by John Creasey
He was thinking as he talked, and the idea, conceived when he had seen the two women, so alike and yet unlike, was taking shape.
Katrina was breathing fast.
‘How you talk, Kerr. You forget things, too. You forget how I hate Vallena, how the Prince has treated me, how I have been insulted and spurned. Popular, they say? Only because they hate the Prince! And in the new Baj, how shall I last? They will kill me, Kerr. They will assassinate me when the new order of things has come – those whom I am helping, those in whose interests –’ she laughed, mockingly. ‘I am starting this war, Kerr. You are beginning to see now?’
‘You take the words out of my mouth,’ said Kerr. He knew now, of course, what she was planning to do.
She rose suddenly, in a single, superb movement.
‘So. And I have made arrangements, Kerr, you understand? It will not be safe for Katrina to live, after this. And I care nothing for Baj, for Vallena. So – after tonight – they will find me dead. You see that? They will think I am dead, they will have no fears. But I shall live, and she –’
Rene Mondell was close to her, terror in her eyes. Kryn had his right hand inside his pocket: the two officers had theirs on the butts of their revolvers.
Rene said nothing, but she stared at Kerr, mutely appealing. The idea in Kerr’s mind was growing apace.
‘She will die, Madam? Nicely arranged! And her husband – you have arranged for him too? And you will disappear, one of the best known women in the important centres of the world? It will be monotonous for you to live in retirement.’
He saw that Katrina was in good temper again, and his brows knitted. She was laughing at him, the only moving thing in that tableau: and laughing, with her fine teeth showing, she looked the loveliest thing in creation.
‘But no, Kerr! She has a husband, you must know. Sir Douglas Mondell, he is most accommodating. He really cares nothing whether he has the genuine wife, or – so you see? I shall take her place, as she dies in mine. It has all been arranged. And if people think she has changed – who should know better than her husband? Their reconcilation is all ready, for the English papers. The whole story – so. And I, Katrina, disappear. I am dead. I have money, money for myself and for my husband.’
In the silence that followed, Kerr tried to get the whole thing into focus. Mad perhaps, but it was feasible, and with Mondell’s help it could work successfully.
Rene Mondell, poor little devil, the cat’s paw.
‘No. No!’ She was on her feet, deathly white, but no one took the slightest notice of her. Kerr’s eyes rested on Katrina, their expression beaten, afraid. The Princess lifted her hands with delight.
‘You see, Kerr!’
‘Yes, I see.’ He spoke like a tired man. ‘Well – it’s over, I suppose? I can’t buy you off –’
‘So! Kerr changes his tune. And so quickly! I am a little disappointed, Mr Kerr.’
Kerr’s face looked like death. Lois Dacre could not be sure whether in fact he was acting or not. She knew his ability, and she believed in him, although since she had arrived here she had been convinced that there was no hope for any of them at all.
‘But surely you needn’t be,’ Kerr said. ‘You have done everything you set out to do. The only thing I haven’t discovered,’ he added slowly, ‘is why you arranged that absurd business with the English trade. Why upset England? Oh, it’s not important –’
Katrina laughed into Kerr’s face.
‘Absurd, Kerr? Unimportant, Kerr? How little you know, how badly you have failed to maintain that reputaton of yours! The reason for the interruption of trade with England is simple: the Vonath Party. The Nazi Party, the anti-Moscow party. You see?’
‘Just words,’ said Kerr contemptuously.
‘Words, you call them! Just words!’ Her voice rang out, filled with triumph. ‘You will listen to me! The trade is useless now to England. Your big financiers, will they wish to help Vallena, a country no longer important to them? They will not! They will be quiet. They will eat their words, they will talk of sanctions, of piracy, of small things, and Vallena will be over-powered by Moscow, which is so near, and Germany will wish to fight because Moscow will then be more dangerous, and England will stay out of it until one or the other has won in Europe, and then –’
Kerr’s mind was working fast. The fiendish cleverness of the thing, the long-sightedness of it, appalled him.
She went on, her voice rising higher and higher.
‘You see, if England had substantial interests here she would have to come in now. Without them she will stay out. And when Russia is overcome, how weak is England’s position. Europe will be united, Russia, Germany, Italy, the smaller states, they will all be one. Only France might fight, and then England must come in. Too late, Kerr, too late! She could swing the scales if she fights now, but later –’
Kerr remembered England’s hostility, her indifference, towards Vallena. It was the natural result of that careful, steady work to antagonise the two countries.
‘Where do you come in, Katrina?’
She laughed, on a softer note.
‘I come so well, Kerr. Adolf Kryn and I, we have been preparing, through Criff. We have interests, food interests, everywhere. And food in war means money, and money in peace means power.’
‘In peace,’ Kerr muttered. ‘There won’t be any. Tell me one thing, Madam. Does the Führer know of this?’
Her teeth were bared.
‘He knows of the rebellion. He will seize his chance, as Il Duce will. They are great men, these dictators. They are fools, too – like the English. I, and Kryn, and – others – will have the control of food in the days of famine which come afterwards. You see how powerful we will be? You see why we did not want you and Craigie to learn? Craigie, he would see the Führer. He would show the records of what I have done, through the poor Criff, who knew too much. He would see them all, even Moscow. He would show how they fall into my hands, and – it would not happen. It would be a revolution in Vallena, nothing more. But now the chance has come to put Moscow and Berlin to fight, and they will fight! Moscow has promised help to Meggel. Berlin to help Vonath. I will be dead, they think, and –’
‘Well,’ said Kerr slowly, ‘it’s pretty big, I grant you. Knowing Russia and Germany, you stand an excellent chance of success. Excellent that is but for one thing.’
He was smiling at her now.
She was eyeing him, her eyes narrowed and her lips curling back. Kryn spoke at last, thinly, viciously.
‘Send them away, Highness. You have told them enough, and time is pressing. You must be out of the city by dawn, and there are a great many things to do.’
Katrina stopped him with a lift of her hand.
‘What is that one thing, Kerr?’
Kerr smoothed his coat lapel with his right hand. He glanced just once towards Loftus, trying to send a message.
And then his hand moved like lightning to his shoulder, holster.
‘But for this!’ roared Kerr.
He ducked as he fired. Loftus had pushed Lois behind him. Kryn and the guards swept their guns out, but Kerr’s first bullet found Katrina’s head, the second Kryn’s shoulder. Loftus was in front of Lois, his bullets streaming towards the guards, fire coming back both ways. Kerr felt one-two-three sharp jabs in his arm, but as they came he saw the officers toppling.
Kryn was in a crumpled heap, Katrina was across the desk, the blood coming from her forehead in an ugly trickle. There was a heavy banging on the door of the room. Raised voices could be heard; footsteps.
Rene Mondell was stretched across the desk, the mask of terror still there. Kerr jumped towards her, his left arm hanging limp. His right fingers bit into her shoulder.
‘Listen – damn you, listen! Go to the door, tell them it is all right – just say: faita rienta. Faita rienta. They’ll think you’re Katrina! You can do it!’
The din outside was growing worse. Kerr dragged Rene Mondell from the desk, with desperation in his
heart: and then realised suddenly what might make her act.
‘Falling died for this. Falling!’
It seemed like thunder outside, the voices were hoarser, only the knowledge that it was Princess Katrina’s chamber stopped the guards from breaking the door down. And suddenly, when Kerr had given up all hope, sanity came to Rene Mondell’s eyes.
‘All right. Faita – rienta.’
Kerr let her go.
Loftus was dragging Kryn from the floor towards a corner. Lois was standing in front of the bowed head of the Princess who had set the nations at each other’s throats for power and money. The officers were sprawled out of sight behind the door. When it opened the men in the passage would see only Rene Mondell – and think, please God, that she was Princess Katrina.
Oundle opened the door as Rene reached it.
She drew herself up, superbly, and the haughty arrogance of her expression was perfect. A big, uniformed man was there, halfway in the room. He saw Katrina and jumped back in surprise.
‘Faita rienta!’
It was Katrina’s nuance, Katrina’s voice. The man saluted sharply, and muttered something in Vallenian. Rene lifted her right hand imperiously towards the unseen Oundle, and he closed the door slowly.
Kerr took a step towards Rene Mondell, his eyes gleaming.
‘Perfect! They’re off for a bit, but now we’ve got to get away. After we’ve phoned Craigie –’
He knew, they all knew, what would happen if the message was intercepted. But it had to be attempted. The five of them could die if it meant Craigie could be informed, and the work of prevention started. Kryn was dead, and Katrina, but Sir Douglas Mondell was in this thing.
And others.
Who were they?
Chapter 21
And Others
Would the call never come?
It had been nerve-wrecking as Rene had lifted the telephone and, coached by Kerr, asked for that familiar London number, Whitehall 12121-8. At the exchange inside the palace the number might be viewed with suspicion, Rene’s voice might be suspected, the Vallenian pronunciation was almost certainly wrong. The exchange had muttered something back, and Rene had replaced the telephone.
They would hardly expect her to hold on while they were contacting London.
Kerr cursed the fact that there were no windows. There were two other doors besides that leading to the passage, but he dared risk no sorties until the call was through. He was sweating hard, while Lois was saying in a matter-of-fact voice:
‘Your arm, Bob – is it much?’
‘No, it’s all right old girl – they just nicked me.’
‘Did they?’ said Lois tranquilly. ‘Now just take off your coat, darling.’
Kerr shrugged. His shoulder was giving him hell, but he was aching to get to the telephone, a second’s delay might prove fatal. He lifted his left arm a fraction, and it would go no further. He grimaced, and then looked with surprise at the blood seeping down his sleeve.
‘Just a nick,’ said Lois, her expression grim. ‘Easy, now – easy Bob.’
Between them, she and Loftus had his coat off. The top of the arm was a mess. Lois had a small pair of scissors in her bag, and used them, cutting the shirt away. There were three bullet holes, and two had certainly hit the bone. Her lips tightened. Loftus made no comment. Lois took a scarf from her neck, and a carafe of water from the desk.
Kerr, half-occupied with stifling the pain and half with straining for the first sound of the telephone, was dead white. Lois had the worst of the mess cleaned at last, and exchanged a meaning glance with Loftus.
Then the telephone came, sharp and shrill.
Although they had been waiting for it so desperately, they all jumped. Kerr wrenched himself away, and could hardly wait for Rene Mondell to lift the receiver. She said something in English, after a pause, and turned to Kerr. Her face was vivid with hope.
‘It’s Mr Craigie.’
Kerr grabbed the telephone, and caught Craigie’s slow:
‘Who is that? Who –’
‘Hold everything,’ Kerr snapped, without introducing himself. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Right, Bob.’ Craigie would have picked that voice out of a thousand. ‘You all right?’
‘Craigie, listen –’
Craigie listened, without comment. Kerr was speaking quickly, feverishly, half-afraid that they would be cut off at any moment, while the others were looking towards the doors, guns in hand. No interruption came. Kerr kept hammering home the points, one after the other.
‘It’s a food ramp, no more, no less – can you see it? Can you –’
‘I’ve got it,’ Craigie said quickly. ‘I’ll send messages to the ambassadors in Berlin and Moscow, and I’ll get Wishart over here at once. You’re in time, Bob. Are you –’
‘It’s touch and go, Russia’s waiting, probably on the march. It’s cleverer than I can put over, don’t lose a second, man. Not a second –’
At the other end, Craigie had the receivers off two other phones and was tapping messages in morse, asking for connection with the Embassies in the two big Powers.
‘The calls are going through, Bob. But you?’
Kerr dropped the receiver and looked half-stupidly at the others. As far as he could do it, he had finished the affair. It would be touch and go, but once convince Berlin and Moscow that they were the tools in a wider game, and there would be no big trouble.
Loftus was grinning. Oundle was smoothing his wiry hair. Rene Mondell and Lois Dacre were, oddly enough, holding hands.
‘God,’ said Kerr, ‘couldn’t I manage a beer. Eh?’ he laughed. ‘Well, let’s get through into those other rooms. Be caught in here if we’re not careful. I –’
He broke off.
The others swung round, towards the door, for the tapping came very clearly. Kerr swallowed hard as it came again, sharp and imperative.
‘By the doors,’ he snapped to the others.
They retreated, a man and a woman by each of the far doors. Kerr took his second automatic from his coat pocket and went towards the passage door. His pulse was beating fast, he wished he had used Lady Mondell again.
‘Ontra!’
The door opened slowly at first and Kerr, behind it, saw the man who entered. He saw the expression of stupefaction on the man’s face, but his gun showed very clearly.
‘Tell the guards to clear off!’
He hardly knew how he managed to speak so plainly, to think clearly. He certainly did not realise that the scared newcomer gave the order, entered – with Kerr’s gun a foot away from him – and closed the door. The man knew that he was facing death.
Kerr and the others were staring at him, and Kerr was muttering his name.
‘Horn. Matthew Horn, eh? Well, Horn –’
Matthew Horn advanced a step into the room, and saw the dead bodies as well as the English couples by the opposite doors. His lips opened and the cry started, but Kerr’s fist caught him under the jaw. Horn staggered back, the cry unuttered. Kerr managed to stop him from thudding to the floor.
Horn was out, for the time being, and they needed him conscious. There was no water left but there was whisky, and they forced it down his throat. He spluttered and sat up, his face pale, his teeth chattering. Kerr, conscious of an increasing pain in his left arm, started to speak:
‘So it was you, little man, but we can talk afterwards. Were you coming to get away with Katrina and Kryn?’
Dazed by the great blow, Horn nodded.
‘How?’
‘The – there’s a plane – on the roof. Katrina’s – sports plane. Waiting. But – but –’
‘All things considered, you’d better lead the way,’ said Kerr slowly. ‘You know it?’
The gun moved forward from Kerr’s hand.
‘Through the main passages?’
‘N-no. Through – her bedroom.’
‘Where did they keep their papers?’
‘They – they’re packed. On top. All re
ady. I’ve just seen – von Hauf – up there. He’s waiting.’
Kerr was smiling, very softly, as though he had seen the light: and this news was the best he had had for a long time, for it offered a chance that had seemed impossible ten minutes before.
‘And a pilot?’
‘No. Katrina – was going –’ He stared across at that bowed figure, and he started trembling. Loftus pushed the whisky under his nose again, while Kerr snapped:
‘Remember the gun’s very close, Horn. Very close.’
‘Bob,’ said Lois, ‘you’re all in. Leave it to the others.’
Kerr’s smile was faint but his eyes were gleaming.
‘Not used to it, old girl. I – oh, all right. But make it fast. God, how I wish Trale –’
‘We can’t worry about any of them,’ said Lois quickly. ‘You’ll need those papers to prove the case, and you’ve got to get away. Come on.’
She had his right arm firmly. In a daze, Kerr saw Loftus poke his gun into Horn’s ribs. In a daze, he followed the others through Katrina’s bedroom, without noticing its lofty spaciousness and its luxury, to a small staircase that seemed to trip him up at every step. Up, up, up, he went, Oundle helping him, until the cool night air touched his face.
It steadied Kerr.
The roof was flat, giving room for a short take-off run. The plane was inside its white stone hangar, the plane of the playgirl Princess of Baj.
It was larger than he expected, a seven seater. Room for them all. Kerr wished Trale was with them. It did not seem right to be going back without Trale.
Loftus kept tight hold on Matthew Horn, that innocent-seeming partner of Horn, Beddle and Graham of Tooley Street, the man who behaved so well to his relatives. None of them could really convince themselves they would get away without more trouble.
The roof was high up, but not high enough to avoid hearing the sounds of the strife below. The military were marching, next morning Vonath would be in power, and waiting for the results, while Meggel’s rabble would be smashed almost beyond recognition as he waited for help from Moscow.
Oundle was fiddling with the controls when Loftus heard the sound.
