The Dark Frontier (22 page)

That day Beker was not due to telephone me until after lunch, but I soon beat it back to the hotel in the hope that he would get through before. There was no message for me and I sat down to wait. Then I thought of Petar and rang the bell. Another waiter answered it and informed me under pressure that Petar was away sick. I drew my own conclusions as to the truth of this and cursed Beker for not calling in.

His call was due at half-past two, but I hung about frantically smoking cigarettes and trying to make up my mind not
to ignore Toumachin’s instructions by going to the Sa’ Maria prospek, until close on nightfall. By the time he finally got through I was in a fury of impatience and leapt to the telephone with a long and corrosive speech trembling on my lips. I did not have time to deliver it.

“Apologies,” said Beker’s voice quickly. “The tobacco.”

He hung up.

I grabbed my hat and coat and rushed out. “Tobacco” was the code word we had arranged to mean “come at once.” I needed no urging. Avoiding the main thoroughfares as much as possible I sprinted most of the way. As I neared the quarter, however, I slowed down to a sharp walk. The streets were strangely silent. A huddle of men on a corner broke up as I approached. In the Sa’ Maria prospek not a soul was to be seen.

At number eleven there was the same door-slamming performance as when Carruthers and I had first gone there. When Beker came, however, he drew me in quickly and led the way upstairs.

Toumachin’s room was like an army corps headquarters during a battle. He and Carruthers were standing by the table with bent heads poring over large-scale maps. Disposed about the room were half a dozen Ixanians whom I did not recognise. There was a woman amongst them. They were talking together in low tones. Toumachin greeted me effusively, Carruthers with a preoccupied air, and they returned to their maps. The others had raised their heads at my coming and Beker introduced me to each in turn as the American press representative in Zovgorod. The woman proved to be a “leader from the west.” All their names were impossible to memorise. Then Toumachin waved me over to the table and gave me a chair.

“Mr. Casey,” he said with a business-like air, “we fulfil our promise. Here is the situation. You know the broad outline of our plan. One object is to concentrate the army far away from
Zovgorod while we carry out our plans here. For that purpose we have commenced our campaign by instigating two local peasant risings, one in Grad in the North, one in Kutsk in the South. The Kutsk rising began last night. Under our instructions the Party leaders there took possession of the municipal buildings and proclaimed an independent government. The Government here has ordered a force of four thousand troops to the district to suppress the rising. A battalion from the barracks entrained this morning. They and the forces from other parts will have arrived at their destination by tomorrow morning at the latest. The Grad rising was timed for dawn this morning. The Party there is working under identical instructions to the men of Kutsk. A further five thousand troops from other districts were ordered to Grad this afternoon. They will arrive by midday tomorrow. There will then be only a battalion left in Zovgorod. The nearest troops apart from that will be twenty hours away from this city. As I told you before, we have many sympathisers in the ranks and the proportion of Government loyalists in that battalion need not worry us unduly. Kutsk was chosen first because it is the smaller town and the Government, believing the rising there to be a local disturbance, have devoted more troops to the suppression of it than if the Grad rising had alarmed them first.”

“Ingenious enough, Toumachin,” I said, “but what about the people in those towns?”

“They will retire to the hills as the troops approach. They will be safe enough for the moment. It would take weeks to round them up. But things will not be allowed to get as far as that. From the east and west, small parties of men from other towns are converging on Zovgorod. Small parties will not attract attention. They have been at it for the past week. By tomorrow there will be two forces of our friends outside the city ready to enter at the appointed time. The moment the soldiers have passed a certain point their lines of communications
will be cut by parties told off for the purpose. One o’clock tomorrow morning is the provisional time. Telegraph wires will be broken and the railway will be blocked. We have made arrangements to occupy the radio station and the aerodrome. Zovgorod will be isolated for twelve hours. During that time we shall occupy the city and proclaim martial law. Communications will then be restored and the troops will be withdrawn from Grad and Kutsk and their officers arrested pending their declarations of loyalty to the new Government. The Chamber of Deputies will then be summoned, dissolved and a new election proclaimed. It is then, Monsieur Casey, that we shall avail ourselves of your valued services. The telegraphs will be thrown open to you. Our first anxiety will be to secure the approval and recognition of Bucharest, then comes Paris, London and New York. Your influence will make it possible.”

“But …” I started in bewilderment.

“My friend Casey will be more than equal to the task,” interrupted Carruthers smoothly.

I could have killed him. God knows what he’d been telling Toumachin. People have the most fantastic notions of the power of individual newspaper men. But I had no time to protest. Toumachin was thanking me regally and a chorus of excited approval and self-congratulation arose from the others. I resolved to make my position as an impartial reporter clear to Carruthers at the first available opportunity and leave him to make the explanations.

I drew Beker aside and asked him for news of Groom. He was vague and, I suspected, intentionally so. The Professor had that affair in his personal charge; all would doubtless be revealed in time. I sought out Carruthers. He was more informative.

“Frankly,” he said, “I don’t know what he’s up to or what he’s staying on for. However, he can’t move without my knowing and if he doesn’t move tonight he won’t get another chance.”

“You see, Monsieur,” put in Toumachin who was standing by, “the Professor has gained his point. That affair is out of the hands of Toumachin.”

“Well,” I said with a venomous glance at Carruthers, “the Young Peasants seem to have thought of everything.” Carruthers preened himself, Toumachin looked not ill-pleased. A thought struck me. “By the way, what about those gentry who wanted to assassinate the President and blow up the dam?”

I could have sworn that the two exchanged meaningful glances.

“Oh, those,” said Carruthers airily, “we have directed their energies into other channels,” and he grinned smugly at Toumachin.

This absurd air of over-confidence both irritated and alarmed me. They did not seem to realise that they were no longer playing at hole-in-the-corner politics and that they were trying to overthrow a Government in power. Andrassin, I felt, would have disapproved. But as I looked round at them again my irritation left me. Toumachin had returned to his table, the others to their conversation. Their faces were grave and their eyes were steady. I examined them one by one. There was not a stupid or crooked face amongst them. The broad, strong, coarsely chiselled peasant face of the woman was beautiful. It was then that I realised the reason for my ill-temper. It was the thought that I might fail these worthy people, that I was unequal to the part for which Carruthers and Toumachin had cast me. They must know now that they asked too much, more than I possessed. I had turned to tell Toumachin so, to tell him that other, better arrangements must be made, when there came the sudden purr of a buzzer in the room.

There was dead silence. Beker walked calmly to the window and looked out for a second, then he dashed to the door and was gone. I glanced at the scene in the room. The men had, instinctively it seemed, grouped themselves in a semicircle
round Toumachin. The woman had not moved. Carruthers, I found, was at my side by the door. Then came the sound of Beker’s feet on the stairs. When he came in he looked at Toumachin, but it was to Carruthers that he spoke.

“It’s Plek,” he said breathlessly, “he has been shot, but he managed to get here. Half an hour ago Groom and his men left by automobile for Kassen’s laboratory.”

N
obody spoke for a moment. Then Carruthers glanced at Toumachin who nodded.

“Take Beker,” he said. “I cannot well spare him, but he is worth two or three others.”

“The automobile?” asked Beker.

Toumachin nodded again. “They shall be ready.”

“Casey ought to come,” said Carruthers, and I blessed him.

Toumachin pursed his lips. He looked at me. He must have seen the way the land lay, for he smiled faintly and shrugged. “Be careful, Monsieur,” he said, “we cannot afford to lose our American champion.”

There was no time for explanations now. With a curt “Come on” to Beker and me, Carruthers was already out of the room and halfway down the stairs. We followed at speed. When we reached the passage to the door we had to edge by the body of a man on the floor. The woman who opened the
doorway was propping up his head and trying to give him some water. The right side of the torso was soaked with blood. His mouth was open and the whites of his eyes showed through half-closed lids.

“Plek,” whispered Beker. “He’s dead. A martyr of the revolution.”

Outside the door we turned down the street towards the river. Carruthers broke into a run, but Beker said that we might attract attention and we walked quickly. The quarter was like a rabbit warren and pitch dark. Led by Beker we dived in and out of countless narrow alleys and passages. Lights glowed faintly here and there behind windows at ground level; once or twice I heard the sound of scuffling footsteps and a quick shutting of doors; but we met no one until we came to a small courtyard. I felt cobbles under my feet as we crossed it. Then I heard Beker give a peculiar whistle. The next moment a blinding light shone in our faces as a door facing us swung open, disclosing a large black Buick sedan. The light came from a lamp suspended from the roof of the garage. I heard the engine of the car start, then it shot out of the garage and pulled up with a jerk beside us. A man got out of the driving-seat and went back into the garage, followed by Beker. Motioning to me to stay where I was, Carruthers followed. I saw them talking excitedly; then Beker went to a telephone in the corner of the garage and the light was put out. I could hear him speaking, but the hum of the engine drowned whatever he was saying. Carruthers returned.

“Get in,” he said.

He followed me.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“We’re going to put a spoke in Mister Groom’s wheel once and for all.” I heard him chuckle to himself.

“What’s this place?”

“Belongs to the Young Peasants. It’s connected by telephone
with that other place. Toumachin phoned them to have the car ready for us.”

“What are we waiting for, then?”

“Beker’s attending to some very necessary business. As a matter of fact I’m rather glad Groom decided to have his go at the laboratory tonight. If he’d left it until tomorrow he’d have been deported before he could do anything. We shouldn’t have had this chance.”

To my other questions he would make no reply, merely grinning and telling me to wait and see, as though I were a child asking for candy. A minute or so later Beker and the driver got in, Beker with a curt “
Bien
,” and we started.

For a few minutes the Buick wound in and out of courtyards similar to the one from which we had started. Carruthers said that they were remains of an early Ottoman occupation and that they had been practically uninhabited since the cholera epidemic of 1907. At last, however, we turned on to a better road and the car leapt forward. We were soon clear of the city and the black heights of the valley closed in upon us.

It had started to rain heavily and I could see lightning flickering over the hills in the distance. The road was badly holed and the rain whipped the loose dust among the stone rubble into a treacherous slime. The Buick bucked and slithered along at about forty kilometres an hour. It seemed like a hundred and forty. We could not possibly have gone faster and, as it was, we left the road twice. It was an appropriate start to a night during which my heart rarely left my mouth except to sink to my boots.

“Ifs” are as enthralling as they are unprofitable and I have often speculated as to the way in which events would have turned that night if chance had felt differently about us. In the end I always arrive at the same conclusion, namely: that if chance had been a jot less benign, I at least would now be as dead as Plek, Marassin and the pink-eyed officer, for we moved
in a margin of safety the width of a hair. Time, however, has brought one thing into true perspective. That thing is Kassen’s death. Whatever the actual facts of that brilliant man’s end, I believe that Carruthers had always intended that he should die. To me he had said that he had “other plans” for Kassen; but that, I believe now, was a tactful deceit. He wanted my help and could not afford to let my squeamishness stand in the way of his getting it. In his declaration to Toumachin he said, in effect, that the Kassen secret must be placed beyond the reach of all men. He certainly realised that Kassen’s death was an essential ingredient in the creation of that state of affairs. Perhaps the manner of this man’s dying was the subject of the thoughts revolving in Carruthers’ queer agglomeration of a mind as the Buick lurched along the Kuder Valley to the laboratory. I saw his face but once in the light of the match he held to his pipe. It was calm and thoughtful. Thus might the real Professor Barstow have looked as he contemplated a mathematical abstraction. Carruthers’ personality always seemed several sizes too large for his body.

We had been travelling along the valley road for some twenty minutes before Carruthers leant forward and told the driver to extinguish his lights and stop. Beker got out with us and, telling the driver to go on for half a kilometer and wait, the three of us went forward on foot.