if you will please come back here in half an hour, I will give you another five.”

“Here?” He touched the wall beside the door.

“Yes, exactly here. What’s your name?”

“Gerhard.”

“In half an hour, Gerhard?” She showed him the time on her watch just to make sure. He nodded solemnly and left. Then she knocked on the door.

“Who’s that?” David’s voice asked.

“Just your little ray of sunshine.” The door opened and she slipped inside. “And ten minutes to spare,” she said thankfully.

“Before what?” David’s tone was sharp.

“Before Krieger telephones us from Vienna.”

David stared at her. “Then who brought the Chrysler here?”

“Mark Bohn. He’s waiting outside—on the terrace—in a plain linen jacket. Very with-it. But I wish he’d thin out those sideburns. They—”

“Waiting for what?”

Yes, Jo thought, Dave is having a rough time. “For me.” She glanced over at Irina, who was standing at the window. The suitcase lay opened on the bed, but Irina was still wearing her old skirt and blouse. Well, it’s nice that one of us really has time to admire that view. “Better change, Irina,” she warned. In a lowered voice, she asked David, “Difficulties?”

“I don’t know. It’s as if she’s afraid to talk to me.”

“To talk to anybody. I couldn’t get through to her at all. Well, let’s get on with the job.” Jo turned to the suitcase, picking up a blue dress and a smart chain belt. “She’s thinner than I thought. Lucky I brought something to give some kind of shape at the waist. Irina!”

Irina came slowly over to the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Jo asked bluntly.

Irina took the dress, didn’t even notice it. “I am putting you all in danger,” she said, her voice barely, audible. “I should never have come—”

“Nonsense. Let’s try these clothes on, shall we? Dave wants us to be ready to leave as soon as he talks with Walter Krieger. Right, Dave?”

David nodded. He was watching Irina’s face. She believes what she says, he decided. She senses danger. She’s still the Irina I once knew: she is afraid for us, not for herself. “Irina—” he began gently, and didn’t finish. The telephone was ringing.

Jo picked up the suitcase in her arms. “Come on, Irina.” She led the way into the bathroom. She called back to David, “I’d like to talk with him too.”

It was Walter Krieger. His first question was if everything had gone smoothly. Next, had Bohn arrived? And then, was the girl all right? (The name of Irina was obviously not to be mentioned.)

David’s replies were equally brief.

Unexpectedly, Krieger said, “I’ve got to see you. Today.”

“Suits me,” David said with relief.

“Where are you heading?”

“Graz. After that, Lienz.”

“Oh?” There was a slight pause. “Problems?”

“Two, I think.”

“Such as?”

“A man who is too damned interested. He’s in the courtyard now. He didn’t care if we saw him or not. There could be others around.”

“Can you work something out?”

“I think so.”

“And the other problem?”

“Not so easy to cope with. It’s the girl.”

“Is she within earshot?”

“No.”

“Hysterical? Exhausted?”

“No, not that. She’s worrying, and she isn’t telling what’s wrong.”

“Then get her to tell you,” Krieger said sharply.

“How? She’s been keeping too many thoughts to herself in these last years. She’s a locked door.”

“Ask her—and this may be important—ask her about Alois Pokorny. Did she know him? If she did, then tell her that he was killed this morning, just a few minutes after she left the building where he lived. The police identified him, and are now investigating. Note her reaction. It could help us all.”

“Where do we meet? I thought we’d stay at—”

Krieger broke in, “Meet me on the castle hill, under the big clock tower. At six?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Is Jo around?”

“I’ll get her.”

“No, just tell her to reach Lienz as quickly as she can. Don’t worry—she’ll figure it out. Early tomorrow I’ll call her at Die Forelle, a comfortable little inn. Good luck!” And Krieger ended the call.

* * *

Jo was annoyed for almost two minutes. Then she laughed ruefully. “All right. So I missed Krieger’s call. But does he think I have wings? Am I supposed to drive over the Grossglöckner by myself? And how else do I get to Lienz from Salzburg? Oh, really!”

“He said you would figure it out.”

“
Early
tomorrow?” Jo’s indignation had made her forget her achievement with Irina. But David was admiring enough. The deep-blue dress was simple and well cut: cinched in at the waist, and with a blue-and-green scarf at the neck, it looked dandy. So did the matching coat—useful for cool Austrian evenings. He noted the added colour in Irina’s cheeks and lips: not too strong, just the right touch. But most amazing of all was the transformation in her hair. A dark-brown wig, softly curling around temples and ears, changed her completely. It looked natural. She was unrecognisable unless you had studied her closely and could remember the exact lines of her bone structure. Few would qualify for that.

“Terrific,” David told Jo. Irina was actually smiling as she caught sight of herself in a long mirror.

“I was once driven over the Grossglockner by a Frenchman in his new Ferrari. And I just about froze to death at twelve thousand feet. Between that and twenty-four, or was it twenty-six, hairpin bends, one after another, I thought I’d die.”

“Where are the old clothes?” David asked Irina. “In the suitcase?” It was bulging slightly, but the locks held firm. As she nodded, he said, “We can stop well outside Dürnstein and heave them into a wood. We’ll also get some food, further south. Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

That was a good sign. An hour ago she had refused any food—even a sandwich. “I’m starved,” he admitted. “But first we’ll clear out of here. Jo—come on! You’re holding us up.” That fetched her attention.

“This is what we do now,” said David, and he gave them his plan of escape from the hotel. “Got that, both of you? It’s all a matter of timing.” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes of two.”

“Heavens!” said Jo, and wrenched the bedroom door open. She beckoned to someone outside. A small boy in the nine-year range, hair brushed, face shining, came in. “Gerhard,” Jo announced. “He will carry the suitcase to the Chrysler for ten
Schilling
. I promised him five, but I think our expense account can stretch to forty cents.”

“Does he know cars?” David was doubtful.

“Try him. He watches them all day long, coming and going.” In German, David asked, “Did you see a dark-blue Chrysler in the courtyard?”

“Chrysler?” Gerhard repeated, and frowned. At least he was honest.

“It stands next to the big black Cadillac,” David tried slowly. Gerhard’s smile beamed at them. “I saw the Cadillac.”

“The Chrysler is beside it. It is a darker blue than this lady’s dress. Next to the Cadillac. Got it?”

Gerhard nodded, picked up the suitcase.

“One moment,” said David, and gave him the ten
Schilling
. “Just put the case into the back seat of the car. Then leave. Okay?”

“And many thanks,” called Jo as Gerhard left at his usual half lope. “He’ll make a champion long-distance runner someday.”

“You too,” David told Jo, “beat it. Vanish.”

“The bill?” she asked.

“Paid. How else did I get the passports back?”

She laughed and was gone.

He glanced at Irina, and hesitated. Had she really understood his plan?

“I shall follow you,” she told him.

“Keep in sight.” And he too left the room.

Irina picked up a
Do Not Disturb
sign and hooked it over the door handle as she heard the lock click shut behind her. Then she was following David along the bewildering maze of passageways.