The Labyrinth Makers dda-1

by Anthony Price

  'And what happened to the things then?'

  'One of the ground crew was there to pick 'em up. There's a little hut just not far from the runway. There's a firing range further on, just near the old castle–we didn't use it, but when it was a bomber dummy4

  field they kept the range ammunition there I think.'

  'In the hut?'

  'Yes. It was empty and locked up. Johnnie broke the lock off an'

  put one of his own on it just like it. He called it his safe deposit–no one worries about a hut if it's properly locked up. And then he came by and picked the things up later–he had some excuse for walking up that way.'

  'And that's what you did the last time.'

  Tierney nodded. 'We had to stop so Morrison an' me could lower the boxes out–Mac wouldn't help. He wouldn't have anything to do with it.'

  Maclean was the odd man out in the crew, the honest one.

  Morrison was probably basically honest too, but willing and scared–too scared to admit that he had even handled the cargo years afterwards.

  'It was a two-man job?'

  'It was a two-man job to lower the boxes out of the Dak–some of those boxes were bloody heavy. But Ellis'd got a little trolley from somewhere.'

  Audley warmed to the memory of John Steerforth. The minor smuggling was nothing, the artificial crime created by avaricious governments and economics beyond the grasp of ordinary men.

  The major crime was equally forgivable–a plundering of the plunderers doubly absolved by daring, ingenious last-minute improvisation and attention to detail. Faith's father had deserved his good luck, not his misfortune.

  dummy4

  And for him Ellis was a bonus: he was one of the accessible survivors of the ground crew whose address had been traced.

  But Tierney was still talking.

  '. . . five minutes, but it seemed like hours. We'd never brought anything so big in before. Johnnie said it was worth it because it was the last time.'

  The last time. It had been that all right: the very last time.

  'So Ellis put it in the safe deposit. And when did you go and check up on it?'

  'Check up on it?' A shadow crossed the man's face, as the resurrected memory of wealth won and lost took hold of him. 'I never did–at least not till much later. Johnnie said it was put away safely, an' we'd have to wait and be careful for a long while.' He stopped and gave Faith an oddly pathetic glance. Like Jones, he'd never quite believed in the death of the clever, indestructible John Steerforth. 'And I trusted him,' he said simply.

  'I told that man–the Frenchman–that we couldn't bring it in the first time, and Johnnie was like a cat with two tails.'

  'When was it that he told you it was put away safely?'

  'It was next day–at the afternoon briefing, just before I went to see the Frenchman. At the Bull I saw him.'

  'And you finally checked the hut–how long after?'

  'Three weeks–more–I don't remember. I broke my sodding ankle baling out. There was a thunderstorm and we'd lost a lot of height–

  we were too low.' Tierney was no longer looking at Audley; he was dummy4

  looking through him and far away, back into the thunderstorm.

  'Far too low. I thought we were going to come down in the sea. But Johnnie nursed her along–he said the old bitch knew what he wanted, she just hadn't understood her orders properly and he wasn't going to let her spoil everything.'

  There was a squeal of laughter from the next table. One of the youths who had joined the mini-skirts had spilt beer down his shirt.

  Tierney's eyes focused on Audley again.

  'But the old bitch got him, didn't she! She bloody well got him! I never thought I'd see her picture again!'

  'And how much of this did you tell Bloch and his colleagues?'

  'Colleagues? I never saw any colleagues. Only Bloch. He got into the hospital a couple of days after I was taken there. I didn't even know Johnnie was missing — they didn't tell me. So I told him what we'd agreed on: that Johnnie wouldn't dare crashland with the stuff on board and we'd lost the lot.'

  'Did Johnnie have a car?'

  'A car–no. He didn't even have a licence. I remember he said it was silly, being able to fly a plane and not being trusted with a car.'

  That was another bonus, and a wholly unexpected one.

  The possibility of handy transport, even in those austerity days, had been the one insuperable danger. It had never remotely occurred to him that Steerforth could not drive. Rather, he'd taken it for granted that he could.

  'It's still there, isn't it!' Tierney was looking at him with a look of total incredulity. 'Of course it's still there. It has to be still there, dummy4

  and it was staring me in the face.'

  Tierney had really been remarkably slow to follow the drift of the questions. Or slow at least to recover after being shocked into co-operating. Either way he would give nothing more which could be relied on. Audley took out his wallet and extracted five £10 notes from it.

  'Fifty?' Tierney's assessment of his value was inflating rapidly with the birth of understanding. 'What I've given you's worth more than fifty!'

  Audley was tempted to put the money back in his pocket. But it was more a gift to the blind goddess than to Tierney.

  'What you've given me is worth nothing,' he said brutally. 'Nothing to you, anyway. You had your chance long ago, but because you were stupid–and because you didn't trust John Steerforth enough in the end–you missed it.'

  'I could still queer your pitch–I could go to the authorities. I could report you! Both of you—'

  The threat was empty and Audley was weary of the charade anyway. He reached into his pocket for his identification folder.

  'We are the authorities, Tierney. You've been had, I'm afraid.'

  Tierney squinted at the folder, then at Audley and finally at Faith.

  And longest at Faith.

  'I could have sworn—' he began.

  'Johnnie's daughter?' It was the first time she had spoken since showing him the photograph. 'You weren't had there, Mr Tierney.

  dummy4

  I'm Johnnie's daughter. But you'd have done better not to have trusted me.' She spoke sadly.

  'And Morrison–and the other man?' Now Tierney was really empty, with not even fear left.

  'You weren't altogether had there either,' said Audley. The least he could do was to warn the man off–and make Richardson's job simpler. 'You're just lucky that we reached you first. There are other people around who wouldn't bluff you. You'd best take yourself and your fifty pounds on holiday–a week would do.'

  Tierney reached forward and scooped the five notes off the table, where they lay in a little puddle of spilt whisky.

  Audley got up.

  'A short holiday, Tierney–and we'll be keeping an eye on you, for your sake more than ours. And don't try to be clever. Don't go poking around Newton Chester trying to make up for lost time. I might see you there, and then I'd have you out of the way before your feet touched the ground again. Is that clear?'

  He bent down, close to Tierney's ear.

  'And go today, Tierney–go this afternoon.'

  X

  Richardson was just across the street outside the pub, peering morosely into the window of an antique shop. 'Tierney's going for a trip somewhere,' Audley told him. 'Just see him on his way. If he dummy4

  isn't off by four, go and remind him. Are you still mobile?'

  The long face split in a grin.

  'Hugh Roskill didn't fancy my old heap–he whistled up that souped-up racing car of his.'

  'Phone Newton Chester and book us a couple of rooms at the Bull.

  We'll meet you there with the others tomorrow morning.'

  'Make that a double room,' said Faith casually.

  'Yes, ma'am.' Richardson's eyes flicked between them. He was no longer grinning; it occurred to Audley that he was not only not grinning, but had apparently been struck by some facial paralysis which had st
randed his features in between emotions. Certainly no one could accuse him of grinning.

  Audley wasn't sure that he approved the way she was setting the pace of their relationship, even if it was one of the logical outcomes of emancipation. But he knew equally well that with a pace maker one either keeps up or drops out of the race altogether.

  'With a double bed,' he added in what he hoped sounded an equally casual tone. If Richardson too was required to report back on his progress, then he might as well have something to enliven his report.

  It wasn't until they were settled into the Rover that Faith spoke again.

  'I suppose I was out of line there?' she said, with a suggestion of truculence rather than apology in the question. 'Not in front of the help? You didn't like it much?'

  dummy4

  Audley could think of no suitable reply, short of admitting that he was old-fashioned, but she didn't wait for one anyway.

  'Well, I didn't like what happened in that bar very much either,' she continued. 'I didn't like you very much. I didn't even like myself.'

  He tried to concentrate on his driving; the Rover's transmission was automatic and his unoccupied left foot seemed unnaturally large.

  'Actually I thought you were hamming it a bit at first. I expected him to laugh in your face any minute. Or sock you, even though you were twice as big. But then you started to gloat–and it wasn't funny then. It was nasty!'

  Audley's left foot shrank back to its normal size as he saw the truth of it, and the chasm. He was not suited to this kind of work; not because he was too soft-hearted, as he had cretinously believed, but because with a little practice he could grow to like it too much.

  He'd been lucky with Morrison and Tierney–forgetting Jones and the police inspector. But when he'd learnt more he wouldn't need such luck . . .

  'I just don't know what sort of man you are! I've seen a gentle side–

  Mrs Clark's side. And a diffident side. And Daddy said you were very clever. And that nice man Roskill thinks the world of you–and so does Richardson, and he'd never even met you! But I think there could be a dark side I wouldn't like.'

  Damn her, thought Audley. She was fogging the issue when there were things, other things, he ought to be worrying about. Except that in the long run they might be less important things.

  dummy4

  'You still asked for a double room,' he said cruelly.

  She shook her head.

  'That wasn't just for you, David. It was for the Bull.'

  'For the Bull?'

  'That's not quite fair on you–it's only a hotel to you. You can't know about it.'

  'You've been there?'

  'Been there?' She sighed. 'No, I've never been there, not in the flesh. But it's part of my family history–I've heard them all talk of it. Grandmother used to tell me how they all met there. It was the squadron pub–"See you at the Bull" was their good luck saying! It was his special place–Johnnie Steerforth's pub. He met Mother there before I was born; I think he met her there the very first time.

  And Daddy met her there afterwards, my step-father, I mean. It was the only place . . .'

  She left the sentence unfinished and Audley writhed inwardly. He couldn't have known, and she was honest and had conceded it. But he could hardly have been more hamhanded in his egotistical misconstruction. Among all those ghosts of the living and the dead she didn't wish to be alone. Again it had been the need rather than the man, he told himself sadly.

  'I'm sorry. I've been rather thick, haven't I?' he confessed heavily.

  'We can go somewhere else. Or you can. In fact you could easily go home–you've done your part better than I deserve.'

  'Do you want me to go home?'

  'It's not for me to say. You've earned the right to decide that for dummy4

  yourself, I think.'

  She laughed. 'I'm not just a camp-follower any more then?'

  'Faith, you know damn well you were never just a camp-follower.'

  Audley nerved himself to abase his pride. 'If you want me to say whether I want you to go to the Bull to share a double bed with me in a double room, the answer is "yes", as you know very well. For me it would be a pleasure–and a privilege.

  'And as to that dark side of mine — the answer is "yes" to that too.

  I think there's a KGB man inside me trying to get out. And maybe that's another reason why you should stick around: we can both try to keep him in check now we've spotted him. At least until I can get back to my old job where he doesn't have any chances!'

  She put her hand softly on his arm.

  'Poor David! Things are complicated enough for you without a KGB girl of your own to watch your KGB man! I haven't even been straight with you, either. I do want to go to the Bull with you very much. I think I'd like to get the Bull out of my system and you into it. And I want to find Schliemann's treasure!'

  'Steerforth's treasure now. It'll always be his treasure as well now, whether we find it or not.'

  'But David — do you really think you can find it?'

  He shrugged. 'The Russians think we can, Faith. And we're the first people to look for it, after all. So given time maybe we can.

  Tierney's given us a good start, anyway –better than I expected.'

  'He has? Honestly, I couldn't quite see what you were driving at. I mean, it doesn't matter where it was put at first. It's where it ended dummy4

  up, and that could be — just anywhere.'

  'Oh, no, it couldn't. Your daddy was an extremely resourceful character, but he wasn't a miracle worker.'

  'I still don't see—'

  'Time, love! Time and trust and opportunity. I haven't been trying to find the treasure so far–I've been trying to find what the limiting factors were.

  'He didn't trust Tierney, and if he didn't trust Tierney he didn't trust anyone. So he shifted the treasure from the safe deposit hut by himself. And he did it that same night–he told Tierney it was put away safely next day. But he couldn't drive, so there's a physical limit to where he could manhandle it.

  'There was the trolley.'

  'Even with the trolley it can't be very far away from the hut. There has to be a place of some sort–he'd never leave it just lying about.'

  'He'd get the place ready in advance then.'

  Audley shook his head.

  'I'm betting he didn't know in advance he was going to hijack the cargo. So it had to be a ready-made hiding place, and at the same time somewhere it could stay safely for a long time–twenty-four years, in fact.'

  Faith frowned. 'I think you're assuming a lot, David. He could have had a place ready for what's-his-name, the Belgian, to collect the stuff–a hole in the ground would do perfectly.'

  'Fortunately holes in the ground are the one thing we don't have to dummy4

  worry about. If I thought it was under the ground I wouldn't bother to look — we'd need a regiment of Royal Engineers, mine detectors and God knows what else before we could think of tackling holes in the ground!'

  'Well, it's the traditional place for buried treasure, and I still think it's the most obvious place,' said Faith, somewhat nettled. 'I don't see why you're so sure of yourself.'

  Audley checked himself from another scornful reply, aware suddenly that he was close to selling the lion's skin before he had killed it.

  'It's traditional, Faith,' he conceded seriously. 'But England isn't a desert island. People have an inconvenient habit of noticing large, convenient holes dug in the ground, as quite a few murderers have discovered to their cost. They notice them after they've been filled in, too. In fact there's only one place where a hole isn't suspicious, and that's in a churchyard!'

  She turned towards him eagerly, but he cut her off with a shake of the head.

  'Unfortunately Newton Chester churchyard is all of three miles from the airfield, on the other side of the village. Too far away to trundle a trolley two or three times without being seen or heard.

  And frankly I can't see your father settling
down with pick and shovel either, not to that extent: it would have to be a big, deep hole, a grave-sized one. And that takes quite a lot of digging, even if he had time–which I still don't think he had.'

  Faith nodded thoughtfully. 'You've made your point, David. But if dummy4

  it's not under ground, it's above ground. And that seems even more unlikely–unless it's in that castle Tierney mentioned.'

  'That's a possibility, certainly. But I don't think there's much point in discussing possibilities until we see the place. As I said, I've been after the limiting factors. In any case, we've got one more job before Newton Chester. We've still got to see Maclean.'

  'Maclean? He was–the navigator, wasn't he?'

  'He was the navigator, yes.'

  'But we're not going to do another tough act for him, I hope–I don't think I've got the stamina!'

  Audley smiled. 'I don't think it would be very wise to attempt that act on a respectable citizen like Mr Maclean.'

  Faith sighed with relief. 'Thank Christ there was one respectable member of the crew! I was beginning to get a jaundiced view of the air force. But then I suppose if anyone has to be steady and reliable it would be the navigator. Sort of father figure, like Captain Cook!'

  Like most women she was prone to subjective judgments, reflected Audley: her step-father had been a navigator. But it was reassuring to find such a mundane flaw in her character; in some other respects she was formidable enough to be Jones's true daughter.

  'I don't think your father's crew was very unusual–or unusually bad, come to that, Faith. Morrison was the weakling and Tierney was a potential crook, but they did their jobs perfectly well. They helped to win the war so people like me could come and hound them in peace years afterwards. Their generation did something big dummy4

  — which is more than mine has done.'

  'And my father?'

  'Same thing, love–only more so! Don't go drooping through life thinking he was just a villain. In some ways he was quite a man.

  He won his DFC fair and square.'

  'Don't I know it! It was Grandmother's favourite bed-time story. So he was a war-hero. It's just that now I don't think he would have been a peace-hero.'