Why Pick On ME? (16 page)

“Go to Ritchie,” he panted. “Do you hear? Go to Ritchie!”

Then he turned and made a headlong dive down the stairs, knowing that Yevski might be up in a moment, and someone in the house, hearing the shots and the struggle was certain to be calling the police. It was essential to get clear before the police arrived. If he were caught, he wouldn’t dare return to Baintrees, and he was determined to get back there.

He reached the ground floor as Yevski came rushing into the hall, gun in hand.

“Back to the van!” Corridon panted. “Quick! She’s called the police!”

“Where’s Carl?” Yevski snarled, covering Corridon with the gun.

“She shot him. He’s dead. Let’s get out of here!”

Yevski grabbed Corridon’s arm and shook it.

“Dead? You’re sure?” His thin, flat-featured face turned the colour of tallow.

“Yes. Come on; do you want to be nabbed?”

Corridon jerked away, pushed past Yevski and ran down the steps to the van. His urgency communicated itself to Yevski, who followed. They got into the van and Yevski drove off.

“Dead! I can’t believe it,” Yevski said, as he drove recklessly round the corner into Bayswater Road.

“She shot him through the head. The damned fool! It was his fault and he asked for it. She was ready to come with me when he appeared. He had a gun in his hand. She shot him. She must have had the gun in the pocket of her house-coat. I tried to grab her, but she shot at me. She caught me in the arm. Then she slammed the front door, and I heard her yelling for the police.”

Yevski cursed under his breath.

“If only the fool had kept out of sight. Why did you let him come up?” Corridon went on.

“I thought he was going to wait in the hall,” Yevski said sullenly.

“That wasn’t what I told him to do. I said wait in the van.”

“To hell with what you said!” Yevski snarled.

“We’ll see what Ames has to say about that,” Corridon said grimly. “And you’d better slow down. The police will be looking for us. If they spot this van speeding, they might investigate.”

Yevski grunted and slowed down. They went on at a steady thirty miles an hour.

After they had passed Hammersmith Broadway, Yevski said uneasily, “If Bruger’s dead, he’s dead. It wasn’t my fault. He never listened to what I said.”

Corridon grinned in the darkness.

“Forget it. You did what you were told. I’ll see you don’t suffer for it.”

He hung out of the van window and looked back, but they weren’t being followed. The shooting had happened so quickly it was unlikely anyone had caught sight of the van. He wondered if Lorene would go to Ritchie. It was bad luck he hadn’t had time to tell her about Baintrees.

As they swung through the gates of the White City, Yevski pulled up.

“You’d better get in the back,” he said almost apologetically. “The boss said that was the way you were to travel.”

Corridon didn’t argue with him. He was anxious to find out where Baintrees was located, but he wasn’t going to risk disobeying orders. He got out of the cabin of the van. Yevski followed him around to the back and locked him in.

The van started again, and Corridon made a note of the time. It might be possible to help Ritchie find the place if he kept a record of the approximate speed and turns the van made.

He tied his handkerchief around the deep graze in his wrist made by Bruger’s bullet, and then concentrated on the task of plotting the van’s course. They drove for twenty minutes without turning, banging along at fifty miles an hour, then the van took a wide turn, and Corridon guessed it was negotiating a round-about. A few minutes later the van turned to the right and continued on its way. Corridon continued to jot down the turns and the times, and when finally the van slowed down and pulled up, he had a complete record which he hoped Ritchie would be able to follow: providing he could get it to him.

He climbed stiffly out of the van when Yevski pulled open the doors, and followed Yevski up the steps into the hall.

They went immediately to Ames’ office.

Ames was waiting for them, pacing up and down, his lean, hard face tense.

“Where is she?” he snapped as Corridon entered the room. “Your discipline is not satisfactory.”

Corridon said curtly, “Bruger disobeyed orders. I didn’t get her.”

Ames stood motionless. His black eyes blazed with fury.

“What happened?”

“I told Bruger to remain out of sight with the van. I went up to her flat and rang the bell. She came to the door. She seemed nervous, but pleased to see me. I told her her brother had met with an accident and I had come to fetch her. She was wearing a house-coat with large pockets. She said she would change. As I was following her into the flat, she suddenly screamed. I looked round. Bruger was on the stairs watching. I heard a bang of a gun. I was off my guard. She shot Bruger through the head, then shot at me.” He pulled back his sleeve to show the bloodstained handkerchief around his wrist. “Before I could grab her, she slammed the door, and was yelling for the police. I made sure Bruger was dead; then I bolted down the stairs and joined Yevski. We got away without being followed.”

Trembling with fury, Ames rounded on Yevski.

“Is this true?”

“Yes,” Yevski said. “I remained with the van. Bruger said he was going into the hall. I told him to stay with me, but he wouldn’t listen. I waited. Two shots came one after the other. As I ran into the hall, Corridon came down. He was bleeding. There was no time to waste. I drove away at once.”

The blazing eyes swivelled back to Corridon.

“So on your very first assignment, you fail,” Ames said clenching his fists.

“I failed because your men are not taught to obey orders,” Corridon returned. “If I had gone there on my own, she would be in this room now.”

Ames waved Yevski to the door. When he had gone, he said, “Have you any complaints about Yevski?”

Corridon shook his head.

“No. He behaved well. It was Bruger.”

Ames sat down at his desk.

“This is unfortunate,” he said, his voice suddenly mild. “I will find out what has happened to her. I had her flat covered before you arrived. We must get hold of her somehow.”

“Do you want a written report?” Corridon asked.

“No.” Ames looked up. “It’s a dangerous thing to fail in this organization. The less said about it the better. Understand, I don’t blame you. Bruger was at fault. I will make enquiries. You must need your dinner. Go and get it.” As Corridon turned to the door, Ames added, “You have nothing to worry about. Only don’t talk about this. If Homer asks you, tell him you have reported to me. We will not advertise Bruger’s disobedience.”

Corridon nodded and went out, closing the door quietly behind him. He felt elated. Bruger was Ames’ man. Bruger had disobeyed orders. The responsibility fell on Ames, and Ames wasn’t anxious to face the responsibility. It would seem, Corridon thought as he walked down the stairs to the dining-room, he now had a slight hold on Ames. Not much of a hold, but something, and it was up to him to drive the wedge home.

He was making progress.

III

Corridon found the dining-room practically deserted. Over by the window four men sat over their coffee, smoking and talking. In a corner a fat woman and an elderly man whispered while they made the tablecloth grey with cigarette ash.

Corridon wandered over to a table against the wall where he had a view of the whole room, and sat down.

He was halfway through his meal when he saw Kara Yagoda come into the room. She stood in the door way, and he studied her. Seen from that distance the thing about her that struck him most forcibly was her strength. She looked like a circus strong woman. Her head sat squarely on her broad shoulders, and the short column of her neck was extraordinarily thick. Beneath the dusty black sweater her figure was like a small, compact barrel. He had never seen such a chest on a woman. She had big, long-fingered hands, broad and immensely powerful. He decided she would be a match for most men: definitely not his type.

She came across the room and paused at his table.

“Hello,” she said, and pulled out the chair opposite him. “Mind if I join you?”

Corridon cut a piece of pie crust with his fork before saying, “Go ahead. I’m just finishing.”

She smiled. Her teeth were even, strong and white.

“I’ve had mine hours ago,” she said. “I thought I’d keep you company.”

“Very nice of you,” Corridon said without enthusiasm.

“I heard about you when I was in Russia,” she said, watching him closely. “They called you the Red Devil.”

“So they did,” Corridon said, pushed his plate away and drew his coffee closer to him. He lit a cigarette.

“I have asked Ames if I can work with you,” she went on. “He said I could. Are you pleased?”

Corridon studied her for a moment.

“Should I be? Are you so useful?”

An expression came into her eyes that irritated and slightly embarrassed him. It was too frankly inviting for his taste.

“Oh yes,” she said. “There are many things I can do. I am very strong.” She flexed her long, muscular finger. “I shoot very well. I drive a car better than anyone else here. I can climb, I have no nerves. I can make people talk no matter how obstinate they are. I understand explosives. I am a chemist.” She hunched her broad shoulders and looked at him out of the corners of her hard, green eyes. “I make love too – very well.”

“Sounds all right,” Corridon said with a show of indifference. “No doubt Ames will tell me when he wants us to work together. Frankly, I don’t care to have a woman with me when I’m doing a job. I find they are unreliable.”

She threw back her head and laughed.

“You will find I am more reliable than any man. Ask Ames. He doesn’t give praise for nothing. I hear the Feydak woman slipped through your fingers. Bruger is a fool. I am glad he is dead. Ames relied on him too much. Now, this is my chance. I am to take Bruger’s place.”

“That’s nice for you,” Corridon said, pushing back his chair. “I’m going to my room. Please excuse me.”

She stood up.

“I am going to my room, too. We can go together.”

Corridon stood aside and let her go ahead. He studied her back as she walked with a slight sway of her hips to the door.

They went silently up the stairs, and outside her door, she paused and faced him.

“Will you come in? I have something to show you.”

Corridon shook his head.

“Sorry, not now. I’m going to bed.”

“Tomorrow night, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. So long.”

He turned, pushed open his door and entered the room. As he turned to close the door, he found her leaning against the door jamb.

“Why not tonight?” she asked. “You and I could be good friends. I believe in being frank. There are hours of great boredom here. Could we not amuse ourselves as we are so conveniently situated?”

“Sorry,” Corridon said. “I don’t rush into such things without a few preliminaries. Possibly I’m a little old-fashioned.”

“That is interesting,” she said, her eyes hardening. “I don’t recollect there were any preliminaries so far as Lorene Feydak was concerned. But perhaps you find her more attractive than I am?”

Corridon was fast losing patience, but at the same time he realized this woman could be dangerous. He didn’t want to make an enemy of her if he could help it.

“Still sorry,” he said gently. “Good night.”

She looked at him.

“I see. Perhaps that is why Bruger died. That is interesting. Good night, my friend.”

She turned away and went into her room. Corridon stood still, listening to the sound of her door closing, then he frowned, aware that his face and hands were damp.

Later, as he was preparing for bed, the door opened and Ames came in.

“Ah,” Ames said, “I looked for you downstairs.” He shut the door. His thin, white face was mild. “There is no trace of her. She has vanished.”

“Lorene?”

“Yes, Lorene.” Ames moved to the bed and sat on it. “I have had a report. A few seconds after you had gone a police car arrived; then an ambulance. Bruger was taken away. Then Rawlins turned up, and Lorene went with him. It was not possible to follow them. We have checked the police stations but she’s not in any of the local ones.”

“They wouldn’t take her to a police station. They’ve taken her to Ritchie. If she knows anything, Ritchie will make her talk.”

“Where is she then?” Ames demanded, leaning forward.

“Where you haven’t a hope to get at her,” Corridon said. “Probably the Tower. Ritchie has accommodation there. I know No. 12 was taken there.”

Ames frowned.

“This is bad, really bad.” He leaned forward and stared at Corridon. “It’s dangerous for both of us. If it is found out, both of us could get into serious trouble. The Leader doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”

“I can’t see how it affects me,” Corridon said smoothly. “I wasn’t allowed to handle it my way. Bruger disobeyed my orders. If I make a report, it’ll let me out.”

Ames slid the tip of his tongue along his thin lips.

“That may be, but it wouldn’t let me out.”

“Well, no, but do you expect me to worry about that?”

“We could be useful to each other,” Ames said; his smile was forced.

This was the opportunity Corridon had been waiting for. He didn’t hesitate.

“Certainly. You’re the only member of this organization who has impressed me up to now. I’d be glad to work with you. What can I do to cover up this… error, shall we call it?”

“No one knows, except Yevski, you went to her flat. I can arrange for Yevski to keep his mouth shut.”

“Kara knows.”

Ames’ eyes hardened.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. She told me. She knows Lorene got away. Probably Yevski is more of a talker than you imagine.”

“Kara is to be trusted,” Ames said after a moment’s thought. “I will speak to her. Now, listen, Bruger went to Lorene’s flat alone. You understand? He failed to follow out instructions and was shot. I will see both Kara and Yevski support this story. If you will keep out of it, I can handle it all right.”