Snare of the Hunter

by Helen Macinnes

  “Has he sighted the Mercedes again?” Bohn asked. Dusk would soon be here. By night a dark-green car would be hard to see.

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll never be able to find Kusak!” And all this nightmare for nothing, Bohn thought, all these endless hours I’ve been stretched on the rack.

  “We’ll find him. The side road is short. It leads uphill. To that other Tarasp.”

  Bohn’s face was drained of colour.

  “The one with the castle. Remember?” Jiri Hrádek’s eyes were as hard as his voice.

  22

  David drew a quiet breath of relief once they reached the highway to Tarasp. He had taken a short cut down from the Swiss border, with a stretch full of hairpin bends that had produced a marked silence in the Mercedes. Now there was only, a steady ascent along the left bank of the Inn, flowing to meet them, and he could start concentrating on the next problem. One damned worry after another, he thought. He said, “Jo, you’re beautiful enough. Give me some help with this map.” He tossed it over to the back seat.

  “You’re doing fine. Right highway, right direction,” Jo said. She went on brushing her hair to get some life back into it. Irina had already finished combing hers. Their faces and hands had been cleaned of dust and streaks; they looked presentable once more. “Better get rid of that raincoat, Irina. It’s a mess. I’ll lend you a cardigan. We can’t have you meeting your father like a—”

  “Damn it,” David burst out, “check the map, Jo!”

  “Tarasp lies south—on this highway. You can’t miss it.” But she dropped the hairbrush back into her suitcase. Never argue with a tired man, she thought, especially when he’s hungry. Food, that’s what we need; and hot baths; and some clothes that aren’t beginning to look straight out of a thrift shop. She opened the map, saw Tarasp at once. “Marked?” She was incredulous. “Wasn’t that—”

  “My fault,” said Irina.

  “An accident,” David said. “What do you see, Jo? Any side road leading out of Tarasp?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” His voice was sharp. “Krieger talked about an Upper Tarasp. That means two of them.” Sharing a hilltop with a castle, Krieger had said of the village. But a castle might not be visible until it was too late for David to make the right turnoff. He wanted no delay, no backing and searching.

  “I see only one Tarasp, and that’s near the highway.” Jo reached into her suitcase. “I have a Swiss map—it may give more detail.” She spread it out. “Dave, can’t you ease up—just for a moment? This small print is really—” She broke off, concentrating more surely as their speed slackened. “Oh my, this is complicated.”

  “Tell me.” David was resigned to the inevitable. He ought to have guessed that Krieger would never choose an assignation point that was easy to find: no village bang on a straightforward highway for Krieger.

  Jo said. “How far are we from Scuol? Don’t you love those names?”

  “We’ll reach it in ten minutes or less.” David was watching a motor-cycle that had almost caught up with them when they suddenly slowed down, and now had fallen back a little. It was a high-powered job that had been behind them for several miles. A Swiss cow-boy, he had thought, and expected the machine to zoom past them any moment. But it hadn’t. Given up the challenge? He wondered, and kept an eye on it.

  “Okay,” said Jo, head bent over the map, finger firmly on their route. “Pass through Scuol. Keep going for one mile. Turn left and cross the river to reach its right bank. You are then on a smell road for Vulpera.” Oh, these wonderful names, she thought. “After that, turn right. The road divides and you take the left fork. Travel uphill for about two miles. And there you are. Tarasp. In small print.”

  “With a castle?”

  Jo looked again, saw the significant triangular dot put in by a careful map-maker. “Yes.” And then, as David didn’t answer but only put on speed, she asked, “Shall I repeat all that?”

  “No. Bless you, Jo. Clear as crystal.” David saw the motorcycle again. It too had speeded up.

  “Now may I brush my hair?”

  “No, keep watching the road signs. We’ll check them together.”

  “Careful, aren’t you?” But she moved well over to the left side of the back seat to give herself a clear view of the river and its bridge.

  “Sometimes.” David glanced at Irina. “Hello, darling,” he said softly. “All right?” And now, he thought, there is one last problem to be solved, the most important of all. Yet he knew it had been solved for him already, and not according to his will or choice. What else could be done? He watched the motor-cycle, and slackened speed. It eased off too, and had to pull in behind a large bus.”

  “Why slow up here?” Jo wanted to know. She looked out of the rear window, drew back instantly as she remembered David’s instructions. Low profile, heads down, he had told them; slump, go to sleep again, but don’t help anyone notice you.

  “Just keeping a steady pace.” And that was what he wanted now. Get that bastard accustomed to this speed, David thought.

  Irina said in alarm, “Is there a car following us?”

  “No car.” He didn’t mention the bike. There was too much anxiety breaking through her apparent calm.

  “Scuol!” Jo announced. “Irina, put on the cardigan. Please!” She held it out.

  With a smile, Irina refused it. “I need this raincoat.” She patted its pockets, felt the reassuring touch of the small notebooks. David had noticed the movement of her hands. “Yes,” she told him, “both are safe.” She saw his surprise, and then amusement. He shook his head, began to laugh. Then his eyes were on the road again.

  “Well, that’s a good sound,” said Jo. David hadn’t even cracked one small smile all this journey, not even when he had wakened them at the first frontier post by telling them to yank off those damned wigs and keep their passport photos credible.

  “David,” Irina began, “I’ve made my decision. Is that what has been worrying you?” But he didn’t answer. A bad moment to talk, Irina decided as she watched his face. She lapsed into silence.

  David’s full attention was on the highway. They were leaving Scuol now, and the motorcyclist had dropped back as if he felt that, at this rate of travel, he risked being discovered. The man was still in sight, though. But not for long, you son of a bitch, David told him silently. The road ahead was beginning to twist like a snake. On one side, thick trees and closely crowding hills; on the other, a fast flow of water in a deepening gorge. Now—once round the next curve—was the time for a burst of speed. “Hold on!” he warned.

  “The bridge—” Jo called out. “Don’t forget the turnoff!”

  He hadn’t. He slowed enough to make a safe left over a high viaduct, and they crossed the gorge. He checked quickly; the motor-cycle hadn’t yet rounded that curve. He turned right. And now they were in a densely wooded area, completely hidden from the highway on the opposite bank. “Next turn is uphill—at the left fork?” He sounded almost cheerful.

  “Yes,” Jo said. “And what was that all about?” He seemed not to hear her. “Shut up, he explained,” she said lightly. An old joke, and not mine, but still better than none, she thought. What’s troubling him? He’s on the left fork, there are only two miles to go, he has got his girl, and he ought to be jubilant. Or is someone following us? Jo looked back in alarm. Nothing except a narrow country road, climbing between banks of wild flowers, winding its way up a hillside. On her right, green fields sloping down to the valley and a highway lost from sight; on her left, a rise of crags and rocks and Alpine bumps covered with grass. Peace, she thought, and a magnificent sunset coming up, soft white clouds nicely arranged for the very best effect. The mountains pleased her too, encircling but not too near, as if they had decided to let this hill have a breathing space all around it. She had had enough of mountains towering above her, in these last two days. But in the distance they made beautiful patterns against a sky of fading blue.

  David r
eached out for Irina’s hand. “We’ll soon be there. One last mile.” And then? But he knew what had to be done. His lips tightened. He looked abruptly away.

  Irina leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Darling,” she said softly, “don’t worry. Please don’t. I’m staying with you. My father will listen to me, I know he will. Just give me some time to talk with him alone, tell him—oh, he will listen, I know.” She released David’s hand to let him manoeuvre past two children, three goats, and a small dog. “All he wants to see is that I am safe, and free. All he needs to know is that I’m happy.” She laughed and waved to the children. “And he will meet you, talk with you. It won’t be difficult. Just a little time to let him—”

  “Instant castle!” Jo exclaimed, and pointed uphill to her left. Incredible, she thought, that anything standing so proudly on its own green eminence should have been invisible until this moment.

  The Mercedes took its final curve, passed the castle’s unpretentious gates, and drew up beside a fountain crowned with a small shrine and red geraniums. They were in a little square—if he could call it that, David thought—with a few houses drawing back discreetly to face the castle above them.

  “Uninhabited?” Jo asked. “Or are they at supper, all two hundred of them?” Not many more could live on the flat-topped hill. “Irina, look at those decorated walls—and the woodwork—these recessed windows—just look at them, will you? Pure Engadine.”

  David had been studying the one street he could see ahead of him. It was edged by more Engadine houses, close-packed, large and solid, whitewashed, brown-timbered, three stories high. Many were decorated with carefully painted designs, some emphasising a window or doorway, others brightening a free patch of wall. He was looking for the pattern that Krieger had described, and wondering if he could risk the bulk of a car along that narrow little street without scraping off a part of the village. But he didn’t have to search. Two men came out of a house near the corner of street and square, stood at its second-storey door for a moment, and then came down a broad flight of stone steps to ground level. One was in uniform. The other was a civilian, tall, fairish hair turning white and thin. He was smiling broadly, waving. It was Hugh McCulloch, a much happier man than when David had last seen him, on a transatlantic flight to Amsterdam.

  “Which house?” Jo asked David as he switched off the ignition and secured the brakes. “I hope it’s the one with the dog in the window.” She pointed to the house overlooking the fountain.

  Irina saw it and laughed. “Look, David! One large dog, on a window sill, lying beside a pot of geraniums.”

  But David was already out of the car, saying, “Come on, both of you!” There was not a minute to lose, he kept reminding himself.

  Irina heard the urgency in his voice. She came running around the car, her hand outstretched for his. “Something wrong?” She halted abruptly as she noticed two men—strangers—who stood at the foot of the steps.

  “No.” He couldn’t tell her. (She would resist: five, maybe ten minutes, spent in pleading, in tears and useless argument that would tear his heart to pieces.) He only said, “You’ve reached your friends.”

  She caught him around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “We are here and we are safe, thank God, thank God. Oh, David—” She reached up and kissed him. He took her in his arms, held her close. The hell with a lost minute, or McCulloch and his uniformed friend, David thought, and he gave Irina one long last kiss. Then hand in hand, Irina laughing and talking excitedly they walked across the little square.

  Couldn’t be better, McCulloch thought as he mastered his astonishment. He glanced at Colonel Thomon standing beside him. What price that kidnap story now? But, as a diplomat turned lawyer, McCulloch did not make any attempt to influence or lead this most important witness. He couldn’t resist looking back at the doorway to the house, to see if Ernst Weber had come out to see the arrival too. Yes, he was standing with his trained journalist’s eyes. Better and better, thought McCulloch, and reached out to give a warm handshake to David. “And Irina,” he said to the girl—fair hair, blue eyes, a sweet smile in a lovely face—“Welcome. You have no idea how welcome. Your father is waiting inside. We insisted he stay out of sight. Hello there, Jo—glad to see you!”

  “How soon can Kusak—” began David, but McCulloch shook his head warningly and said, “First let me introduce you all to Colonel Thomon, who has made a special journey here to ensure that there are no irregularities.” What’s this—an immigration examination on a hilltop? David wondered; but McCulloch was having his way. Colonel Thomon was saluting, first Irina, then Jo; and then he shook David’s hand. He studied their faces, pretended he didn’t notice their clothes.

  “We’ve been here for almost two hours,” McCulloch was saying. “Colonel Thomon was about to leave. He has a few questions he would like to have answered.” And so would I, loud and clear.

  The colonel nodded “Shall I speak in English?” he asked Irina. “Or French, or German?”

  “English.”

  “I’ll be very brief. Did you leave Czechoslovakia of your own free will?”

  “Yes,” said Irina in surprise.

  “No one forced you to come here?” The colonel looked at David and then at Jo.

  “No one. They helped me escape.” And why should he ask that? Irina wondered. Then she remembered the newspaper story that Jo had mentioned in Merano. “I was not kidnapped. My friends met me in Vienna and got me safely here.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “To meet my father, Jaromir Kusak.”

  “And you too,” the colonel prompted helpfully, “would like to ask for asylum in Switzerland.”

  Irina hesitated. “I—”

  “Yes,” said David urgently, “that’s exactly right.” He glanced pointedly at his watch and then at the road that had brought them to Tarasp: he hoped the colonel would get the message.

  “No further questions,” said the colonel with a smile for Irina. But his eyes, studying David again, were curious.

  “Irina—get indoors and out of sight,” David insisted.

  “And you too.” She caught hold of his hand again.

  “Later,” he said. He kissed her hand, tried to push her towards the steps. He turned in desperation to Jo. “Get her inside, for God’s sake.”

  Jo paused to say to the colonel, “There was an attempt on her life today.”

  “By whom?” The colonel was no longer smiling.

  “Two murderers who are wanted by the Vienna police. Czechs. Jiri Hrádek’s men.”

  The colonel knew the name. “Are they still following you?”

  “Not those two. But there are others I think—” She glanced at David; yes, there were others. “Come on, Irina, let’s see if we can get up those steps. They aren’t as bad as the ones we climbed today with Jan and Milan behind us.”

  “Yes, go!” said McCulloch in alarm.

  “Were we followed here?” Irina was asking. She was still watching David.

  “Why else did David drive like a maniac?” Jo told her sharply.

  With no more delay Irina climbed the steps, stopped halfway, turned and looked back. David waved her on. She reached the door, and it closed.

  “How soon,” began David all over again, “can Kusak leave here with Irina? In five minutes? Ten? No more. Believe me. No more. And where is your car?” he asked McCulloch. “They know mine.”

  “In that barn over there. The colonel came by helicopter, of course.”

  “Helicopter? Where is it?”

  “Down on the meadows.”

  “East or west of this hill?”

  “East.”

  “Then they won’t see it.” David was thinking out loud. “West is towards the highway.” He verified that with an angry stare at the setting sun. “How do you reach the helicopter?”

  “Just one minute, Dave,” said McCulloch, looking anxiously at the colonel.

  “A motor-cycle followed us through Scuol. I dodged it at the bridge...
But he’ll be back, looking for that turnoff. He’ll find it. He’ll be here—”

  “One man.” McCulloch relaxed a little.

  “And others to follow,” said David. “Reinforcements—they’ve been bringing in reinforcements all day. Why stop now?”

  The colonel moved briskly towards the steps. “You had better come too,” he told McCulloch. “You can explain to the girl more easily than I can. She may be—” He shrugged. He looked back at David. “I’m sorry we can’t take you with us. The helicopter is limited.”

  “I have to wait for Krieger,” David said to McCulloch, who was still hesitating. “Have you heard from him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Get going, Hugh. Tell Irina—tell her we’ll work something out. Once it’s safe.” David watched McCulloch run up the steps, stop for a moment to speak to a dark-haired man who had been an unobtrusive part of the background for the last few minutes.

  “Not at all,” the stranger called after McCulloch. “Glad you persuaded me to come along. It has been most enlightening.” Then, coming down the steps towards David, “I am Ernst Weber,” he said, and put out his hand, “journalist from Geneva.”

  David shook hands. “I thought Kusak avoided all reporters.”

  “As a rule, yes. But this was a rather special day. You agree?” Weber’s sympathetic brown eyes studied the exhausted face of the American. “Have you a jacket in your car? You will need it in this evening air. It is always cold in the mountains.” He himself was well prepared in a camel-hair coat. “And I think it is better to get away from this house.”

  David nodded. Half-way across the square, he halted to look back. No sign of Irina or Kusak; no colonel, no McCulloch.

  “They will not use that door,” said Weber. “They will make a less public exit. And after that, a path down to the east meadows. They may already be on their way. If I know the colonel, he got them moving at once! Here—I think you should have some of this.” He handed David a flask of brandy.