by Eric Ambler
The other two nodded quickly. They were in heart-felt agreement.
Aleko smiled. ‘Leave everything to me,’ he said.
At the next meeting Pazar did not appear and Aleko announced briefly that he had committed suicide in his room, that the body would be left for the police to find, and that, as his services had never really been necessary, no Brother would be sought to replace him.
It was on the day after that meeting that I arrived.
I presented a serious problem to the harassed Pashik. To have someone in and about his office, poking and prying, hampering his movements, possibly endangering his neutral relations with the Propaganda Ministry — that was bad enough. To have someone directly concerned with him in contact with Petlarov was alarming, for who knew what that might not suggest to Brankovitch? He had already recognized and been recognized by Sibley, whom he remembered as one of the intelligence officers who could know his story.
Sibley knew me. Another potential danger. Especially as I was inquisitive. My interview with Madame Deltchev threw him into a panic. The night he learned of it, he faced Aleko with his gun in his pocket instead of in his briefcase. But nothing unusual happened at that meeting. It was after it that Aleko took him aside, gave him a wad of papers, and asked him to put them in Pazar’s room to ‘mislead’ the police who found them. Pashik guessed that Brankovitch wished to take the opportunity afforded by Pazar’s death of planting further incriminating evidence against Deltchev. When he got to Pazar’s room, he found me there.
His dilemma was awful. I could be explained in several ways. I was telling him the truth or I was lying. But even if I was telling the truth I might still be an unwitting agent of Brankovitch’s and this might be a trap to catch him out. On the other hand, I was doing work for one of the American clients and was therefore under the protection of the Pan-Eurasian Press Service. If this was a trap, then the only safe thing to do was to take me to Aleko for questioning. If it was not a trap, however, he might be taking the representative of an American client to his death.
‘What made you decide to take me?’ I asked.
Pashik blinked at me sheepishly. ‘I did not quite decide, Mr Foster,’ he said, ‘I compromised. I left part of the decision to you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘While I hid the papers Aleko had given me in the room, you were walking to my car at the end of the street. I thought you might take the opportunity to escape. If you did not-’ He shrugged.
‘Do you know why I didn’t run?’
‘Because you were not alarmed?’
‘No. Because I wanted to ask you questions.’
He sighed. ‘You have been very lucky, Mr Foster,’ he said. ‘It was difficult to persuade Aleko that you were harmless, and very embarrassing when he found that you were not. I certainly did not expect to find you alive this morning. And when you tell me of Katerina’s foolishness I marvel.’
‘I suppose she got back all right.’
‘If she had not done so you would not be here. The check on the Deltchev house is carried out at eight every morning.’
‘Does Madame Deltchev know what’s happened?’
‘I have been able to send her brief messages.’
‘By that old friend of the family who drops in for tea?’
‘You are too well informed, Mr Foster.’
I finished my fourth cup of coffee. ‘When you begin to make flattering remarks, I am suspicious,’ I said. ‘You really mean that I still don’t know at all what’s going on.’
His brown eyes contemplated me through his rimless glasses. He was smelling strongly that morning. The seersucker suit was horribly dirty. He shrugged. ‘As for instance, Mr Foster?’
‘As for instance — why are you here at all at this moment? Why aren’t you in Athens with Philip?’
We were in my hotel room. He opened his briefcase, took out a battered meat sandwich, and began eating it. He had his mouth full before he answered. ‘You forget, Mr Foster, that there is to be an assassination here today.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten it. What I was wondering was why you’ve been so cagey about it. What exactly is going to happen? What’s the plan? When did Philip come into it? What happens now he isn’t here?’
‘They do not know he is not here. He did not leave until after the final meeting last night.’
‘But what’s going to happen?’
‘I will tell you. Pazar’s original plan was simple and stupid. The celebration march takes place in the St Mihail Square. The parade marches in along the boulevard and out along the Prospect. The saluting base is the stone platform halfway down the great steps that lead up to the portico in front of the Ministry of the Interior. It was the main state entrance to the old palace. From the bronze statues at the bottom up to the platform there are forty steps. On these occasions the steps are flanked with troops, forty each side. They are a bodyguard and they are armed with machine pistols. It was Pazar’s idea to kidnap four of these men and replace them with his men. They would shoot Vukashin as he stood on the platform and hope to escape in the confusion, because it would seem to be the real troops who had fired. This, I may tell you, was the plan that the prosecutor at the trial did not wish to explain.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the absurdity of it would make people laugh. Does it not make you laugh, Mr Foster?’
‘It might have worked.’
He shook his head mournfully. ‘I can see, Mr Foster, that you would not be a good conspirator. One has only to think for a moment of the kidnapping-’
‘What were all these messages about?’
‘The uniforms, naturally. They could not buy them. Instead they stole them from the soldiers’ brothels. It was all very childish. When Aleko took over he made a new plan. Uniforms were wanted, but those of ordinary line troops, not those of the bodyguard. Three men only would be needed. It was a good plan. You know, when there is a parade great care is taken to guard against assassins. The occupants of rooms overlooking the square are carefully checked by the police, and the flat roofs of the buildings round it are guarded by troops from outside the city. The first part of the plan was to conceal a machine gun and ammunition on one of the flat roofs. Then just before the parade men in uniform would go up to the roof and tell the troops already there that the guards were being doubled as trouble was expected. As the real troops were from outside, these would not expect to recognize men who said they were from a city battalion. The false men would have bottles of brandy and things to eat in their haversacks. After a while they would offer to share it. The brandy would be heavily dosed with morphine. The soldiers would go to sleep; the gun would be produced and set up and trained on the platform. All would be in readiness for the appearance of Vukashin. And when the thing was done, escape would be possible. It would be difficult in the surprise and confusion to say exactly where the shots had come from. The troops on nearby roofs might think they were from a window below. But there would be doubt. And while there was doubt, there would be time for us to descend to the street and mingle with the crowd. Who is going to suspect three soldiers? Until the real ones wake up, hours later, nobody will know how it was done, and by then it will be too late.’
‘Philip Deltchev will have escaped?’
‘Exactly, Mr Foster. That was why the plan seemed so good at first to Philip and Pazar and so strange to me. Until I knew that Brankovitch was deeply involved and saw that it would be quite easy for him to arrange for the police to be warned that, say, thieves disguised as soldiers would be raiding such-and-such a building during the parade and that a patrol waiting at the exits could catch them red-handed.’
‘So as there will be no Philip, there will be no assassination. Is that it?’
‘No, Mr Foster, that is not it. There were to be three on the gun — Philip, myself, and one of Aleko’s men.’
‘One of those who tried to kill me?’
‘That is so. But there is another man and Aleko himself. What, I
asked myself, would they be doing while Vukashin was being assassinated?’
‘Leaving the country, I should think.’
‘Yes, I thought that. But three days ago there was a serious complication. Aleko told us that there would be a second gun on another roof and that he and the other man would man it. Philip would have the honour of firing first, but Aleko would be there in case of an emergency. What would that suggest to you, Mr Foster?’
‘That he was suspicious? That he didn’t trust Philip?’
‘Yes, I considered those possibilities. But then another thought occurred to me, a very interesting idea. Luckily I was able to check it. The following night the guns were hidden on the roofs we had selected-’
‘Which are they?’
He smiled. ‘That I think I will not tell you, Mr Foster. You will discover.’
There was something very disturbing about that smile. I suddenly became uneasy.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘The guns were wrapped in sacking and hung by wires inside the brick chimneys. Very early in the morning I returned by myself and examined them.’ He paused, smiling again.
‘And-?’
‘The gun on Philip’s roof had no firing pin. It had been taken out.’
I looked blank. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t see-’
‘Don’t you, Mr Foster?’ His eyes gleaming through the spectacles were no longer sad. ‘Power is a great thing, you know. To be able to move and control great affairs — not the characters and situations on a stage, Mr Foster, but the real — that is the greatest of all pleasures. You feel it in the stomach.’ He patted his own. ‘Here. I feel it now.’
‘Yes?’ I wondered suddenly if he were mad.
‘Consider.’ He stood up and strode over to the window. ‘A man in Aleko’s profession is always in a difficult position. He must always be sure that his master has the power to protect him. He must always be sure that the master wishes to protect him. And he must consider the future. It is dangerous for him to serve one powerful person at the expense of another who may later do him harm. Aleko is clever. He would not have survived if he had not been. He is used to weighing advantages. And so I ask myself questions. Why are there two guns? Why is there no firing pin in a gun that Aleko expects to pour bullets into Vukashin? I answer, because it is Vukashin who is Aleko’s best master and has been so perhaps from the first. What ultimate chance has Brankovitch in a struggle for power over Vukashin’s dead body? None! He would go down in the end. His own intelligence would trip him. The sort of brutal cunning that lets him dig his own grave will always win. That is Vukashin’s strength and Aleko knows it. Philip would have pressed the trigger of a gun aimed at Vukashin and nothing would have happened. Aleko would have pressed the trigger of the second gun, aimed at Brankovitch, and the gun would have fired. Philip and I and Aleko’s man would have been arrested and hanged. The gun that would be used in evidence would be the one Aleko left on the other roof. The two murderous Deltchevs would hang together. The murderous Agrarian Socialists would be punished. Vukashin would be secure both from the opposition and from the plots and ambitions of Brankovitch. Aleko, who loves skiing, would be waiting, rich and happy, for the snow at St Moritz. A pretty picture, Mr Foster!’
‘Yes.’ There seemed nothing else to say.
‘But a picture that will not be seen.’
‘Because Philip is in Athens.’
He held up a finger. ‘And because I am here.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You will see now why I wish you to understand. The one obstacle is Aleko’s man — one of those who tried to kill you — the one who was to have been with Philip and me. In one hour’s time he will go to a rendezvous to meet us. If we do not arrive he will go to Aleko to warn him, and when Aleko knows that Philip is not there he will not fire. Brankovitch’s life will be saved.’
‘I see.’
‘But if I stop this man, Aleko will fire. Brankovitch will die, and because there is no Philip to arrest, Vukashin will have to take Aleko. And when Philip has told his story to you and it is ringing round the world, Vukashin’s day will begin to end. That is, if I stop this man.’
I said nothing.
For a moment he continued to stare out of the window; then he turned to face me, his self-assurance gone, his face working grotesquely. ‘Do I stop him, Mr Foster?’ he demanded. ‘You tell me!’
I stared at him, and he read my thoughts.
He shook his head. ‘No, Mr Foster, it is not in your hands. There is nobody here for you to tell this story to. That is if you yourself wish to live. Warn Brankovitch, and you will be rewarded by him with a bullet. Warn Vukashin and it will be the same. You know too much for either’s safety.’
‘There’s our legation. They could warn Brankovitch.’
‘Then you would be killing me instead. I do not think you will choose that alternative. You have no moral dilemma, Mr Foster. It is my own I put to you.’
I was silent.
He sat down and gazed suddenly into space for a moment. ‘Do you know America well?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Not very well.’
‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘neither do I.’
He was silent again. I did not speak. I knew, as if he were thinking aloud, that he was submitting his problem to the judgment of Passaic, New Jersey, Oakland, California, and Hagerstown, Maryland. It was perhaps as good a way of resolving it as any other.
When at last he stood up he was as calm and businesslike as the day we had met. He took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me.
‘Your ticket for the press box at the anniversary parade, Mr Foster. I should have given it to you before. Even after what has happened, I do not see that there can be any objection to your using it. Your train, I would remind you, is at five. Have you money?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
He held out his hand. ‘I will try to get to the station to look after you, but there will be the cables and so on to attend to. You will forgive me if I cannot make it?’
I shook hands with him. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you very much for all your help.’
He put up a protesting hand. ‘A pleasure, Mr Foster.’
He turned away briskly, picked up his briefcase, and walked to the door. Then he paused.
‘You’re welcome,’ he added, and went.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The parade began at two o’clock.
It was only a quarter of a mile or so from the hotel to the Square, but the crowds along the route of the parade and in the streets approaching the Square were dense. It took me a long time to get through. The day was very warm and I felt tired and ill and frightened. I had not eaten any lunch. My legs were like paper and I kept thinking that I had lost something valuable. The sensation was curiously familiar. I had felt like that once before. And then I remembered: it had been when I was walking back to a hotel in Seville after seeing my first and only bullfight.
The press box was in a wooden stand built over the cathedral steps and at right-angles to the front of the palace. The parade would pass below it, then bear left to march past the saluting base halfway up the palace steps. There a waist-high balustrade had been erected. It was draped with flags, and on the step below, flowers were banked to give an appearance of depth to the structure. Behind and above it were the crowded boxes of the lesser dignitaries. The whole Square was a mass of flags and brilliantly coloured flowers. The facades of the buildings that formed the square were mostly of a honey-coloured stone, but the paving had been spread with white sand, and in the bright hot sunshine the effect was dazzling.
It was five minutes to the hour when I got there, and all but a few seats in the box were already filled. I could see the back of Sibley’s head near the front. Nearly everyone had sunglasses, but I had forgotten mine, and the glare from the sand was painful. Somewhere a military band was playing, and every now and then a section of the crowd would raise a cheer. Heads would turn at the sound, but the cheer would
die away. I looked at the rooftops. There was a canopy over the stand I was in and I could see only a small section of them. From there to the saluting base was a little over two hundred yards. At that range even a recruit could hit a man with one burst from an automatic gun. Perhaps even now an eye was peering through sights at the palace steps.
I wiped my face and neck with my handkerchief and looked at the official programme. A duplicated translation had been slipped into it for the benefit of us foreigners. The parade would symbolize the plough and the sword in harmony together. First would come the floats carrying the tableaux of the various industries and crafts. Then the massed representatives of sport and culture. Finally the parade of military and air power. The whole parade would be led by a special tableau depicting the victory of the People’s Party. This tableau would halt before the Ministry of the Interior to summon the Party leaders to witness the parade, the visible demonstration of the triumph of their work for the Motherland.
I had seen this float lurking in a side street just off the square. It was a huge affair mounted on a platform carried by an aircraft transportation truck. Art, Science, Industry, Agriculture, and Armed Might, each with its subsidiary tableau, were grouped round a white flag-decked plinth supporting a huge Winged Victory in wood and plaster. The subsidiary tableaux had the usual props: for Industry there was an anvil, for Science a retort on a bench, for Agriculture a plough and so on. There were brackets and ledges jutting out from the sides of the plinth obviously for the use of the girls in voluminous white robes who would presently drape themselves round the feet of the Victory.
