Cade

by James Hadley Chase

  He switched on the short wave receiver.

  ‘Baumann? Are you listening in?’

  ‘This is Sherman,’ Sherman replied. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘I have all the photos I need,’ Cade said. ‘I want out. What’s the situation?’

  ‘You can’t leave before dark. I drove past an hour ago. There are two men at the gates, watching the length of the wall. You’ll have to wait until it’s dark.’

  ‘It’s important. I have dynamite here.’

  ‘No can do. You’ll have to wait.’

  ‘Okay,’ Cade said resigned and switched off. He looked towards the terrace.

  Hardenburg was wheeling Duslowski back into the Château. Anita, carrying the portfolio, followed him. The french windows closed and the terrace became deserted.

  Cade began to dismantle his camera which he carefully packed into the rucksack. He untied the tripod and packed that away. While he worked, his mind was busy.

  He had no idea how the American Consul would handle his pictures and he didn’t care, but he was certain he had a responsibility to get the pictures to the Consul and he was determined to do so.

  He relaxed back against the trunk of the tree and waited for darkness.

  A little after 17.15 hours, snow began to fall, and it turned very cold. Darkness crept over the forest, shutting out the Château except for three or four lighted windows.

  During the long, cold wait Cade had watched the guards as they walked around the Château, pausing to talk to one another, then moving on, alert and watchful.

  Now, satisfied it was dark enough, Cade switched on the short wave receiver.

  ‘Baumann?’

  ‘Listening in,’ Baumann said. ‘Okay. We’re coming. Think you can find your way back to the place we came over?’

  ‘I’ll try. In this darkness it all looks the same.’

  ‘You’ve got something?’

  ‘The biggest ever,’ Cade said. ‘Give me a flash from your headlights when you arrive. That’ll guide me.’

  ‘What do you mean … the biggest ever?’ Baumann demanded.

  ‘You’re wasting time. Get me out of here,’ Cade said and switched off.

  He began lowering his equipment down by rope. It didn’t prove easy as the branches of the tree grew closely together, but finally, after some nerve irritating jerking and moving of the rope, the equipment finally reached the snow.

  Cade began his cautious descent. He felt shaky and short of breath. Once or twice, he had to pause to rest, but at last, he dropped into the snow. He picked up his equipment and stood motionless, listening. He heard no sound except the moaning of the wind and the movement of the trees. He had only a vague idea where the wall was over which he had climbed. He began a cautious approach towards where he thought it would be.

  His equipment was heavy and he wished Baumann was with him to carry the short wave receiver. Then suddenly his foot caught in something and he fell flat on his face. For a moment he choked in panic as his mouth and nose sank into the cold snow, then he struggled up on hands and knees.

  He became aware of a soft light all around him. He looked back, his hair bristling, fear clutching at his heart. For a long moment the Château seemed bathed in light, then everything went dark again, blinding him. Somewhere in the distance he heard a shrill bell ringing.

  He knew then that he had set off a trip wire of an alarm. He got frantically to his feet, more frightened than he had ever been before. His one thought now was to get to the wall before the guards began to search the forest.

  He dropped the short wave receiver, but clung on to the rucksack as he blundered forward into the darkness, banging against tree trunks, his panic increasing.

  Then suddenly he saw the beam of a flashlight switch on and immediately switch off some fifteen metres to his right.

  Cade came to a standstill, trying to control his hard breathing. He listened, peering towards where he had seen the light.

  He heard a rustle of shrubs, then a movement alarmingly close to him. He let the rucksack slip to the snow. His heart was beating so violently, he had trouble in breathing. Instinctively, he crouched, then suddenly the beam of the flashlight hit him.

  He was half aware of a man’s grunt of startled surprise, then without thinking, Cade dived forward, his hands seeking the man’s legs. His shoulder hit the guard’s thigh, and together, the two men crashed down into the snow.

  Frantic with panic, Cade butted, punched and clawed at the invisible face. For several seconds he was on top of the fight as the guard had been taken completely by surprise, but Cade’s efforts were not enough to reduce the guard to submission. Once over his surprise, the guard exerted his superior strength. His body was trained and he quickly slid away from Cade’s clumsy hold. He flung Cade off and then rearing up, crashed down on Cade as he was trying to get to hands and knees.

  Cold, steel-like fingers quested and found Cade’s throat. He felt fingers close on his windpipe, and for a horrible moment, he thought he was about to die. He remembered the hunting knife he carried in his belt. Even as consciousness began to slip away from him, he found the knife, drew it and stabbed upwards with all his remaining strength. He felt a jar run up his arm as the knife cut through the guard’s clothing and sank into his body. The steel-like fingers released their grip. Sobbing for breath, Cade rolled clear, got to his feet and peered down at the dark figure in the snow.

  He became aware of voices not far off. At the same time he saw a light flicker on, outlining the wall that was not more than ten metres from where he was standing.

  He turned and blundered towards the wall, still gripping the knife, his heart pounding, his breath rasping in his throat.

  ‘Cade?’

  He recognised Baumann’s voice.

  ‘Yes!’ His voice was a croak.

  Something hit him sharply on the shoulder. It was the end of the knotted rope that Baumann had tossed over the wall. He could hear men crashing through the forest and looking back, cold sweat masking his face, he could see flickering beams from a dozen flashlights.

  He caught hold of the rope, dropping the hunting knife, and bracing his feet against the wall, he climbed to the top. He got astride the wall, then dropped over, falling into the snow close by where Baumann was standing.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Cade panted as he struggled to his feet ‘They’re after me!’

  Baumann was quick-witted enough to recognise the frantic note in Cade’s voice. He grabbed hold of him, hoisted him to his feet and half dragged, half pushed him to the parked Jaguar.

  It wasn’t until the car was moving with Cade, panting and exhausted by his side that Baumann said, ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  Cade tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He was remembering with horror the feel of the hunting knife as it had cut into the guard’s clothes and into his body. He could have killed him! he thought.

  ‘Cade!’

  ‘Shut your goddamn mouth!’ Cade managed to say. ‘Drive!’

  Ten minutes later, skidding on the ice-bound road at a reckless speed. Baumann pulled up outside the hotel.

  ‘I have to have a drink!’ Cade said. ‘For Christ’s sake … get me a drink!’

  Baumann got out of the car, went around to Cade’s seat, opened the door and hauled him out.

  ‘Don’t take me through the hotel, you fool,’ Cade panted. ‘I’m all over blood!’

  ‘Just what the hell has happened?’ Baumann demanded, his voice rising.

  ‘Get me upstairs!’

  Baumann cursed, then grabbing hold of Cade, he led him to the back of the hotel. They took the service lift up to the second floor. Baumann, still clutching hold of Cade, walked quickly along the corridor and into their sitting-room where Sherman was pacing up and down, and Grau, a bored expression on his face, sat in a chair, chewing gum.

  As they entered the room, both Grau and Sherman gaped at Cade, then Grau sprung to his feet.

  ‘He’s bleeding!’ he exclaimed.
<
br />   Cade tore off his windcheater, stained with the guard’s blood.

  ‘Give me a drink, damn you!’ he said furiously to Baumann. ‘Don’t gape at me … get me a drink!’

  Baumann, unnerved, poured drinks.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked Cade as he gave him a stiff whisky.

  Cade drank, sighed, finished the drink, then pushing by Baumann poured another drink.

  ‘I’m all right. I had a fight with one of the guards … I had to knife him.’

  There was a sudden silence as the three men stared at Cade.

  ‘You knifed him?’ Baumann’s voice rose. ‘You … Good God! You didn’t kill him?’

  Cade looked at the blood on his fingers. Shuddering, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his fingers clean.

  ‘I don’t know. He would have killed me if I hadn’t had the knife.’ He was now recovering. The blessed calming effect of the alcohol seeping through him minimised his panic ‘We have to get these photos to the American Consul, Baumann! They are dynamite! Come on … we have to get to Geneva fast!’

  ‘What do you mean … dynamite?’ Baumann shouted. ‘Don’t you realise, you fool, I don’t know what the hell’s been happening? What is all this?’

  Cade blinked, then pulled himself together.

  ‘Sorry. This is big. The biggest There’s been a meeting between General Erich Hardenburg and Boris Duslowski. They were on the terrace, examining maps together and I have photos of them.’

  Baumann stared at Cade as if he thought he had gone mad.

  ‘Duslowski? Are you crazy? Duslowski killed himself ten years ago! What are you yammering about?’

  ‘That’s what I thought but he’s alive. Why do you imagine they have all those armed guards? They’re Hardenburg’s men!’

  ‘Duslowski?’ Baumann continued to stare at Cade. ‘You’re drunk! He’s dead! What are you talking about?’

  ‘He’s alive! He and Hardenburg!’ Cade said, banging his fist on the table. ‘I have pictures to prove it!’

  ‘If this is true … !’ Baumann stared at Cade’s white face and saw by the expression in his eyes it was true. ‘Give me the films! I’ll fly them to S.B. right away!’

  Cade shook his head.

  ‘No, you won’t He’s not having them. These pictures are far too important to give to Braddock. They are going direct to the American Consul at Geneva!’

  Baumann’s face hardened.

  ‘You’re under contract to S.B. What pictures you take are his property. Give them to me!’

  ‘The Consul gets them, Baumann, and no one else!’

  Baumann’s face darkened with rage.

  ‘This is what comes of working with a drunk!’ he exploded. He turned to Sherman. ‘Do you go along with him, Ben?’

  ‘You bet I don’t,’ Sherman said. ‘S.B. gets the photographs! It’s up to him what he does with them!’

  ‘That’s it,’ Baumann said and held out his hand. ‘Let’s have the films, Cade. It’s three to one … we’ll get rough if we have to!’

  ‘Will you?’

  Cade backed away. He wished he had more guts. He wished he wasn’t a drunk. He was frightened of Baumann, but something behind his fear stiffened his morale, making him determined not to give the films to this stocky Swiss.

  He snatched up a glass ash-tray: a despairing gesture of the weak against the strong.

  ‘You start something and this goes through the window,’ he said.

  Baumann sneered at him.

  ‘What’s a broken window between friends?’ he said. ‘Come on, Cade, you can’t be all that drunk. Give me those films!’

  Sherman and Grau began to move towards Cade, then they paused and stiffened as a loud knock sounded on the door.

  Sudden alarm in his eyes, Baumann said, ‘Who is it?’

  A voice snapped: ‘Police! Open please!’

  Suddenly white-faced, Baumann turned on Cade.

  ‘Give me those films, you drunken fool!’

  As Cade continued to back away, the door leading into his bedroom opened and a tall, powerfully built man, wearing the grey uniform of the Swiss Police strode into the room.

  ‘Remain as you are!’ he barked, his hand on the butt of the gun at his hip.

  A short, stocky man in a black raincoat and wearing a blade slouch hat moved in behind the policeman. He walked across the room, turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Two other men who Cade recognised as Hardenburg’s guards came in, their hands in their raincoat pockets, their faces stony as they took up position around the room.

  Baumann faced the Swiss policeman.

  ‘What does this mean?’ he blustered. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Your passports please’ the policeman said. ‘you haven’t registered in this hotel … that is an offence.’

  Baumann drew in a long breath of relief.

  ‘I’m sorry. We have been busy. We forgot. Here is my passport. My friends have theirs.’

  Watching, Cade wasn’t fooled by this by-play. If the policeman had come on his own, he would have accepted the situation, but with Hardenburg’s men in the room, he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before they were all arrested and searched.

  Both Sherman and Grau took out their passports and handed them to the policeman.

  ‘Mine’s in my bedroom,’ Cade said casually. ‘I’ll get it.’ He began walking slowly towards his bedroom, his body stiff with fear, his heart thumping.

  ‘Hey, you! Wait!’ the policeman snapped.

  His body cringing, Cade continued into his room. He heard footsteps behind him. He caught hold of the door and slammed it shut in the face of the advancing guards. He turned the key as a shoulder slammed against the door which creaked, but held. He jumped across the room, flung open the door that led into the corridor, hesitated, then stepped back behind the door, pulling it against him, wedging himself between the door and the wall.

  He heard the door from the sitting-room burst open.

  ‘He’s getting away!’ he heard a man shout. ‘Quick!’

  He then heard two men dart into the corridor and start running towards the elevator. He remained where he was, his heart hammering.

  From the sitting-room, he heard the policeman say, ‘You are under arrest.’

  He listened to Baumann’s excited protests, then came the sounds of a scuffle. He heard Sherman curse.

  Then: ‘All right … all right.’ This from Baumann. ‘We’ll come … cut it out!’

  Crouching against the wall, Cade listened to the tramp of feet as the policeman and the two other men with Baumann, Grau and Sherman moved past his open door and on down the corridor.

  He waited until he heard the whine of the elevator, then he moved out from behind the door. He snatched up the wool-lined motoring coat he had worn on the way up to Villars, struggled into it, then ran to the french windows. He opened them and stepped out onto the snow-covered balcony. He closed the windows behind him.

  Looking down onto the courtyard of the hotel, he saw three parked cars and two Swiss Policemen standing by them. Immediately below him was another balcony. Without hesitation, he swung himself over the balustrade and dropped onto the balcony below. The fall shook him, but he was far too frightened to care. The french windows leading into the room were dark. He tried the latch: it gave and he moved into the darkened room. He paused to listen, then hearing nothing, he pulled the drapes across the windows and groped his way across the room, found the light switch and turned it on.

  His blood froze when he saw a girl in the bed close to him. She was beginning to sit up as he threw himself on her, his hand clamping down on her mouth, the weight of his body crushing her.

  He was aware of two terrified blue eyes as he lay flat on her. She tried to struggle, but she was helpless under his weight.

  Cade said in a hysterical whisper, ‘Don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you. I want your help!’

  The big, terrified eyes searched his face, then seeing he was much mor
e frightened than she was, the girl began to relax. Slowly, he released his grip over her mouth.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, her steady, calm voice did much to blanket Cade’s own panic. She spoke English but from her accent, he guessed she was either Swiss or French.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He sat upright, taking his weight off her body. ‘I didn’t know you were here. You won’t scream, will you?’

  ‘You’re crushing me.’

  He realised he was sitting on her legs and he hurriedly stood up.

  ‘I’m sorry …’

  ‘Don’t keep saying that! Oh! You frightened the life out of me!’

  ‘Nothing like the way you scared me,’ Cade said with feeling. ‘You wouldn’t have a drink up here?’

  She was studying him.

  ‘You can’t be Val Cade, can you?’ She sat up, holding the sheet against her breasts. ‘I believe you are.’

  He now became aware of her. She was around twenty-five years of age, dark, and she made him think of Elizabeth Taylor. Not quite so beautiful, but beautiful enough.

  ‘Yes, I’m Cade. How did you know?’

  ‘How do I know? My dear man! I am probably your most dotty fan! You aren’t here to rape me, are you?’

  Cade suddenly felt as if he was going to faint. He looked around wildly, then seeing an armchair, he dropped into it. Cold sweat glistened on his face. The horror of the thrusting knife, the blood that had stained his hands still haunted him.

  ‘No … I …’ he managed to say, then he put his hands to his face, fighting off the faintness that threatened him.

  He was vaguely aware that she had got out of bed and he heard a tap running, then a glass was thrust into his hand.

  ‘Drink this!’ Her voice was sharp and cut into his fading consciousness.

  The bite of whisky revived him. He drank greedily, then let the glass slip out of his fingers. It dropped with a little thump on the floor.

  ‘Could you please tell me what is happening?’ the girl asked.

  He looked at her, amazed at her calm.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Me?’ She had thrown on a flame-coloured wrap and was now sitting on the side of the bed. ‘My name is Ginette Dupris. I am a French national. I work for a Travel Agent in Montreux. I am on vacation, and I am crazy about your photographs. Is that the kind of thing you want to know?’