by Desmond Cory
Totes Gebirge. The Dead Mountains.
Um!…
And Oberneusl.
A tiny village, perfect in its setting of mountains and foothills and arching blue sky. A stream, and a waterfall, and a wide main street. No electricity, no modern plumbing, no salle à bain at the village inn. Rarely, one would imagine, a motor-car… Vacances ensoleillées, eh? Well, this was the place for them.
That was what the brochure had said.
But the map showed something else. A line of closely-spaced green dots, swinging magically over the mountains and pastureland, coming so close to the spot that was Oberneusl that one could hardly see whether they did not actually overlap it. That was the old provincial boundary-line; an arbitrary territorial division that – since the map had been drawn – had taken on a completely new distinction, and a very important one. It now marked the dividing-line between the British and Russian zones of occupation.
That was what the map showed.
Johnny remained deep in thought for a while; then felt once more in his pockets and withdrew two or three sheets of typewritten paper. These he spread across the map, and then leaned forward to read the passage that he had long ago learnt by heart; the passage but for which neither map nor brochure would ever have been consulted…
… Colonel Mayer then proceeded on foot to the village of OBERNEUSL, travelling by night and skirting the area MITTERBACH-MARIAZELL-NEUHAUS. At this point, he appeared to be in danger of capture by units of the Russian Fourth Army, and therefore remained in hiding at SP 84 for three days. After recuperating from his journey, he cached the diamonds beneath the stove in hut number three, the Hunting Horn. This cache was reported to Abwehr HQ, 9th November, 1945, and was approved as permanent. (DO 743/KM.)
The cache was visited by Mayer on June 14th, 1946; and diamonds to the value of 170,000 deutschmarks were removed. They were duly sold through the Köln agency and this sum was placed at the disposal of IIIB Central Office, September 1946. Colonel Mayer made further visits on June 17th, 1947: June 2nd, 1948: and May 28th, 1949. A total sum of 540,000 deutschmarks (or equivalent in foreign currency) has been made available.
The present value of the von Huysen diamond stock is believed not to exceed three million deutschmarks. All operations connected with its liquidation will receive the codeword BADGER and are classified as TOP PRIORITY…
That was what the Abwehr report to their Paris headquarters had stated.
And it looked as if the mountain sports at Oberneusl were likely to be of a more than ordinarily strenuous nature.
Johnny gathered the papers together, and threw them on to the fire. Then he folded the map up carefully and consigned it to the same destination. The flames roared happily, licking upwards at the chimney. They hadn’t had so much fun in years. Johnny watched the pile of papers shrivelling into cinders and sat down heavily in the nearest armchair.
He supposed, vaguely, that he should be making Plans. But he didn’t like Plans. He hated them. Most of the gentlemen in his peculiar profession took a very different viewpoint – the Germans, especially. The Germans had the habit of painstakingly evolving the most intricate programmes, in which no conceivable vagary of human or elemental nature was disregarded. When the plans came off, they wrote little reports to one another explaining their success. When the plans didn’t come off, they wrote little reports explaining their failure. Except, of course, on those occasions when their failure had been due to the direct intervention of Johnny Fedora and they had made their accounts to no-one but the Recording Angel.
Johnny had no doubt that, were he a genuine credit to his profession, he would by now have worked out a complicated equation that would have allowed mathematically for Time and Method of Travel to Austria; Possible Reactions of British, Russian and Local Elements to Arrival; the Surrounding Topography; the Current Financial Situation; Stalin’s Views on the Catholic Church; the Impending Crisis in Indo-China; the Problem of the Jews… These and innumerable other factors, all combined into a Ponderous, Einsteinian algebraic symbol which would stand for Course of Action to Adopt. That was what he should have done. Instead, he had provided himself with a map, a brochure and a Top Secret document; had burnt the lot; and was now going to Oberneusl, taking with him only the essentials of life, i.e. some clothes, a pistol and a beautiful Frenchwoman.
The method has certain advantages.
Even as Johnny came to this last conclusion, the door reopened and the principal advantage appeared; dressed for travel and carrying her suitcase. “… Are you ready, darling?”
Johnny rose to his feet. “More or less,” he said. “More or less, you know.”
“Well, I’ve rung for a taxi and it should be here by now.”
Johnny crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders. “Well, we’re really off at last.”
“Yes. We’re off at last.”
“Did you pack your little pistol?”
“And the ammunition.”
“That’s a good girl. Where the Customs won’t…”
“Not if they’re gentlemen.”
“Oh, they’ll be kind to us. After all, we’re on our honeymoon.” Johnny drew her over to the window; and they looked out together over the grey river, the great grey cathedral and the streets alive with traffic. Down below, a taxi honked impatiently; and a thin man leaning on the river wall continued to read a newspaper.
“On our honeymoon,” said Johnny brightly, “and we’ll want to be alone. We’ll shake off little Percy.”
“Poor Percy. He must be so tired of that newspaper.”
“Teach him to butt in where he’s not wanted,” said Johnny, kissing her. “Ah well. Let’s go.”
Marie-Andrée continued to gaze down towards the river.
“It’ll be nice when we get back,” she said.
The thin man with the newspaper evinced no interest in their departure, and made no acknowledgement when Johnny bowed politely in his direction. He, and a couple of his colleagues, had been engaged in shadowing Johnny since his resignation from British Intelligence had aroused suspicion in the Powers That Be; it was not a particularly amusing pursuit and Harold Elliot – his name was not Percy at all – Mr. Elliot was fed to the teeth with it. He watched the taxi drive off, folded his newspaper and walked unenthusiastically away in the direction of the Pont Neuf, to Make His Report.
Johnny, peering out of the back of the taxicab, watched him begin his journey, and thought happily of the irony of the situation. British Intelligence knew where he was, but had not the slightest idea where he was going. The Germans knew the place where he was going, but were not expecting him to go at all. The whole thing really made a strong case for a real amity between European Intelligence Services, an amity based on a fair exchange of genuine information.
If that happened, of course, Johnny’s career would be seriously impeded. But he thought it most unlikely. With present international conditions in mind, he gave himself about three hundred and fifty years.
ZURICH
“CHUFF,” SAID THE ENGINE, experimentally. “Chuff-chuff, chuff-chuff, chuff.”
It was a large and healthy engine, sooty black in colour; and it didn’t seem to be over-fond of the railway terminus at Zurich. It was anxious to be on its way and was now, metaphorically, pawing at the rails. Behind it were strewn, apparently in complete disorder, coaches bound for every conceivable district of Mittel-Europa; and around it seethed the delightful commotion common to railway termini everywhere. Hooters hooted; whistles whistled; sirens mooed intermittently. Porters staggered from platform to platform, passengers scuttered frantically in their wake, and a solitary small boy wandered hither and thither, industriously entering the numbers of engines into a small red notebook. A large part of the populace were happily standing about gaping at indicator-boards, interfering considerably with the free passage of those desirous of boarding the waiting train. Over on platform seven, a free fight appeared to be well in progress.
Through this i
nteresting scene drifted Johnny, carrying two suitcases and looking – not surprisingly – lost. He was immediately followed by Marie-Andrée, wearing a dowdy suit, spectacles, a resigned expression and looking like a film star travelling incognito. It was quite impossible for her to look inconspicuous under any conditions whatever, and Johnny had long since accepted the fact as a normal occupational risk. A succession of abruptly turning masculine heads marked their gradual progress.
“… Here we are,” said Johnny, pausing. “Munich. Just what we want. Let me give you a helping hand.”
He assisted her up the high steps and into the train, picked up the cases again and followed her down the corridor. In spite of the boiling mass of humanity on the platform, there were not very many people actually in the coaches; they found an empty compartment almost immediately. Johnny heaved the cases on to the luggage-rack, flexed his arm muscles and sighed contentedly.
“Well, it doesn’t seem very crowded.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Marie-Andrée severely, “considering the time it gets in. Night train to Munich indeed – we might be in Vienna by now, having dinner in a nice comfy hotel.”
“Or floating together, hand in hand, gently down the Danube.”
“You mean… Yes. Yes, I see your point. But surely we’ve shaken off the opposition by now?”
Johnny sat down in a corner seat and flattened his nose against the window. “I think so. Temporarily, anyway. Of course, there may not be any.” He rubbed his biceps reflectively.
“Are your arms very tired, dear?”
“No, not very. Terribly bad for you, though, all this weight-lifting. Retards the reflexes.”
“You’d better go on doing it, then,” said Marie-Andrée sweetly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want my reflexes retarded.”
Johnny consulted his watch. “Ah,” he said. “We’re off.” The engine panted, wriggled, panted again, shook convulsively, panted some more and, with a final ecstatic shudder, began to move slowly forwards. Its asthmatic gulpings grew firmer and steadier and settled down to a remorseless pom-pom-pom as it gathered speed. The platform unwound itself to the rear and the noise diminished considerably.
“Well,” said Johnny. “They seem to be running more or less on time.” He was about to say something else, doubtless of an equally profound and enlightening nature, when the compartment door slid back with a resonant snick and an enormous rucksack came in. Johnny regarded it with his mouth open. As he watched, it planted itself comfortably on the opposite seat, jumped up and down once or twice, and finally gave birth to a large, fair-haired young man with a cheerful, ingenuous smile.
“Sorry,” said the young man. “Hope I don’t intrude. Fact is, only just caught the train. Had to run like a deer.” He did indeed seem a little short of breath, and this was hardly surprising; for the rucksack from under which he had just crawled could hardly have weighed less than a hundred and forty pounds.
“That’s all right.” Johnny spoke in German, for that was the tongue in which the young man had apologised. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you, thank you. Danke schön.” The young man had just experienced his first clear view of Marie-Andrée, and had been promptly rendered even more breathless than before. “Er… that is… yes… very pleasant evening.”
“Very,” said Johnny kindly, who was used to the effect of his consort on youthful and impressionable males. His watchful pale-blue eyes had already taken in every detail of his new companion’s attire; bright check shirt, Grenfell jacket, brown corduroy trousers and strong brown boots… “You must be carrying quite a weight there.”
“It’s nothing. A few pounds, perhaps. One accustoms oneself.”
“There!” said Marie-Andrée meaningly. “You see? All this fuss over a couple of suitcases.”
“It takes a bit of accustoming,” explained Johnny.
“Ja. One tries to keep fit, of course. One performs one’s exercises. One takes cold baths.”
Johnny shuddered. “I assume you’re a mountaineer.”
“That is so, but how did you guess?… Of course – my boots. Very observant of you. Yes, I am just off on a little climbing holiday.”
“Surely,” said Marie-Andrée, “you’re going the wrong way?”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve always understood that the best mountains were in Switzerland.” Marie-Andrée’s tone implied mountains to be a marketable commodity, similar to stockings and foundation garments.
“Ah! That is true, of course. That is most emphatically so. Nevertheless, one seeks change, and I have already climbed most of my native peaks. I am Swiss myself, natürlich.” He peered cautiously from Johnny to Marie-Andrée, and back again. “Permit me to offer you my card.”
He drew a wallet from the inside pocket of his waterproof jacket, fumbled for a moment and finally extracted a small gilt-edged visiting-card.
“Thank you,” said Johnny. He read it out loud. “Johann Biel, 27 Paradestrasse, Zurich.”
“You have heard of the name, perhaps?”
Johnny shook his head regretfully. “I don’t think I have.”
“We are well known in Zurich. The Biels are a banking family of several generations. I myself work in the bank of which my father is a director.”
“Indeed? You’re obviously a useful man to know. My name is Paul Videl and this is my wife. We are from Paris, where I am a professional pianist of small repute.”
Johann Biel seized Johnny’s right hand in the grip with which he had doubtless favoured the handholds of the Matterhorn. It would have reduced a walnut to unrecognisable splinters. “I am delighted to meet you. A pianist, you say?” He glanced upwards, as though expecting to see a piano perched on the luggage-rack. “Perhaps you are on holiday also? Or – perhaps – on tour?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re on our honeymoon.”
“Really?” Biel smiled pleasantly. “But how delightful. You have been staying in Zurich?”
“Only passing through,” said Johnny.
“Oh – that is rather a pity. Our Zurich is a delightful city, charmingly placed by the lake; and it is, of course, a world-famous shopping centre. Besides, one may make many delightful excursions towards Lake Constance and the mountains and even to Lake Lucerne…”
Johann continued with the prospectus; and Marie-Andrée, who had momentarily cocked an ear at the passing reference to her activities, relaxed her attention completely. She was feeling extremely tired… She yawned sadly once or twice, and allowed her eyes to close.
… It had been a dull trip so far. The journey from Paris to Zurich had been uneventful, clouds having settled down in considerable bulk and thereby ruining visibility from the aeroplane. Even the Alps had been a washout from twenty-five thousand feet. To make matters worse, Johnny – who had no eye for natural beauty and had in no way anticipated a Romantic ecstasy – had slumbered peacefully all the way, thereby adding insult to injury. And on arrival at Zurich airport he had calmly announced his intention of permitting the aircraft to proceed without them, this in order to frustrate the attentions of sundry imaginary shadowers. The only thing in favour of this idea was the fact that the Air France hostess had been a disturbingly beautiful young lady, and had almost seemed ready to offer competition. Marie-Andrée, to do her justice, was normally quite unafraid of rival feminine elements; nevertheless, to force a girl into an unbecoming tweed suit and a pair of thick-lensed glasses and then to subject her to the sardonic scrutiny of a ruthlessly efficient and glamorous blond… well, it was decidedly rough. And it was now proposed, she gathered, to travel throughout the night in a rumbly, grumbly train and proceed to Vienna, by air, the following morning. Marie-Andrée yawned again.
It was certainly a bore; but the scheme itself was probably wise enough. And, even had its wisdom not been apparent to her, Marie-Andrée’s role was of the not-to-reason-why variety that had held so instant an appeal to the martial instincts of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. This, after all, was John
ny’s game, and he was supposed to be good at it. Marie-Andrée held the inevitable views of her sex on the generally hopeless insufficiency of the male animal; but accepted her position resignedly. Johnny was quite good at dodging shadowers and shooting people raising merry hell; but nevertheless was as inefficient as any other man when it came to important things like darning socks or remembering appointments or eating one’s breakfast properly, instead of drinking it out of a bottle. That was where Marie-Andrée came in.
The spectacles were heavy on the bridge of her nose, and seemed in imminent danger of falling off. She detached them wearily, snapped her handbag open and dropped them inside; then lay back again in the seat, turning her head slightly so that she could see Johnny from under the screen of her lashes.
Retarded reflexes. M’m. She blinked her eyes open for a moment and, with a definite mental effort, forced herself to become aware of the others’ conversation. Or, to be precise, of the conclusion of the nice but dull young man’s monologue.
It was difficult to infer from it the preceding incidents of his narrative; but, as far as she could make out, it concerned the fatal accident that had befallen a friend of Johann’s climbing the Gingerhop – that was what the name sounded like, anyway – and the subsequent superhuman endeavours of Johann’s party to retrieve his frozen carcass. The subject-matter was certainly harrowing but Johann’s intonation was strangely soporific. His final account of the journey homewards seemed to rise and fall in her ears; at times clear and expressed with a certain urgency, at others subdued to the rhythm of the train, battering through the night towards the plains of Bavaria. She heard, however, Johann’s final sentences and Johnny’s polite grunt of interested acknowledgement.
“… It seems a horribly dangerous pastime,” she said. “Mountain-climbing, I mean.” It was almost as though she had spoken in her sleep, and she was instantly aware of Johnny’s amused sideways glance.
“Well, well. I thought you were asleep.”
