Snare of the Hunter (27 page)

Yes, Krieger had a point there. Several points. David swallowed his anger, calmed his voice. “I’ll qualify that description of you. You are a persuasive son of a bitch.”

Krieger nodded. “What about Bohn? But keep it short. I want you on the road in the next half hour.”

“Suits me. I’ll put on some speed and catch up with Jo before the border.”

“Well before that. As planned. She’s taking it easy along Highway 38—due west. When it branches south, she’ll follow Highway 40 to the north. But only for three or four miles. She’ll stop and wait for you, near a pilgrimage chapel—St Mary’s—you can’t miss it. It’s on a small hill, prominent, stands alone. Look for Jo’s car drawn off the road at a picnic area just below it. You’ll take over for the mountain passes. She had a rough day yesterday. Besides, she doesn’t know the details about Tarasp. The fewer who know about them, the better. In case of accidents.”

Such as being caught by Ludvik. Then David had a new worry. “Irina knows about Tarasp. I told her.”

Krieger asked quickly, “And did she tell Bohn?”

“No.”

“What did she tell him?” Krieger’s voice was sharp.

“That wasn’t the way it happened,” David said, coming to Irina’s defence. “She didn’t actually say anything. Bohn just extracted—”

“All right,” Krieger broke in, “what did he extract?”

David stopped his justifications and gave the straight story. Now I know two things, thought Krieger as the condensed account ended with David already on his feet, unhooking his raincoat. One is a new complication and I’ll leave it unspoken: he’s still in love with her and she with him. And the second is that I made a bad mistake about Bohn: he is deeper in than I imagined, and more than he may realise. If Jiri needs Bohn, he’ll use him again. “I was wrong about Bohn,” Krieger said softly. “I was so damned sure he had bugged out.”

“He has, now.”

“He may want to, but—” Krieger shrugged. “Are you sure he didn’t learn about Tarasp?”

“Irina would have told me.” David was about to leave. “Anything else?”

“Use the back door. I’ll wait a little, try and string Ludvik along. If he sees me hanging around, he may think we’re still resting up for the next stage of the journey. By the way, they’ll be on the lookout for a green Mercedes. You know that?”

“Yes.” Damn Bohn’s eyes to hell. “I’ll keep a sharp watch for anyone following closely.”

“They may still be driving a white Fiat—they don’t know we spotted it in Graz. So good luck. Wait for me in Tarasp. I may be a little late. But—” He broke off as a draught of fresh air stirred round his ankles. The back door at the far end of the restaurant had opened.

“Two men,” David reported. That was all he could identify in that unlighted portion of the room; two men briefly silhouetted by the opened door, becoming two shadows as they closed it. They stood there, accustoming their eyes to the long stretch of gloom.

“Move!” Krieger’s voice was low, urgent “Get away from me. Move!”

David moved. He made his way towards the back of the restaurant, but he was taking his time. Nonchalance, that was his best bet. Far behind him the voices of the three farmers were raised, calling for the waitress, who got up from the table where she had been counting her tips. With a jingle of coins being dropped back into her purse, she passed David, and, misguessing his direction, pointed helpfully to a door marked
Herren
. He stopped beside it as though he were about to enter, letting the two men draw level with him. Yes, they were the same two who had headed up the arcade. So they had circled round to reach the rear of the Red Lion. Either they were tired of waiting in some back alley, or they were checking to see if Krieger was still around. Krieger was their target, that was certain. They didn’t even give a second glance at David. “Be with you soon!” the waitress called to them. “No hurry,” one replied.

David changed positions again, choosing the moment when their backs were completely turned to him, to slip into the nearest booth. From there he could see the front edge of Krieger’s table. Krieger himself was not in sight. Neither were the two strangers, now sitting just beyond Krieger. It wasn’t much of a view, David thought, but at least he was unobserved. They hadn’t noticed his little manoeuvre. Of that he was sure.

It was the only thing he was sure about at this moment. Krieger, if he could have seen him, would be cursing into his beer. I know, I know, David thought angrily: I’m supposed to be walking down a back alley on my way to the Mercedes and a neat departure from Merano. But however much I’m trying to persuade myself that Krieger can handle this situation, he is sitting there alone. How do you leave a man to face two goons by himself? Sure, Krieger chose it this way: he’s running interference for all of us. But I don’t like it, I don’t like any part of it.

A minute passed. All was gas and gaiters in the front half of the room. The farmers were about to leave. He could hear the solid clunk of their heels on the wooden floor. Then they stopped, made some more jokes, and set the waitress giggling again. A young man’s voice called to them in a thick dialect. A reply from one of the older men. Loud laughter; another comment; a shouted dialogue beginning, half argument, half joke.

A second minute gone, David thought anxiously as he kept his eyes on his watch and his ears open for the smallest sound— Krieger hadn’t stirred, while the two strangers seemed determined to sit and wait until they could follow him out. Nothing more than that? David hesitated. He felt slightly foolish. Time to leave?

Suddenly, the two men rose, walked swiftly over to Krieger’s table. David reached into his raincoat, gripped the automatic, watched them. One was thrusting his hand into the pocket of his jacket, bulging it ominously. The other, as they turned to face Krieger, hemming him in, was saying a few sharp words. His thumb emphasised his command with a jerk towards the rear door.

Carefully David eased himself away from his table, his eyes still fixed on the men. Their backs were partly turned to him: their attention was riveted on Krieger, who was rising with calculated deliberation. He was talking too—just enough to keep them concentrating, wary of some trick. It gave David the few seconds he needed to reach the man with the gun in his pocket. The other glanced round, exclaimed a warning. It came a fraction too late. David lunged forward and hit hard with the butt of the automatic at the back of his man’s neck. Krieger smashed his beer mug against the other’s mouth. The two men slumped almost simultaneously: one on the floor, out for a very long count; the other over the table, his hands at his face.

Krieger only stopped to drop some money beside the moaning man. “That will pay for the beer mug too,” he said as he followed David towards the back door.

They stepped into a windowless alley. Krieger pointed to the left. “Your quickest way. I’ll take this route.” He moved off to the right. Stopping for a moment and looking back, he shook his head and said, “You’re a stubborn fool. But thanks.”

David smiled, broke into a run along the alley, winding its way like a deep-bedded stream between high banks of three-storied walls. It was shadowed here, and quiet. The strip of sky that could be seen far above the rippling edges of red tiles was now blue and storm-free. He reached a street curving north, and there slackened his pace to a brisk walk.

Irina had listened to David’s footsteps running down the wooden staircase. She rose from the bed, the sandwich still in her hand, and crossed over to the window. But he was already out of sight. Nothing down there except an empty road and quiet vineyards. She came back, avoiding Jo’s eyes. “You were right,” she said. “It looks like thunder.”

“Finish your lunch.” Jo was tidying the dresser, wrapping up the uneaten food, stowing it carefully away in the paper bag. There was a lot more inside it, too. That was one thing she had learned on this trip: go prepared.

“Have some. Or are you not hungry?”

“Later,” Jo said. “We can have a picnic later.” Perhaps her nervous stomach would be under control by then: her attempt to eat at noon had been disastrous. I wish I could really be as calm as I look, she thought as she got the room straightened. Fortunately Irina hadn’t unpacked much. “Did you throw that wig away?”

Irina was horrified. “Throw it away? I don’t like it but I would not do that.” She finished her sandwich, and then the wine. The peaches were already packed. Jo was really too efficient “I’d like a peach.”

“Later. It takes too long to eat all that juice. Messy.”

“But we’ve plenty of time—”

“We don’t have any. Come on, Irina, put on that wig. It does help to change you.”

“No. I can tie my scarf around my head.”

“Then do it.” Anything to stop an argument, Jo thought. She can put the wig on later, once we are out of town and I’m changing to a redhead for St Mary’s benefit. “Do it!” Jo repeated sharply.

“Now?”

“Now. And powder your face—make it pale. No lipstick, either.”

“We’re leaving? Without David?”

“We’re leaving. Ludvik and Milan and Jan aren’t sitting around in a cosy little bedroom waiting for the weather to clear. Please Irina—believe me. This is the only way to—”

“I’m not leaving.” Irina was definite. You go. I am staying.”

Jo sat down on the bed. “I feel sick.”

Irina’s face changed. The hostile look was gone. “Then rest, Jo. Lie down for a little.”

“I can’t. And you can’t. We’ve got to keep moving.”

Irina looked at Jo’s white face, heard the small break in her voice. She said gently, “But I want to wait for David.”

Jo took a long deep breath. “You’re as stubborn as your father. But he would always listen to reason.”

“You have met my father?”

“In London. I was staying at my uncle’s flat when your father got out of Prague. I was with him when he was almost murdered.”

“
What
?”

“I’ll tell you in the car. We’ll have plenty of time to talk before Dave catches up with us.” Jo rose, picked up her raincoat. Thank God, she thought, that Dave was joining them: the road west had looked easy enough on the map—until you turned north for Switzerland. “We’ll wait for him at St Mary’s. It’s only thirty miles out of town.” Irina had made no move. “Coming?”

Irina shook her head. “I am waiting for David here.”

“And have him killed, like Josef and Alois. Pokorny?”

Irina’s eyes widened. Now I’m being brutal, Jo thought, but there’s no other way. “Or perhaps you haven’t noticed that everyone who has spent a lot of time with you ends up in a fatal accident? Why? Ask your Jiri about that. He’s building up a neat legend about your escape and can’t have it exposed as a fake.” Jo paused. “Now cover up your hair. Put on my coat. I’ll wear yours. A little confusion never hurts.”

“What legend?” But Irina was binding her scarf tightly round her hair. She even pulled on the raincoat.

The knot in Jo’s stomach untied. The battle is won, she thought “Come on—let’s move. I’ll give you the details later.” But Irina took no step towards the door. She faced Jo, her eyes questioning. Jo said, “Today’s newspapers have a report from Prague—about you and a political kidnapping.” Irina stood very still.

“A kidnapping?”

“That’s Jiri’s angle. Krieger was expecting something tricky. So stop worrying, Irina. Trust Krieger. He will think of—”

“Trust Krieger?” Irina was bitter. “He planned this, didn’t he?” She pointed to David’s bag, which Jo was about to carry downstairs along with the food. For a moment it seemed as though Irina was going to strip off the raincoat.

Jo’s anger broke. “Krieger,” she said, her voice becoming more clipped, more English, “is staying in Merano as long as he can. And every minute of that delay could be dangerous. In fact, my dear Irina, he may very well end up dead, and all because of helping you. So cut it out. If you’ve got to hate someone, start hating Ludvik and his friends. They are the ones who murdered Alois. And Krieger is the witness who could have them hanged for it.” With that cold outburst, Jo opened the door. She looked back impatiently to see Irina still fumbling with the raincoat. She wasn’t taking it off, though. She was transferring two small books from her handbag into the coat’s deep inner pocket.

Irina closed her bag. “It was too full,” she said. “And it could easily be stolen.” She looked down at the raincoat for one last check.

“Doesn’t show one bulge,” Jo assured her. Strange girl, what on earth was she hiding? Worrying—at a time like this—about purse snatchers? But at least she had taken Jo’s straight talk well. And Jo herself felt the better for it. The truth is we both needed it, she thought. The mutiny is over and my nausea has gone. “I’ll do the explaining to Frau Whosis and her son,” she told Irina as they went downstairs. “That way we won’t get our stories crossed.”

As they reached the little hall, a violent explosion rattled the windows. Jo missed the last step, almost tripped. Irina flinched. They looked at each other, and went on. There was no sign of Frau Hartmann. “She has probably locked herself in a closet,” Jo said. “My mother always does that when there’s a thunderstorm.”

“It’s close,” Irina said.

“Too close.”

In the alley they heard a long hideous hiss, ending in another enormous explosion. “A gas main blown up?” Jo asked.

“Then we could have traffic problems.” They started running.

The garage was empty except for the two cars. Franz was out in the street, head bent back, eyes on the sky. A third wild hiss and a stupendous bang were followed by a fourth hiss, a fourth explosion. This time, they both jumped openly. “Could they be rockets?” Irina asked. “A celebration?”

The tension was gone between them. They laughed together.

“Anyway,” said Jo as they dropped the baggage, David’s included, into the back seat of the Ford, “I think Herr Hartmann is too busy counting the bangs to pay us much attention.” And that will save a five-minute delay, she thought thankfully.

But he had keen ears. As soon as he heard the engine turn over, he came running into the garage to see who was tampering with one of its cars. Jo was just about to move out. “My friend is not feeling well. I’m taking her to the country for the weekend,” she explained. “Please thank your mother for us. And tell Herr Mennery, when he comes to get his car, that we’ve got his luggage with us. We’ll expect him at my aunt’s house—just south of here, near Bolzano.” She had been speaking in German, but the Italian name had slipped out. “Near Bozen,” she corrected, and hoped she was forgiven.