1967 - Have This One on Me (12 page)

Watched by Worthington, Bruckman went immediately to the angel, lifted off the head and reached down into the body.

He pulled out the brown paper parcel, replaced the head and moved quickly to the door. He hadn’t been in the apartment more than a minute or so. He turned off the light, stepped out on to the dark landing, relocked the door and then using a small flashlight, he started down the stairs.

Zernov watched him. He saw Bruckman was now carrying a brown paper parcel in his left hand. This could be important for Zernov was sure Bruckman hadn’t had the parcel when he had entered the apartment. He decided he had to know what the parcel contained. Drawing his gun and leaving his shoes on the stairs, he sneaked silently down to the landing as Bruckman made his way heavily and slowly to the street level, lighting the stairs with the beam of his flashlight.

Zernov groped and found the time switch button that controlled the light on the stairs. He turned the switch on. Light flared up on the stairs. Bruckman spun around, dropping his flashlight, his hand whipping out his automatic. His movements were so swift, Zernov was taken by surprise. Bruckman saw him at the head of the staircase and immediately fired. The bang of the gun crashed through the silent building, Zernov staggered back. Bruckman’s bullet had ripped through his sleeve, nicking his forearm, but even as he staggered, he fired three times, and his aim was more deadly than Bruckman’s.

Hit in the chest and the left arm, Bruckman fell backwards, rolling and sliding down the stairs to the second landing. The time switch, set only for a minute and working badly, turned off the light.

Cursing, Zernov, his arm burning, blood dripping down his fingers, once again groped for the switch, but couldn’t find it.

He heard Bruckman get to his feet and start, with stumbling feet, down the stairs.

Realising Bruckman might get away, not knowing how badly he had wounded him, Zernov started down the stairs in pursuit.

Bruckman heard him coming. He turned and fired up the stairs.

The bullet whipped past Zemov’s face. He crouched down in the darkness and waited, then he heard Bruckman resume his stumbling descent. The big man was moving slowly now.

Shot through the lungs, Bruckman knew this was his finish. He could scarcely breathe and was slowly drowning in his blood, but his toughness kept him moving. He forced his body down the last flight of stairs and he staggered into the lobby. He paused there, still clutching the brown paper parcel under his left arm. He spat blood, then moved slowly and heavily, like a stricken elephant, out into the dimly lit street.

Zernov crept down into the lobby. Bruckman’s broad back, outlined against the street lights, made a perfect target. Lifting his gun, Zernov squeezed the trigger.

Bruckman reared back, then fell on his side, the brown paper parcel falling into the gutter.

Nicalok. hearing the shooting, came charging down into the street, gun in hand, from the opposite building.

Girland watched from a nearby doorway. He saw Bruckman fall and the parcel slide from under his arm into the gutter He had drawn his automatic, but the sudden blare of police sirens warned him it would be too dangerous to attempt to get the parcel.

He ran silently down the street, keeping in the shadows, and ducked down the first narrow lane he came to as the police cars skidded to a halt.

Moving quickly, he headed back to his hotel. That was that, he thought in disgust. Thirty thousand dollars down the drain!

Well, he would pack and get out There was now no point in staying in Prague. Then he thought of the T.S. document. There was now no Bruckman to take it back to Dorey. Why should you care? he asked himself, but he found he was slowing his pace and abruptly he came to a standstill, leaning against a shabby wall while his thoughts were busy. To hell with Dorey! he tried to tell himself. Then he grimaced. He couldn’t let a document of that importance fall into Russian hands. You sucker! he said to himself. He thought for some minutes. There was Malik to take into consideration. Girland knew he couldn’t hope to leave the country without being searched. Then he remembered Mala Reid. She was one of Dorey’s agents. It must be her job to get the papers to Dorey.

Girland decided he would contact her, and slightly cheered, he looked around for a taxi. He was lucky to find one after a patient wait and was driven to the Alhambra nightclub. As he walked into the shattering noise of swing music and the buzz of voices, a waiter came out of the darkness.

‘I’m sorry, sir, we have no free tables.’

Girland took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet.

‘Squeeze me in somewhere,’ he said, allowing the waiter to get a good glimpse of the bill. ‘I want some privacy.’

The bill changed hands.

‘I have a booth reserved for eleven-thirty, sir. You could have it for half an hour.’

‘That’s fine,’ Girland said and followed the waiter along a narrow corridor to a small booth with a table set for four that looked directly on to the miniature stage.

‘Would this do, sir?’ the waiter asked.

‘Yeah ... don’t run away.’ Girland grimaced at the sound coming from the stage. Four underdressed, unattractive girls were singing. Their shrill, untrained voices magnified by the microphone, beat against his ear drums. He sat down at the table, took a blank card from his wallet and wrote:
Would you
join me? I am
interested in
buying your angel.
He gave the card to the waiter.

‘Give this to Mala Reid, and make yourself another ten bucks.’

The waiter gaped at him, read the card and then grinned.

‘Yes, sir. Do you want dinner?’

‘No ... I want Miss Reid ... hurry it up Comrade.’

When the waiter had gone, Girland sat back in the semi-darkness and listened to the noise the four girls were making.

Their act finally finished and a few subdued lights came on. It was obviously the interval. He lit a cigarette and continued to wait.

Ten minutes later, the door of the booth pushed open and Mala came in. She was still wearing her blue frock She had just been about to change when the waiter had brought Girland’s message. She was very tense and her eyes showed her alarm. When she saw Girland, she started back, half turned to run, then stopped, staring at him ‘Hello, baby,’ Girland said, getting to his feet. ‘Come on in.’ He had to raise his voice to be heard above the noise of the people talking in the restaurant below. ‘Remember me? Yes, I see you do. Don’t look so scared. I’m always nice to lovely women.’

Mala remained motionless, staring at him, terrified.

‘What - what do you want?’

‘Sit down,’ Girland said. ‘Relax. You and I have lots to talk about. Would you like a drink?’

‘No ... what do you want?’

‘Sit down.’ Girland pulled out a chair. ‘You don’t have to be scared of me. Come on ... sit down.’

Very tense, reluctantly. Mala took the chair.

Girland said quietly. ‘Now watch carefully ... this mean anything to you?’ He touched the knot of his tie ran his thumbs down the back of his coat lapels and tapped his right shoulder with his left hand. This was a combination of signals that all Dorey’s agents used when they contacted other agents they didn’t know.

Mala recognised the signals. She knew then this handsome, very dashing looking American had come from Dorey, but that didn’t still her fears.

She nodded.

‘Fine,’ Girland said. ‘Now listen carefully ... you have a job to do.’ He began to tell her about Dorey’s plan to use him as a smoke screen, but Mala interrupted him.

‘Stop! I don’t want to hear! I’m not working for him anymore! Don’t tell me anything!’

Girland regarded her, his eyes hardening.

‘You are Dorey’s agent in Prague, aren’t you? What are you talking about?’

‘I’m not working any more for him!’ Mala said desperately.

She got to her feet. ‘I don’t want anything to do with you!’

‘You’ll have to have something to do with me,’ Girland said. ‘Sit down!’

She hesitated, then seeing the expression in his eyes, she obeyed.

‘You’ve reached a point of no return,’ Girland said. ‘Now listen ...’ Speaking briefly, he told her of Dorey’s plan to get Latimer into Prague, how Dorey had made him the smoke screen, and about the thirty thousand dollars. He went on to tell her about Bruckman’s part and how he had been shot. ‘So the money’s gone.’ Girland concluded. ‘We are now landed with a Top Secret document that must be got back to Dorey. I can’t get it out. Malik knows too much about me. It is now up to you ...’ He paused as he saw she was shaking her head.

‘He didn’t get the money. We found it. It’s on the base of the angel,’ she said.

‘We? Who is we?’

Mala hesitated. There was something about this man that inspired her with confidence. He was so unlike Worthington.

She felt, if anyone could help her, this man would. She told him about Worthington.

Girland listened, suppressing a groan.

There was a tap on the door. Both stiffened as the door opened. Worthington, wearing his horn spectacles and carrying his suitcase, came into the booth.

chapter five

M
alik popped open the brown paper parcel that had been found by Bruckman’s body. He glared at the two folded newspapers, then went through them rapidly to see if there was anything marked, then flung them to the floor.

He looked at Zernov who was nursing a heavily bandaged arm.

‘You killed a man for this?’

Only Smernoff who knew Malik well, realised how close Malik was to explosion point.

Suk who was with Zernov, said, ‘He was doing what he thought was right.’

Malik glared at him.

‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ He switched his green eyes to Zernov. ‘You killed a man for this?’

‘He shot at me,’ Zernov said sullenly. ‘I had no alternative.’

‘This is now an international incident,’ Malik said. ‘This man is one of Dorey’s agents. There will be an inquiry by the American Ambassador. This shooting will make headline news in the Capitalist press. By your stupidity, you have ruined the operation I have arranged. By turning on the light as you did, you have proved yourself a fool and utterly incompetent.’

Zemov’s flat, brutal face shone with sweat.

‘I - I thought ...’ he stammered but Malik cut him short.

‘Thought? How can you think without a brain? Get out!’

Although Malik’s face was expressionless, his green eyes were so malevolent, Zernov recoiled. He hurriedly left the room.

Malik turned and looked at Suk.

‘That man must be punished. He is useless to you ... do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

There was a pause, then Malik asked. ‘Where is Girland?’

Suk squinted at him.

‘Girland? I - I don’t know. He is being shadowed. What has he to do with this?’

‘Find out where he is! I want to know!’

As Suk made to pick up the telephone, Malik went on, ‘Go elsewhere! I need the telephone.’

‘Yes.’

Suk hurriedly left the room.

Malik closed his huge hands into fists. Smernoff watched him, feeling it was safer to say nothing. Malik remained still for a long moment, then he said: ‘What an operation! You allow Vlast to kill himself! That oaf kills one of Dorey’s best men! This woman Reid will be alerted! And then there’s Girland ... can’t anything I order be carried out!’

‘So what do we do?’ Smernoff said. He found Malik’s tantrums boring.

Malik stared at him.

‘We pick up the girl and Girland. We’ll make them talk. I am now handling this myself. I can’t trust any of these fools!’

‘Suppose we wait for Suk’s report?’ Smernoff said, lighting a cigarette. ‘The girl is at the nightclub now. Her act comes on in fifty minutes. We have time. We can pick her up when she leaves.’

Malik contained himself with an effort.

‘Yes ... give me a cigarette.’

‘Why don’t you buy your own cigarettes?’ Smernoff grumbled and handed over a pack of Benson & Hedges.

‘These are capitalist cigarettes,’ Malik said.

Smernoff grinned.

‘I like them. If you don’t want to smoke that kind of cigarette, why should I care?’

Malik lit the cigarette and tossed the pack back to Smernoff.

‘Why newspapers in a parcel?’ he said, thinking aloud.

‘Bruckman broke into the woman’s apartment. Let us imagine he was looking for something of value and this woman planted this parcel.’ He looked at the newspapers on the floor. ‘There might be a hidden message there. They must be examined.’

Suk came into the room, white-faced, his forehead moist.

‘They have lost him,’ he said, his voice despairing ‘I had three men covering him ... yet, they have lost him!’

Malik made a savage movement with his hand.

‘This will be reported Comrade Suk. Girland is not to leave the country. I hold you personally responsible. I want this man!’

Turning to Smernoff, he said, ‘We will now pick up the girl. She could tell us where Worthington is hiding. I want him too.’

He glared at Suk. ‘Have her apartment searched!’

He left the room, followed by Smernoff.

Suk mopped his face, the n picked up the telephone receiver. He began to give instructions to every frontier post, the airport and to the guards at the railway station.

‘This man must be detained,’ he kept saying. ‘There must be no mistake.’

* * *

Worthington was telling his story. He sat huddled down in the chair, facing Mala and Girland. His eyes were wide with alarm.

Hearing the shooting, he explained, he realised that very soon the police would arrive and search the apartment.

‘I packed some things for you,’ he said, looking at Mala. ‘We can’t go back. They will be looking for you now. They could come here.’

Girland was examining this tall, weak-looking Englishman.

He asked himself what the hell he was getting into by being involved with a man like this.

‘How about the money?’ he asked, watching Worthington closely.

Worthington stiffened, then looked quickly at Mala.