“Where is it?” the man snarled.
“I told you! Hidden!” he cried out faintly as he felt the pistol jammed up harder against the bottom of his chin. I’m committing suicide, he thought.
“Stop that,” said a voice from across the room.
The pistol was pulled from under Chris’s chin and he turned toward the doorway.
The tall man with black hair was standing there, looking across the room in disgust. “Are you insane?” he asked.
For a moment, Chris thought the man was speaking to him. Then the blond man was muttering, truculently, “He won’t say where the film is.”
“So you were going to blow his brains out; wonderful,” the tall man said. “Brilliant, Karl. You always were a brilliant man.”
“Well, what do you expect?!” the bulky man responded angrily.
“From you, obviously nothing,” the other man said. “Get out of here and wait in the car.”
Chris looked quickly at the blond man as he tapped Chris painfully on the chest with a rigid index finger. “You’re a lucky man,” the man said through clenched teeth.
He stood motionless as the blond man walked back across the room and went into the corridor, closing the door behind him; it thumped against its frame, the latch unable to close.
Suddenly, Chris’s legs began to vibrate and felt as though they were made of rubber. Wavering back to the bed, he slumped down with a faint groan. “Jesus God,” he murmured.
“You should look unnerved,” the tall man said, approaching him. “You’re fortunate that I decided to come up. Karl is not the most benign of men.”
That’s the understatement of the week, Chris thought, still shaken.
The man sat down beside him on the bed. “Listen,” he said. He patted Chris on the leg. “Barton.”
Chris looked at him in surprise. It was not unlikely that the man would know him by name but it still startled him a little.
“You’re only making things difficult for yourself,” the man said. His tone was kindly. Good cop, bad cop, Chris thought. That he’d read about ad infinitum. The bad cop softens up the victim with intimidation, even threats of death. The good cop stops what’s going on and manages to wheedle information through benevolence.
“We really need that microfilm,” the man told him. “It’s of no value to you obviously. Where is it?”
Chris struggled to regain control. He sensed that he had an advantage. The man couldn’t kill him because he needed the microfilm. Thank God he’d had the suspicious foresight to remove it from the ring and hide it in that alley.
He swallowed dryly, then spoke. “You’re wrong,” he said. “It is of value to me. I’m supposed to get the woman in exchange for it.”
“The woman is fine,” the man said irritably. “I can let you talk to her on the—”
“That isn’t good enough,” Chris cut him off angrily. Goddamn them anyway! They put a gun to his head, then expect him to give in to quiet reason? Fuck them!
“Listen to me, Chris,” the man said quietly. “We must have that film.”
“And I must have Alexsandra,” Chris replied, his voice equally quiet.
The man made a sighing sound. “You’re frustrating me,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re involved in. Get out of it while you can. Give us the film.”
“In return for Alexsandra,” Chris said.
“She’s in Paris!” the man snapped angrily.
“Then bring her here,” Chris told him.
The man regarded him with hooded eyes. “I suppose there’s no point in searching your bag.”
“I’m not stupid,” Chris replied.
“No, you’re not. Far from it, I now see.”
The man seemed to reach a decision. He stood and looked down at Chris. “All right,” he said. “Find out how to get to Mount Pilatus. Go there in the morning. We’ll be waiting for you. You give us the film, we give you Alexsandra.”
Chris stared at him. It sounded too simple, the man too easily agreeable. He swallowed again; God, his throat felt dry. Well, he had no choice, he realized. He’d gotten a concession from the man, at least it seemed as though he had. Of course, they’d try to follow him when he went to get the film; he’d have to be careful about that.
“Well?” the man asked, features hardening.
“All right.” Chris nodded. “I’ll be there at ten tomorrow morning. Is it near here?”
“You’ll find it,” the man replied. He looked at Chris in silence for a few moments, then said, “Are you sure you won’t give us the film if you can speak to her on the telephone? It would be a lot simpler.”
“I want to see her in person,” Chris told him.
The man frowned. “All right,” he said. “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning then. Mount Pilatus.”
Chris tensed as the man reached down and grabbed his jacket collar, pulling him up a little. He noticed suddenly how dead-looking the man’s eyes were.
“You’d better have that film with you,” the man said. “You try another trick and I’ll let Karl have his way with you.” He jerked at the collar, making Chris wince. “Karl likes to kill,” he said. “He enjoys it.”
“I’ll have the film,” Chris said.
The man nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Chris shivered violently. God Almighty, he thought. He’d just gone through a scene the likes of which he’d only read about in make-believe thrillers. A gun jammed up beneath his chin, his life in jeopardy, a deal made under stress to regain a kidnapped woman.
Such things really happen, he thought, staggered by the realization.
It felt as though his strength had drained into the mattress. He had to sit heavily for almost twenty minutes before he could summon the energy to rise.
He got himself a drink of water—emptying the glass three times—then went downstairs and told the clerk that someone had broken in the door of his room and could he have another?
The clerk was suspicious and Chris had to accompany him to the room before the man would believe him.
Ten minutes later, he was in another room. He locked the door behind him, bolted it. His habit of taking a long, hot shower before retiring had to go tonight. He dropped the bag beside the bed and, sitting on it, crawled onto the mattress, dropping his head on the down-filled comforter covering the pillows.
He had never gone to sleep so fast.
Pilatus is 7,000 feet above sea level with a magnificent panoramic view.
It was just past eight A.M. and Chris was having breakfast in the hotel restaurant, looking at a pamphlet he’d found in a rack beside the lobby counter.
He’d been amazed at how well he’d slept. After what he’d gone through, he would have expected a night of sleepless anxiety. Instead, he’d never moved, waking up groggily at seven-thirty; another useful capacity of his brain, a built-in wake-up call.
The proud rock pyramid of Mount Pilatus is the characteristic feature of Lucerne. The summit can be reached in two different ways.
He checked his watch. He’d leave about quarter of nine to get the film.
The scenery can be admired at ease from the spacious terraces of the well-appointed restaurants on the summit of Pilatus. The Hotels Pilatus-Kulm and Bellevue are heated throughout—
His eyes moved to the last descriptive sentence in the paragraph, which was repeated in German, Italian and French. Interesting, he thought, that the first paragraph in the pamphlet was in English.
An excursion up Mount Pilatus is a valuable contribution to happy memories of a holiday in Switzerland.
Right, he thought. It’s been a lovely holiday. Replete with happy memories.
“Christ,” he muttered. He folded the pamphlet back up and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Two minutes later, he had paid the bill and was walking out of the hotel with his bag; he hadn’t checked to see if the hotel bill was paid. He assumed that it was, but he’d be damned if he was going to pay it if it hadn’t been.
/>
He walked down the block and turned left at the Bahnhofstrasse, heading toward the covered bridge. Were they watching him? he wondered. He had to remain alert to that or everything could fall through. Was it possible that they had lied about bringing Alexsandra here, planning to grab him when he picked up the film? He tried to avoid the thought.
He started across the Chapel Bridge, thinking how bizarre it was that, never even having been out of Arizona before, he was crossing this historic bridge in Lucerne, Switzerland, for the third time in less than a day. Not to mention his having been in both London and Paris in the past week; he still couldn’t take that in.
When he reached the other side of the bridge, he stopped and kneeled to retie a shoelace. As he did, he glanced around as surreptitiously as he could. If anyone was following him, he wasn’t clever enough to notice it. Sighing, he stood back up and moved through a narrow street to the Kapellgasse.
He stopped in front of a gift shop and glanced in both directions as he pretended to look in the window. Still he could spot no sign of anyone.
He started to turn away, then entered the shop impulsively as an idea occurred to him.
He purchased a small cigarette lighter and had the man in the shop put fluid into it for him. He tried it out five times, spinning the wheel. It worked each time.
He was about to pay for the lighter when he decided to buy a Swiss army knife too. He felt a little foolish as he slipped it into his jacket pocket, with its double blade, saw, scissors, screwdriver, bottle opener, can opener, magnifying glass and all. What are you going to do, defend yourself with it? a mind-voice razzed him. Go fuck yourself, he answered it. I want a Swiss army knife, period.
Leaving the shop, he walked along the street until he reached the alley he’d stopped at the night before, on his way to the Tyrol Inn. Again, he looked around, obviously this time, making no attempt to be covert. If there was anyone after him, he was invisible, Chris decided.
Entering the alley, he walked down it until he came to the loose brick he’d found in the building wall. Easing it out, he removed the microfilm he’d wrapped and double-wrapped in a piece of tissue.
When he turned back toward the Kapellgasse, he saw Karl waiting for him at the end of the alley.
Jesus Christ, he thought. He almost felt admiration. How had the man been able to track him without ever revealing himself?
He stood immobile, wondering if he should turn and run. Immediately, he decided against it. The bag was still too heavy to run with. And he was tired of running.
He bristled as Karl gestured casually for him to approach.
When he didn’t move, Karl started toward him.
Chris set down his bag and removed the tissue from the square of microfilm. He held up the film with the thumb and index finger of his left hand.
With his right, he flicked the wheel of the cigarette lighter and held the flame beneath the film.
Karl jolted to a halt, a look of panic on his face. “For God’s sake, don’t burn it!” he cried.
“Then get out of my way,” Chris told him.
Karl stood motionless, glaring at him.
“Now,” Chris said. He raised the flame toward the square of film.
“All right, all right.” Karl turned quickly and walked back to the Kapellgasse.
Chris picked up the bag with the free fingers of his right hand and started forward.
When he reached the street, he looked at Karl, who stood some seven paces from him.
“If the woman isn’t waiting for me, I’ll burn it anyway,” he said.
Karl said nothing. Jesus God, Chris thought in dread, does that mean she isn’t there? That all this was a waste of time?
He braced himself. He had to go there anyway and find out.
He started backing along the street, his gaze fixed on Karl. Once it seemed as though the bulky man was starting forward and Chris flicked on the lighter again. “I’ll do it!” he threatened. Two women passing by glanced at him in frowning surprise.
Karl remained motionless then and, turning, Chris broke into a run along the street, weaving his way through the walking people. He’d already inquired, at the hotel, where the dock was.
As he ran, he looked back. Karl had not moved. He stood watching Chris, a cold expression on his face. He’d really like to blow my brains out now, Chris thought.
To his surprise, the idea actually amused him.
9
The white steamship glided across the dark blue Lake of Lucerne, headed for Alpnachstad. Chris sat inside the lower deck cabin, gazing out the window at the passing city. Far off in the distance, he could see the peak of Mount Pilatus partially covered with snow; it was an impressive sight. All he could think of was Alexsandra though, and whether this was going to be a wasted trip. Simple enough for them to lie to him, planning to get the film when he went for it.
Well, that had failed. What would they try next? Was there someone else besides Karl waiting for him on top of Mount Pilatus? Hoping to take a second crack at wresting the film from him? By God, he would burn the damn thing if they’d lied to him and Alexsandra wasn’t there; a possibility that seemed more likely the more he thought about it.
And if she wasn’t there and he burned the film, what then? His bargaining chip would also be consumed with the flames. Why wouldn’t they just do away with him then?
He shuddered and looked around the cabin as though for some suspicious move. There were few people in the cabin, most of them outside on the upper decks. Chris swallowed dryly. Any one of the men nearby could lunge at him and get the film before he could burn it. He had the cigarette lighter in his right hand, but he couldn’t very well spend the entire trip holding the square of film poised for igniting; it was in his shirt pocket. Hopefully, he could remove it quickly if the need arose.
He sighed and looked back outside again. Was there anything he could do right now to help matters?
Memorize your work, the answer came.
Did he dare take out the two folded menu pages and begin to stare at them intently? Wouldn’t that put him off guard? What if there was someone in the cabin waiting for an opportunity to jump him? They’d get his work, too.
Jesus God, he thought; he was back to full-time paranoia. Everyone around him was a suspect; his world was crowded with a legion of plotters.
He tapped the fingers of his left hand on his leg, trying to make up his mind.
The indecision proved unnecessary.
“Oh, my goodness,” he heard a man’s voice say. Its melodious lilt made him recognize the man before he turned to see Mr. Modi starting to sit down beside him, smiling with delight. “Is this not a marvelous coincidence?” the East Indian said.
Chris had been on the verge of jerking the film from his pocket when he checked himself. He smiled at Modi as though equally delighted to see him. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “It is a marvelous coincidence.”
Coincidence, my ass, he thought.
He tensed himself, to shove Modi away if the East Indian made a move at him; the fingers of his right hand tightened on the cigarette lighter.
“How have you been?” Modi asked, extending his right hand.
Even though he knew it could be a mistake, Chris automatically shifted the lighter to his left hand and gripped at Modi’s hand with his right. “Fine,” he said.
If it was a trap, it was a damned subtle one, he saw, for Modi only squeezed his hand once, then withdrew his own hand, still beaming. The East Indian shook his head wonderingly. “I just cannot believe this,” he said. “I might well be part of your reality wager gone amiss. This is so strange.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Chris pretended to agree.
“What on earth are you doing in Switzerland?” Modi asked. “One day I come upon you in a lesser neighborhood of London. The next I find you in a steamship in Lucerne. Incredible.”
His expression suddenly went serious as though he’d just remembered something grim. “Oh,” he said. “Is t
his another twist in your peculiar plight?”
My peculiar plight? Chris thought. You know exactly why I’m here, you bastard. He smiled. “Well, I’m still on the run,” he said, trying to sound amused.
“If I can be of any service,” Modi said. His voice was so sincere that, for several moments, Chris thought himself unworthy for doubting the man.
Then logic intervened. A coincidence that Modi was on this very boat at this particular time? Hardly. He was a mathematician, for Christ’s sake. The odds against this being coincidental were astronomical, and unacceptable. Where Modi fit into this labyrinthine picture, he had no idea. That he was a part of it was obvious.
He felt himself tensing as Modi regarded him in silence, his smile cryptic. Finally, Modi spoke. “I can see that you do not—how is it that you phrase it in your country?—‘buy’ that this is truly a coincidence.”
Stunned, Chris braced himself to move, to push the East Indian away, retrieve the film for burning or lunge for the doorway and throw both film and papers into the lake. Unnerving possibilities crowded his mind: Modi was aligned, somehow, with Karl and the other man; he was part of the group that had gone after him at Montmartre. It seemed least likely that he was associated, in some unknown way, with Alexsandra.
He waited tensely.
“Am I correct in this perception?” Modi asked.
Chris swallowed. “Perhaps.”
Modi smiled with amusement. “Then you must suspect, as well, that our ‘coincidental’ meeting in London was, also, no such thing.”
Chris felt nervous and confused by Modi’s casual manner. He drew in a tremulous breath. One more piece to fit in. The jigsaw puzzle was unsettling again.
“You look dismayed,” Modi said. Chris shivered as the East Indian patted his arm. “Please do not be; you are perfectly safe with me. I am, in fact, a representative of someone who demands that you come to no harm.”
He was going to ask if Modi worked with Alexsandra, then changed his mind. He felt dazed with bewilderment. I can’t handle this, he thought; it’s too damn complicated.
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