The Prize

by Irving Wallace

  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 physici
st, 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.’

  Craig’s instinct about the human animal told him, at once, that even a beast at bay can be pushed only so far. He had gone the limit with Krantz, and he must take advantage of him within that boundary. He relented. ‘All right, then, not the police. You don’t have to tell me where they are. But take me to them right now. So I can see that Emily is all right.’

  ‘She is all right.’

  ‘And Walther-I want to see him, speak to him, see if I can talk him out of this.’

  ‘Just that? Nothing more?’

  ‘What more can there be? I’m alone. You say there are guards-if they’ll let us through-’

  Krantz nodded. ‘Yes, that would be no problem. But you understand, Craig, if I take you there, once you know the location, you will have to remain until late, when the exchange is effected-or perhaps the boat will be moved-so do not expect-’

  ‘I only want a few minutes with Walther.’

  Krantz edged nervously from the wall. His top hat wobbled. His shrub-covered lips puckered. ‘And if I do this, you will not implicate me?’

  Craig studied the crafty, servile thing with distaste. ‘I won’t make any promises. I’ll say simply that if you refuse, I’ll take you to the authorities. If you direct me to the boat, well-we’ll see. At least, there’ll be one affirmative act in your favour.’

  Krantz hesitated no longer. ‘I shall take you.’

  He led Craig out of the apartment and to the elevator. On the way down, neither spoke. At the landing, as they emerged, Krantz seemed to have an afterthought. He broke the silence. ‘I must inquire-are you here alone?’

  ‘No. Someone drove me. A friend.’

  ‘Dismiss him. There can be no one else. That is our bargain. The two of us.’

  Craig agreed at once. ‘Okay. But remember this. My friend may not know our destination, but if anything goes wrong, he’ll know where to find you.’

  ‘Yes-yes-never mind about that.’

  They went through the building and outside into the cold of the Norr Mälarstrand. The portly chauffeur had opened the rear door of the limousine, and he stood beside it at attention. Craig looked off to his right, and then to the left he saw Gottling rise up out of the driver’s seat of the station-wagon and wave.

  ‘One second,’ Craig told Krantz.

  He hurried past four parked cars, and joined Gottling, waiting for him at the kerb.

  ‘What happened?’ Gottling wanted to know.

  ‘It’s all settled, friend. He folded fast. He’s agreed to take me where they are-but only if I’m alone.’

  Gottling scratched a shaggy eyebrow and squinted his bloodshot eyes in the direction of Krantz. ‘I don’t like it, Craig,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t trust that weasel.’

  ‘I’ve already warned him. If I’m delayed too long, you can spill the whole affair to Jacobsson.’

  ‘If you’re not around to enjoy it, what fun’ll it be?’

  ‘Gottling, I’m only going somewhere to have a short talk with a nice old man, and then I’m leaving. If I get lucky, he’ll be leaving too-in another direction. If I strike out, well-I’ll have to tell Professor Stratman, and it’ll be his turn at the bat.’

  ‘Good luck with those bastards,’ said Gottling.

  Craig started away, then stopped. ‘And don’t get any crazy ideas about following us. You’ll screw up the works.’

  ‘Do you think I’m a horse’s ass? I’m going home where it’s warm and where the whisky is-and I’ll be watching your empty chair on television.’

  Craig returned to the building entrance and found Krantz still waiting, blowing condensed air and apprehension.

  ‘He will not follow?’ Krantz demanded.

  ‘No. You’ll see for yourself.’

  ‘We must hurry. The Ceremony-’

  Krantz started to enter the rear of the limousine, then withdrew, thoughtfully. He spoke to the chauffeur in Swedish. The chauffeur seemed to protest, but Krantz persisted. With a shrug, the chauffeur closed the rear door, and opened the front one.

  ‘I must leave him behind,’ Krantz told Craig. ‘I will drive myself. You come in the front seat.’

  While Krantz got behind the wheel, Craig went around the long car, caught a glimpse of Gottling on the far kerb ahead, and then he entered the limousine and sank into the deep seat. Krantz, barely able to sight over the wheel, had started the motor.

  The car went around in a clumsy U-turn, Krantz battling the wheel, and then the vehicle leaped forward. Ahead of them, Norr Mälarstrand stretched briefly free of traffic. Krantz jammed down the accelerator, and the limousine smoothly gained speed. Craig read
the speedometer: ninety kilometres an hour. Automatically, he translated this: fifty-six miles an hour. Good, he told himself. Krantz was as anxious as he to conclude the business of the winter afternoon.

  ‘Where are we headed?’ Craig inquired.

  Krantz’s eyes darted at him, as if trying to detect trickery.

  ‘Just in general,’ Craig added. ‘I wouldn’t know exactly where that damn boat is anyway.’

  ‘Pålsundet,’ said Krantz.

  ‘Is it far?’

  ‘It is the section of canal across from us, between Södra bergen and Långholmen, about five or ten minutes from here, if the streets are clear-twenty minutes, maybe more, if there is heavy duty traffic on Västerbron-the bridge. Pålsundet is a fine part of our city. Many of the wealthiest families keep their cabin cruisers and small craft moored there.’

  Krantz stopped speaking and strained to soften the brake. A string of cars and a trolley loomed a block ahead, bisecting their path, crawling at snail’s pace.

  Krantz muttered into his goatee in Swedish. ‘That is our turning-we go left there over the Västerbron-and it is filled with traffic.’

  But by the time they reached the traffic, and Krantz imperiously took advantage of the limousine’s size to force his way into it, Craig’s mind had gone back to the events that had brought him to this moment.

  ‘I’m still curious about something, Krantz,’ he said. ‘About Emily’s father, Walther Stratman. He was thought to be dead. Of course, Eckart knew all the time that he was alive.’

  ‘No, that is not so,’ said Krantz from the wheel. ‘Dr. Eckart was puzzled always that Walther was missing, with no evidence of death, yet he accepted the legal verdict that he was dead. That is the way it was until yesterday.’

  ‘What happened yesterday?’

  ‘Daranyi gave me the results of his investigation of the various laureates and their relatives. I, in turn, handed them over to Dr. Eckart. I must say, for all of his-his shortcomings-Dr. Eckart is very clever. He seized upon Miss Stratman’s dossier-’

  ‘Emily Stratman?’

  ‘-yes, as most useful to his purposes. I repeat, I had no idea what was in his mind, certainly no belief he would do anything so diabolical. Emily Stratman’s dossier contained the photocopy of an American army psychoanalyst’s report on her. Attached to this were photocopies of a curious correspondence between departments of the American military and the Russian military.’