The Labyrinth Makers

by Anthony Price

  It was only much later, on the threshold of sleep and lulled by that soft snore to which he must henceforth accustom himself, that he thought again of Steerforth.

  Somewhere out in the darkness, under the grass and the sheep not far away, lay the treasures of Troy. Priam's gold, Schliemann's gold and Steerforth's gold. And if, by some unlikely miracle, it came to the light again, it would be Nikolai Panin's gold.

  And there was the unresolved puzzle, plaguing him still. The motives of the owner, the discoverer and the plunderer were crystal, but Panin's were opaque—

  The Gold I gather

  A King covets

  For an ill use.

  That was among the runes on Welland's sword—

  It is not given

  For goods or gear

  But for The Thing.

  As a child he had never grasped what Kipling had meant by 'The Thing', and now another Thing eluded him …

  There was an insistent buzzing in his ear which he couldn't place. It refused to stop, and Faith's hair was tickling his face and Faith herself was stirring in his arms.

  It was morning and the buzzing came from beyond Faith, from the pale green space age telephone beside the bed. As he reached over her she wound her arms round him sleepily. He knocked the receiver off its stand, fumbled for it and dragged it towards him by its coiled cable.

  He groaned into it.

  'Dr Audley–London call for you–putting you through now!'

  Audley squinted at his watch. Seven-thirty and trouble: only trouble telephoned before nine o'clock.

  'David? Are you there, Dr Audley?'

  Audley admitted that he was, unwillingly.

  'Stocker here, David. Sorry to rouse you early again. Have you got any closer to those boxes?'

  Whatever made Stocker telephone him it wasn't to inquire after the progress of the treasure hunt. Not this early, anyway. He rubbed his chin, reminding himself unhappily that he'd have to get a razor from somewhere.

  'To hell with the boxes! What's happened?'

  Stocker laughed. His ability to exude good humour at this time of the morning was irritating. In fact there was a lot about Stocker that was potentially irritating, most of all that he probably knew better than Audley what was going on, and not least that he had probably never really expected the boxes to turn up.

  'You're not even close to them, are you?'

  'Not within a mile.'

  'Well, you'd better pack things in and come on back to London. Our friend Panin has put his schedule forward a day — he's flying in this morning instead of tomorrow.'

  Somehow it didn't come as a surprise. He had been driven by events from the start and every time he had started to settle down to work Panin had popped up inconveniently to put him off balance. He had stopped his dig in Colchis to begin the whole mystery. Then he'd appeared in East Berlin. Then he'd announced his intention to come to England. And now he'd set them all by the ears by putting forward his arrival. If he'd deliberately set out to dislocate things he couldn't have phased his movements better.

  Audley lowered the phone on to his chest in a moment of perfect stillness, blotting out the insistent voice at the other end. What a donkey he'd been! What a complete donkey –hobbled and blinkered, led and driven, with an occasional carrot to keep him happy and the odd smack across the rump to keep him moving!

  If Panin had deliberately set out to dislocate things, he couldn't have phased his movements better! The plain fact was that they'd known too much about Panin from the start, not too little.

  He looked down at the angry phone in his hand, fresh and untested implications crowding into his mind.

  Time now for his tafsir il aam. Time now to spoil the pattern, to cut the puppet's strings, to set the cat among the pigeons!

  He lifted up the phone again: 'I can't possibly come to London today.'

  'What? Where have you been?'

  'I was disturbed. I said I can't possibly come to London today.'

  'You're due to meet Panin at London Airport at 11. You've got to come!'

  'You meet him. Send him on down here–he knows the way.'

  'And what exactly will you be doing?'

  'Well, for one thing I'll be busy finding Schliemann's treasure. That's the whole object of this operation, after all, isn't it?'

  'But you said you weren't even close to it,' Stocker sounded a little testy now.

  'Not within a mile of it–but maybe within two miles. Maybe only a mile and a half! Don't you worry, Stocker. I'll find your boxes. It's just a matter of a little time and trouble now.'

  Stocker didn't answer this time.

  'And for another thing—' Audley looked down at Faith, who was now wide awake and regarding him with proprietorial satisfaction '—I've just got engaged to be married, and I've got a bit of private life to attend to.'

  There was another short silence. Richardson hadn't reported the double bed, obviously.

  'Well–congratulations, David,' Stocker finally rallied gamely. 'That does rather alter the situation. But I'm afraid your fiancee will have to take herself off when Panin arrives in Newton Chester–I'm sure he'll want to come and watch operations.'

  'Oh, I don't think it will be necessary for her to disappear,' said Audley casually. This was the rabbit punch. 'The whole thing's going to be rather a family affair: it's Miss Steerforth I'm going to marry.'

  He grinned down at Faith and savoured the renewed silence at the other end of the line.

  'You're a bit of a dark horse, aren't you, David!' Stocker took his punishment like a man in the end. 'But no one can grumble if you deliver the goods, I suppose. I take it you'll need some help to conjure up the treasure?'

  'I can lay that on–I take it I've still special priority?'

  Stocker reassured him with a better grace than he expected. It could be that he'd made another important enemy in the last five minutes. But the hell with it–he'd been kicked around enough.

  He put down the receiver and turned to Faith.

  '"Sock it to 'em",' she murmured. 'You certainly socked it to him, whoever he was! Was that the effect of a good night's sleep–or me?'

  He swung his bare legs out of bed.

  'Come on, now,' persisted Faith. 'One minute you were on the ropes, and the next minute you were beating the daylights out of him! And–my God–you talked as though you could just about put your finger on my father's loot! Do you really know where it is?'

  'My dear Faith, I haven't the faintest notion where it is, and I don't know where to begin to look. But I do know one thing now, and that is that I've been humbugged.'

  'Humbugged?'

  Audley pulled on his trousers and sat on the unoccupied bed.

  'There are a lot of things I've missed because I've been too busy hunting your father's treasure and sleeping with his daughter. Now I think I was meant to miss them.'

  'Such as?'

  'Such as how we learnt so quickly that Panin was still interested in your father.'

  'Couldn't that be just a piece of luck?'

  'We've never been lucky before with Panin. Every bit of information on him has been out of date by the time it reached us. But ever since your father's Dakota turned up we've been fed with information about him.'

  'Maybe someone was efficient.'

  'That's just it! But it's Panin who is the efficient one.'

  'So what does that prove, David? I'm sorry to be a devil's advocate, but Panin wants his treasure and he doesn't trust you. You've known that all along.'

  'All along I've been stupid–I know that. My sin's pride: everyone behaved as though I could find what was lost, so I really took it for granted that I could. But now I don't think anyone expected me to find it–not Stocker, and not Panin. And I clean forgot what every half-wit knows–that treasure-hunters never find treasure, not once in a thousand times. The only way treasure turns up is by pure accident!'

  'But the treasure does exist?'

  'I'm damn certain it exists–that's the one
thing we have established. And I'm sure Panin knows it, too. But I don't think it really matters to him any more. What matters is that I should be kept busy looking, with the minimum chance of success.'

  'But, David, for heaven's sake–why?'

  Audley recalled Jake Shapiro's reference to 'that goddamned Byzantine set-up', and shook his head sadly.

  'That's where I'm stuck. It could be so many things. If it wasn't for what happened to Morrison–and what happened to us–I'd think the whole thing was a cover for something quite different. But all I know is that it doesn't smell right.'

  'Well, what are you going to do? You practically promised to find the treasure!'

  Audley brightened. If there was no comfort in the long-term prospects, there was short-term enjoyment to DC had from mischief-making.

  He rubbed his hands. 'Everyone's been pushing me about. Now I'm going to do the pushing. And the only way I can think of doing that is—'

  'Is to make them think you're just about to do the impossible.'

  Faith sat up sharply in bed.

  'Just so. And I'd like to see Panin's face when poor old Stocker gives him the good news at London Airport. If I'm right he'll be down here like lightning.'

  'But what will that achieve, David?'

  'I shall enjoy it, for one thing. And it may baffle Panin somewhat. He's not infallible, after all. In fact he's already lost us for a whole day, thanks to the incompetence of his agents–he doesn't know what we've been up to, and that may put him off a bit. Come to that, it may be the reason why he's arriving today instead of tomorrow.'

  'So that was what the phone call was about! We're staying here to meet him?'

  'That we aren't! We're going to London.'

  Faith looked at him in surprise. 'But you said—'

  'That was for Stocker's benefit. We're going to London because I've got some checking to do. I can leave instructions for Roskill and Butler to reconnoitre the area outside the airfield for suspicious bumps and so on–that'll keep them happy.'

  He moved over to their rumpled bed and stared down at her.

  'And you, young woman, have got a trousseau to buy –and a toothbrush. Then we'll have lunch at Feyzi's and a quiet drive back to the Bull for a reunion dinner. Panin should be nicely on the boil by then!'

  But Faith was frowning at him.

  'David, I think I'm having a bad effect on you. You're acting out of character–you're sticking your neck out. And they'll chop it off for sure, and I'll have an unemployed husband. Don't you think you ought to stay to meet Panin?'

  It was a new experience for Audley to have someone actually worrying about him, a rather confusing experience. He looked at her tenderly. She was without doubt rather flat-chested, and with her hair in confusion and her glasses perched on her shiny nose she no longer looked the sort of girl to drive a man to reckless action.

  He smiled affectionately. 'If you are having an effect, it's long overdue, Faith love. For years I've been sitting in my tower thinking what an important person I was just because they treated me politely. But actually I think I was just a sort of cheap computer substitute–as soon as I started giving inconvenient answers they booted me into the first vacant job somewhere else. So just this once I'm going to programme myself, and if they don't like it–well, we'll see if they do like it first. Maybe they'll promote me!'

  Before she could reply–he could see she was still unconvinced–he jerked the covers back.

  'Hey!' she cried, scrabbling for the sheets.

  'Too late for modesty now, love. And too late for inquests too–I'm like old Sir Jacob Astley before Edgehill.'

  'Sir Jacob who?'

  '"O Lord! Thou knowest how busy I must be this day",' he quoted at her. Damn them all: she was the one who really mattered. ' "If I forget thee, do not thou forget me"!'

  XIV

  Jake Shapiro set his beer down carefully on the mat on the faded plush tablecloth, wiped his moustache carefully and grinned a broad, gold-filled smile at Audley.

  'Surprise, surprise! I didn't expect to see you again so soon. Comrade Professor Panin running you ragged?'

  'For me not a surprise, but a pleasure, Colonel Shapiro.'

  Audley looked curiously round the publican's snug, which was furnished as though time had frozen it in late Edwardian times. The only concessions to modernity, a garish TV set and a glossy telephone, were banished to a dark alcove in one corner.

  'Cosy, eh? And the best beer south of the river, take my word for it, David, old friend. Have some with me.'

  'I've got a long haul ahead of me, Jake. It's too early for me to go on the beer.'

  'Your loss. But I do understand your predicament. "Vodka and beer–no fear". You must keep a clear head for the Professor.'

  The word was out, with a vengeance, evidently.

  'You know about Panin, then?'

  'There's been a lot of talk, certainly,' admitted Jake generously. 'Mystery Man's got a public relations man all of a sudden. I don't know what effect it has on you, but it'd scare the life out of me.'

  'That's the point, Jake. What I want to know is—'

  Shapiro raised a large hand.

  'Me first, David.' He drank deeply, set the glass down carefully again and wiped his moustache once more. 'My turn, after all. The Portland trials of the Nord Aviation AS15–much better than the AS12, I hear. But I'm sure you heard better.'

  Jake was presenting his bill, and Audley thought not for the first time that Jake's grapevine must be very good indeed. If the AS12 was the answer to Egypt's Russian missile boats, the AS15 was the answer with knobs on.

  'Much better.'

  'Range?'

  'Five miles.'

  'Cost?'

  'Since devaluation? Maybe £2,400 a time.'

  'Cheap at the price. But the bastards are still overcharging us. What about that Swedish one?'

  'Let the other side buy that.'

  'I thought so. And I thought you'd be in the know. Now, just one more thing.'

  Audley scowled at him. 'No more things, Jake. I've given you classified information. All you've given me is what's common knowledge in the bazaar, it seems.'

  Jake guffawed. 'That's nothing more than the truth, my friend. I have to admit it: I've done you down.'

  Then he stopped quite suddenly, and became almost serious. He wagged his finger at Audley.

  'But you knew it was common knowledge and you still paid up, you perfidious Englishman. You knew I'd have to make amends.'

  He waved his hands and squinted down his nose. This was his special Jewish character role, which hadn't changed since he'd hammed Shylock in a monstrous college production years before.

  'I acknowledge the debt. Take your pound of flesh!'

  'Stop fooling, Jake. How do you know it's common knowledge?'

  'Joe Bamm called me from Berlin. He hadn't got me anything more, but his thumbs were twitching. He said he'd just got that little G Tower story from another source of his. He said that once could be luck, but twice was more than coincidence. Then he came back with Panin's Tuesday booking to London. I tried to phone you then, but you were off on some dirty weekend with your secretary.'

  Audley winced. So the G Tower story was planted too. He remembered now how Stocker had spoken about G Tower as though he had heard about it independently of Audley's source. They'd all been so pleased about it they hadn't bothered to question it. A lovely, succulent carrot for the donkeys!

  'The trouble is that's the lot, David. I haven't got one damn thing to add to your little store of knowledge. I haven't got a clue about what dear old Panin's up to, not a clue.'

  'Is there anything cooking in Russia at the moment?'

  'Search me! Except that there's always something cooking there. Hawks and doves, old Marxist-Leninists and new thugs, Red Army and the KGB, Stalinists, Maoists — not many of them now–Slavophiles, liberals, peasants. Davey boy, they can play their little games in more ways than I can make love. And they call it the Soviet Union! I t
ell you, Barry Goldwater's got more in common with Sammy Davis than some of those characters have with each other.'

  He paused for breath. 'Why don't you ask your own Kremlinologists? Latimer's a sharp lad, they tell me. Or are you off on a do-it-yourself spree?'

  Audley felt his early morning courage slipping. It all came down to a matter of time, and time was what he hadn't got. Panin had seen to that.

  'Tell you what I'll do, David, seeing that I owe you something. There's a real nice American I know–Howard Morris–do you know him?'

  Audley nodded. Howard was a refugee from Nixon's America, a bright hope in the days of the much-maligned Lyndon Johnson who now held a nebulous post at Grosvenor Square.

  'Of course you do! I forgot you were persona gratissima there since the Seven Days. Well, Howard owes me a fat favour and I'm sure he won't mind me passing it on to you. He probably trusts you more than he trusts me, anyway. You're both part of the world-wide Anglo-Saxon conspiracy against the lesser breeds like me and Nasser.'

  Shapiro consulted a little dog-eared address book, and then dialled a number on the shiny telephone.

  He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

  'You know Howard's only real claim to fame? Hullo there–could I have a word with Howard Morris … ? He isn't? No matter. I'll try again later.'

  He replaced the receiver, consulted the little address book again and dialled another number.

  'When he was in Korea he was one of the select band of brothers who accidentally bombed the main Russian base outside Vladivostock. Hullo! Is Howard Morris being overcharged at your bar … ? Yes, it's me … He is? Well tell him I've come to collect on my last loan. Thanks … Where was I? Yes, they bombed the living daylights out of it –thought they were still over North Korea. And the Russkis never said a word. They thought it was deliberate.'

  Jake's thesaurus of cautionary scandal was unsurpassed on either side of the Atlantic.

  'And the moral of the story–or one of the morals–is that the burglar is in a poor position to complain about burglary. I commend that thought to you, David–Hullo, Howard, old friend … You are … ? So am I! Look, Howard, I have our mutual friend, David Audley, with me. I know you're busy Kremlin-watching these days. I'd count it a favour if you'd lend an ear to him for a minute or two–a real favour … You will–splendid!'