The Salzburg Connection

by Helen Macinnes

  “Oh, co-operation is fine, but sometimes we all have our little difficulties.” Nield was smiling amiably.

  Such as now. But what? “Do we leave tonight or don’t we?”

  “If you do, you’ll have to contact Felix Zauner. He’s in charge at Unterwald.” Until Bruno can get up there, Nield added to himself. And Bruno he could trust, because he had seen Bruno in action.

  “That shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve met Zauner. He will recognise me, all right.”

  Nield pulled out his watch. “Just let me check first on the situation at Unterwald.” He waited for Bruno to answer his signal. “Speed is essential,” he told Mathison. “You’re right about that. But in this case it’s safer to hasten slowly.” He glanced at Lynn Conway. “There will be some unpleasant intruders in Unterwald,” he said frankly for her benefit. “Nazis, for instance, who consider the Finstersee box their own very special property. We’ve reason to believe that the Communists are interested in it, too. But the Nazis are very much there, and well hidden. They’ve had years to get themselves safely installed.” He signalled again. Bruno was still busy.

  “Nazis?” Lynn asked faintly. Mathison heard the quick intake of her breath. He put an arm round her waist, drew her closer to him as they stood facing Nield. She tried to laugh off her nervousness, turn it to incredulity. “And Communists, too! Aren’t we going to add some of Yates’s little band of hope, Peking-style?”

  “Just give them enough time to catch their wits,” Nield said. “They don’t know yet what exactly hit them in Zürich. Once they begin to figure that out, we’ll see a couple of them being sent into Unterwald from Warsaw or Prague. But the Moscow boys are several jumps ahead of them. And the Nazis are farther ahead than any of us. They’ve had six full days to think entirely about Finstersee. They’ve had time to learn some of the things that the rest of us are now trying to find out. They’ve even had time to plot abductions.”

  Abductions? Mathison said, “Then you are convinced the Nazis seized Johann?” And Anna, too.

  “I’m inclined to believe it. They were at the right place at the right time, and in sufficient strength. Obviously. No one else can make these claims, not even Elissa and her friends.” Chuck looked across the darkening room at Lynn Conway. She was much too silent, too motionless. “So that’s the background to Unterwald,” he told her. And when she kept silent, he added, “You can easily change your mind about going there—provided you change it right now. We’ll find some other way to reach Trudi Seidl.”

  “But I’m your quickest way,” Lynn said. “And it wasn’t the Nazis or Communists that threw such a scare into me. At least, not so much. It was—it was just the quiet way you talk about them.”

  “How else?” Chuck asked her with a shrug of his shoulders, and then turned his head to speak into his opened watch case. Bruno was coming through now.

  “Let’s be tactful,” Mathison suggested, and led her into the corridor. She kept close to him, as if she needed that arm around her. Nield’s voice was a low murmur, indistinguishable.

  Lynn said, “We’ve wandered into a mine field. One covered with soft green grass. And wild flowers. Like any innocent meadow.”

  “He said you could back out. He meant it.”

  “I know, I know. But how can I? I’m the one who can do this job just a little more quickly than anyone else. And you would go to Unterwald yourself if I didn’t. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, I might just manage to get through to Trudi. Anna did mention my name, too, over the phone.”

  But she knows my voice, Lynn thought. “I’m not backing out.”

  He tightened his grip around her waist. He sensed some hesitation, some after-thought. “What’s troubling you?”

  “Just the way—the way he talks. So matter-of-fact, so—”

  “As he said, ‘How else?’”

  “I thought the Cold War was supposed to be over.” Her voice had an edge of criticism. She looked up at him. Her eyes were puzzled, not quite believing her own words yet unwilling not to believe.

  “Sure it is. This is peaceful coexistence,” he told her with a grin.

  “Don’t joke about it,” she said almost angrily.

  “I stopped joking about it in Zürich.” All humour left his face as he remembered the last time he had seen Greta Freytag.

  Lynn was silent.

  It isn’t really fair, he was thinking, that she knows only bits and pieces. She will have to know more if we are to get through this without false steps or blunders. Or even sweet thoughts that could trick her into disaster. Ignorance is a perpetual handicap. “How the hell did we get into this?” he asked, and tried to laugh. “I can think of other ways I’d like to spend a Saturday night with you.”

  Lynn’s silence melted. Through the growing darkness, her eyes met his. And were held. “There will be other Saturday nights,” she said. She slipped away from his arm. “I think Chuck has stopped talking to his invisible friend.”

  Nield was coming toward them, meeting them half-way, his watch in his hand. “The police are searching this building right now. Almost finished.”

  “You mean, all the time we have been here—?” Lynn asked.

  “Almost all of it.”

  “They certainly are moving quietly,” Mathison said. “And the other buildings, too?”

  “Yes. The search is working from the outside in. Nothing to report as yet.”

  “When they took Anna out of here, why didn’t they keep on going?”

  “It was too light to risk taking her through the streets or squares. They probably have a car parked nearby, but even that could be too far in daylight. We think they planned this operation in two stages. First, get her out of the house before you came back. Second, move her out of this maze of buildings when it is dark and quiet.”

  “They knew we would come back?”

  “And find that note. Its credibility would depend on its timing. She would never have set out alone for Bad Aussee late at night. Using what for transportation, for instance? But at this time of day, you could believe she had gone, taking a bus or a train.”

  And we were supposed to read the note, go away, come back on Monday, and then wonder what had happened to Anna Bryant, thought Mathison. He looked at Lynn, wondering if she had been following the same line of reasoning. But no, Lynn had other questions in her mind.

  “But why does she go with them?” Lynn was wanting to know, almost indignantly.

  “If they have Johann,” Chuck answered, “then all they needed to threaten was his death unless she went without a murmur.”

  “And that’s how they got in here? With that threat?” Lynn could scarcely believe it.

  “And possibly with something belonging to Johann to back up the threat—a ring, the tie he was wearing, anything she could recognise.”

  “But,” Lynn insisted, “how can you know that these men are holding Johann?” Always that quiet matter-of-fact voice, she thought, as she looked challengingly at Chuck. He deals in pretty big “ifs”, and I just don’t like them.

  “Who else, except Johann, could tell them you were coming today? He was here last night when Bill phoned from Zürich,” Nield said patiently.

  “Or it could have been someone who tapped the Bryants’ telephone,” Mathison reminded him, although he believed the Johann theory himself. But Lynn looked as if she needed a little defence.

  “I know who has been tapping it,” Nield said. “We’re cooperating with them.”

  Lynn felt her cheeks colour. She had forgotten about the phone call last night, although Bill had begun with that item in his report to Chuck. At the time, she had wondered why he had even included it, and had decided it was simply legal training: get everything in order, begin at the beginning, don’t miss one detail. “I’m out of my league,” she admitted. And stop underestimating these men, even kindly, in sweet tolerance. But it was so easy to think they were exaggerating when they dealt with something you found hard to believe.


  “And thank God for that,” Chuck said. “One Elissa is enough to have around.”

  Lynn, still embarrassed, turned to the table. It’s growing dark, she thought, and became practical. She lifted two of the typed sheets along with Anna’s note and placed them on top of Bill’s briefcase, ready to go.

  “Don’t you think it’s time we started moving out?” Mathison asked impatiently. And where would Elissa be now? In Unterwald?

  Nield held up the watch to explain the delay. “Just waiting for the final okay.” There was a gleam of humour in his eyes. “Co-operation.”

  “What’s the situation at Unterwald? Did they tell you?”

  “All quiet on the surface. But Zauner has just requested eight more men. He is starting a big search. For Johann, I believe.”

  “That’s quick work. When did he learn about Johann’s disappearance?”

  “Sometime this afternoon.”

  “Eight men... How the hell is he going to account for that invasion? It will have to be a cautious search, give no alarm. As you said, the Nazis would be quick to cut their losses in order to keep themselves unidentified. They’re liable to cut Johann’s throat too.”

  “That’s our problem. But Zauner may have solved it. He’s a bright fellow, you know.”

  “He’s arranging a hunting party?”

  “That’s been pre-empted. There is a batch of hunters already occupying the inn.”

  Mathison looked quickly at Nield.

  “They may be authentic. If Zauner has learned anything about them, he is keeping it to himself. He has made a couple of mistakes—Elissa, for one; the Finstersee box, for another. He should have been more on his toes about both of them; after all, he was here, right in the middle of it all. So he may be holding on to anything he has discovered about that inn until he can turn over the Nazis to Austrian Intelligence as his own particular triumph. That would set him up again in Vienna, certainly.”

  “Pretty sharp.”

  And that, thought Nield, is why I keep feeling uneasy about Zauner. He’s clever, all right. Why then was he so fast asleep about Elissa and Finstersee? “His plan for his reinforcements is pretty sharp, too. He is passing out the word that we are searching for a couple of terrorists, two of the South Tyrol nationalists who have been giving the Austrians a lot of trouble recently. Some of them did set a bomb on the Brenner railroad last week, and Italy—who now owns the South Tyrol—is threatening to cut diplomatic relations with Austria unless something is done about those nationalists. There is a search actually taking place for them, farther west than here. Zauner has simply extended the search to Unterwald.”

  “And no mention of Johann or the Finstersee box? Just a couple of terrorists who’ve got to be found, I’d call that pretext pretty near brilliant.”

  “So do I.”

  “But how do the villagers feel about the South Tyrol? Some of them may be in sympathy with the nationalists.” And what price co-operation, then?

  “Quite a few, I gather. I’ve never met an Austrian yet who enjoyed the way the Tyrol was split up, and one of its richest sectors handed over to another country. But these acts of terrorism—well, they are storm troopers’ tactics. The Austrians had a bellyful of that in the thirties. And what did it bring them? Annexation, war, ruins, and ten years of occupation. There is at least one lesson to be remembered from all that: men who use terrorism as a means to power, rule by terror once they are in power. I guess we’d all do well to remember it. Every civilised country has its own interior barbarians.” He paused, his thoughts straying for a moment. Then briskly he came back to the subject of South Tyrol nationalism. “I’ve been told the villagers will co-operate willingly in this search. I believe it. It’s one thing to sing about ‘Das blutende Herz Tyrols’; quite another to have bombing subsidised by outside sources.”

  “Outside?” picked up Mathison.

  Chuck nodded. “That’s the latest headache for the Austrians.” He didn’t explain, perhaps because he didn’t want to startle Mrs. Conway any more than he had already. She had been listening, wide-eyed, scarcely moving. So he smiled for her, said gently, “Every country has its own private troubles, hasn’t it? Like people, I suppose.” He glanced down at the opened watch, told it, “Oh, come on, come on. Give a signal, will you? Time’s awasting!” He laughed at his own impatience. “I take that back. Nothing’s wasted if it means that everything has been checked and double-checked.”

  Mathison said, “Which reminds me—did you check on that name Anna Bryant gave me? August Grell?”

  “Yes. He’s the owner of the inn at Unterwald—the Gasthof Waldesruh. He has been there since the war. He was a refugee from the South Tyrol.”

  Mathison remembered the bitterness with which Anna had spoken Grell’s name. “There’s more to Grell than that. He was one of the pieces of prime information that Anna Bryant had for you. He ranked with the Finstersee box.”

  Chuck’s eyes narrowed. He said slowly, “And now Grell has eight guests...” And then his voice quickened irritably. “But surely Zauner would have found out—” He didn’t finish. The signal came through just then, and he switched over to his watch. “All clear?” he asked Bruno, and listened intently to a flow of words. “Okay, okay,” he said at last. “We’ll start moving into Unterwald. By the way, would you ask Zauner to give you all the information he has on August Grell? No, no... I haven’t any more proof than you have, but I’ve got a feeling that Grell is worth watching. Can’t you get up to Unterwald tonight?... I see... Did Dietrich manage to say anything before he died?... So it was no accident... Yes, he was a good man. Too bad... All right, you clear up this end, and we’ll expect you in Unterwald when we see you. Keep in touch. Good luck.”

  He closed the watchcase slowly, deliberately. No accident, he was thinking. Werner Dietrich hadn’t slipped on that steep flight of stone steps; he had been half stunned by a blow on his head and then picked up and thrown down, thrown all the way from the landing to the bottom of the staircase. He had hung on to his life, fought his way back to consciousness for the space of three weak, three vital sentences before he died. He had named the man who had called him so early to his office this morning, had been waiting for him on the landing with a smile and a handshake—a Polish art student, supposedly a refugee; a friend of Elisabetha Lang.

  In the crowded kitchen, dusk had softened all outlines into grey shadows. There was complete silence, no movement from anyone. “All right,” said Nield, breaking into his own angry thoughts. “It’s all arranged. Here’s what you do.”

  “No news of Anna?” Lynn interrupted.

  “Not yet. The search has ended in this building, so we can leave any time. There will be a guard in the hall. Ignore him. He will ignore you.”

  “We just go away and leave her?”

  “Mrs. Conway, one of the best men in Austrian Intelligence is staying here in Salzburg until Anna Bryant is found. And the men caught.” And also a murderer, and perhaps a lot more with him. “Just concentrate on Unterwald. It’s fifty miles away, and the sooner we are all up there the better.”

  “Is this Finstersee box so important?”

  “Yes,” Mathison said gently. “And Anna Bryant knows that more than anyone.” He looked over at Chuck. “Either you tell Lynn about Finstersee or I’ll do that when I’m driving her to Unterwald. Yes, I mean it.”

  There was a brief silence. “You do it and save time,” Nield said. “Have you got those letters to back up your story?”

  “Damn. It’s too dark to see clearly. May I risk a match?” Mathison cursed his forgetfulness.

  Lynn said, “They are on top of your briefcase. Here.” She picked up the prepared package and handed it over. “I chose two carbon copies. The note’s with them.”

  Mathison checked them by touch and size, got them safely into his thin leather envelope. “Thanks, Lynn.”

  “Have you got that red guide-book you waved around in Tomaselli’s?” Nield was asking him now.

  Mathison
fished it out from his pocket, handed it over. Nield opened it at random, tore out a page, handed the book back.

  “Now here is how we get you out of Salzburg,” Nield went on. “Be ready to leave at seven o’clock. Have a quick but solid supper, and take your heaviest clothes—Mrs. Conway will need something much warmer than that suit she’s wearing. There will be a car at the hotel door. A ’59 red Porsche. Its driver will turn over some maps to you and this page from your Baedeker. Then you will have no worries about stepping into the car or offering him a lift back to his garage. He will accept, and that way he will guide you quickly and safely out of town. You will drop him off when he tells you, and a car will draw out just ahead of you. A black Mercedes with an Innsbruck plate. Follow it all the way, and you’ll reach Unterwald in record time. There will also be a car, a blue Fiat registered in Switzerland, keeping at a discreet distance behind you. Don’t worry. That will be me.”

  “Sure you can keep up?” Mathison asked with a grin.

  “Just watch I don’t tailgate you. Okay, okay... Have you got all that? Now, in Unterwald, your easiest approach to Trudi Seidl will be through Felix Zauner, so you’ll have to find him quickly but casually. This is how well arrange it.” Nield’s quiet voice, in short sentences, exact and businesslike, gave them the final instructions. At the end, he paused. Then he added, “There was no need to tell anyone in Unterwald about your arrival. Zauner has been kept informed of most other developments, of course. He’s the senior man up there, for the time being. He can pull rank on me. Or on Andrew. We all have to depend on him to some extent. But stick to your story, even with Zauner or anyone else. And as for Trudi—Mrs. Conway will have to use her own judgment on how much she will have to tell about Anna Bryant’s disappearance. As little as possible, frankly, for Trudi’s own safety. Right?”

  Lynn nodded. Now, she thought wryly, I’m going to have to learn how Bill must have felt when he was talking with me in Zürich. “I’ll take care.”

  Mathison, briefcase safely gripped under one arm, groped for her coat on the chair near the door. “Got your bag, gloves, everything else?”