1954 - Mission to Venice

by James Hadley Chase

  Harry had taken out his automatic and rested it on his knee. His hand lay on the car door handle, ready to press it down and jump out.

  “No one about,” Don muttered, and one hand on the steering wheel and his right hand holding his automatic out of sight, he pulled up outside the farmhouse door.

  Don had hoped that Natzka might have come to the door and he could have surprised him, but he quickly realized that he would have to make the first move.

  “You keep out of sight, Harry,” he said softly. “I’ll tackle this. If I put my foot wrong, you’ll be there to pull me out.”

  “Let me go, boss,” Harry said urgently.

  “No; do what I tell you!”

  Don opened the car door, crossed the patch of garden in three long strides, turned the handle of the front door and pushed.

  The door swung inwards.

  Don found himself looking into a small hall. Facing him was a flight of steep stairs. There was a door on his left which he assumed led into the main room. He hadn’t time to have more than one fleeting glimpse of the hall for he saw the pilot of the hover plane coming down the stairs.

  The pilot stopped short, his mouth opening, his eyes popping.

  “Make a sound and I’ll blow your head off!” Don said softly showing his gun. The pilot raised his hands above his head, his face draining white.

  “Come down,” Don said.

  Slowly, as if he were walking on eggshells, the pilot descended the stairs until he was within a few feet of Don.

  “Turn around!”

  Reluctantly the man turned his back on Don who ran his hand over him. When he found he wasn’t carrying a gun, he stepped back.

  “Where are the others?”

  The pilot indicated a door at the end of the passage.

  “Go ahead, and don’t try any tricks.”

  The pilot walked down the passage, turned the handle of the door and entered a big roughly-furnished room. Don stepped quickly up to him and gave him a violent shove that sent him flying into the room to land on hands and knees near where Carl Natzka was sitting.

  “Don’t move!” Don rapped out.

  “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Micklem,” Maria said.

  She was seated by the window, knitting with scarlet and white wool. She smiled at him, her knitting needles continuing to fly, her eyes bright with excitement.

  Natzka had been studying a large scale map which was spread over his knees. At the sight of Don, his face paled and his mouth tightened. The map slid off his knees on to the floor.

  “How nice,” Maria went on. “I’ve been so worried about you. What’s happened to your head?”

  “One of your brother’s pals threw a grenade at me,” Don said. “But like all your brother’s pals he was very inefficient and he didn’t do a great deal of damage.”

  “Oh, darling,” Maria said, looking reproachfully at Natzka, “must you have grenades thrown at Mr. Micklem? After all, he is a friend of mine.”

  “Be quiet!” Natzka said harshly. “I want to talk to you,” he went on to Don. “You can’t get out of the country. Every road is watched; the police are looking for you. There are special guards at all the frontier towns. Sooner or later you must be caught I’ll do a deal with you . . .”

  “I’m not interested in any deal with you,” Don said curtly.

  Where was Curizo? he was wondering and he moved sideways so his back wasn’t towards the door.

  “I want that book, Micklem,” Natzka said. “I’ll buy it from you. . .”

  “Really, Carl, that’s absurd,” Maria broke in. “Mr. Micklem is a millionaire. . .”

  “You’re not having the book, so save your breath,” Don said.

  “You okay, boss?” Harry called from down the passage.

  “Yes. Curizo’s somewhere in the house. Find him and put him out of action, then come back here and hurry,” Don said without taking his eyes off Natzka.

  The pilot remained on the floor. He stared uneasily at Don, and then looked at Natzka “Are you going to put us out of action, too, Mr. Micklem?” Maria asked. “How will you do that: knock us on the head?”

  She was laughing at him.

  “A length of rope is all that’s necessary,” Don said, smiling. “Your brother’s pals will be back to release you in a little while.”

  “I am so relieved. I was frightened you were going to be as brutal as my brother,” she said. “I do apologize for Carl’s behaviour. The trouble with him is he values life so very highly. If he doesn’t get that silly little book back, he will be put against a wall and shot.” She paused in her knitting to study the pattern, then the needles began to fly again. “And so shall I. Carl doesn’t want to be killed. Of course, I don’t either, but I don’t approve of killing and hurting people just to save my own skin”

  “Your sentiments do you credit, but they didn’t stop your brother murdering John Tregarth,” Don said quietly. “The situation isn’t perhaps so dramatic as you make it appear. You need not return and admit failure. You can drop out of sight.”

  She laughed, and again he thought he had never seen a woman as beautiful as she.

  “Where would we hide? They are patient and powerful. They don’t forget They would find us sooner or later as I am afraid they will find you, Don. I am quite sure you are very brave and your nerves are very steady, but I do assure you that if you don’t give up the book, sooner or later you will lose your life. It may take months, but one day you will meet with an accident – one of our famous engineered accidents. You can’t escape it.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Don said, smiling. “Break down and cry?”

  She shook her head.

  “I just happen to like you. I’d hate to think of you dead.”

  “But since, according to you, you will be dead a long time before they catch up with me, I don’t see why you should be so anxious,” Don returned. “Sorry, but I’m not influenced by your argument.”

  “I can but warn you, Don.”

  Harry came in at this moment, carrying a coil of rope.

  “I found Curizo upstairs,” he said. “He didn’t make any trouble.”

  “Rope this guy,” Don said, pointing to the pilot.

  “You can’t get away,” Natzka said. “I’ll give you your life in return for the book. I must have the book!”

  “Don’t talk through the back of your neck!” Don said. “Of course we can get away. We’re using the hover plane.”

  Natzka’s face went chalk white.

  “You can’t handle it!”

  “You forget, Carl, that Mr. Micklem is an expert pilot,” Maria said, and in spite of her smile, her face paled too. “I don’t think you have been very clever to give him such an easy opportunity to get away.”

  “Be quiet!” Natzka exclaimed.

  Harry completed roping the pilot, then crossed over to Natzka who suddenly jumped from his chair and caught at Harry’s throat. It was a move Harry had been expecting. He swept Nazka’s hands away with his left arm and then slammed a right-hand punch to Natzka’s jaw. Natzka’s eyes rolled back, he sagged at the knees and Harry shoved him back into the chair.

  Maria caught her breath sharply as Harry hit her brother, and she turned away her head. Then she stiffened and looked out of the window.

  “You should hurry, Don,” she said. “They’re coming down the road.”

  Harry jumped to the window.

  “They are, boss! They must have picked up a car on the road.”

  He stepped behind Maria, dropped a loop of rope around her and fastened the rope to the back of the chair.

  “I hope that’s not too tight, miss,” he said.

  Harry was always courteous to the ladies.

  She looked over her shoulder and gave him a dazzling smile.

  “Don’t worry about me.” She looked at Don. “Goodbye. I hope you get away.”

  Don hesitated. He wondered if he should take her with him, then he remembered how she had nearly tricked him into
leaving Venice. It was too risky. He couldn’t trust her.

  “Goodbye and good luck,” he said.

  “Let’s go,” Harry said, and together they ran out of the room.

  As they reached and climbed into the hover plane, they could see an open car with five men in it, speeding along the dusty road.

  Don checked over the instrument panel, fired the starting cartridge and the overhead airscrew began to revolve.

  Harry knelt at the open cabin door. As the car turned into the farm gateway, he raised his automatic and fired. The windshield of the car smashed and the car skidded to a standstill. The five men jumped out and scattered.

  Harry felt the hover plane lift.

  Busso, crouching behind the car, began to fire at the machine as it rose slowly in the air. A bullet zipped past Harry’s face; another smashed the clock on the panel. Harry sent a bullet so close to Busso that he ducked back under cover.

  All the men were shooting now and the air hummed with bullets, but the hover plane was climbing and moving away.

  “We’ve licked them,” Don said as he pushed forward the throttles, and the hover plane, gathering speed, climbed over the hills and out of range of the shooting.

  Thirteen: Check

  Harry settled himself in the seat beside Don, reached for the rucksack at his feet and opened it.

  “Phew! Now for a little relaxation,” he said. He began to unpack a lump of salami sausage. He opened his pocketknife and cut off a generous slice. “Can you eat while you handle this kite, boss?”

  “I can always eat,” Don said, and accepted the salami. “Don’t scoff the lot, Harry, we may still need some.”

  “Aren’t we going to London in this crate? “

  “Not a hope. We haven’t enough gas in her to last us twenty minutes.”

  “Blimey! Don’t tell me we’re going to start walking again,” Harry said, his face alarmed.

  Don nodded.

  “I guess we are. We’ll be lucky if we get across the frontier.”

  “Oh well, at least we’ve given his nibs the slip,” Harry said reflectively. He chewed for some moments as he stared down at the mountain range that was looming towards them. “Where are you heading for, boss?”

  “We’ve got to get across the frontier, Harry. We know they are on the lookout for us there. Once we’re in Switzerland, we can take a train to Zurich and fly to London. Right now, we’re heading for Tirano which is the frontier town. When we spot that, we go a few points north, and if we’re lucky, we’ll get to St. Moritz. It’ll be a toss-up whether the gas holds out that long.”

  “Don’t leave it too long,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t like to crash in this kite. It doesn’t feel very substantial.”

  Don grinned.

  “It isn’t. It’d be quite a bump.”

  He glanced again at the petrol gauge. The indicator kept flicking over to zero. They were nearly dry; another three or four minutes would empty the tank completely.

  “Any parachutes around, Harry?”

  “Bad as that?” Harry said, his eyes popping a trifle. He looked hurriedly around. “Don’t see any.”

  “Look! There’s Tirano now,” Don said.

  Harry was looking behind the seats. He glanced over his shoulder at the small town below, then renewed his search.

  “I’ve got them, boss. They don’t look as if they’ve been checked in years.”

  “Dope that I am!” Don said angrily. “Of course! There’s a reserve gas tank on board. If it’s full, we’ll just about get over that mountain range.” A quick manipulation of switches brought a more welcome reading on the petrol gauge, and Don began to climb. “We’re safe for about another twenty minutes. Get your map out, Harry.”

  Breathing heavily, Harry produced the map.

  “We’ve got to find a spot where we can land. Look at these mountains!”

  “I’m looking at them,” Harry said uneasily. “Mind you don’t knock them about, boss; they might knock back.”

  Scarcely fifty feet below them were the rocky, snow-covered mountain caps, guarding the Swiss frontier, and Don climbed higher.

  “Well, come on; we’re wasting time. How far is it from the plain?”

  “Too far from the look of it, but I wouldn’t know, boss.”

  “Let me have a look.” Don studied the map, grunted and handed it back to Harry. “We’ll just about do it if we have any luck.”

  “That’s nice,” Harry said, staring down at the snow-covered mountain. “Fancy landing in that stuff!”

  Some ten minutes later, with the petrol gauge registering zero, they swam out of thick cloud and saw below them the flat, grazing pasture land dotted with goats, and in the distance the wooden houses of the peasants, sheltering at the foot of the mountains.

  “We’ve done it!” Don said and put down the nose of the hover plane.

  A minute or so later he had made a perfect three-point landing a quarter of a mile from a secondary motor road that they could see winding up into the mountains.

  “Let’s get out of here before anyone comes to ask us what we’re playing at,” Don said, slipping on his rucksack.

  “More walking now, boss?” Harry said, regretfully leaving the hover plane.

  “Unless we thumb a ride to St. Moritz.”

  They set off across the grass towards the road, and a few minutes’ quick walking brought them on to the road.

  They looked back.

  The hover plane stood out against the mountain background far too conspicuously for their sense of comfort. They walked briskly along the road, and they had covered a mile or so before they heard a distant motor engine.

  “We’ll try for a lift,” Don said, “but watch out. Have your gun handy.”

  “I’ll watch it,” Harry said.

  A big lorry came down the road and Don waved. The lorry slowed down, and the driver, a good-natured looking man with keen blue eyes, gave them a friendly grin.

  “Can you give us a lift to St. Moritz?” Don asked in his impeccable French.

  “Jump in,” the driver said. “I like company,” and he opened the door of his cab.

  Harry and Don scrambled in, slammed the door and the driver sent the lorry forward again. During the ride, the lorry driver could talk of nothing but the hover plane he had seen crossing the mountains. Dressed as they were in their windbreakers and corduroy trousers, he took Don and Harry for ordinary hikers, and it didn’t cross his mind that they had anything to do with the hover plane. He was still wagging his head, and saying what an extraordinary thing it was, when they left him in the main street of the town.

  “We’ll go straight to the station and get a train for Zurich,” Don said. “From there we can get a plane to London.”

  At the station they learned they had just missed a train, and there wouldn’t be another for an hour.

  “How about going to a restaurant, boss, and having a damn good blowout?” Harry asked hopefully.

  Don shook his head.

  “We can’t afford to waste a second. You can bet Natzka is organizing something for us. I’ll see if I can hire a car. You go and buy some food, and meet me here in twenty minutes.”

  Harry’s face fell.

  “Anything you say, boss.”

  Fortunately, Don had spent several winter months at St. Moritz, and the manager of the Palace Hotel knew him well. Don arranged with a garage for the hire of a car, and in less than half an hour, he was driving down the main street towards the station in a powerful, black Bugatti.

  Harry who was waiting for him, silently munching a hunk of sausage, grinned happily when he saw the car. Before the war Harry had been number one mechanic to an international motor racing star, and he lived and dreamed big cars.

  “Phew! You’ve got something there, boss,” he said. “Did you have to pinch it?”

  “I got it from the hotel,” Don said, sliding into the passenger’s seat. Although he was a first-class driver himself, he knew Harry had the edge on him when
it came to driving at speed. “Take her Harry, and let’s go.”

  Harry gulped down the last of the sausage wiped his greasy fingers on the back of his trousers and got in under the steering wheel.

  “I’ve got a sausage for you if you want it,” he said, dumping his rucksack in the boot behind him.

  “Not yet,” Don said, busily examining his map. “We’ve about a hundred and fifty miles to go to Zurich on a good road.” He looked at his wristwatch. The time was twenty minutes

  to four. “Allowing for traffic and the hairpin bends, we should be there by about half-past eight.”

  “I’ll do it faster than that, boss,” Harry said, engaging gear and driving the car slowly down the main street. “This beauty can go.”

  “We can’t afford to take any risks,” Don said. “So watch out for accidents, Harry.”

  “How about petrol?”

  “The tank’s full, and I’ve got four two-gallon cans in the boot. We’ll have more than we want.”

  “Okay,” Harry said, and slightly increased his speed as the traffic ahead thinned. But it wasn’t until he got clear of the town and on to the Silvaplana road that he showed what he could get out of the big Bugatti. They reached Silvaplana in just under ten minutes, swung to the right and went storming up the mountain road towards Chur. The road, carved out of the mountain side, twisted and turned like the back of a coiled snake, and in spite of the traffic coming down into Silvaplana, Harry kept up an average speed of forty-five miles an hour.

  He had an uncanny talent of anticipation. It was as if he had a radar screen inside his head which warned him whether or not some lorry or car was coming from around the hidden bend.

  Don noticed he automatically slowed down on some bends and sure enough a car would appear, more often than not in the middle of the road, whereas on other bends, Harry ripped around them to find a clear road “We’ll have to watch our step at the airport,” Don said, once he was satisfied that Harry’s mind could cope with conversation at the same time as he was concentrating on his driving. “Once we get on a plane to London, Natzka is beaten and he must know it. He’ll stage his last trick at the airport. Our best plan is for you to drop me off outside the airport, go in and get two tickets. They don’t know you as well as they know me. I’ll join you at the last moment on the plane.”