Sleeper Agent (37 page)

A savage kick to his solar plexus, only partly blocked, shot a searing, blinding pain through his very being and sent him sprawling in gasping, nauseous dizziness. He doubled up in agony.

Tove was at his side.

Torturously he struggled to his feet, fighting to keep down the bitter vomit gurgling in his burning throat. In one blurred glance he registered the gun lying out of reach on the other side of the locked gate. He saw Rudi racing toward the big doors at the near end of the station hall.

Nothing. No one stood in his way. The travelers in the railroad terminal, conditioned to the sudden eruptions of violence, had scattered and taken cover immediately after the shot rang out.

Tom straightened up. Every cell in his body shrieked in pain-ridden protest. “Stay here!” he shouted hoarsely to Tove. He ran after the fleeing Rudi.

Tove followed.

Rudi ran from the station. He was coldly angry. He had nearly allowed himself to get caught At best, his safest escape route from the city had been sealed off. He would have to devise another way to get out. Fast

He dismissed it For now. His primary concern was to get away from his immediate pursuer. The
Ami
agent. He had no doubt that it was he who had tracked him down. He had to lose himself. Fast How? Where? He ran along the street.

Across from him was a stone portal. A gatehouse. Lights. Turnstiles. A metal accordian gate. Tivoli! It was a side entrance to the amusement park. In there he could lose himself in the crowds. Slip away undetected.

He at once crossed the street. There was no one in sight at the entrance, but the accordian gate stood partially open. He vaulted the turnstile and slipped through the gate opening. He stopped short

Before him lay the amusement park. Quiet Dimly lit. No crowds. No one at all. Where yesterday the jubilant Copenhageners had thronged, cheering and celebrating, the garden was silent and deserted. The protection of the crowds was gone. Tivoli was closed.

He turned back. Quickly he glanced toward the railroad terminal. He saw the American and someone else come hurrying from the building.

At that moment an elderly uniformed guard came out from the little gatehouse. He saw Rudi in the open gate. “
Hov, hov,”
he said amiably. “
Vi har lukket i Aften!—We
are closed tonight!”

Rudi ignored him. He threw a last glance toward his pursuers running down the street toward the park gate. He was committed. At once he turned and raced into the dark, deserted amusement park.

Tom came running toward the Tivoli gate. Rudi was nowhere to be seen. He saw the guard at the gate and headed toward him.

The gatekeeper planted himself resolutely in front of the turnstiles. As Tom came up to him he said firmly, “
Tivoli erlukket!"

Tove came running up. Tom gave her an angry look. “I thought I . . .” he began.

“Wait a little, Tom,” she interrupted him quietly. “I do not wish to be left behind like that. And you need me.”

He glared at her. She was right. “Ask this fellow if he has seen anyone,” he said, nodding toward the protective gatekeeper.

The man’s face lit up. “Oh, you are an Englishman!” he exclaimed delightedly. “I talk good English. Can I help? It is unhappy that Tivoli is closed this night,” he said sadly. “Last night we had open. Tomorrow again, Only tonight closed. It is because all is so dangerous. One never knows—”

Tom interrupted him. “Did anyone enter the park?” he asked urgently. “Now? Anyone at all?”

The guard nodded with obvious disapproval. “One young man,” he said. “Very rude.”

“How long ago?”

“Only a small piece of time.” He held up his right index finger. “One minute.” He held up his left index finger, crossing it with the right. “One half minute. No more.”

“Which way did he go?”

The guard pointed. “That way. Along to Koncertsalen—the concert hall. The one the Nazis blew up and burned in revenge upon the people of Copenhagen for the sabotage.” He shook his head with great sadness. He clapped his hands in front of him once. “All the music,” he said. “The instruments . . .”

“Thanks,” Tom said. He started for the gate.

The guard blocked his way. “Tivoli is closed!’ he said sternly.

“Look!” Tom snapped. “The man you saw run in there is a damned Nazi informer. A terrorist Very dangerous. We
must
catch him. Understand?”

Wide-eyed, the gatekeeper stared at him. “
Naa saadan,”
he said. “Like that.” He stood aside. “I let you go in!”

Tom at once started away. He stopped. He turned back to the guard. “Do you have a gun?” he asked.

The man looked startled. “Gun!” he exclaimed.

“Yes. A pistol. A gun.”

The gatekeeper looked indignant “No Tivoli
Kontroll
Ø
r
need to have a gun,
Her,”
he said. “No, no.” He shook his head, looking embarrassed.

Tom eyed him closely. “Do
you
have one?” he asked pointedly.

The man did not meet his eyes.

“It is important,” Tom said.

The man sighed. He ducked into the gatehouse. Almost at once he returned. He handed a gun to Tom. “I shall have it back,” he said. “It belongs to my brother. He was in America.”

Tom looked at the gun. It was an old single-action Colt .45 Cavalry Peacemaker, model 1889. A real six-shooter. He flipped it open. He spun the cylinder. It was full.

The gatekeeper watched him. “You understand,” he said apologetically. “It is . . . the times.”

Tom fished the piece of paper Sven had given him from his pocket. “You have a telephone?” he asked.

The guard nodded. “In there.” He pointed at the gatehouse.

Tom looked at Tove. Firmly she shook her head. He turned back to the guard. He held the paper out to him. “Call that number,” he said. “Talk to anyone. Tell them . . . tell them that Tove and the Moles need help. At once. In Tivoli. At the bombed-out concert hall.”

Automatically the man took the paper. Open-mouthed, he looked up to protest, but Tom and Tove were already hurrying toward the dark, dimly seen ruins of the Tivoli concert hall.

Rudi ran silently, easily along the paved walk in the dark amusement garden. Every nerve end, every fiber in his body was keyed up. The adrenalin surging through his system made everything exquisitely clear to him. His thoughts churned.

The man pursuing him was the
Ami
agent who had discovered his dossier. Somehow he had tracked him down. It was not important how. Not now. One man. One American. In Denmark. He could not possibly have the necessary support to mount a thorough manhunt. Not here. Not now. He
had
to rely upon himself. Even as he, Rudi, did. The two of them. One against the other. That was it. The
Ami
agent was the only real threat to him and to his mission.

It was no longer enough to avoid him—escape from him for the moment. The man was too good. Too tenacious. He would catch up to him again, the devil take it He had to be eliminated. Destroyed. Now!

He felt wildly stimulated. Wholly capable, wholly alert, invincible, as he ran along. He had been trained. Honed to an epitome of efficiency. He would put his training to use. He would do it now. He felt totally confident. His decision was made. He felt free. He had long since learned that making a decision, good or bad, brings relief. Until it is made, you live in both hells. He would kill the
Ami
agent Annihilate the threat to himself and KOKON.

Quickly he glanced around the darkened park as he ran. Ahead of him loomed the dark nightmare shapes of twisted beams and crumbled fire-sooted walls. The ruins of a large building.

He altered his direction slightly. He ran toward the exposed misshapen skeleton of the ravaged structure. He was suddenly conscious of the crunching sounds his footsteps made as he left the paved walk and ran across a stretch of gravel.

He dismissed the thought. It did not matter. He knew what he had to do.
He knew how.
He disappeared into the forbidding ruins.

It had once been a chase. Suddenly that was millennia ago. Now it had become a chilling contest to the death.

Tom and Tove ran cautiously along the shadow-streaked Tivoli path. Suddenly Tom stopped. He listened intently. In the distance, from the direction of the contorted ruins of a large structure, came the faint sound of footsteps running on loose gravel. Then silence.

He glanced at Tove. “The wrecked concert hall?” he whispered.

She nodded.

He looked into the girl’s upturned face. His thoughts whirled through his mind. Rudi appeared to be headed for the ruins. Should he wait for help to arrive?

No. Rudi undoubtedly would be long gone before that happened. He had to keep the pressure on.

Tove? He could not let her go along. He could not place her in danger. There was another way she could be useful.

“Look, Tove,” be said, his voice low, urgent. “Will you help?”

“Of course,” she said unhesitatingly.

“It looks as if Rudi’s making for the concert hall. I’m going in after him.”

She started to speak. He stopped her short. “I want
you
to circle around. Quickly. Approach the place from the opposite side. Then make a little noise. Let him hear you.”

Her eyes grew bright “I understand. It will be like a . . . a game drive.”

“Exactly. But don’t overdo it. Don’t get too close. Don’t be obvious. Just worry him. Get his attention.”

“I will.”

“Go!” he whispered tightly.

Quickly, silently she ran off, disappearing into the gloom of the deserted park.

Tom took the gatekeeper’s gun from his belt. It was heavy, unwieldy in his hand. Ludicrous. He stared at it He felt ridiculous. Wyatt Earp stalking the badman? Still, it was a weapon.

He glanced around. On his left was a large open space. Benches. Flowerbeds. Trees. Barely made out in the dim reflected light from the city outside. On his right stood a row of shoulder-to-shoulder darkened buildings. Booths. Little restaurants. Souvenir shops. All closed. Dead.

He moved close, into the deeper shadows along the buildings, and noiselessly made his way toward the bomb-blasted concert hall ahead. He stopped.

The ruins loomed before him directly across the walk. A long single wall still standing, hollow sockets of empty round-arched windows above great onion-topped archways, staring hauntingly down on a ghostly sea of twisted, tortured steel girders and beams and charred wooden rafters and logs. An abominable monument to wanton, malicious destruction.

A barrier surrounded the area, cutting it off from the rest of the park, isolating its ugly affront from the beauty, the serenity and fairyland spell around it

Crouched low, he silently crossed the walk and took cover at the barrier. A black-lettered sign read,
ADGANG FORBUDT.
He guessed it meant “Entrance Forbidden.” He had a quick impulse to obey the warning.

He vaulted the barrier. He froze, standing next to a cluster of twisted pipes. He listened tensely. He stood motionless in a bubble of silence. There was nothing to be heard except the steady faint, jumbled roar of the surrounding city.

He stared into the shadowy shapes of the forbidding ruins. The diffused reddish light from the battery of gaudy neon signs and street illumination in the business section of the city ringing the amusement park seeped sluggishly through the jungle of monstrously twisted and buckled steel girders, pipes and beams, the charred and scorched timbers and the jumble of hulking bomb-scarred masonry peopling the ruins with weird and ominous shadow creatures. The eerie indistinctness of the reflected light lent a disturbing aura of impending menace to the scene.

Tom felt it enter his body, penetrating to the very marrow of his bones. Cautiously, silently he took a few steps deeper into the unearthly maze. He stopped. Slowly his eyes swept the labyrinthian confusion of tortured debris rising above him.

He listened. There was no motion. No sound. He took another step—and stopped short.

From the distance, across the darkened ruins, came the faint sound of metal scraping metal, a, soft plop—and silence.

Tove.

His blood rushed faster, pounding in his ears. Quickly, noiselessly, he moved farther into the entanglement of warped metal, blackened wood and shattered masonry.

Again he stopped. Nothing. Before him yawned a large black pit. A gutted basement. Jagged, pointed steel spikes reached up toward him from the murky depth, like the spears and lances from a giant deadfall trap.

A couple of massive steel beams, toppled in the long-ago holocaust, had fallen across the gaping hole, forming a rusty bridge across the inky pit a foot or two from a towering wall.

For a moment he stood motionless, listening. Once again he heard a distant muffled noise. Cautiously, his senses fully alert, he started across.

Suddenly he froze. The skin on his back crawled icily. He did not know if he had heard a barely audible sound very near, or if he had been touched by the cold finger of pure instinct But he knew he was not alone.

And then he heard it. A sharp, chilling whispered command from the blackness before him: “
Stillgestanden!
—Don’t move!”

Rudi felt elated.

It had been easy. Almost too easy. He had not let himself be distracted by the decoy sounds in the distance. He had been certain the
Ami
would follow him. He had to. He had picked his ambush spot carefully. The damned
Ami
was pitifully exposed. He could kill him at once. Be free. Safe. He and KOKON. But, dammit, he wanted the enemy to
know.
Know that he had lost Know that he, Rudi A-27, was taking his beshitted life!

He stepped from the shadow cover. He raised his gun. “
Du hast verloren!”
he said. “You lose!”

The fraction of a second between Rudi’s taunt and Tom’s reaction was broken up into myriad small eternities.

Only dimly could Tom make out the figure that had suddenly appeared on the beams before him. Only the gun pointed unwaveringly at his guts stood out clearly. But he knew who it was.