The Bear's Tears (81 page)

He'd received a long report of events in Prague, from the Soviet
embassy. Hyde had rifled the Moscow Centre computers, gaining access to
some secret database that Petrunin had hidden in the computer -
evidence concerning
Teardrop
,
hidden like incriminating
documents or photographs for future use. Hyde had the whole thing; even
his name. He must be stopped. How, where —? He'd been identified as
having entered the country through Bratislava on a tourist visa. They
were waiting for him now - though Hyde was too clever to come out by
the same route. He had to be stopped. It was the one loose end —

The Tupolev turned tail-on to the windows, moving away from him
towards the single main runway. Its lights winked in farewell.
Babbington's satisfaction was marred. This, this very moment, should
have been some kind of fulfillment; a climax, a conclusion. The Tupolev
turned again, side-on to his view, pausing at the end of the runway.
Kenneth Aubrey was about to fly east; a talisman to protect him. A
guarantee
of Babbington's future.

"Wilkes," he snapped.

"Yes?" Babbington glared at him. "Yes, sir?" Wilkes added in a
less
casual voice.

"Come with me." Babbington led Wilkes perhaps ten yards or more
before he turned to him and said: "You have to lay hands on Hyde -
eliminate him. He won't return here - not now that he knows Aubrey is
on his way to Moscow. But he will try to get out with what he
possesses. You're certain Godwin knows no more than he's told?"

Wilkes nodded. They would not be overheard, he realised, but
spoke
nevertheless in little more than a whisper. "They know their business.
He's told them everything he can. He doesn't know Hyde's plans, unless
they're for Bratislava. He doesn't know anything except that Hyde's
pinning his hopes on Guest."

"Guest is the only one with the authority to do anything - except
create doubt. Anyone could create doubt - even Hyde, if he
can get some rag or TV station to listen to him. Anywhere in the world.
He has to be stopped. And," he added almost casually, "ask your friends
in Prague to get rid of Godwin. He mustn't appear in public again."

"That's easy. Hyde - a little more difficult. Sir."

The Tupolev appeared like a dog held back on its leash. Then the
brakes were released and the aircraft jerked forward across the first
yards of concrete, swiftly gathering speed. Aeroflot. Aubrey was safe.
Babbington breathed more easily.

"What about Zimmermann?" he asked. "You've checked on him?"

"We're still checking. He doesn't appear to be in Bonn. Don't
worry,
we'll find him."

"Hyde might go to him - yes, he might well go to him. As soon as
you
locate Zimmermann, put on full surveillance. Hyde could show up."

"Agreed."

The Tupolev had reached take-off speed. Babbington studied it
intently. The pool of colour from the belly light was spreading and
diluting as the fuselage lifted away from the concrete. Nose up,
further up, stretching —

The Tupolev heaved itself towards the sky. The muffled noise of
the
engines grew fainter. Aubrey was gone.

Immediately Babbington's tone was threatening.

"It's up to you, Wilkes. I'm relying on you to co-ordinate with
our
friends. Find Zimmermann - above all, find Hyde. Meanwhile, I'll deal
with Guest. He'll be entirely satisfied by the time I've finished." He
grinned suddenly, staring down at the British Airways Trident.
Passengers were straggling out of the terminal towards the aircraft.
Luggage on a tractor-towed trailer had arrived alongside its cargo
doors. He could smell coffee brewing behind the bar of the passenger
lounge. A few more small, careful steps… the end of the tightrope, and
safety, beckoned him. "Yes," he sighed. "The immediate disposal of
Aubrey along with the Massingers is the safest step." He shrugged his
shoulders. "As long as we can put our hands on Hyde." He turned once
more to Wilkes. "Purchase Hyde's eternal
silence, Wilkes. Today!"

"From here, we walk," Langdorf announced, turning round in the
driver's seat.

Hyde stretched his legs, which were too stiff and weary to be
supple. The journey in the back of the plumber's dirty, oil-smelling,
tool-laden van had been uncomfortable. The suspension and the climbing
tracks they had taken had conspired to jolt him continually from the
sleep which threatened.

Hyde grunted.

"You are all right?"

"Great." He pushed open the rear doors and dropped to the
ground. He
could smell the pines on the cold, damp air as the misty cloud almost
settled on his head and face. It was lightless beneath the crowding
trees. Langdorf closed and locked the doors of the van. It was parked
deep under the trees. The thick carpet of pine debris and the thin
layer of snow registered little trace of its passage. And the van was
parked too far down the mountain to immediately arouse suspicion.

Langdorf flicked a torch-beam onto Hyde's face, then switched it
off. He breathed deeply.

"Good. Now, we go."

He turned and headed into the trees, immediately climbing
upwards.
Certain and unhesitating; on a familiar journey. Hyde hunched into his
overcoat against the raw, chill damp that had folded around him,
already pearling his shoulders and hair, and followed. Twigs crunched
or cracked dully beneath the snow. He trod warily in the plumber's
wake, his eyes gritty, his head heavy. His own movement was now keeping
him from the sleep he craved. Thirty hours - more - since he had slept
properly.

He shivered almost awake, and stumbled, sprawling full-length on
the
ground. Ankles, ankles —! he warned himself, jarring his elbows to save
his hands and wrists from sprain.

"What —?" he heard Langdorf whisper before moving back. The
torch
flicked on, off. In the new, deeper darkness, he heard Langdorf say,
"You must stay awake. You must try to stay awake."

Hyde got to his knees. Langdorf lifted him by his elbow until he
was
steady on his feet.

"Sorry."

"Come. We have a long climb ahead. Perhaps thirty minutes. Soon it
will be getting light. Very soon."

"Yes, I know!" Hyde snapped. "I'm all right now. Get moving."

His night vision had returned. He saw Langdorf shrug, then turn
and
move off. Hyde plodded carefully in his wake. The trees above him were
like low white clouds, heavy with snow.

Time clamped down like a fog. He measured his steps, but
continually
lost count. With Petrunin, he had registered each step, remembered the
total, even with the dying man on his back. But not here. His hand went
numb around the shape of the cassette in his pocket, the knuckles of
his other hand ceased to register the presence of the pistol against
them. His breathing was laboured. Occasionally, he bumped into
Langdorf, colliding with him as the man halted to check his hand-drawn
sketch or to listen intently for suspected sounds. Langdorf seemed
impatient with him, yet not afraid. Having accepted the commission and
agreed the price, he was more professional than Hyde.

Hyde remembered the man's reports as they drove through the
small
town and out into the countryside. More patrol cars… at one time, a
helicopter overhead… a road-block which recognised his van and almost
hurried him through. Time closing in.a
More activity than usual
,
much more…
They didn't stop
the plumber, except at the one
road-block. Motorcycle police recognised the legend on the van, so did
the car patrols.

The advantage of working for Party
members
, Langdorf
had
told him almost gaily as another car speeded up and passed them on a
narrow country road.
!
When they want their German bathrooms and
Swiss double-sinks fitted, they want it done quickly and they want it
to work
!
They
don't use the approved plumbers - all the
other poor
bastards get their services. They need someone like me… I go all over -
Marienbad,
Karlovy
Vary,
Cheb… They allow me to be a capitalist. Work
for myself- private enterprise, yes?

Hyde stumbled awake, steadied himself on the bole of a pine, and
watched Langdorf's retreating back a little way ahead. He could see the
man's outline, now possessing more depth and solidity than mere shadow.
He looked at the luminous dial of his watch. Seven-twenty. Time closing
in - running out…

He plodded on.

… even work for the STB, police, Party
officials, their
mistresses and wives, army, athletes - all the cream. They think I'm
one sort of crook, but really I'm a different kind altogether. I can be
out all hours of the day and —

"Quiet!" Langdorf hissed. For an instant, Hyde believed the
plumber
was speaking in his memory, then the man's hand gripped his arm,
forcing Hyde to his knees at the base of a pine trunk.

"What is it?"

"I heard something - listen!"

Hyde shook off the effort of memory that had kept him awake. He
crouched beside Langdorf. The man's hand still held his forearm, and
the quiver in it was transmitted to Hyde. The plumber's face was a
white patch beginning to acquire features, his shape in the overalls
almost possessing colour.

"How far —?" Hyde began.

"Shhh!" Langdorf hissed.

Crack —? Shuffle through pine debris —? Hyde's senses seemed
dull,
approximate. Sight was unfocused, hearing muddy as if under water.
Shadow? Noise?

The crack of a twig muffled by fallen, brown needles and snow.
The
tiny clink of metal against metal. Then the muted gleam of a
torch-beam. Hyde shivered with cold and the effort to remain still.
Langdorf seemed as tensely contracted as a wound spring.

A four-man patrol. Armed with rifles, each man carrying a small
pack
on his shoulders. The patrol moved in a single-file, crossing the path
they were using. As they came closer, he could make out their uniforms.
Border guard. They passed within ten yards and moved slowly off,
routinely alert, waiting for daylight to assist them.

When they had gone, Hyde said: "Will they find the van?"

Langdorf shook his head. "No. It is unlikely - if we hurry."

"Why are they - they know, don't they?"

"I do not know —" the plumber began.

"But you suspect?"

Langdorf nodded. "For some reason, they are very protective of
this
part of the border, tonight. It is not usual." Langdorf shook his head.
It was still too dark to see any emotion displayed by his features.
"Not usual," he repeated. Then he stood up. "Come," he whispered. "We
must hurry."

Hyde climbed to his feet. Weariness had dropped away like a
blanket
he had left on the ground. His eyes ached, but his body was alive with
the myriad small shocks and prickles of tension. He hurried after
Langdorf. The ground climbed more steeply, rock jutted through the snow
and pine debris, the trunks were thinner, farther apart. The damp low
cloud seemed to have lifted. Perhaps it had been no more than a mist.

Ten minutes later, Langdorf again motioned him to stop. They
were at
the edge of the trees. Their twisting route had always seemed to be
ascending, yet now they were on the edge of a sloping stretch of
grassland. An alpine meadow. Trees bordered it on all sides, except
where a swathe had been cut to make a forest ride. A watch-tower that
was not intended for ornithology loomed at the far end of the meadow.
Beyond it, a mountain climbed out of the trees, its face masked with
snow. The meadow was white, ghostly.

Huts and barns huddled in the snowbound meadow. An animal
snorted
audibly across the white silence. In the further distance, an engine
coughed into life. There were lights on the watch-tower, but no
sweeping searchlight.

"The border wire runs alongside a stream," Langdorf explained,
"on
the other side of this meadow. We must follow the trees. The stream is
in a narrow bed. The wire is on this bank. Soon, the stream turns west
and then it is in the Federal Republic. The wire no longer follows it.
Come."

They skirted the meadow warily and swiftly. In another six or
seven
minutes, without the aid of his sketch, Langdorf located a narrow track
that might originally have been made by deer. He hurried Hyde along it,
the meadow now behind them, the slope of the land dropping away,
becoming rocky. Langdorf's nailed boots scuttled and scraped ahead of
Hyde.

The trees opened as Hyde heard the rush of water. Pebble and
rock
stretched down to a foaming, narrow stream that pushed and grumbled
through its channel. Langdorf's hand restrained him. The pebbles were
light, betraying. The top of the watch-tower could be seen. The wire
was visible on the Czech side of the stream.

"Is it deep?" he asked.

"Here, no. You can wade across. The current is strong, however.
You
must be careful. Strong."

The watch-tower rose like a pit's winding-gear against the
slowly
lightening sky. Patches of snow grew among the rocks and large pebbles.
Snow sheathed the rolls of wire.

"Do I have to cut the wire?"

"No. You can wriggle beneath it. Directly ahead of you, the wire
is
in poor condition."

"Electrified? Mines?"

"Neither. This is a cheap border." Langdorf chuckled, but the
nervousness was mounting in his voice and breathing. He wanted to
leave. "They rely on patrols with dogs, and on the tower."

There was no wind. No movement in the trees or along the stretch
of
rocks. Only the noise of the stream. Above that, the growing beat of a
helicopter's rotors. Hyde waited.

The helicopter slid into sight, a black insect no more than a
couple
of hundred feet up. It followed the course of the stream, heading
north, passing over the watch-tower, which signaled to it with a
flashing lamp. Then its noise faded beyond the trees as it crossed the
meadow.