Ring of Terror (27 page)

He was being driven by horror.

The trap door opened easily enough. The attic was in half darkness. There were no windows, but enough light was filtering through the tiles for him to see that the only contents were a couple of large packing cases.

He moved one of them on to the closed trap door. It was heavy, but even the two together would not hold the bull-like strength of Weil and Luwinski. He sat down on the other case and tried to make himself think.

He knew that it was no good stopping where he was. As soon as his escape was discovered, the Russians would come after him. The guards outside would tell them that he had not left the building. As soon as they had searched the bedrooms, the ladder to the loft would beckon them. He must move, but his limbs felt powerless and his mind was confused.

What suggested the next step was a memory. Wensley, cornered on the roof of the brewery during the Sidney Street siege, had escaped by removing tiles and dropping through into the building below. Why should he not do the same, in reverse? Standing on the case, he would be within easy reach of the roof. No sooner thought of than done.

He wrenched at the wooden slats in the ceiling, tearing his fingers in his haste until the blood ran down over his wrists. When he had reached and moved one tile the rest was easy and he soon had a hole big enough to squeeze through. He had come out on the inner slope of the roof that ran down towards the synagogue. He slid forward cautiously and, with his heels in the gutter, peered down into the dimness.

He thought he saw a figure moving at the point where the passageway ran out into Stratford Road. No question, then, of climbing down. But safety was ahead of him. Separated from him only by the width of the passage.

He was level with the top of the parapet which circled the synagogue roof and the gap between the two buildings was not more, he judged, than seven feet. With any sort of running start he could have cleared it easily, but he would have to launch himself from a sitting position with his heels in the gutter. As he looked down, his heart sank. If he failed to reach the parapet and fell, the least he could hope for was two broken legs. The men in the passage would see him fall and would call to the others. And then—

The decision was taken out of his hands. Hearing trampling of feet and a bull-like roar from just below him, he shut his eyes, uttered a prayer and jumped.

He landed against the parapet, with most of the breath driven from his body, and with the cold certainty that, since more of his weight was below the top of the parapet than above it, he would not be able to hoist himself up on to it. It would have been different if the parapet had been sharp edged. Then he might have got a real grip of it and used the strength of his arms to hoist himself up. As it was he faced the bleak realisation that he would have to hang there, his fingers slipping on the rounded surface until they lost the last of their power and he fell.

Like a rock climber whose hand-hold fails him he searched for a toe-hold, the tiniest crack or fissure, to give him if not safety, at least a respite. Careful not to let the movement shake him loose altogether, he explored with his right foot and found the support he was seeking. With a splintering of glass the toe of his shoe went through the blessed Chasdal ibn Shaprut. His left toe felt for and found the learned Johan ibn Janach. With firm supports for both feet he was able to straighten his legs and heave himself over the parapet and on to the lead-lined walk-way which ran round the roof of the synagogue.

At the point where the runway reached the tower block, one of the ceiling lights was open and the sound of an organ being played came up to him. The deep notes must have touched a chord in his over-tried mind, for he found himself on his knees, listening with tears running down his face.

‘Yes, I see,’ said Wensley. ‘So, having slipped your bonds, you got up on to the roof and jumped across. Hadn’t it occurred to you that you might leave by the rather less dangerous method of getting out of one of the back bedroom windows and down a drain pipe?’

‘No good. There was a man – maybe two men – in the alley.’

‘Were there indeed?’ Wensley looked at his watch and seemed to be working out times.

‘I agree it was risky, but I heard them coming up after me. Of course, I wasn’t to know that I was going to be helped.’

‘Helped?’

‘By the blessed Shaprut and the learned Janach.’ Luke started to laugh at the thought and having started found it difficult to stop.

Wensley looked at him coldly and then said, ‘If you’re referring to the stained-glass windows, we’ve already had one of the Rabbi’s young men round to complain about it. He arrived a few minutes before you did. The damage has been put down to the Russians.’

‘I’m glad about that,’ said Luke. The laughter was draining out of him.

‘I think you’d better come along with me. Macnaghten has lent me his machine, so we’ll travel in style.’

‘Could you tell me where we’re going?’

‘Back to Brownsong Court, of course.’

‘I can’t think you’ll find anyone there, sir. As soon as they found I’d gone, surely they’ll have scattered.’

‘They won’t find it easy to scatter,’ said Wensley. ‘We’ve had fifty armed men round the place for the last half hour. The first ones to get there may have been the men you saw in the passage.’

‘Oh,’ said Luke blankly, ‘then I needn’t have risked that jump.’

‘On the contrary. I’m glad you did. If we’re going to tackle this crowd I’d much rather do it when they weren’t holding you as a hostage. Come along.’ He grabbed Luke, not unkindly, by the arm. ‘I’ll tell you the rest as we go.’

When they were comfortably seated in the car he said, ‘This afternoon the Rabbi came round. It had taken him an hour or more to weigh his public duty against his private fears. Came down on the right side in the end. I think that’s a good omen. The pendulum’s swinging.’

Joscelyne had set up his headquarters in a large draper’s shop a few yards east of the entrance to Brownsong Court. The stock in trade had been carefully piled on one side and the Superintendent had established himself behind the cashier’s desk. Luke, whose mind was turning to fantasy as the day wore on, wondered if he was using the arrangement of overhead wires and little trolleys to send messages to his men, some of whom were sitting behind the counters whilst others were in a room at the back.

‘Any trouble?’ said Wensley.

‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ said Joscelyne. ‘Three of their men were patrolling round the building. I sent a section of our chaps to pull them in. When they saw them coming, they shot at them. No. No one was hit. When our men fired back they looked upset. Unfair, they thought. They disappeared into the building and we heard them bolting the door. However, we’ve got hammers heavy enough to break it down and ladders which’ll reach the bedroom windows. All we need is to give the signal.’

He spoke loudly enough for his men to hear. They looked serious, but determined. ‘Quite a few of Daddy Tucker and Bob Bentley’s friends here,’ he added.

Wensley said, ‘Fine – I’m sure they’ll do a good job. But if you don’t mind, I think we ought to try the effect of argument and reason first. Since my grasp of Russian isn’t all that hot, I’ll take young Pagan along as an interpreter.’

Wensley gave him no time to protest. As Luke followed him, he croaked out, ‘Shouldn’t we be armed?’

‘You could borrow a gun if you felt like it,’ said Wensley. ‘I’ve never carried one myself. But I’ve got a piece of paper which might be equally effective.’

He walked out across Stratford Road and down Brownsong Court and thumped on the door of Solomon’s building. After a moment they heard a roar from Weil inside. ‘Let ‘em in.’ The bolts were shot back and they walked through to the back room.

There was a hole in the floor, surrounded by a rampart of earth. Luke counted nine men crowded round Weil, all young except for Spiridov and Levin.

‘Say what you’ve got to say,’ said Weil, ‘and make it quick. We’ve got some work to finish.’

‘The first thing to tell them,’ said Wensley, ‘is that we’ve got thirty-six armed men – trained marksmen – round this building. If you start a gun-fight it will end in a massacre. And a massacre is exactly what your bosses in Russia are playing for. You could say “praying” instead of “playing” if you thought it sounded better.’

Luke wondered whether he had enough control of his own voice to speak at all. He was scared and he was deathly tired. But he realised that this was the moment he had been trained for. Trained by his tutor to turn his thoughts into colloquial Russian; trained by the Rector to think logically; trained by his father to forget fatigue and get on with the job. He found himself able to reproduce what Wensley said – even, in places, to improve on it.

‘Right. Now you can read them the first clause in this Order in Council.’

‘”All persons coming to this country from abroad during the last three years who have no fixed employment or who have committed or been parties to criminal acts will be returned to the country from which they came.’”

‘Tell them that if they provoke a battle, this will be laid on the table in the House of Commons on Monday.’

Luke simplified this to ‘will become law on Monday’.

‘Bluff,’ said Weil. ‘Pay no heed.’

‘You will notice, however, that the two men who were sent here to provoke trouble – Janis Silistreau and Casimir Treschau – have taken steps to look after themselves. They are running away. Their passages were booked on the Polish boat
Gdansk,
leaving this afternoon.’

This indication of the treachery of their leaders had hit them all, thought Luke. Even Weil. The young Russians were beginning to follow every word he said.

‘However,’ continued Wensley blandly, ‘being provided, fortunately, with details of the names under which these two reverend gentlemen planned to travel, we were able to take them into custody, charged with being in possession of false papers. But that was only a holding charge.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Weil. ‘When he has finished, we will teach him to tell lies. Yes?’

Luke thought that the response of his followers was less enthusiastic than it might have been. Wensley now unmasked his batteries and delivered his next broadside.

‘There will be a second charge against them. Because, in belts round their bodies were found all – yes, every piece – of the gold and precious stones stolen from the Lockett shop. They will be charged with organising a robbery which led to the shooting down of PC Bellwood. That charge carries a sentence of death.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Weil. ‘It was not their fault that that stupid policeman got in the way.’

So far Wensley had been addressing his words at large. Now he swung round on Weil and said, ‘There will be a more direct charge against you. For the torturing and killing of Dmitry Katz.’

Weil rode this off with a show of indifference, shrugging his shoulders but saying nothing. A fighting animal not to be deflected by words.

‘And if you are looking for some reward at the end of your tunnel, I can assure you that there is nothing there. Even if you were allowed to complete your work, you would find an empty strong-room. The contents are being removed, at this moment, to a strong-room on the other side of the building.’

Wensley gathered himself for the final assault. He was ignoring Weil now and addressing himself directly to the younger members of his audience.

‘So if you wish to play the game that is being forced on you, where there is no gain at the end – only death, in a gun battle here, or at the hands of the Ochrana who will be waiting for you at the quayside with their tongues hanging out—’

Having no idea of the Russian for this phrase, Luke amended it to ‘like slavering wolves’.

‘—if that is your decision you will follow this besotted man and his ideas to their black and pointless conclusion.’

‘They’ll follow me all right,’ said Weil.

Luke had his eyes on Luwinski, who had been working his way slowly into position behind Weil. He had picked up from somewhere a heavy iron bar. Now he swung it, hitting Weil at the back of his neck.

Weil toppled slowly forward like a felled oak tree.

‘That seems to me to be a conclusive answer,’ said Wensley with a smile. ‘If you will leave all your arms on the table here and go to your homes, I think I can promise you that you will hear no more about your digging. It will be filled in by morning. We’d better go back with you to make sure that no trigger-happy policeman starts the war.’

When they got back to the shop Joscelyne appeared to be more indignant than relieved.

‘Do you mean to say,’ he said, ‘that now that we have got our men keyed up to shoot they’ll have to shovel earth instead?’

‘A sad anti-climax, I fear,’ said Wensley. ‘But think how pleased Winston will be.’

Joscelyne said something under his breath about the Home Secretary. It sounded unparliamentary.

Luke was sitting in the room which he now occupied alone. He was wondering, as he thought about the year just passed, why he felt so depressed.

Much had happened in that twelve months.

Molacoff Weil, having survived a blow which would have killed nine men out of ten, had been sentenced to death by Mr Justice Avory and had been hanged, impassive to the last. Rumour had it that, coming new to the Bench and beginning to be known as a hanging judge, Avory would have wished to send Treschau and Silistreau to the gallows also, but was too good a lawyer to disregard the contention of the defence that they could not be held liable for the death of PC Bellwood. The best he could do was to award them two sentences of seven years’ penal servitude, consecutive not concurrent, one on the charge of travelling on false papers and one on dealing with stolen goods. At the same hearing, Jacob Katz received a sentence of seven years for forgery.

It had not been possible to charge Anna since Joe, the only witness of her perfidy, had refused to give evidence. The real offender, as he explained to Luke, was Sergeant Gorman and he was the only one who got actually written off. Anna’s wrist had been twisted by her father. She was simply carrying out his instructions. ‘And anyway,’ said Joe, ‘you were soft on her.’ Luke had denied this indignantly. Joe knew that he lied. Luke knew it himself, too.