The Tightrope Men / The Enemy

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A single coach on the railway - diesel driven.’

  ‘You say it’s a spur-line. You mean the rail stops at Strängnäs?’

  ‘It has to, or it would run into Lake Mälaren,’

  I contemplated that. ‘So it’s a dead end.’

  ‘For the railway, but not for cars. There’s a road which goes by way of the islands to the north shore of Mälaren. But it’s late; I wouldn’t bet they’ll be able to hire a car at this time of night.’

  True,’ I said. ‘But step on it, Larry.’ I watched the road unwinding out of the darkness against the hypnotic beat of the wipers as they cleared snow from the windscreen. The headlights brightened as Larry operated the light wipers. ‘Anything else about Strängnäs?’

  ‘It’s not much of a place.’ said Henty. ‘Population about twelve thousand; a bit of light industry - pharmaceuticals, penicillin. X-ray film - stuff like that. It’s also a garrison town for a training regiment, and it’s HQ, East Military Command.’ His interest sharpened. ‘Is Ashton connected with the soldier boys?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  Henty persisted. ‘You’d tell me if he is? That’s my line of country, and I’ve helped you enough.’

  ‘Definitely not,’ I said. ‘His interests aren’t military, and neither are mine. We’re not poaching on your patch.’

  ‘Just as long as I know.’ He seemed satisfied.

  We didn’t bother going back all the way to Åkersstyckebruk; finding Ashton was more important than finding the state of Gregory’s ankle. We came to the outskirts of Strängnäs and coasted gently through snow-covered streets towards the lake edge and the centre of town. A few turns around the town centre proved one thing - there was only one hotel - so we pulled up on the other side of the street from the Hotel Rogge and I sent Henty in to find out the form.

  He was away about five minutes and when he came back he said. ‘They’re both there-booked under the names of Ashton and Williams.’

  ‘So he’s reverted,’ I said. ‘Using his own passport. Koslov has suddenly become too hot.’

  ‘I booked in for the three of us.’

  ‘No; you stay, but Larry and I are going to find Gregory. I’ll ring Ogilvie now and ask him to retrieve Brent and Michaelis from wherever the hell they are now - they can have the other two beds here. We’ll be back at six tomorrow morning and I want a concentration inside and outside the hotel. Where are Ashton and Benson now?’

  ‘Not in any of the public rooms,’ said Henty. ‘I’d say they’re in bed.’

  ‘Yes, they’re getting pretty old for this sort of thing,’ I said pensively. ‘Come to think of it, so am I.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Gregory had sensibly waited at the railway station at Åkersstyckebruk for someone to pick him up. He said he was stiff, cold, tired, and that his ankle hurt like hell, so we all booked into a hotel. At five next morning Larry and I were on our way back to Strängnäs, but Gregory was able to sleep in because I decided to send him back to Stockholm. He’d be no good to us because his ankle really was bad, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that, because of him, we’d pinned down Ashton and Benson.

  Just before six I parked the car around the corner from the Hotel Rogge, and at six on the button I went on the air. ‘Hello,’ I said brightly. ‘Any Bluebirds awake?’

  Henty said disgruntedly into my ear, ‘Don’t be so bloody cheerful.’

  ‘Did the other two arrive?’

  ‘Yes; at two this morning. They’re still asleep.’

  ‘And Redbird and his friend?’

  ‘They’re definitely here - I made sure of that - they’re asleep, too.’ He paused. ‘And I wish to Christ I was.’

  ‘Come out here. We’re just around the corner on -’ I craned my neck to find a street sign - ‘on Källgatan.’

  He said nothing but the transmission hum stopped so I switched off. He did not appear for a quarter of an hour so Larry and I made small talk. There was nothing much to say because we’d talked the subject to death already. When Henty did arrive he was newly shaven and looked in reasonably good shape even though his manner was still a little shaggy. ‘Morning,’ he said shortly, as he got into the car.

  I passed a vacuum flask over my shoulder. ‘Be gruntled.’

  He unscrewed the top and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Ah, scotch coffee!’ He poured a cupful and was silent for a moment before he said, ‘That’s better. What’s the drill?’

  ‘What time is breakfast?’

  ‘I don’t know. Say, from seven o’clock - maybe seventhirty. These country hotels all differ.’

  ‘I want the three of you in the breakfast room as soon as it opens; you at one table, Michaelis and Brent at another. They are to talk to each other and one of them has to give a running commentary over the air about Ashton and Benson as soon as they come in to breakfast. I want to know exactly how Ashton is acting - and reacting.’

  ‘We can do that,’ said Henty. ‘But I don’t get the reason.’

  I said, ‘Half way through breakfast I’m going to send Larry in to do a replay of his Russian act.’

  ‘Jesus! You’ll give Ashton a heart attack.’

  ‘We’ve got to keep the pressure on,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to give them time to hire a car, and I want to herd them out of town pretty early. Where’s the closed van Michaelis has been driving?’

  Henty pointed across the darkened street. ‘In the hotel car park.’

  ‘Good enough. I want him inside it and ready to go as soon as Ashton moves. I want this whole bloody thing cleaned up before eight o’clock if possible. Now you can go in and wake the sleeping beauties.’

  When Henty had gone Larry regarded me curiously. ‘I know you’ve been keeping out of sight,’ he said. ‘But if what you’re doing ever comes out you’re not going to be popular with the Ashton family.’

  ‘I know,’ I said shortly. ‘But this is the way Ogilvie wants it done. And I’m making bloody sure I do stay out of sight, not for Ogilvie’s reasons but my own.’ Christ! I thought. If Penny ever got to know about this she’d never forgive me in a thousand years.

  The time passed and we shared the flask of scotch coffee between us. Strängnäs began to wake up and there was movement in the streets, and we occasioned a couple of curious glances from passers-by. I suppose it was strange for a couple of men to be sitting in a parked car so early in the morning so I told Larry to drive into the hotel car park which was more secluded.

  The hotel breakfast started at seven-thirty. I knew that because Jack Brent came on the air with a description of the breakfast he was eating. He described the herring and the boiled eggs and the cheese and the coffee and all the trimmings until I began to salivate. He was doing it deliberately, the bastard.

  Because I made no response he tired of the game and switched off, but at seven-fifty he said, ‘They’re here now - Ashton and Benson. Just sitting down - two tables away. Benson looks dour but Ashton seems cheerful enough.’

  No one would know Brent was broadcasting; apparently he would be chatting animatedly to Michaelis. but every word was picked up by the throat microphone concealed beneath the knot of his tie. The throat microphone gave a peculiarly dead quality to the broadcast; there was no background noise - no clatter of cutlery or coffee cups to be heard - just Brent’s voice and the rasp of his breathing greatly magnified. Even if he spoke in a whisper every word would come across clearly.

  I listened to his description and felt increasingly uneasy. Not about Ashton who, according to Brent, seemed fairly relaxed; I was uneasy about myself and my role in this charade. I would have given a lot to be able to walk into the Hotel Rogge, sit down at Ashton’s table, and have a down-to-earth chat with him. I was convinced I could get him back to England just by talking to him, but Ogilvie wouldn’t have that. He didn’t want our cover blown.

  I was depressed when I turned to Larry, and said quietly, ‘All right. Go in and have your breakfast.’ He got out of
the car and walked into the hotel.

  Brent said, ‘Ashton’s just poured himself another cup of coffee. He hasn’t lost his appetite, that’s for certain. Ho ho! Larry Godwin has just walked in. Ashton hasn’t seen him yet, nor has Benson. Larry’s talking to the waitress by the door. God, how he’s mangling his Swedish - can hear him from here. So can Ashton. He’s turned and he’s looking at Larry. I can’t see his face. He’s turned back again and now he’s nudging Benson. He’s as white as a sheet. The waitress is coming forward with Larry now - showing him to a table. Larry is passing Ashton’s table - he turns and speaks to him. Ashton has knocked over his coffee cup. Benson is looking bloody grim; if ever I saw a man capable of murder it’s Benson right now. He’s no oil painting at the best of times but you should see him now. Ashton wants to get up and leave, but Benson is holding him back.’

  I switched channels on my transmitter and Brent’s voice abruptly stopped. I said, ‘Henty, finish your breakfast and leave. Cover the front of the hotel. Michaelis, same for you, but get in your van and cover the back.’

  I reversed out of the hotel car park and drove a little way up Källgatan and parked where I could see the front entrance of the hotel. When I switched back to Brent he was saying ‘…looks pretty shattered and Benson is talking to him urgently. I think he’s having a hard job keeping control. You’d think it would be the other way round because Benson is only Ashton’s servant. Anyway, that’s what it looks like from here - Ashton wants to make a break and Benson is stopping him. Larry isn’t doing much - just eating his breakfast - but every now and then he looks across at Ashton and smiles. I don’t think Ashton can take much more of it. I’ll have to stop now because Michaelis is leaving and I’ll look bloody funny talking to myself.’

  He stopped speaking and the transmission hum ceased. I keyed my transmitter. ‘Larry, when Ashton and Benson leave follow them from behind with Brent.’ I saw Henty come out of the hotel and walk across the street. Michaelis came next and walked around to the car park where he disappeared from sight.

  Ten minutes later Ashton and Benson appeared, each carrying a bag. They stepped out on to the pavement and Ashton looked up and down the street uncertainly. He said something to Benson who shook his head, and it looked as though there was a difference of opinion. Behind them Larry appeared in the hotel entrance.

  I said, ‘Larry, go and talk to Ashton. Ask him to follow you. If he agrees, take him to the van and put him in the back.’

  ‘And Benson?’

  ‘Him, too - if possible.’

  Ashton became aware that Larry was watching him and pulled at Benson’s arm. Benson nodded and they began to walk away but stopped at Larry’s call. Larry hurried over to them and began talking and, as he did so, Brent came out and stood close to them.

  I heard the one-way conversation. Larry talked fast in Russian and twice Ashton nodded, but Benson made interjections, each time accompanied by a headshake, and tried to get Ashton away. At last he succeeded and the pair of them walked off, leaving Larry flat. They were coming straight towards me so I ducked out of sight.

  While I was down on the car floor I spoke to Larry. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Ashton nearly came, but Benson wouldn’t have it. He spoiled it.’

  ‘Did Benson speak Russian?’

  ‘No, English; but he understood my Russian well enough.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Going up the street - about thirty yards past your car.’

  I emerged from hiding and looked in the mirror. Ashton and Benson were walking away quickly in the direction of the railway station.

  After that it all became a little sick because we literally herded them out of town. They found the railway station blocked by Brent, and when they tried to duck back to the town centre they were confronted by Larry and Henty. They soon became aware they had a quartet of opponents and, twist and turn as they might, they found themselves being driven to the edge of town. And all the time I orchestrated the bizarre dance, manipulating them like puppets. I didn’t like myself at all.

  At last we got to the main Stockholm-Eskilstuna road and they plunged across, Benson nearly being hit by a speeding car which went by with a wailing blast of horn. There were no more streets or houses on the other side - just an infinity of pine trees. I had Michaelis go back and pick up the van, and sent the other three into the forest while I parked my car before following. It seemed as though the chase was nearly over - you can’t be more private than in a Swedish forest.

  They made better time over rough country than I would have expected of two elderly men. Ashton had already proved his fitness to me, but I hadn’t expected Benson to have the stamina because he was a few years older than Ashton. Once in the trees you couldn’t see far and they kept foxing us by changing direction. Twice we lost them; the first time we picked them up by sheer luck, and the second time, by finding their abandoned bags. And all the time I was leading from the rear, directing the operation by radio.

  We had gone perhaps three kilometres into the forest and the going was becoming rougher. Where the ground was not slippery with snow and ice it was even more slippery with pine needles. The ground rose and fell, not much but enough to take your breath away on the uphill slopes. I paused at the top of one such slope just as Brent said in my ear, ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen!’

  I listened, trying to control my heavy breathing, and heard a rattle of shots in the distance. They seemed to come from somewhere ahead, deeper in the forest.

  ‘Someone hunting,’ said Larry.

  Brent said incredulously, ‘With a machine-gun!’

  ‘Quiet!’ I said. ‘Is Ashton spotted?’

  ‘I’m standing looking into a little valley,’ said Henty. ‘Very few trees. I can see both Ashton and Benson - they’re about four hundred yards away.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but where the hell are you?’

  ‘Just keep coming ahead,’ said Henty. ‘It’s a long valley - you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Everybody move,’ I said. Again came the sound of firing, this time a sporadic rattling of badly-spaced single shots. Certainly not a machine-gun as Brent had suggested. It could have been the shoot-out at the OK Corral, and I wondered what was happening. Hunters certainly didn’t pop off like that.

  I pressed on and presently came to a crest where I looked down into the valley. Henty was right; it was relatively treeless and the snow was thicker. In the distance I saw Ashton and Benson moving very slowly; perhaps they were hampered by the snow, but I thought the chase was telling on them. Henty was at the valley bottom below me, and Brent and Larry were together, bounding down the hillside, closing in on our quarry from an angle.

  Again came firing and, by God, this time it was machinegun fire, and from more than one machine-gun. Then there came some deeper coughs, followed by thumping explosions. In the distance, not too far ahead, I saw a haze of smoke drifting above the trees on the far side of the valley.

  Henty had stopped. He looked back at me and waved, and said over the radio, ‘I know what it is. This is an army exercise area. They’re having war games.’

  ‘Live ammunition?’

  ‘Sounds like it. Those were mortars.’

  I began to run, bouncing and slithering down the slope. When I got to the bottom I saw that Brent and Larry were within fifty yards of Ashton and gaining on him fast. Ashton switched direction, and I yelled, ‘Brent - Larry - fall back!’

  They hesitated momentarily but then went on, caught in the lust of the chase. I shouted again. ‘Fall back! Don’t drive him into the guns.’

  They checked, but I ran on. I was going to speak to Ashton myself, regardless of what Ogilvie had said. This was a sick game which had to be stopped before somebody was killed. Ashton was climbing the other side of the valley, heading towards the trees on the crest, but going very slowly. Benson was nowhere to be seen. I ran until I thought my chest would burst, and gained on
Ashton.

  At last I was close enough, and I shouted, ‘Ashton - George Ashton - stop!’

  He turned his head and looked back at me as a further burst of firing came, and more explosions of mortar bombs. I took off the fur hat I was wearing and threw it away so that he could get a good look at me. His eyes widened in surprise and he hesitated in his upward climb, then stopped and turned around. Brent and Larry were coming in on my left and Henty on the right.

  I was about to call out to him again when there was another single shot, this time from quite close, and Ashton stumbled forward as though he had tripped. I was within ten yards of him and heard him gasp. Then there was another shot and he whirled around and fell and came rolling down the slope towards me to stop at my feet.

  I was aware that Henty had passed me and momentarily saw a gun in his fist, then I bent over Ashton. He coughed once and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes still held surprise at the sight of me, and he said, ‘Mal…colm…what…’

  I said, ‘Take it easy, George,’ and put my hand inside his coat. I felt a warm wetness.

  He scrabbled in his pocket for something, and said, ‘The…the…’ His hand came up before my face with the fist clenched. ‘The…the…’ Then he fell back, his eyes still open and looking at the sky with deeper surprise. A snowflake fell and settled on his left eyeball, but he didn’t blink.

  In the distance mortars thumped and machine-guns rattled, and there were more single shots, again from quite close. I looked down at Ashton and cursed quietly. Brent crunched over the snow. ‘Dead?’

  I withdrew my hand and looked at the blood. Before wiping it clean on the snow I said, ‘You try his pulse.’

  I stood up as Brent knelt and thought of the unholy mess we - I - had made of the operation. The snow around Ashton’s body was changing colour from white to red. Brent looked up at me. ‘Yes, he’s dead. From the amount of blood here the aorta must have been cut. That’s why he went so fast.’