(1961) The Prize

by Irving Wallace

  Lilly grabbed Craig’s arm. ‘Mr. Craig, he is so white. He must not go on. He will faint. Please—’

  ‘Wait,’ Craig snapped, pushing her hand away. He turned back to the bed. ‘Daranyi, for God’s sake, while you can—to whom did you give this information? Whoever it was, that is the person at the bottom of it, the person responsible for bringing Walther here. Tell me who?’

  Daranyi had vengeful strength for this. ‘Dr. Carl—Adolf—Krantz. He assigned—accepted—the information—paid me—this way. . . . I gave him the photocopies—about—Emily Stratman—and—and—Ravensbruck—and about—the inquiries—from Lipski—from Russia—and now—’ The breathing from the pillow was heavier. ‘He—Krantz—Krantz—is—the—one—to—find—he—’

  But the voice drifted off, as the lids folded over the eyes.

  ‘Daranyi,’ pleaded Craig.

  Lilly was touching Craig’s arm. ‘You have what you want.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  The door had opened behind him, and the two stretcher-bearers came in with the doctor.

  ‘—I had just wanted to ask him,’ finished Craig lamely, ‘what he meant by Ravensbruck.’

  As Craig rose and backed off, the doctor replaced him and looked down at Daranyi. ‘The patient is unconscious,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘We must move him to the hospital. Do not be worried. The injuries are superficial.’ He considered Craig curiously. ‘You learned what you wanted from him?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Craig. ‘Yes, I have what I want.’ Lost in thought, trying to fit together the puzzle, Craig walked through the living-room with Lilly, ignored Sue Wiley, and went into the hall.

  ‘Krantz?’ said Lilly in an undertone.

  Craig nodded. ‘Krantz.’

  ‘I must remain with Daranyi,’ she said. ‘You must find Krantz and Emily. Do not take bad chances—the police—’

  Craig took Lilly’s hands. ‘When you know about Daranyi, phone me at Concert Hall if it is before six-thirty. Otherwise—’

  ‘You will hear from me, Mr. Craig.’

  Craig nodded, and hurried-outside into the darkening cold. The spectators were still there wondering, and the ambulance, waiting, its rear doors flung open, and across the street he could distinguish Gunnar Gottling behind the wheel of the station-wagon.

  When he slid in beside Gottling, he said, ‘I think we’ve got our man.’

  ‘Name him.’

  ‘Carl Adolf Krantz.’

  Even Gottling, whose features were too arrogant to concede surprise at any time, showed astonishment. ‘Krantz? I always knew that little rat was pro-German and anti the human race, but I always thought he was too proud of his position—a judge on two Nobel committees—to sink to this. So it’s Krantz? Are you sure?’

  ‘Daranyi was positive. Krantz hired him to do some espionage on the Nobel laureates—apparently Professor Stratman and Emily were the real targets—in order to get something on the Stratmans and force the Professor to come over to the other side. Daranyi dug up some information no one else but Krantz knew or could use—and the key part of that information was on the tape.’

  ‘I’ll be goddamned, then it’s true,’ said Gottling. ‘But I’ll bet my britches it isn’t Krantz alone. He’s gutless. If a poodle barks, he goes up a tree. I called him a rat. That’s too princely. He’s a weasel, really. There must be others.’

  Craig chafed irritably. ‘I’m not interested in nit-picking. I don’t care who in the hell is responsible. I just want to find Emily and her father. Daranyi says Krantz, so Krantz it is.’

  ‘Simmer down, pal. What time you got?’

  ‘Ten past four.’

  ‘We’d better shake the lead out of our asses then. If I remember, everyone leaves for Concert Hall in ten or fifteen minutes.’ He started the station-wagon. ‘Krantz is probably still in his apartment, getting ready to leave.’

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘Ha, who in Stockholm doesn’t? It was the only balcony in the city, during the war, that was draped with a swastika!’

  Gottling had said ten or fifteen minutes, but now he accelerated the Volvo through the Old Town, wheeling and careering, as if there were only one minute to make St. Peter’s gate. They passed gay, open Christmas stalls and the municipal Christmas tree on Stortorget. They sped over the illuminated bridge, twisting away along the canal, and because Craig was still not used to the left-hand drive, with oncoming traffic approaching from the right, he had a mounting fear that he would never survive to see Krantz—or Emily.

  There had been a sharp turning, and an attractive street stretched westwards between the Mälaren canal and rows of expensive apartment buildings, the string of small cars parked before them shining under the high street-lights.

  ‘Norr Mälarstrand,’ said Gottling.

  As they drew nearer to their destination, Gottling slowed the progress of his station-wagon, head ducked low, squinting past Craig and out the right-hand window, hunting for Krantz’s apartment.

  Craig’s mind had gone to the Nobel judge they were seeking. Since his arrival in Stockholm, he had not seen much of Krantz. The Swedish physicist has been assigned to the Marceaus, Garrett, Farelli, Stratman, and Ingrid Påhl and Jacobsson had been assigned to the literary laureate. Nevertheless, Craig had a distinct image of Krantz—an ugly, stunted man with a hog’s snout and a scrub moustache and goatee, and a repugnant personality. Craig had no specific plan of action in mind for when he came face to face with the vicious, mis-shapen hippogriff, but the rage in him was bursting now, and he knew that he would kill Krantz if necessary, to extract some word of Emily and Walther Stratman’s whereabouts.

  ‘We’ve caught him just in time,’ he heard Gottling mutter.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The fifth apartment down. There’s the rented limousine parked in front.’

  They had slowed to a crawl as they approached the limousine, and through the Volvo windshield Craig could see a portly figure in chauffeur’s cap and uniform in the brighter area under the street-light, gloved hands, clasped behind, waiting for Krantz.

  ‘You park,’ said Craig tightly, opening his door. ‘I’ll grab Krantz.’

  ‘If you need help—’

  ‘I won’t need help,’ Craig called back.

  He crossed the street, squeezed between bumpers of two parked cars, attained the pavement, and going fast, and then running, he approached the entrance of the orange apartment building, its shadowed balconies jutting above like military pillboxes.

  At the entrance he slowed, became aware that the chauffeur was eying him inquisitively and with apprehension, as you observe anyone who is running in the night.

  Craig stopped, and looked at the chauffeur. ‘Are you waiting for Dr. Krantz?’

  The chauffeur came to loose attention. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I must see him first. Which apartment?’

  ‘Fourth floor, sir.’

  Inhaling deeply, Craig went inside. The modern elevator was at ground floor level. Taking it to the fourth floor, Craig tried to contain his impatience and temper, tried to rehearse an approach. Before he could do so, the elevator had whirred to a halt.

  Almost blindly, Craig found himself at the apartment door, jamming his thumb at the buzzer, then rapping imperatively. In immediate response, the door was flung open. Between Craig and the one he must see, firmly planted, stood an annoyed housekeeper. Her width filled the doorway, and the hair on her upper lip momentarily distracted Craig.

  ‘Yes?’ she was demanding, crossly.

  ‘I must see Dr. Krantz immediately.’

  She shook her head. ‘No—impossible. He is leaving for—’

  ‘I’ve got to see him!’ Craig bullied his way past her, ignoring an outstretched arm, and entered the hall.

  She snatched at his sleeve. ‘No—who are you?’

  Roughly, Craig freed himself, trying to find the right door. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘No—!’ Nervously, she shouted off. �
��Dr. Krantz! Dr. Krantz! Please—!’

  There were footsteps to Craig’s left, and Krantz’s harsh voice loud, ‘What the devil—what the devil—what is all the racket, Ilsa?’

  He materialized, combatively, in the hall. For a moment, Craig was taken aback by his appearance, so ludicrous and pompous in silk top hat and formal overcoat with velvet lapels. Could this improbable figure be the spinner of plots, the formidable enemy?

  Approaching, Krantz halted, recognition replacing annoyance on his face. ‘Why—it is Mr. Craig. What are you doing here? You should be at Concert Hall—’

  ‘Never mind Concert Hall. We’re going to have a little private talk first.’

  Craig’s tone, the tremulous anger of it, seemed to surprise Krantz. Affability fought concern. He stood very still and when he spoke, it was past Craig. ‘That will be all, Ilsa.’

  The peasant woman brushed alongside Craig, with a shove of her body against his to display her displeasure at the rude intrusion, and then she disappeared into the apartment.

  Krantz gestured off. ‘We will talk in the parlour. I have only a moment—my chauffeur—’

  Craig had already gone into the room, to the centre, and turned about to meet his host. His initial desire had been to seize Krantz by those velvet lapels and shake the information out of him. But somehow, the atmosphere of the homely old family room, the used squat mahogany pieces, the lace doilies (above all, the doilies), curbed violence. This was a man’s home, and he the disturber of peace, and then, seeing Krantz come tentatively towards him, his mission became more real and his anger rose again.

  Krantz offered no seat, and took none himself, as if to make it clear that the meeting was unwelcome and would be brief.

  ‘You appear agitated, Mr. Craig. Is there anything—?’

  ‘You’re damn right,’ said Craig. ‘I’m here to tell you you’re a son of a bitch and a blackmailer—and I’ve found you out.’

  The word assault hit Krantz like a physical blow. He stepped backwards, his tiny eyes terrified and his moustache and goatee opening and closing, and his top hat began to slide off his greased hair. Despite shock, he stayed his hat and tried to maintain dignity.

  ‘Mr. Craig, I do not understand. What language is this to use—’

  ‘I said you’re a blackmailer, and you’ve been found out. There are no words for what I think of you—nothing low and filthy enough.’

  Krantz fought for poise, but his moustache and goatee still jumped. He had difficulty finding his voice. ‘What is this, Mr. Craig? A crude American joke? Are you drunk? I should have known this might happen—everyone knows about your drinking. I will not have such language under my roof.’

  Craig moved towards him, the muscles of his forearms prepared to lash out. ‘You’re lucky I’m only using words—I should kill you!’

  Krantz was in retreat against the wall. ‘Do not touch me! Go—or I will call Ilsa—I will call the police!’

  ‘We’ll both call the police,’ said Craig, restraining himself, ‘unless you tell me where you’ve got Emily and Walther Stratman.’

  A gush of air went out of Krantz, and he was smaller and very afraid. ‘You are ranting. What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about the Stratmans, and what you’ve done to them, and you know it. It’s all in the open, you bungler. It’s all out. I intercepted the taped message you sent to Professor Stratman. I heard the whole rotten deal—how you exhumed Emily’s father and brought him here, how you’re holding him with Emily until you get your hands on Professor Stratman, and escort him behind the Curtain—’

  ‘Fairy tales!’ shrieked Krantz. ‘Crazy fairy tales! You are drunk! Where do you find such lies?’

  ‘From your friend Eckart on the taped message, for one thing.’

  ‘Prove it. Show me this tape.’

  For the first time, Craig felt closer to truth. ‘Yes, Krantz, we both know I can’t show you the tape. But I don’t need it, you see. I have better evidence. I have Nicholas Daranyi.’

  Krantz straightened against the wall, and made a pretence of relief. ‘So that is it. You have been listening to that Hungarian simpleton. Well, you listen to me—’

  Craig shook his head. ‘No, Krantz, you listen to me. This minute, Daranyi is on his way to the hospital. Instead of paying him, you sent some roughnecks to knife him. But you made one mistake. You counted on their killing him.’

  Krantz stood speechless, palms flattening against the wall behind him for support. His facial features revealed dumbfounded amazement at the news. ‘They—they tried to kill Daranyi?’

  ‘In the street before his apartment. With knives. He’s going into surgery. But the wounds are superficial. He’ll live. He’ll have much to say.’

  Krantz’s disbelief was entire. ‘They attacked Daranyi? I cannot—I cannot believe it.’

  ‘You don’t have to believe it, Krantz. You can see for yourself. Do you want to come along to the hospital and see for yourself? Then you and Daranyi can hold a joint conference with the authorities—’

  Craig stopped. More was not necessary, he could see. It was as if Krantz had just swallowed Dr. Henry Jekyll’s mixture of white powders and red liquid. The transformation on his face—from indignation and defiance to abdication and defeat—was immediate. ‘No, wait,’ he was saying, his voice a high whine. ‘You do not understand—I had nothing to do with Daranyi—the violence. I did not dream they would go to such lengths—it is terrible.’ Swiftly, he discarded old comrades for a better ally. ‘I had nothing to do with any of this—you must believe me!’

  ‘I believe only one thing. Emily and Walther Stratman are stuck away some place—and Walther will be freed on the condition that Professor Stratman defects—and Daranyi says you’re responsible.’

  ‘It’s not true—mixing me in so deep. Daranyi knows only half of it. I would never go so far.’

  ‘You’ve gone far enough. You’re smack in the middle.’

  ‘No—no.’ He wrung his hands, staring at Craig’s feet, exhorting, explaining, cajoling in the cause of self-preservation. ‘Craig, have some leniency—know the circumstances. I would have had no part of this, if I had known they would resort to—’ He lifted his obsequious eyes. ‘You must have compassion—try to know what happened to me.’

  Craig grimly waited.

  Krantz went on quickly, a last plea to the jury. ‘I was persona non grata after the war, because I favoured the losing side—you must always be with the winner here—and they passed me over for all the university jobs that I deserved—passed me over—me, their most valuable physicist, with so many honours, with my Nobel positions. Then Eckart came, in my blackest hour, and offered me—’

  ‘I’ve heard of Eckart. Tell me who he is.’

  ‘The one who engineered all this—the one who is a director of Humboldt University in East Berlin. He knew of my good work—and unfair persecution—and he offered me a brilliant post—but wanted a favour first. He said he would like to meet Stratman in Stockholm, get him away from the West for a week in Stockholm, in a neutral atmosphere, to offer him a job. By my influence, I helped Stratman win the award, to come here, and I brought him together with Eckart. But Stratman would have nothing to do with Germans or Communists. So Eckart dangled the post before me like bait, pulled me in deeper and deeper with harmless, small demands. He made me hire Daranyi to ferret out private information on Stratman and his niece. I never imagined how this information would be used. Only this morning did I have an inkling—but it was impossible—I would not permit myself to believe it.’

  ‘What happened this morning?’

  ‘Dr. Eckart telephoned. He told me that, through the information I had gotten out of Daranyi, he had deduced Stratman’s brother was alive in Russia. He had persuaded the Russians to send the brother here as an object to be traded for Stratman. I was upset. I had not known Eckart would use the information for such purpose. He had wanted it, he always pretended, as a civilized means of breaking down Stratman�
��s resistance. I had no idea he would use it for blackmail. But there it was. So when Eckart asked me to get hold of Stratman and bring him to meet his brother, I refused to co-operate. I told him my standing was such, I could not endanger it by going further, not to such limits. I must say Eckart was reasonable. He said he would locate Stratman himself. Later, in person, he informed me that, to save time, he had found Emily instead and brought her to see her father. He introduced me to Walther. He said something of the tape. This I assure you, Craig—and there is no need for me to lie now—he promised me there would be no violence to the niece or Stratman or anyone involved. But Daranyi—the attempt to kill poor Daranyi—I swear I knew nothing of that until minutes ago when you told me. That is too much. It is not worth the contract for the university post. I was to go to the boat again tonight and sign—but not now, no.’

  Craig had been observing Krantz closely, to interpret his degree of sincerity, and now, much as he detested the cringing gnome, he believed him.

  ‘The boat,’ said Craig. ‘Is that where they all are—on some boat in the canal?’

  ‘Yes. Not all. Eckart is in the city with—with friends—to watch the television for Stratman’s announcement of his defection, and to meet with Stratman after the Ceremony for the exchange.’

  ‘But Emily and Walther?’

  ‘They are on the boat. It is guarded, of course.’

  Craig felt flushed at the nearness of his goal. He pressed harder. ‘Tell me where the boat is.’

  Krantz’s pinhole eyes projected fear. He hesitated. ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘So I can inform the security police. They’ll surround the boat, and we’ll have Walther without any trade or—’

  ‘No!’ Krantz interrupted. ‘No—I cannot, Craig—not the police. It would be in the open—a scandal. It would be the end of me.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me, it’ll be the end of you anyway.’

  ‘I do not care. I will take my chance. My word against Daranyi’s—but the police, no.’