1967 - Have This One on Me (22 page)

A voice told him he was through to the American Embassy.

The previous day he, had been alerted by Frank Howard, the C.I.A. agent working in Vienna, that an American agent might be attempting to cross the frontier. Any news would be welcomed. Howard, a good friend of his hadn’t given him any details, but there was a hint that the crossing was important.

Howard came to the line.

‘There has been an attempted crossing,’ von Raitenau told him. ‘I’m afraid it can’t have been successful. The sound of exploding mines and machine gun fire have been reported. I am leaving immediately for the frontier. I will report back as soon as I get further information. Don’t expect to hear anything for at least two hours.’

‘I’ll stand by.’ Howard said. ‘Thanks. Hugo. This is a top level affair. Can you give me a map reference where the crossing was attempted?’

‘Section 15 ... square 2,’ von Raitenau told him.

‘Okay ... I’ll stand by.’

* * *

During the past thirty-six hours, there had been considerable activity back in the American Embassy, Paris. The news of Bruckman’s death had finally reached Dorey. His contact in Prague at the American Embassy had sent a coded telegram.

The news was brief and unsatisfactory. Bruckman had been shot.

Girland, Worthington and Mala Reid were thought to be heading for the Austrian frontier. It was certain Malik and Smernoff were after them.

Dorey, pale, dark rings around his eyes, tossed the decoded telegram over to O’Halloran.

O’Halloran read the telegram and then dropped it on the desk.

‘We don’t know if Girland still has the document, do we?’ he said.

He pulled at his lower lip. ‘I’m not worried about him. I’ll back him any day against Malik and Smernoff.’

Dorey removed his glasses and began to polish them. This was always a sign that he was uneasy.

‘It’s three days now ... do you think I should report that I’ve lost the document, Tim?’

‘No. If it’s lost, it’s lost, but it is possible Girland will bring it out. Don’t cut your throat too soon.’

Dorey brooded, then nodded.

‘Yes. Well, at least Latimer has gone in.’ Seeing O’Halloran’s look of surprise, Dorey went on, ‘That was the operation, Tim. With Malik so tied up with Girland, I sent Latimer off yesterday morning. I’ve heard he had no trouble ... so I haven’t entirely messed up the affair.’

O’Halloran grunted.

‘Girland could sell me down the river,’ Dorey said bitterly. ‘If he has the document and if he gets cornered by Malik he will bargain for his life with the document. He has no scruples ... no principles.’

‘Why shouldn’t he make a bargain?’ O’Halloran asked quietly. ‘Have we ever done anything to encourage his loyalty?’

Dorey stiffened and stared at O’Halloran, then as he found nothing to say, O’Halloran went on, ‘I’m going right away to Vienna. I’ve already alerted Howard who says there is a good guy in charge of the frontier post and he’ll give us all the help he can.’

‘All right, Tim,’ Dorey said. ‘I’ve got to get that T.S. back. I don’t have to tell you ... I’m relying on you.’

‘If it can be got back, it will be got back,’ O’Halloran said, and left the room.

In under the hour, he was in a fast military jet heading for Vienna.

* * *

Girland straightened up and wiped the sweat off his face with his forearm. He regarded the three oil drums now lashed together by rope. He wasn’t happy about the rope. It was old and brittle, and he wondered if it would hold once the drums were in the water. He didn’t let Mala know of his doubts. He grinned at her as he said, ‘How’s that for a do-it-yourself job?’

‘Will they float?’ Mala asked, staring uneasily at the drums and then looking at the oily, black water.

‘Of course they will.’ He squatted down on his heels and opened the rucksack. He emptied its contents. He found a plastic bag containing a lump of cheese, stale bread and a sausage.

‘You must be hungry.’

Mala shuddered.

‘I couldn’t touch a thing.’

‘Yeah ... well, later perhaps.’

The smell of the water made him also feel queasy. He returned the food to the rucksack.

From his hip pocket, he took the soiled envelope with its Top Secret seal and put it in the plastic bag. From the rucksack he took the big packet of dollar bills. This was his and the Brauns’ share of the thirty thousand dollars. He stuffed the money into the plastic bag. ‘You’d better give me your money,’ he went on. ‘It’ll be safer in this bag just in case we sink.’

Mala was now feeling cold. The dank atmosphere from the water was making her shiver. She put on her jeans and sweater, then taking the roll of money from her pocket, she handed it to him.

He made a secure parcel of the plastic bag, then put it back in the rucksack. He tied the straps of the rucksack to one of the ropes around the oil drums.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s launch our boat.’ He went to her and put his arms around her. ‘Remember this: we are going to get out of here. That’s understood. If something goes wrong, don’t panic. Leave everything to me. We are going to eat the best and most expensive dinner in Paris three days from now.’

She held him close to her.

‘I won’t panic ... promise.’

‘Let’s go.’

They kissed, then together they pushed the raft down the slope into the water. It floated easily. Girland picked up the automatic rifle and slid down the bank, catching hold of the raft and steadying it. Mala joined him.

‘Get aboard,’ Girland said, ‘lay flat and keep to the offside.’

The drum dipped as Mala edged her way flat across the top of the drums. Girland held the raft steady and then drawled on and lay beside her. He had stuck the two candles on the foremost drum. The raft sank lower under his weight until it was just above the surface of the water.

‘Well, at least it floats.’ Girland said, then using the butt of the automatic rifle as a paddle, he moved the raft down the tunnel of water.

The rifle was heavy and Girland wondered how long he would be able to use it as a paddle. Four kilometres of water, Jan had told him. Well, they were on their way and the raft was floating. But very soon, he felt a nagging ache developing in his back and he realised that he was wasting his strength using the rifle as a paddle.

‘This isn’t going to work.’ he said and pulled the rifle out of the water. ‘We’ll use our hands.’

Suppressing a shudder. Mala dipped her hand into the filthy water. They began to paddle. The raft moved sluggishly, but it made progress. For more than half an hour, they continued to paddle with their hands and the raft continued to drift down the tunnel. Mala’s arm was aching now, but she kept on. Looking up, Girland realised the dripping roof of the tunnel was closer and he guessed there was now more water in the tunnel than from where they had come. The air was getting bad. He could hear Mala gasping.

‘Take a rest.’ he said.

As she thankfully lifted her hand out of the water, she saw two glittering sparks close to her in the water. She jerked her hand up so violently, the raft wobbled.

‘Steady,’ Girland said. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s something in the water!’ She peered fearfully into the oily blackness but could see nothing.

Then Girland saw the twin sparks and snatched his hand out of the water as a big water rat made a pounce. It hit the side of the drums and recoiled.

Mala stifled a scream as she now saw the water was alive with rats.

Girland reached out and put his arm across her shoulders.

‘Don’t panic, honey,’ he said. ‘We’ll get through,’ but he was aware that the raft had come to a standstill. He could see in the flickering light of the candles that the water around them was swarming with vicious looking rats. He grabbed up the rifle and began to paddle with desperate strokes. The raft wobbled and then moved forward, its speed increasing under Girland’s frantic efforts.

A big rat, sleek with water, its eyes glowing, leapt out of the water and landed on the barrel of the gun. It snapped at Girland’s hand, but he was just too quick for it. He struck it with his left hand throwing it back into the water, then reversing the rifle, and aiming at the carpet of moving rodents, he pulled the trigger.

The noise of the exploding cartridge in the enclosed space was like a bomb going off. One moment there was a sea of rats around them: the next the rats had vanished. He could feel the great swirl of water as they dived and swam in panic away from the raft

‘Paddle!’ he cried

They began paddling with their hands but this time with a fast, exhausting stroke that sent the raft surging forward. But this pace couldn’t last for long. Mala felt her strength draining out of her. In spite of forcing herself, her arm slowly lost power and finally she collapsed.

‘I can’t go on! I can’t!’ she sobbed weakly.

‘All right, baby,’ Girland said soothingly. ‘Take a rest. Get your hand out of the water.’

They lay for some time, struggling to breathe. The raft drifted slowly forward. Then Girland felt something touch his shoulders. He stiffened, controlling the impulse to swing over on his back, knowing such a move might capsize the raft. Again something touched his back. Cautiously, he lifted his head and then realised that it was the roof of the tunnel scraping his shoulders as the raft drifted forward.

Was the tunnel ahead completely blocked by water? he wondered. Carefully, he turned on his back. He reached up and began to propel the raft forward by pushing against the slimy surface of the roof.

‘Turn over.’ he said. ‘Be careful! The roof’s right on top of us.’

Mala turned slowly. When she saw how close the roof was, she caught her breath sharply.

‘We won’t get through!’ The edge of panic in her voice made Girland put his hand over hers.

‘Come on, baby,’ he said. ‘You can help with this. We’re getting out ... it’s a promise.’

He began to push against the roof and Mala, stifling her panic, imitated him. The raft began to move forward at a much faster speed.

The air was very bad now. Every now and then, a projecting rock in the roof threatened to force the raft under water, but Girland managed to manoeuvre around it. Neither of them had any idea how long they continued to claw their way along the tunnel. Time stood still for them.

Scarcely able to breathe, sweat pouring from her body. Mala kept on She had complete faith in Girland. He had said they would get out, and that meant they would get out.

But after what seemed to her to be an eternity, she felt her arms growing heavy. Her heart was racing. She made a desperate effort as she felt consciousness slipping away from her Finally, her hands dropped and she collapsed into a huddled heap of despair.

Exerting his remaining strength. Girland kept pushing against the roof, sending the raft on and on into the evil smelling darkness. He too could scarcely breathe, and his efforts were becoming weaker. Then he found he had to reach further up to touch the roof. That could only mean the level of the water was dropping. He kept on. A few minutes later, his arms were fully extended and he was breathing more freely. Suddenly the roof was out of his reach and the raft began to lose momentum. He dragged himself on to his knees and again reached the roof. The raft tilted and he hurriedly adjusted its balance. He kept on until he had to stand to reach the roof, and then the roof was right out of his reach and a sudden breath of fresh air swirled around him. He lowered himself to lay flat on the raft and began paddling with his hands.

Mala stirred as the fresh air revived her.

‘We’re through,’ Girland gasped. ‘We’ve done it! Come on, sweetheart ... start paddling?’

* *
*

O’Halloran climbed from the military jet after it had landed at the Wein-Schwechat airport.

Frank Howard, the C.I.A. agent, ran across the tarmac and greeted him.

‘I have a helicopter waiting,’ he said. He was a tall, thin, youngish man with thinning hair and an aggressive jaw. ‘Von Raitenau is expecting you. I’ll brief you as we go.’

O’Halloran nodded and the two men walked across the tarmac to where a military helicopter was waiting. Once settled in their seats behind the pilot and as the machine became airborne, Howard said, ‘Girland is trapped in a defunct copper mine. There are only two exits.’ He went on to tell O’Halloran about Jan and Blanca Braun. ‘I imagine Girland will try for the second exit. He’ll be damn lucky if he breaks out. From what von Raitenau tells me the tunnel is full of water and man-eating rats, but he might just do it. Malik and Smernoff are handling the operation. This could be dodgy.’

O’Halloran was completely relaxed.

‘I’ve known Girland for some time,’ he said. ‘He has this trick of survival. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he’ll get through.’

Howard grinned and shook his head.

‘No bet! I’ve heard plenty about Girland myself.’

The two men watched the ground slide under them as the helicopter pounded on towards the frontier.

* * *

Malik was getting worried. He had taken much longer than an hour, to get within distance of the mine and now there seemed to be considerable activity on this side of the frontier.

Three times he had to hide in the long grass as Austrian soldiers patrolled through the forest. Time was running out. It was now some minutes after four o’clock, and the sky was lightening.

For the moment the forest had become silent. Satisfied that the Austrian patrol had passed him, Malik stood up and began to move more quickly. In the distance he could see the outline of a derrick against the sky, and he knew he was at last approaching the entrance to the mine. But at this point, the forest petered out. He was now confronted by a large open space of rough grass and sand, and beyond, shrubs. He paused by a tree to listen. Somewhere to his right, he could hear men moving through the forest and a distant voice calling. He could see the mineshaft: a narrow tunnel overgrown by grass and shrubs. It would be from here that Girland would come if he came at all. Malik judged the distance and decided the range was too far for a certain shot with an automatic pistol. He would have to get closer: this would mean leaving his cover. Again he listened. The sound of movement and voices had died away He hesitated, then ran fast across the grass and sand and plunged down behind a shrub. He waited for an alarm, but nothing happened. He surveyed the ground. To his left, growing on a small hillock was a thick clump of wild shrubs. From there, if Girland came from the tunnel, he would have a perfect shot at him. He ran to the hillock and flattened down on the sand behind the shrub. He took the heavy automatic pistol from its holster, slid back the safety catch and checked the magazine, then satisfied, he laid it on the sand within instant reach.