Red Crystal (46 page)

Suddenly he looked across at Victoria and narrowed his eyes in an unspoken gesture of mutual support.

Victoria’s stomach lurched and she looked away.

Giorgio stood back and said to them both, ‘The mouth tapes – they go on again if you make any noise.’

Victoria stared at him. She realized without surprise that he was
exactly
the same as before. He hadn’t changed a bit. The only difference was in herself: she was seeing him for what he was.

Giorgio repeated, ‘No noise. Understand?’ He walked back into the main cellar, heading for the steps. He was going to leave them again. In the dark and cold.

Finding her courage, Victoria said, ‘Please!’ Her voice came out as a high-pitched whine. She controlled it. ‘We need water. Please let us have water. And some blankets. And a lavatory.’

Giorgio paused deliberately on the first step and swung slowly round. He said heavily, ‘I said no noise.’

She hesitated. ‘
Please
. Water. And a bucket. Something …’

He turned and walked deliberately up the stairs. Through the archway she saw him pause with his hand on the light switch.

She called out, ‘And leave the light on.
Please
.’

He made a face of annoyance and, turning abruptly, went out and closed the door. The light was still on.

There was a long silence.

Eventually Henry said, ‘Well done. We’ve got some light at least.’ His voice sounded strangely matter-of-fact. He was trying to reassure her.

Victoria couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I … I don’t know what to say to you. It’s all my fault. The whole thing. I …’ She swallowed hard and forced herself to go on: she couldn’t bear him to think that she was innocent. ‘I – thought they were –
we
were – in trouble. They persuaded me to come and see you. I – had no idea that – they had guns or anything. I – was a complete fool. I—’

‘Please stop.’ The voice was firm and final.

‘I just can’t bear to think of what I’ve done to you.’

Henry said tensely. ‘There’s just no point in wasting energy on – talking.’ He added less sternly, ‘We may be here for a long time. We must – husband our resources. We must concentrate on dealing with these people in the only way they understand, which is to be businesslike. I suggest we speak only when we are spoken to, and without aggravating them in any way. We must be cooperative, but without earning their contempt. If we do have to make requests, we should make them politely and firmly. Then – at least we will have done all we can.’

He was right, of course. She could see that. He was being everything she was not: cool and rational and dignified. He was refusing to be defeated by these people, and raising himself above their ghastliness. The least she could do was to support him. She thought: I mustn’t let him down.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I agree.’

After a while he asked, ‘Any idea where we are?’

She braced herself to speak the words. ‘Yes. At – my farm.’

He looked at her sharply. ‘Then – someone will find us, surely. Someone will call in, won’t they?’

‘Only people hoping to buy the place … But there haven’t been many, so the agent said …’ She trailed off.

‘But people will realize you’re missing. So they’re
bound
to come here.’ There was a note of optimism to his voice.

Victoria shook her head slowly. ‘I’m afraid not … I don’t think anyone will miss me.’ She thought: What a thing to be able to say.

‘But—’ He broke off. Finally he said in quiet resignation, ‘I was thinking that, once they realized you’d come to my house, they would work it out from there.’

‘Yes?’

‘But no one knew. Except Jenkins.’

There was a heavy pause and they did not speak for a long time.

Victoria thought about her life and how different it would be in the future. If she ever got out of this she would be utterly changed. Unselfish and caring. She would spend her life serving other people. She would never be the same again. Never.

The cellar door opened.

The woman came down the steps. A gun was slung over her shoulder, the gun she had used before.

She peered at them, then disappeared, leaving the door open. When she reappeared she was walking backwards, carrying something large and heavy. It was a long wooden box with handles. Giorgio was carrying the other end.

Victoria blinked. She recognized the box: it belonged to the tractor. It contained all the spare parts – the couplings, the tools, the wheel braces. But
why
were they bringing it down here?

They moved with a relentless purpose that filled her with foreboding.

They brought the box into the brick chamber and dumped it on the floor. The woman opened the lid. Victoria saw that the hinged lid had been sawn into two sections, and the interior partitions removed.

Giorgio went up to Henry and pulled him to his feet. Reaching behind, he cut the tapes from Henry’s wrists. Henry stretched his arms and let out a long gasp of relief and pain.

The woman stood back a little way. She had the gun at her hip, aimed at Henry.

Victoria watched, stiff with dread.

The woman said, ‘Get in.’

There was a ghastly silence. No one moved.

‘Get in!’

Victoria stared in horror. She meant into the
box
.

Henry drew a long and deep breath. He looked very white. He took a step forward and stared at the box. He whispered, ‘I don’t think I’ll fit.’

‘
Get in!
’

Henry swayed slightly, then leant down to take off his shoes.

Victoria said, ‘No!’

The woman turned the barrel of the gun on her. ‘Shut … up …’

Henry stood at the side of the box, staring down into it, disbelief on his face. He looked up at the woman questioningly.

She hissed, ‘This is the last time.
Get in
!’

Slowly he climbed in and attempted to lie down. The box was too short by at least a foot and he could not straighten his knees. The woman stepped forward and, pushing his knees over to one side, forced the main section of the hinged lid shut. The smaller lid section was left open, so that only Henry’s face remained visible.

The woman said, ‘That’ll do.’

She went back up the steps and disappeared. Giorgio stood back, apparently waiting for the woman to return.

Victoria climbed to her feet and staggered over to him. ‘You can’t do this! It’s appalling and cruel! You can’t do it!’

He regarded her calmly. ‘Why not? Tell me.’

‘Because – it’s
inhuman
.’

He shrugged. ‘The whole world is inhuman. Especially humans. They are the worst of all. Didn’t you realize that?’

‘But
he’s
not inhuman. He’s – a
good
man!’

He was contemptuous. ‘You don’t know
anything
. You’re a spoilt child, Victoria. You’re rich and stupid. Yet people like you rule the world. Why should that be? It must be wrong. And you tell me that
I
am inhuman.’ He shook his head. ‘You try being poor and having nothing, Vittoria, and being shut up in jail by people like
him
!’ He shot a glance at Henry. ‘Your little world would not be so happy.’ He spoke with exasperation and contempt.

She whispered bitterly, ‘You’re
sick
! You should be
put down
! You—’

The cellar door opened. The woman was returning.

Giorgio said under his breath. ‘Get away or she’ll kill you.’

Victoria knew it was true. She retreated into the main cellar and shrank back against the wall.

The woman ran down the steps, carrying a holdall. She glared at Victoria, and went past her into the small cellar. She barked at Giorgio, ‘Keep the gun on him. In case he moves.’ Giorgio aimed it at Henry’s head.

Then the woman set to work. Victoria watched through the archway. At first she couldn’t understand what the woman was doing. Then Gabriele reached into the holdall and Victoria caught sight of the contents, and felt very sick.

The sticks. The explosives that had been hidden in the van.

Victoria cried softly, ‘Oh no … Oh no …’

The woman worked inexorably on. She taped a bundle of the explosives together and placed them on Henry’s chest.

Victoria moved forward. ‘Let it be
me
. Please,’ she begged. ‘Let it be
me
instead. Oh
please
. Let him go. Oh
please
.’

The woman bent down to replace something carefully on the ground. Then she whirled round. The first thing Victoria saw was the gun butt coming through the air, then there was an explosion in her head and she was falling rapidly backwards.

She fell heavily and for a moment lay stunned. She regained her breath and slowly, painfully, pulled herself upright. The woman was working on. She was strapping the explosives to Henry’s body. Then she sat down on the floor and remained bent over some intricate task for a long time. Finally she knelt over Henry and, moving very carefully, appeared to complete her work. She gestured to Giorgio to close the lid of the box very slowly. Just before it closed, she peered under it and nodded.

Giorgio put down his gun and, taking some nails and a hammer from the holdall, nailed down the lid of the box. Finally the woman bent down beside the box and pulled at something.

The woman stood up, a length of thread in her hand. She looked rather pleased with the job. She said, ‘Right. This thing is booby-trapped. If anyone tries to open it, it’ll go sky high. I’m the only one who knows how to defuse it. Understand?’

Then she bent over Henry’s face and whispered, ‘How does it feel, attorney-man? How does it feel to be locked up like all those kids in prison? Like being in a coffin, isn’t it? Soon you’ll be lying in your own dirt, in your own coffin.
Then you’ll know
.’

Victoria thought:
This is a nightmare
.

The woman tidied away her tools. She was very neat.

Giorgio came towards Victoria. He had a knife in his hand. Victoria held her breath. He reached behind her. The next moment her hands were free. He said, ‘You are to keep him alive. I’ll bring water and food later.’

Then he and the woman were leaving, climbing the stairs, switching off the light, closing the door.

Victoria crawled slowly back into the small cellar, feeling for the box with her hands in case she should bump into it. Finally she came to it. Kneeling close beside it, she put her head near to Henry’s and cried softly, ‘Henry …’

She paused. There
were
no words. She breathed, ‘Oh, Henry, I’m so – desperately – sorry.’

There was no reply.

She began to cry silently. ‘If there’s anything I can do – I will. I
will
.’

Finally, after a long while, there came a whisper.

‘Leave me alone. Leave me – alone.’

Gabriele zipped up the holdall and put it in the kitchen. She glanced at her watch. Eleven. Time was getting on. In Paris it was already twelve.

She took the slip of paper out of her handbag and, going to the phone that stood on the window-sill in the hall, she dialled the number of the dingy offices in the Latin Quarter. She’d already called the number once that morning, but much earlier.

It answered.

‘Raymond? Any news?’

‘Far, far too soon,’ came the reply. ‘It will take me many more hours. It is not something that can be arranged quickly.’

‘I thought there would be no problem—’

‘I am sure there will not, but it is still something that cannot be rushed.’

‘When shall I call back?’

‘Tonight.’

Gabriele hung up. She hated the uncertainty. She wanted all the arrangements to be made and her retreat secure. But she would have to press on.

She took a sheet of paper from her handbag and unfolded it. Earlier she had spent some time composing a communiqué. She had rewritten it several times until she was satisfied. However she had been forced to leave a blank after the words ‘Guarantee free passage to’. Now, reluctantly, she wrote in: ‘the country of our choice.’

Then, on the stroke of twelve, she lifted the telephone and dialled a number in London.

Nick’s mind felt like a thick soup. It was twelve noon. He’d been at it since midnight and had come up with precisely nothing.

He’d begun with listing everything he could remember about Gabriella. Everything she’d said or done. Everything she’d worn, down to her jewellery, which was one gold chain around her neck. Details of her life history, year by year. Conway and two other Branch men had helped there; they’d been on the task all the previous day, finding out about the missing years between university and the present time. At first there’d been several large gaps in her history, but one by one they had been accounted for. She’d been issued with a permit for a stall at Camden market and had sold second-hand books there; she’d worked briefly at a small publishing company; she’d been involved in a housing action group; she’d spoken at minor anti-Vietnam meetings, she’d applied for unemployment benefit. Gradually the picture had built up.

There was only one large gap remaining, and that was for the time between her escape from the hospital in Paris and her reappearance in London as Gabriella Carelli. The gap was sixteen months. Where had she been in that time? There was no clue.

The French couldn’t help. They had no trace of her in the chaos after the student uprising. The Italians? They had never heard of her. The British Intelligence Service, MI6, could offer no suggestions.

It was a mystery.

But wherever she had been, she had learnt to make bombs and kill people.

Next Nick turned to Black Beard.

Wheatfield’s friend – and Gabriella’s lover?

He had to be. Who else had the clothes in the mews house wardrobe belonged to? And the masculine toiletries in the bathroom?

It was another realization that made Nick sick with remorse. Black Beard had been close by all the time. A simple check, a surveillance, would almost certainly have led straight to him.

The immigration files had been combed for any likely Italians who fitted Black Beard’s description, but thousands and thousands of Italians visited Britain every year. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.