The Salzburg Connection (54 page)

“The north side falls into the lake,” Lynn said, eyes filled with fear.

“But I won’t.” He kissed her, quickly but frankly, and then looked challengingly at Chuck.

“I said nothing.” And damn this throbbing arm. I’d like to see how Zauner handles this operation myself, Chuck thought. He turned his attention to Lynn. “Zauner’s men include some of the best guides among these mountains. You know, you have the prettiest hair. I kept watching it when old Mother Seidl was poking and probing.” The front door shut behind
Mathison. His eyes closed. He heard her exclaim, felt her fingers search for his pulse. “You’re a quick learner,” he said almost inaudibly. Like Mathison, he thought, and drifted off into unconsciousness.

As Mathison stepped into the cool night, zipping his jacket to the neck, the men guarding the door of the Seidl house stopped their quiet talk, glanced at him inquiringly. “I need someone to get me to the inn as fast as possible,” he told Hank. “Can you spare anyone?”

“If you speak German—”

“Enough.”

“Then take Karl. He’s from Bad Aussee. Knows all the country around here.”

Mathison’s eyes picked out the tall powerful figure of the policeman whom he had last seen guarding the telephone at the post office. “Come on, Karl. What’s the quickest way to the inn?” The crowd clustered thick on the road. There was an ambulance there, too, and some firemen beating through the underbush on the far side of the meadow. The police had cleared it of people, roped off the burned patch, lit flares to help get the bodies removed.

“Over the fields to the back of the post office. Then across the village street—”

“Okay, okay. Let’s move.”

Karl disappeared at a steady run around the corner of the house. Mathison caught up, kept pace, letting Karl choose the way over the rough ground, skirting apple trees, manure heaps, log piles, neat fences, and windows now darkened.

“You were quick,” Felix Zauner said, meeting Mathison in the hall of the inn. “I’ve just finished talking with Bruno. Now what’s this idea of yours?” He looked at Karl. “No need for you to—”

“He can stay,” Mathison said. Karl not only knew the countryside, but he was a friend of Johann’s too, and a climber in his free time. Karl was comforting to have around. What had seemed stolid stupidity down at the post office when he had kept watch over the telephone had been only boredom. And Karl was no longer bored. He smelled action. Mathison spread Bruno’s map on the cramped surface of the reception desk. “How much did Bruno tell you?”

“Not too much. He thought it safer if you gave me the information face to face.” Zauner seemed more of his old self, brisk and capable. He listened to Mathison’s idea with pursed lips. “Not many people try climbing the Sonnblick along that
north side facing the lake. It’s too tricky for amateurs, and too dull, with all those trees on it, for the professionals. The close timber defeats the hunters, too, and the ground slopes dangerously—there’s no even stance for them. So it isn’t a popular place. Deserted mostly. At one time, there were three entrances to the Sonnblick, up near its crest but some distance along the lake. The Nazis made use of these. But at the end they dynamited them. You would have to be the size of a hare to squeeze through the rubble they left.”

“Could there have been a fourth entrance, nearer the Finstersee road, that was kept secret?”

“With the Nazis, there could always be anything.” Zauner frowned down at the map. “But unless we know exactly where we are heading, we had better wait until the first light breaks. Even then it might be difficult, with early-morning mist.”

“At least we can be sure of clear weather tonight.”

“Eager, aren’t you? And Johann wasn’t even your friend.” Zauner shook his head, studied Mathison’s face curiously.

“I just think we owe Anna Bryant her brother’s life. That’s the least we can do for her.”

Felix Zauner did not argue with that. His face tightened. He nodded.

“Where’s Grell?” The inn seemed deserted except for one white-haired woman who waited nervously in the empty dining-room.

“We are keeping him out of sight in his own room. The explosion drew everyone out of the Weinstüberl, of course. We’ll try to keep them from getting back in, but that may take more men than I have.”

“How many?”

“Six altogether besides myself. Three are searching the upstairs rooms, two are on guard outside as you saw, and one is keeping a pistol pointed at Grell. We have got him handcuffed to a chair. Excessive? But I’d rather he couldn’t communicate with any of his friends, not even by lighting a cigarette at his window.”

“He was alone?”

“Yes. Frau Hitz”—he nodded toward the dining-room—“tells me there was another man with him, but he left after the big blast. No doubt he is down on the road, trying to find out what happened before he reports back here.”

So Grell did not yet know what had happened. He couldn’t even have guessed. “I suppose as long as he thinks there is a chance that the Finstersee box was taken by his men, he will sit tight and wait?”

“Absolute innocence. Very aggrieved. Threatening to sue everyone in sight.”

“And you haven’t told him anything?”

Zauner shook his head.

“What’s the present charge against him?”

“Aiding terrorists.”

“True in its way.” To Mathison’s surprise, he was getting along with Zauner a hundred times better than he had expected.

“Come and meet our genial host,” Zauner said. “Say nothing, though. Let me make the mistakes.” He noticed Mathison’s expression. “Another idea?”

“Just a suggestion.”

“Oh?”

“If Johann is alive—” Mathison hesitated, aware of the friendly yet mocking eyes.

“I think we can assume he is. Final orders for his death would
come from Grell. He would be foolish to give them until he makes sure that Johann’s information about the box’s hiding place was accurate. If it were a false lead, he would need Johann alive to get the final truth. Which doesn’t lessen Johann’s ordeal either now or in the immediate future. So if you do have a suggestion, be quick with it, Mr. Mathison. But remember one thing: Grell is not the type to talk. Physical pain won’t persuade him.”

“I was thinking of shock treatment. The kind he used to jolt information out of Johann, who is also not the talking type.”

“Shock treatment?”

“Throw the Sonnblick at him.”

“Throw—what?”

“Charge him with knowing that two terrorists are holding Johann hostage in the Sonnblick. Tell him if he is connected with them, he can at least dissociate himself from their violence by revealing the quickest path to its entrance.” Then as Zauner considered the idea, Mathison added tactfully, “Perhaps you could do better than that—just as long as it is something to force the truth out of him. All he wants is the Finstersee box. He would sacrifice two men for it.”

Zauner nodded. His eyes brightened. “It is only an assumption about the Sonnblick, of course. But a bluff might work. I like your idea. And perhaps I could add a little factual realism to it. Before we put him in his room I searched quickly and found what I was looking for.” He gave an unexpected smile in the direction of Frau Hitz, that unlikely ally, who was now hovering nervously in the background, torn between curiosity at what was happening here and speculation about the explosion down in the village. She had never been allowed to touch that desk or see it unlocked, bless her insulted feelings and indignant
tongue. “Let no one into Herr Grell’s room,” he told Karl. “No one. And if anyone insists, knock him out and tie him up. No one enters.” Isolation and shock treatment, he thought as he beckoned Mathison to follow—that might just turn the scales.

It was a comfortable room they entered, but untidy, as if it were rarely straightened thoroughly. There was a large eiderdown-covered bed, roughly made; a huge wardrobe, several chairs, knick-knacks on tables, soft lights, a window tightly shuttered; and a big old-fashioned desk, wide and deep and roll-topped. The place, full enough with furniture and mementos, was positively crammed with men added. August Grell, his grey hair ruffled, face choleric, sat in the corner near the desk with his hands secured behind the back of his chair. A youngish man in rough sweater and knickerbockers dangled grey-stockinged legs and climbing boots over the edge of the high bed, but the revolver he held balanced on his knee did not look negligent at all. Zauner dropped into the chair that stood in front of the desk, pulling it around slightly to face Grell. Mathison decided to lean against the door just in case Karl did not manage to dissuade any intruder from crashing his way in.

Grell looked at them with contempt. “When does this indignity end?” he demanded.

“In two or three minutes, I hope.” Zauner’s voice was as casual as his manner. But he wasted no time either. “We know that the two terrorists have taken a hostage. They are keeping him prisoner in the Sonnblick. That is where you told them to hide, isn’t it? The Sonnblick?”

Grell was speechless for a few moments. “Ridiculous,” he burst out. “Why should I help any terrorists?”

“Your sympathy is naturally with them. You come from
the South Tyrol, do you not? But sympathy and ideals are one thing, Herr Grell; violence and cruelty are quite another. Surely, you could not ally yourself with such actions?”

“There is nothing inside the Sonnblick. It is sealed up tight.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well—I heard—I assumed—”

“You assumed we did not know about the remaining entrance. Stop protecting the terrorists. Or are you more deeply allied with them than I thought? Let me see.” Zauner took out a bunch of keys, selected one that unlocked the desk. He rolled it open. “Seems very shallow for such depths, doesn’t it?” He tapped the array of pigeonholes. “Really, Herr Grell, you are twenty years behind the times. There are simpler ways of keeping one’s secrets nowadays.”

Mathison saw Grell’s face change from bluster to alarm. For a brief second only. He was in control again as he said quickly, “Are you sure these terrorists are holding a man?”

“Quite sure.” Zauner turned away from the desk with regret. It would have given him much pleasure to lift that screen of pigeonholes right out and pick up the interesting objects that lay behind it. Later, he thought, that can come later. First, let him talk. “You never realised that, of course.”

“Of course not. I gave them help, yes. As you said, we are of one blood. I cannot bear to see men hunted like animals.”

“Not even if they are dangerous animals?”

“I did not know they had committed any crime. I told them of—of the room. Up in the Sonnblick. I had stumbled on it one day when I was out shooting. It is really a cave. Someone must have made it habitable in the old days. It is adequate shelter. No more.”

“How do we get there? I presume the path isn’t too difficult, if they used it in the dark.”

“It is just a short stretch up through the woods beyond the picnic ground at the lake. You follow the beeches, then climb to your right through the fir trees. Their tops cover the door of the room. It seems a part of the rock.”

“Is the path clear?”

“Through the beech trees, yes. Then every fifth tree after that has had its lowest branch cut off at an oblique angle.” He looked at Zauner with puzzled innocence. “I suppose that was to help find the way when the mist came over the mountain?”

“I suppose so.” Zauner toyed with the roll-top, easing it up and down. “Why don’t you come along with us? Show us the way. Shout to the two terrorists to come out, give themselves up. They would listen to you. That might save their lives.”

“Herr Zauner, I’m exhausted. I would only slow you up. I don’t feel well. If I may, I would like to rest in my room. I’ve told you all I know.”

Mathison said, “Is there no way you can talk with these men from here? That would be quickest of all.” Zauner was looking at him, almost as if he was saying, “Careful, careful! Let me handle this.” So Mathison fell silent.

Grell’s handsome face, frank and honest, was completely mystified. “But how could I do that? Using what? There are few telephones in Unterwald, and none leading into the mountains.”

He’s lying, Mathison thought. Either that or I’m too damned set on my own theories. And we’ve been too slow; the first moments of shock are over. He now thinks he can out-talk anyone.

Zauner turned to the desk, picked off the screen of pigeonholes, reached deep into the compartment they had
hidden. “What about using this, Herr Grell?” He held out a field telephone. “It’s twenty years behind the times, just like you. But it is usable. Like you.”

Grell’s face went white. “But that is not mine. I admit South Tyrol nationalists have established one of their headquarters at this inn. That is their equipment inside the desk. I know nothing about it.”

“You are guilty, however, of hiding illegal activities. How long do you wish to spend in jail, Herr Grell? Ten years, and you won’t be much use to anyone.” Zauner held out the field telephone. “If you are as innocent as you say, use this. Talk to the men in the Sonnblick. Give them no reasons, no explanations. Tell them three things, and three things only. An emergency meeting has been called at the inn. They must come at once to attend it. They will leave the prisoner alive.” Zauner paused. “No more than that. No less. If you say anything else, Fritz will blow out your brains.”

Fritz nodded, raised the revolver.

“I need my hands free,” said Grell.

“You don’t speak with your hands.” Zauner unwound the long cord attached to the field telephone and brought the instrument to the corner. He unhooked the receiver, signalled, listened, signalled again, then held it in position at Grell’s face. He nodded abruptly. Grell began repeating the instructions. But he spoke, Mathison noted, in sharp clear German. His soft slurred dialect words had vanished.

Zauner was ready. As Grell’s last words ended, he clamped down the receiver, coiled the cord neatly back into place, walked back with the telephone to the desk. He replaced it, replaced the pigeon-hole screen too. Later, he thought expectantly, later.
That equipment in there will be worth examining, cataloguing, photographing. The report I’ll turn in to Vienna will re-establish my position. Thank God, I can do something honest and normal again. Then he frowned as he rolled down the top of the desk and locked it. How long will I be allowed to function without interference, he wondered. Elissa is dead, but who follows Elissa? Perhaps no one? Not for some time at least. Not until they need me, not until I am promoted. They won’t draw much attention to me in the next year or so. They must know that Elissa endangered me this week. I was almost exposed. So perhaps I will be given some time, time to think and find a way out, time to defeat them as surely as I have defeated this Nazi. Zauner pocketed his keys and looked over at the man in the corner. “Fritz, keep a very close watch over this customer. Allow him no liberties.”