1954 - Mission to Venice

by James Hadley Chase

  Harry grinned cheerfully.

  “Okay, boss,” and he bolted up the stairs.

  Don went into his study and rang up the airport The time was now ten minutes after midnight. So much had happened since he had seen Stefano Peccati that it seemed incredible to him more time hadn’t passed.

  A brisk voice answered his call, and he asked to be connected with Pleydell.

  “I’m sorry, signore, but il signor Pleydell is not here.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “I do not know, signore.”

  “This is Don Micklem speaking,” Don said. “I want to charter a plane immediately for Paris. Can you fix that?”

  “I will see. Will you hold on a moment?”

  Don waited impatiently. After a long delay, the voice said, “I am afraid we have no private charter planes available until noon tomorrow.”

  “I don’t care what it costs. I’ve got to fly to Paris tonight,” Don snapped.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, signore,” the voice said. “The earliest is noon tomorrow.”

  “Connect me to the airport manager,” Don said curtly.

  “He has gone home, signore.”

  There was a flat note of uncooperation in the voice that warned Don he was merely wasting time. He wondered bleakly if there were planes to be had and whether this was the work of the organization Tregarth had warned him about. Surely they couldn’t have got into action so soon?

  He hung up, opened his desk drawer and took out a bundle of large-scale maps of the country he always kept handy. Then he went briskly into the hall.

  Harry, dressed more or less the same way now as Don was, was waiting for him.

  “We’re leaving for London right away,” Don said. “We’re up against tough opposition. These thugs will stop at nothing to prevent us getting out of the country. I’m not going to risk taking the train. I think a car is too dangerous. I can’t get a plane so we’ll go by boat. We’ll head for Chioggia, then down to the mouth of the Po, then up river as far as Piacenza. We’ll leave the boat there, and try for a plane at Milan.”

  Harry grimaced.

  “That’ll take time, boss.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think they’ll imagine that’s the way we’ll go. They’ll watch the road and the airports. With any luck they won’t think of the river. Come on; let’s go.”

  Cherry came forward.

  “If there’s anything I can do, sir . . .”

  Don grinned at him.

  “You’ve done more than your share. The rest is up to us. I’ll be seeing you in a week. If I’m not back here by then, shut up the house and come home.”

  Although it was after midnight, the quay was still crowded with tourists, and Don and Harry had trouble in making speed towards the boat station where Giuseppe was waiting for them. Eventually they forced their way through the crowd and up a narrow Calle which opened into a boat basin where private owners kept their motorboats.

  “What’s up now?” Harry muttered as they heard Giuseppe’s voice raised in anger. “Sounds like he’s cursing someone.”

  They could just make out in the dim light of the overhead lamp, Giuseppe standing by Don’s thirty-two foot cabin cruiser, shaking his fist into the face of a fat man in dirty overalls who kept spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders, indifferent to Giuseppe’s cursing.

  “What’s the trouble?” Don asked sharply, coming up beside Giuseppe.

  “This son of a pig says he has no petrol, signore,” Giuseppe snarled. “He always has petrol. He is too lazy to unlock the pump.”

  The fat man turned to bow to Don.

  “It is unfortunate, signore, but I have run out of petrol. This stupid gondolier will not believe me. Tomorrow, a new delivery arrives. Then I shall be only too glad to supply il signore.”

  “What have we got in the tanks, Joe?” Don asked.

  “One tank is empty, signore; the other is half full.”

  Harry had quietly walked behind the fat man and was examining the pump. He gave the tank a gentle kick. From the dull response he knew the tank must be full.

  “He’s lying, boss,” he said. “There’s all the gas we want in here.”

  The fat man turned savagely on Harry and exploded into a stream of Italian invective. Since Harry didn’t know a word of Italian, the effort was wasted on him.

  Don gave Giuseppe a signal and Giuseppe’s lips parted in a happy smile. He closed his great fist and brought it down on top of the fat man’s head. Harry obligingly stepped forward and caught the fat man as he slumped forward and laid him gently on the cobblestones.

  “Get his keys and get the pump working,” Don said, hurriedly stepping into the boat. “Joe, take this man out of sight and sit on him until we’ve gone. Here, take this and pay him.” He thrust some lira bills into Giuseppe’s hand. “You’ll probably be able to scare him into keeping his mouth shut.”

  “I will scare him all right, signore,” Giuseppe said grimly. “There is nothing further I can do for il signore?”

  “No, and thanks a lot, Joe.”

  Giuseppe picked up the fat man, slung him over his shoulder and walked off with him into the darkness.

  First the plane, now petrol, Don was thinking. Too much of a coincidence not to be engineered. It looked as if Natzka had taken precautions to stop him leaving, on the off-chance he might escape. With the tanks full, Harry stepped down into the boat and started the engine.

  “Take it easy until we get out into the lagoon,” Don told him, “then let her rip.”

  As the boat nosed its way down the narrow rio, they heard the sound of running footsteps.

  “What’s this? More trouble?” Harry muttered and pushed forward the throttle slightly, increasing speed. They both looked back over their shoulders.

  Two policemen appeared out of the shadows.

  “Hey, you there! Bring that boat back!” one of them shouted.

  “Shall we stop, boss?”

  “Slow down, but keep her moving,” Don said quietly, “and be ready to let her go if I tell you.”

  He stood up as the two policemen came abreast of the boat.

  “What’s the trouble?” he called.

  “Bring that boat to the side!”

  “What’s the idea?”

  “You know what the idea is. You’ve just stolen a load of gasoline,” one of the policemen shouted. “Bring her to the side.”

  Don smiled.

  “Sorry, but I’m in a hurry.” He realized that once he got into the hands of the police the delay of explaining would be endless. This could easily be another attempt to keep him in

  Venice. “Let her rip, Harry.”

  Harry opened the throttle and the boat swept forward.

  “Keep your head down!” Don said. “They’re going to shoot.”

  One of the policemen had unslung his carbine, but before he could get it to his shoulder, Harry had swung the now fast-moving boat around the corner into a broader rio, and, seeing an empty stretch of water ahead of him, he pushed the throttle wide open. With a roar from the powerful engines, the prow of the boat lifted clear of the water, and the boat surged forward at its full racing speed.

  Twenty minutes later, with the engines going at half-speed, they swept past the Lido landing stage and headed towards Pellestrina.

  Don crouched over the powerful shortwave radio receiver, headphones clamped over his ears, his fingers on the tuning knob.

  Harry, cigarette between his lips, his eyes alert, sat at the helm.

  He was thoroughly enjoying himself. It was some time now since he had had any excitement, and he was ripe for it.

  Don gave a sudden shrug, took off the headphones, reached for a cigarette and lit it. He turned around in the bucket seat so he could face Harry.

  “We’re not going to get far in this tub, Harry,” he said.

  “The police of all coast towns as far as Rimini are being warned to look out for us. The Chioggia police have two motorboat
s in the gulf, looking for us.”

  “They’ve got nothing that could catch us, boss,” Harry said.

  “That’s not the point,” Don said. “It was a smart move to force us to take the gasoline. We’ve now got the whole of the Italian police on our necks. They’ll do Natzka’s work for him, and it means the whole country in a little while will be on the lookout for us. This boat sticks out a mile: the biggest dope would recognize it once a description of it gets going, and they’re burning up the ether already. We’ll never be able to take it up the Po without being recognized. If it wasn’t for those two police boats in the gulf I’d have a shot at making Trieste, but the risk is too great. I guess our safest move is to head for the mainland, leave the boat and try to get to Padova on foot. Those two policemen couldn’t have got a clear enough view of us to describe what we’re wearing. We stand a better chance without the boat.”

  Harry nodded.

  “Okay, boss. Do we pull in before we reach Chioggia?”

  “We’ll pull in now.”

  Harry swung over the helm.

  “Go in at quarter speed,” Don said peering into the darkness. He thought he heard a distant sound. “I think there’s a motorboat somewhere around. Cut the engines!”

  Harry closed the throttle and the motorboat slowed to a crawl through the still water of the lagoon.

  “Over to the right, boss,” Harry muttered, “and coming fast.”

  The drone of powerful engines could be clearly heard now, but it was too dark to see anything.

  “We’ll take a chance and wait. They may pass us,” Don said and hurriedly put out his cigarette.

  They waited, tense and listening

  “Sounds as if they are coming right on us,” Harry said suddenly.

  “Quarter speed to port,” Don said.

  The motorboat began to move again: its powerful engine making scarcely any noise.

  The drone of the approaching police boat was now turning into a steady roar. Then suddenly the dazzling white beam of a searchlight lit up the dark waters.

  “It’s a police boat all right,” Don said. “We’ll have to run, Harry. Full speed ahead!”

  The searchlight swept round and lit up their boat as its nose rose out of the water and it surged forward.

  “Give me the helm,” Don said. “We’ll run out to sea and try to lose them.”

  “She’s got more speed than I thought,” Harry said changing seats with Don.

  “She’s not fast enough to catch us,” Don said.

  As the police boat turned in a large half-circle to come after them, the beam of the searchlight lost them, and for a brief minute they fled over the water in darkness, then the beam caught them again.

  “Keep down. They mustn’t get a look at us,” Don said, crouching himself.

  “We’re pulling away,” Harry said

  A tiny red flash of flame showed from the following boat, then the crack of a gun followed. Something that sounded like an angry hornet zipped past overhead.

  “They’ll warn the other boat. We’ve got to watch out,” Don said.

  Already the beam of the searchlight was losing its effectiveness as the distance between the two speeding boats widened. Another flash came from the following boat, and this time, the bullet thudded into the roof of the cabin, sending a shower of wood splinters into the cabin.

  “Who said the Eye-ties couldn’t shoot?” Harry muttered.

  Don altered course, advanced the throttle slightly. The boat surged forward even faster.

  The searchlight beam now no longer held them, and as if realizing its uselessness, it was suddenly turned off. Don sent the boat around in a wide circle and headed back to the mainland.

  They could see the two red lamps on the police boat a quarter of a mile now to port, moving steadily out to sea.

  “I think we’ve foxed them,” Don said, “but they’ll be back.”

  “We can’t be more than half a mile from the mainland,” Harry said. “What are you going to do, boss? Run her on to the beach?”

  “I guess so. We don’t want to get our feet wet.” Don grinned. “Unless, of course, we have to. We’ve a long walk ahead of us.”

  “They’ve found the other boat,” Harry said, looking back.

  In the far distance they could see the searchlight of the police boat had lit up the second police boat. Both boats swung in a circle and were now heading back for the mainland.

  “Here they come,” Harry muttered. “Surf ahead, boss.”

  Don cut down speed.

  The motorboat began to bounce on the waves that were running towards the shore. The dark outlines of the beach loomed ahead. A few moments later they were sprinting across the wet sands towards the dark interior.

  Eleven: Tallyho!

  Both Don and Harry were tireless walkers. They made it a matter of personal pride to keep in first-class trim, and the journey ahead presented no fears for them. After ten minutes of plodding over rough country, they struck a road that Don’s map told him would take them to Piove di Sacco.

  The terrain was flat and exposed, and Don realized they would have to find some place to hide up in during the day. In daylight they would be seen for miles around, and he had no doubt that as soon as the police had discovered the abandoned boat, they would begin a systematic search of the district.

  “I don’t think we should make for Padova now,” he said as he swung along briskly at Harry’s side. “The police are certain to look out for us in the big towns. Our best plan is to keep to the villages and bypass the towns.”

  “I wish we had the Bentley with us, boss,” Harry said feelingly. “We’d be home in no time.”

  “Maybe later, when we’ve found out how interested the police really are in us, we can take the risk of hiring a car,” Don said. “Maybe it would be safer to board a C.I.T. bus.”

  “This seems a pretty exposed spot. We’ll have to get under cover before daylight.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” Don said. “Keep a watch out for a farmhouse. We might be able to hole up in a barn or an outbuilding.”

  They had walked for perhaps twenty minutes when Don’s sharp ears caught the faint sound of an approaching car.

  “Hear that, Harry?”

  Harry was already moving off the road. He jumped down into the ditch that ran alongside the road. Don followed him, and they crouched down, listening to the approaching hum of the car engine. The car went past. It had only its sidelights on, and Don caught a glimpse of four men in the car, all wearing flat peak caps of the police.

  “They haven’t wasted much time,” he said, straightening.

  “Shall we leave the road and cut over the fields? It might be safer.”

  “Harder going, boss. I think we should stick to the road as long as we can.”

  “Okay; let’s go then.”

  They regained the road and continued on their way, their eyes and ears alert for any sound. It was twenty minutes past three by Don’s luminous wristwatch before they came upon their first farmhouse. By now, a big, white moon was lighting up the flat countryside and they easily spotted the whitewashed walls of the farmhouse that stood in a field set back from the road.

  “Shall we take a look, boss?” Harry asked, slowing down.

  Don stopped and studied the farmhouse. He could make out the high roof of the barn that stood away from the house; the cowsheds and the outbuildings.

  “You can bet your last buck the police have warned the farmer to look out for us. They’ll have gone to all the farms on the road ahead of us. Still, there’s no harm trying. We’ve got to get off the road before daylight. Come on; let’s investigate.”

  They left the road and walked quietly across the field, keeping away from the rough brick cart track that led directly to the farm. They had got within a hundred yards of the farm when a dog began to bark.

  “That’s that. Come on; let’s get back to the road.”

  “Half a mo’, boss; I’ve got a way with dogs. I’l
l see if I can make friends with the fella.”

  “Too late,” Don said. “Look!”

  A light came up in one of the upper windows of the farmhouse. The dog began to bark more ferociously and rattle on its chain.

  “Just a moment,” Harry said. He had been in many tight corner during his Commando service, and he had learned the unexpected move often paid dividends. “Let’s make for the barn. They might think the dog has scared us off.”

  Don nodded.

  “Idea. Come on . . .”

  Moving silently and keeping in the shadow, they ran swiftly forward and got around to the back of the barn as they heard the bolts on the farmhouse door being noisily drawn back. A woman called out of a window: “Be careful, papa; better wait for Vittore.”

  “If I waited for him I would be dead and buried,” a man shouted back. “Someone’s worrying the dog.”

  “I’m coming, papa,” another man shouted.

  “That makes two of them,” Harry muttered. “Hey-ho, papa’s let the dog loose.”

  “Now’s the time to show your talent then,” Don said. “I’ll leave it to you.”

  Harry moved forward silently. A moment later a big black dog came bounding around the barn. He gave a low growling snarl and came on towards Harry.

  Don’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Harry made no move to avoid the dog. Harry remained motionless; the dog hesitated, then paused to sniff cautiously at him.

  “Good boy,” Harry muttered and whistled softly between his teeth. The dog came closer, then began to wag its tail and Harry bent and fondled its head.

  “Bruno! Come here!” the farmer shouted.

  From the sound of his voice he was somewhere near the farmhouse.

  “Go on, boy,” Harry muttered and gave the dog a gentle shove. The dog looked at him and then ran off around the barn.

  “Nice work,” Don said.

  He had found a door leading into the barn and had pushed it open.

  “Come on.”

  He stepped into darkness and Harry followed him. As soon as Harry shut the door, Don took out his flashlight from his pocket and swung the beam around.

  “Up that ladder,” he said.