by John Glasby
A quick glance told him that the man at the ticket gate was no longer interested in them. Running forward, they moved between the tall empty shells of the locomotives, many of them rusting away on the rails. Now these half-forgotten giants of the pre-war days hid them from sight of anyone on the platform. By the time the official got to wondering where they were, they would be out of Zagreb and on their way to Ljubljana and the Italian border.
The through coaches of the Orient Express were clearly marked, most of them first-class sleeping compartments. These he avoided. They would have to travel hard the rest of the way. A pity, but it could not be helped.
In the all-prevailing greyness, they climbed on board. They would have to square things with the conductor, but Carradine did not foresee any difficulty there.
Less than five minutes later, the diesel gave a low moan and the train moved out between the rusted rails, the remnants of a bygone age and Zagreb was left behind as the new day flamed over the Yugoslavian countryside. They waited until they were several kilometres away, then walked along the corridor until they found an empty compartment. Leaving the girl and the professor there, Carradine went to find the conductor. The other was in the small compartment at the very end of the coach. He listened sympathetically to Carradine as he explained that he and his two companions had to get to Paris as soon as possible owing to the serious illness of the girl’s mother. There had been no time for them to buy tickets at Zagreb. Would it be possible for him to pay now?
Taking out his wallet, he deliberately opened it so that the wad of notes was clearly visible. The avaricious gleam in the conductor’s eyes told Carradine that he had not made a mistake about the characters of the men who worked on these trains.
“Your passports are in order?” inquired the other officiously.
“Of course.” Carradine held them out for the other's inspection. It was obvious that the man did not have the first idea of what to look for in a forged passport. He gave the outward impression of studying them carefully, then handed them back. “You realise, of course, that this is highly irregular. It should really be reported since Zagreb is not an official halt for the express, However – “
“I realise there may be difficulties, but I’m sure I can rely on you to smooth them out.” Carradine held out a wad of notes. “This ought to pay for our tickets to Paris and also for your trouble.”
The conductor smiled broadly, took the money. “I’ll write you out your tickets right away.”
Going back to the compartment, he slid open the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The girl looked up from her seat in the corner. There was an unspoken question in her eyes. Sitting down, Carradine said softly: “Everything has been taken care of. I got our tickets from the conductor. All the way through to Paris.”
“So now all we have to do is wait,” said Ubyenkov with a faint sigh. “I think that this is going to the hardest part for all of us. We are so near, and yet so far. This is how you English describe it, is it not?”
Carradine said seriously: “As soon as it gets light, I want to take a walk along this section of the train, just to be sure that we are all right. Knowing our Russian friends, there can always be trouble.”
“But how could they possibly know that we are on this train?” asked Ubyenkov.
“Whilst they don’t have second sight any more than we do, they do have an extremely efficient organisation throughout this part of Europe. Even though we gave that man the slipped last night, he could have passed word along once he discovered what we’d done. I’d say that the private lines were humming furiously all last night and this morning as they tried their hardest to trace us. I’d say they now have a pretty good idea of where we are. They’ve either got a man on this train, or there will be one joining it further along the line, possibly at Trieste.” Leaning back, he stared out from the window where the tall sky-rearing mountains of Slovenia lifted high against a brilliant blue sky. The air was fresh and clean here, free from the smoke of big towns and by the time they had breakfasted in the small restaurant car, they had left Ljubljana behind and were heading towards Italy.
Carradine waited until they were through Sezana and the Yugoslavian officials had left before making his check on the rest of the train. They were now inside Italy, had just passed through Poggioreale. The train swayed continually from side to side as it rushed over the gleaming rails.
Glancing into the compartments, he eyed the occupants closely, searching for anything, any clue that would indicate danger. He knew most of the signs. The tourists were easily picked out, and dismissed from his mind just as quickly. The others, those who were either Yugoslavians or Italians were a little more difficult to study and make up his mind about.
He reached the end of the third carriage, paused undecided as he came to a compartment with the blind down. Now, how to see in there? It could mean nothing at all, on the other hand, it was just possible that whoever was in there had a good reason for not wanting to be seen. He was on the point of moving on when the sound of footsteps moving along the corridor halted him and a second later, the conductor came into sight. He gave a brief smile as he recognised Carradine.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine who said he would be travelling on this train,” Carradine explained easily. “I’ve seen nothing of him so far and I was wondering if he was in this compartment. I don’t like to go in just in case it isn’t him and – ”
“Leave it to me.” Conductor took the money which Carradine slipped to him, knocked sharply on the door while Carradine stood back along the corridor. There was a pause, then the sound of the blind grappling up. A face peered out at them, eyes blinking in the light. Evidently the other had been asleep and the knock had wakened him.
“The last call for breakfast, Monsieur,” called the conductor, bending close to the glass.
The other shook his head emphatically. The cold eyes lifted from the conductor’s face and fixed themselves on Carradine. There was recognition in them and something else that sent a little shiver along his back. How in God’s name had the other managed to get on board the train? It was the fat man who had been hounding them all the way across Europe!
A moment later, the blind was pulled down again. The conductor turned. “Was that your friend?” he asked politely.
Carradine shook his head slowly. There was no expression at all on his face. “No,” he said quietly. “I think he must have missed the train. It’s of no consequence. No doubt there will be word for me when we reach Paris.”
“I understand, Monsieur.” The conductor gave a brisk nod, walked off along the corridor with the smooth easy gait of one that used to the swaying train. His shoulders scarcely ever touch the sides of the corridor.
Carradine returned to tell the others.
“Are you sure it's the same man?" For the second time, Francesca asked the question. She bit her lower lip and her fingers twisted a little nervously in her lap. There was a curious expression in her eyes.
“There’s no doubt about it. But let’s not panic. We expected something like this.”
“It would not have happened if you had done as I asked and taken the plane from Vienna,” she said harshly. “Now we’re caught like flies on the web, not knowing when he means to make his move.” She reached out a hand towards him and then drew it back sharply.
“Do you have any ideas?” asked Ubyenkov.
“I’ve always thought that the best method of defence was attack,” Carradine said. “I doubt if he will make any move before it’s dark. A lot is going to depend on us getting in our move first.”
“You mean to kill him?” There was a touch of horror in the professor’s voice.
“If it’s necessary – yes.” There was no emotion in Carradine’s tone. He went on dispassionately. “I can understand how you feel. This is a deadly game that we are playing and when it comes to the showdown, it’ll be either him or us. Make no mistake about it. He’ll kill us as just as surely as he would swat a
fly. All he needs is the opportunity.”
“I see.” The other sat back into his seat, turned his head stared out of the window. He seemed to have drawn into himself. It was clear that the way in which Carradine was calmly discussing the death, the murder in fact, of another human being had shocked him deeply. Well, thought Carradine tautly, that was just too bad. By now, Ubyenkov should know how these things were. He ought to know judging by what had happened back there in Balchik. Carradine did not know what had happened to the men who had helped Ubyenkov to escape from Russia and get into Bulgaria; but he could make a good guess.
“You must be careful,” said the girl in a soft voice. “He is a dangerous man. He will not hesitate to kill you.”
“I don't intend to give him the chance. He knows that we are on the train. He recognised me at once. Fortunately, I feel sure he is alone. Why he’s playing a lone hand I don’t know. These men usually work in pairs.”
“Perhaps Kreznikov doesn’t want to arouse our suspicions.” She seemed to have got over her earlier nervousness.
The train gave a deep, wailing moan and a second later, they thundered into a tunnel. With an effort, Carradine closed his mind to everything but what lay ahead of him. He tried to put himself into the mind of that man in the compartment in the second carriage. When would the other make his move? It was certain that he would not want to arouse any suspicion on the part of the other passengers. The chances were it would happen after dark and shortly before they arrived at a station where he would be able to leave the train and vanish into the night.
Now that the other knew he had recognised him, he would be doubly cautious. Whenever he opened the door of his compartment to anyone he would have his hand close to the gun he was undoubtedly carrying.
The simple, commonsense answer to the problem was for Carradine to station himself somewhere where he could watch the other’s compartment as soon as it grew dark, take him by surprise. If the man was travelling alone on the train, then everything should be reasonably uncomplicated. He felt certain that he was as resourceful as the other, that his training had been as thorough as his adversary, so why panic? The train sped out of the tunnel into the glare of sunlight. Blinking his eyes to adjust them to the brightness, he watched the distant blue sheen of the Adriatic in the distance, a welcome change to the rugged sky-rearing the mountains which had been their lot for most of the journey.
*
The touch of Francesca’s hand on his arm woke Carradine sometime later. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he sat upright in his seat, glanced through the window. There were the rich reds and golds of a glorious sunset flaming in the West. He reckoned they must be somewhere between Vicenza and Verona by now.
“What time is it?” he asked.
She glanced at her watch. “Almost nine o’clock. It will be dark soon.”
He nodded. Taking the small gun from his pocket, he checked it carefully, aware that she was watching him closely.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, Steve?” she asked. There was a peculiar lilt to her voice as she spoke. He looked up sharply, slipping the gun back into his pocket. Good God, he thought, she actually wants to come along and make sure he’s killed, that this time he’s off our necks for good.
“You’re a bloodthirsty little vixen, aren't you?” he said with a tight smile. Then he shook his head slowly. “You’d better remain here with the professor. Just in case they do have another man on the train. Keep your eyes and ears open.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said in a low voice.
By the time they left Verona, it was almost completely dark. The last trace of colour was fading swiftly from the sky over the Lombardy Plain and the moon was swinging on its back in the west. Carradine waited tensely for another five minutes. There was a lot to be done and he could feel the tightness in his throat, the muscles constricting. There was nothing different to the noises of the train, nothing to indicate that very soon, possibly within the next few minutes, a man was going to die, swiftly and surely. He smiled grimly to himself as he imagined what would happen if the rest of the passengers knew this, the consternation which would be caused, the common feeling of horror. He knew there were still people in the world who looked upon this train as a symbol of adventure and romance; few realised that there were times when that idea was very close to the true. In the old days, it had been the means of escape for political refugees from Russia and other countries of Eastern Europe. Now there was very little of that going on. But the Orient Express still played an important role in international politics and intrigue. True there was less of it now than before the war. But there was still some drug smuggling going on from East to West and vice versa and it was far easier to use than the planes which now linked the Capitals. Circumstances made the customs checks here far less rigorous than at the air terminals.
He got to his feet, looked down at the girl, then stepped over the legs of the sleeping professor and opened the compartment door.
There was a single dim light showing in the corridor, throwing long shadows between the other doors. He held himself straight as he made his way forward, walking on the balls of his feet, feeling the endless sway of the carriage under him.
The blind was still down over the window of the compartment in which the fat man had been. It struck Carradine that perhaps the other was expecting him to do something like this, that the compartment was empty, and the other was somewhere further along the train, hoping to take him by surprise. If that was so, he would have to be doubly careful.
Moving on past the compartment, he came to the end of the carriage and stood there near the door, leaning his shoulders against the wall at his back. From there he could see all the way along the corridor.
He waited patiently. Minutes passed and there was still no movement from the compartment a short distance away. What, if anything, was going on in there behind that blind? he wondered tensely. Was the other simply waiting until he judged the time was right? Would he go creeping silently along the corridor just as he had a few moments ago? The chances were that the man already knew which compartment was theirs. He would go straight to it, use a gun, preferably one fitted with a silencer – or maybe he would wait until they entered the Simplon Tunnel.
The train began to slow. Glancing out of the window, Carradine made out the lights around the curve. This would be Domodossola. There would be no customs check in these carriages which were going through all the way to Paris. They would wait here for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes and then go on through the Simplon and across Switzerland.
With an effort, he forced his taut muscles to relax. Since the other had not made any move yet, it was unlikely that he would do so until they pulled out of Domodossola.
The train stopped with a clanking of couplings. In the distance, he could hear the opening and shutting doors, the sound of voices. The Italian customs took fifteen minutes. Then the train was off again, the station slid out of sight and Carradine straightened. Why in God’s name didn’t the other make a move? The girl would be getting worried by now. He hoped that she would do exactly as he had told her and not leave the professor to come looking for him. If she did that and got in the way at the wrong moment it could spoil everything and –
His thoughts stopped. He tensed himself. There was a soft click, barely audible, then the door of the nearby compartment was opening. He saw the widening strip of dark shadow, guessed that the man inside had switched off the light before opening the door.
Pushing himself back out of sight, he waited. The click of the door being closed reached him a few seconds later. Carradine cautiously moved his head to one side, keeping the rest of his body still. The dark, broad shape of the man emerged into sight, his back to Carradine, as he made his way slowly and silently along the corridor. Carradine felt a slight trickle sweat on his forehead, resisted the urge to rub it away.
The train clattered its way over points, jerked abruptly to one side. In front of Carradine, the fat man
reached out a hand and grabbed the rail tightly to keep himself upright. Now, thought Carradine. Gripping the gun in his right hand, he tiptoed from his hiding place, padded along the corridor in pursuit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DARK REVELATION
The man had reached the end of the corridor, stood poised near the interconnecting door. He seemed to be listening for something as he stood there, his back to Carradine. For a long moment there was no sound but the intermittent rattle of steel on steel as the wheels rumbled over the points. Then they were on the main line again and the wheels resumed their smooth rhythm. The other moved forward, paused, began to turn as some animal instinct seemed to warn him of the closeness of danger.
Carradine saw the flabby features turn as the man twisted his blubbery neck around, saw the eyes widen in sudden understanding and realisation. In one violent cork-screwing motion that took Carradine completely by surprise, the other threw himself on the corner of the corridor, his right hand dropping to his pocket. Carradine’s muscles uncoiled. The other man then threw himself back at the same moment, his ponderous weight crashing against Carradine’s chest as he moved forward. He had anticipated the man’s move for the gun in his pocket, but the savage thrust took him off balance. Staggering, he fell back against the window, felt the metal rail hit him hard on the back, across the shoulders.
The man swung with a tightly-bunched fist and the blow hit him on the side of the head, sent him sprawling to the floor of the corridor. With a sudden grunt, the other dropped his knees on to Carradine’s stomach, his hands groping forward for his throat.
It was impossible in the confined space to twist and throw the man off, just as it was impossible for him to move his arm and drag the gun free. Nails dug into the flesh of his throat as the other began to squeeze, lips drawn back from his teeth. The man hissed something through his parted lips and for a moment, inexplicably, his grip around Carradine’s throat loosened as he tried to right himself, his legs hooked on either side of the other’s body.
