The Balkan Assignment (9 page)

t know; I was at a loss and I was tired, cold and hungry. Not a good combination on which to do heavy thinking.

Ley finally shrugged. "If I haven't convinced you by now, you will have to convince yourself. Your loyalty to your friend is most admirable. I hope it will not be the death of you."

"Very funny!"

Ahead, a string of lights began to grow out of the snow-covered landscape, and Ley slowed the car. He glanced at his watch and nodded.

"This will be the train. You will have to cross the field from where I stop. Of course I cannot come with you or they will know that something happened to you during the night besides a sound sleep."

The road paralleled the railroad track several hundred yards distant. And that damned snow looked deep. Then I remembered what I should not have forgotten; the very thing that would ruin Ley's carefully laid plans.

"The fuel pump," I shouted, "that damned fuel pump!" Ley just hooked a thumb at the back seat and there it was, the carton with the Pratt & Whitney Eagle staring at me, only slightly the worse for wear. In everything that had happened, Ley had remembered to bring that damned thing along. And I couldn't even recall seeing him carrying it.

The lights from the train were clearly visible by now and Ley flicked the headlights off and coasted to a stop.

"Go to the second to the last car at the rear of the train. You will find the door open. Go into that car, pull the emergency cord twice as you do so and go directly into the lavatory and wait until the train is underway and at speed. Then return to your compartment. Make sure that no one sees you."

I nodded and reached for the door, the fuel pump carton securely under my arm. Ley grasped my shoulder.

"Remember, you are involved, whether you like to believe it or not. After the gold is recovered and flown to wherever they will take it, you will be of no use to them. Watch yourself at all times. If you wish to get in touch with me, I will notify you after you return to the island how to do so. Do not be surprised at my choice of messengers."

"Your incontrovertible proof," I reminded him. "I still haven't seen it . . . or was it supposed to be Bowen's dead body?" I finished, perhaps more cruelly than I should have. Ley winced and spread his hands dejectedly. "It was not on his body .. . a photograph and a dossier. Perhaps the murderers took it. We will never know now." I nodded and shoved open the door, thoroughly confused. "Also remember," he called after me, "two men are already dead. Do not become number three."

With that, he yanked the door shut and drove away leaving me standing on the side of that damned road. God, it was cold. A fresh wind coming with dawn was blowing snow in long streamers across the field. At the least, the miniature ground blizzard would serve to hide my approach from anyone on the train who might be watching. I slogged across the road, climbed over the couple of strands of barbed wire that still remained visible and struck out across the field, trying to shield my eyes from the driving snow with one hand. It seemed like hours before the brightly lit bulk of the long train loomed up before me, cutting off the force of the wind. I scurried into the shelter of the train and worked my way down to the second car from the end. Ahead, faintly over the wind and the whisper of the driving snow, I could hear the racket of a power hammer putting the last spikes into the ties. As Ley had said, the door to the second to the last car was open. I had no trouble climbing in, found the cord and pulled it twice. My only bad moment came while locked in the lavatory. Someone banged on the door and hollered in German or Italian. I cursed him back in Yugoslav and the door slammed as whoever he was went looking for another comfort stop. Other than that, I just kept falling asleep until, near seven o'clock, the train finally got underway. A few minutes later, I had made it back to my compartment, not really caring whether or not anyone saw me, locked the door, removed my boots and fell dead asleep.

The mail boat came slowly through the two flanking massifs that guarded the harbor to Kornat Island like sleeping lions turned to stone by the slow passage of centuries. The snow that I had left only hours before in the mountains was here a driving rain that slanted down from leaden skies, whipping the waves of the Adriatic to a froth. The mail boat was an old coastal patrol boat taken from the Germans after the war and used for a time in the miniature Yugoslavian navy as an anti-submarine craft, then coastal patrol again and, finally, in the waning days of its existence, as a mail boat. I got her history from the captain, a grizzled veteran who had started as a cabin boy in a four-masted schooner when my father was still

a child. He was so overjoyed to have someone to talk to . .. listen to him, rather . . . that he insisted upon conducting me personally on a tour of all forty feet of the craft as she pitched and rolled through the waves and wind. Oblivious to the greenness that was beginning to sallow my complexion, he droned on and on until the sight of the entrance to the harbor dragged him reluctantly away to oversee the docking that no doubt the crew of four, and perhaps the boat by herself, could have accomplished purely by reflex. Other than the roughness of the sea, the trip had remained uneventful from the time I awoke in the train compartment to the porter's knock. I ordered breakfast, dressed and by the time I had eaten, the train was rolling into the ornate structure that housed the Mostar terminal of the railway. A taxi had taken me directly from the train to the dock where the captain had delayed his departure to wait for me. I found out that the railroad had notified the harbor and airline authorities of their delay along the tracks, so that all schedules with connecting passengers could be held for them. I was surprised to say the least, after what I had been told of the inefficiency and lackadaisical manner in which the trains and airlines ran in Yugoslavia. Obviously, it just wasn't true. The tiny cabin space allotted to passengers for the four-hour run from Mostar to the island was located in the deckhouse directly under a wheelhouse that resembled nothing so much as the hurricane deck of a Mississippi river boat. I sat and watched the boat pick its way through the narrow entrance, thinking back over the events of the last twentyfour hours to Ley's final comments. The boat cut its way through the choppy waves to the long stone quay where my old PBY rode none too gracefully at her moorings. A rain-slickered figure was standing near the end of the quay and as the boat idled alongside, walked back with her to the mooring area. As we drew closer, I could see that it was Maher.

Several conflicting emotions charged through me at the sight of him. Affection, distaste and suspicion all jumbled together. Then the captain bustled down into the passenger cabin with a slicker that he insisted I wear and leave with Major Vishailly when the rain had finished. Chattering profusely, he bundled me out onto the deck and waved good-by as I stepped down on the quay where Klaus was waiting to greet me. We shook hands and he asked how it went and I lied; uneventful. Belgrade had changed some in fifteen years and that the train ride had been comfortable but long, the broken track . . . the usual small talk with which friends greet each other. We crossed the quay and climbed down into the PBY. Klaus had broken out the small tent heater and the interior of the aircraft was warm and dry, if cramped. Klaus had had food sent down from the inn in the village and we dug into it while it was still warm.

"Any problems with the fuel pump?" Klaus asked when we finished.

"None. It was there and waiting. I had them do some machine work on the connections to fit some modifications I've made in the intake valves. They only charged half-aleg for that. Their rapprochement with capitalism seems to be proceeding quite well." Maher chuckled. "Greed seems to be the basis of all human dealings, no matter what the economic or political system, heh?"

I snorted agreement . . . my own position clearly in mind. "I guess so. Anyway, it shouldn't take more than a few hours to install and another hour to make a quick test flight."

"Perhaps you should do it immediately then."

That surprised me. "Why, has the local fuzz been taking an interest in us?"

"No, just the opposite, which makes me suspicious. Our Major Vishailly seems to go out of his way to leave us alone and even to be polite and helpful. Witness your easy passage to Belgrade. He has even stayed away from Mikhail, which is unusual for the conditions of their disagreement."

"You think he knows what we are here for?"

It was Klaus's turn to snort. "If we stay around too long, they would have to be fools to think otherwise. So far, our alibi is holding up. I cannot be sure, but I think the aircraft had been visited when Mikhail and I were away. Nothing was disturbed that I could see, but I could almost swear that someone had checked on the work you had done on the engine."

"Well, there's no problem there. The old fuel pump is sitting on the cargo hold flooring in pieces. Anyone

who knows the least thing about gasoline engines can see that both the housing and diaphragm are badly cracked and unsuitable. They could also see that the crack is from wear and not deliberate."

Klaus nodded. "Yes, that is true and I am not worried, not yet anyway. I have paid the usual look at the cavern as would befit the bored victim of an aircraft breakdown. By the way, it is as Mikhail says, impassable from this side. He told me that even before he sealed the cavern after the war to prevent tourists and curiosity seekers from killing themselves, the explosions had already collapsed enough of the cavern to make it impossible to work into the deeper chambers. From the force of the explosions as I recall, I never doubted it."

"So how is work going on the air shaft approach?"

Klaus smiled quite broadly. "Much better than I had hoped. The air shaft is hidden quite far back in a cove five miles from here in a location that renders it impossible to detect until you are actually on the beach. It cannot be seen from the water. Also, it is not as hard to get to as I remembered. It was very dark the night we came out and I was too exhausted to pay much attention to the surroundings. Mikhail found it quite easily from what directions I was able to give him, but admits he would not have been able to unless he had known where to look."

"Before I left, he said something about having to do some blasting to clear the tunnel?" Klaus nodded and finished his coffee. "Yes. A part of the ceiling has collapsed. Otherwise, the shoring on this side is quite sound and there is no reason to believe that it will not be as sound on the other. The collapsed part is about three hundred meters down into the tunnel . . . and less than one hundred meters from the cistern. Mikhail plans a series of powder charges to split the larger rocks into many pieces. He has identified the key rocks, as he calls them, and thinks that when they are split apart, others will collapse enough to allow us to dig away a passage."

I shook my head. "I sure as hell hope he knows what he's doing. If the rest of that roof collapses, it will finish us."

Klaus's voice took on a hard edge as it always did when he was contradicted. "There is no danger of that. I have checked the tunnel walls and ceiling myself, and I say they are quite sound. I am not a mining engineer but I do

know something of explosives. What Mikhail plans is sound. The black powder charge will crack the rocks, not explode them. They will then fall into pieces, allowing the rest of the boulders resting on them to fall away."

"All right, all right," I said shrugging. "You two guys know what you're doing. If not, we'

ll find out soon enough. When do you think you will be ready?"

"If everything goes well," Klaus said with a trace of petulance remaining, "we will be ready to blast late tomorrow night. You have the aircraft ready to fly by tomorrow evening and join us. We should reach the cistern before dawn, bring up the gold during the day and load it aboard after dark and leave at midnight." I thought for several moments before answering, going over Klaus's timing. If everything went according to schedule, we would have to stall Vishailly only one day before we would be ready to go. I could easily do that with some excuse about the aircraft.

"All right, it sounds okay to me. If your schedule works out, we should be out of here, and Yugoslav air space, before they know we are gone."

"Is your flight plan ready?"

"Yeah. It's ready and on file. All I have to do is confirm and we are cleared for Turkey." Klaus was quiet for a moment, studying me intently. Finally, he said: "What if I told you we might not be going to Turkey?"

Oh, oh, I thought, here it comes. Immediately all of Ley's warnings came flooding back. Loose, I decided, loose. Stay cool but just a bit upset, like a man who has suddenly discovered a major change in plans that will -cause him some inconvenience. Don't show any mistrust yet.

"For God's sake why not? We're already filed through." Klaus only grinned at me. "I think it might be better if we did not go on to Turkey from here. I have news of where we will be able to get a better price for the gold."

"Where's that?" I asked, suddenly all attentive.

Klaus's grin broadened. "Never mind for now. I must confirm it first. After all, we have suppliers who will be disappointed if they are kept waiting." And that was the first hint that I had ever had that Klaus conducted other business in Turkey beyond his import-export dealings. I wondered how much of it the Turkish police knew about and whether or not they

included me as part of his operation. I was convinced that if Klaus had been pulling any shady dealings in the past, the Turkish police knew. They always do. It was a matter of who knew and how high up they were . . . not that the members of the Turkish police were any more corruptible than any other policemen in the world, but with several thousand square miles of emptiness along the Soviet and Iranian borders, the opportunities for smuggling payoffs were greater. The question was what did he mean by suppliers. Since the United States, France and Turkey between them had dried up the major suppliers of heroin a couple of years ago, the narcotics business had been hard hit. A million dollars worth of gold could buy enough raw opium from Afghanistan, Turkestan or Northern India to ransom a small nation after it was processed. The trade routes presumably were still open since the police had gone after the sources . . . the poppy fields ... and not the operators, many of whom were ignorant villagers and farmers being paid only a few dollars for crops worth thousands raw and millions finished and shipped.