"Now look here ... " Youngblood started, but Gledik simply stepped back and took careful aim with the Luger he was holding.
"You'll have to excuse Gledik," Stavru said. "A session with the AVO in Budapest involved him in the loss of his tongue, but he's extraordinarily efficient. I would do what he says if I were you."
The door closed behind them and he turned with a smile and produced his cigarette case. "Do have one, my dear chap, and let's get down to business. You and I are, how would you put it, professionals? We know the score."
Chavasse accepted the cigarette and a light. "Depends on how you look at it."
"What are you--M.I.5 or 6?" Chavasse didn't reply and Stavru's eyebrows raised fractionally. "Something special eh? A compliment, I must say. I like the fake robbery touch to get you into prison. Highly ingenious."
"Actually it was the real thing," Chavasse said, deciding for the moment to keep things on the same level. "We felt that only the best was good enough. I must say you've got quite an organisation."
"As the advertising types are so fond of saying, we try to give our customers a service."
"Some service. An early grave for the suckers like George Saxton and Ben Hoffa who were mug enough to fall for the glossy brochure and allowed their cash to pass over in advance."
"Strange as it may seem, Mr. Chavasse, there is no one quite as gullible as your professional criminal. Their capacity for swallowing any kind of a tall story, hook, line and sinker, never ceases to amaze me."
"And the ones--the ones you pass on who ended up East of the Iron Curtain? They must have been gold on the hoof."
"Very much so, I assure you. In fact it occurs to me that certain parties on that side of the political fence might be more than interested in bidding for you, my friend. Every man has his price, in more ways than one."
Chavasse flicked his cigarette out into the rain. "In the circumstances, I'm sure you'll appreciate my understandable curiosity as to how you found out about me?"
Stavru crossed to an oak sideboard and poured himself a brandy from a cut glass decanter. "A very recent discovery, I assure you, but like a good journalist, I never disclose my sources. And now you must excuse me. I have certain preparations to make before we leave." He nodded to Vaughan. "Take him down to the others, Simon, then come back here."
"Youngblood and the girl--what's going to happen to them?" Chavasse said as Vaughan pushed him towards the door.
"They will be well taken care of, I assure you."
Stavru turned, dismissing him completely and Vaughan opened the door. "Don't take it to heart, old man. They won't feel a thing--really they won't. I give you my word."
The cellar into which Vaughan pushed him was in almost total darkness, a patch of light showing from a tiny window on the other side which was far too small to be used as an exit.
As the door closed behind him there was a rustle on the other side of the room and Youngblood came forward.
"Who's that?"
"It's me--Paul."
There was a moment of stillness during which Chavasse prepared himself for some sudden blow, but it never came and when Youngblood spoke, he sounded strangely subdued.
"Those things he said about you upstairs--they were all true?"
"That's right."
Youngblood turned away, exploding angrily. "Me, Harry Youngblood, taken in by a bloody copper.
Chavasse could have pointed out that without his assistance, Youngblood's journey would have come to an abrupt halt at Wykehead Farm, but he knew that he would be wasting his time.
"If you want to know, I couldn't care less about you and your friends and I'm not a policeman. Stavru happens to run a nice little sideline in the sale of state secrets and traitors to people who aren't on exactly friendly terms with our government. The department I work for has one main interest--to see that he's stopped."
"Which would include making sure that I went back to gaol for fifteen years," Youngblood said. "Or did you intend to let me go free?"
"That kind of decision isn't mine to make."
"My God, after all I've done for you." Youngblood turned away, shaking with rage and Molly moved out of the darkness to clutch at his arm.
"What's going to happen, Harry?"
He turned on her angrily, shoving her violently from him so that she hit the opposite wall. "Get away from me, you stupid little whore."
She sank on to a bench, crying steadily and Chavasse lit a cigarette. "Does that make you feel any better?"
"Why don't you get stuffed?" Youngblood peered out of the window for a moment and turned suddenly. "What happens now? Did he give you any idea?"
"Do I have to draw you a picture?"
"Maybe I could make a deal?" Youngblood said eagerly.
"With what? He's got your diamonds, hasn't he? What does he want with you? You're supposed to be at the bottom of the well back there at Wykehead."
"But there must be something," Youngblood cried and there was an edge of hysteria in his voice.
Chavasse moved past him, pulled himself up to the window and looked out at ground level across the courtyard. As he watched, Gledik appeared from the trees and ran across to the house quickly.
Chavasse dropped to the ground and turned with a faint smile. "I think we'll see some action soon."
It came within three or four minutes. Footsteps hurried along the passageway, the door was thrown open and light flooded in as Vaughan appeared. He had discarded the machine gun and now held a .38 revolver in his right hand. Strangely enough, he seemed rather amused.
"Count Stavru would like a word with you if you can spare a minute, old man," he said to Chavasse. "And be warned--he's very annoyed."
Chavasse glanced at his watch. It was almost nine and he shrugged. "My time is your time. I've certainly nothing better to do." He turned to Youngblood. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes send out the dogs."
But Youngblood failed to respond, turning away with an angry exclamation and Chavasse sighed and moved out into the passage ahead of Vaughan.
Stavru was standing by the fireplace talking to Gledik in Hungarian and he turned quickly as Chavasse and Vaughan came in. He was like a different man, the skin drawn tightly over his cheekbones, the eyes cold and hard.
"I understand from Gledik that the engine of the helicopter has been damaged beyond repair. Presumably this was your doing?"
"That's right."
"That was very foolish of you."
"I don't think so." Chavasse walked to the sideboard and calmly poured himself a glass of brandy. "You're not going anywhere, Stavru. You're finished--all washed up. Before we left Upton Magna last night I phoned through to my headquarters in London. I told them about Longue Pierre and they did a quick check and came up with you, so now everyone's happy. By the way, I shouldn't waste your time trying to get hold of World Wide Exports today--I don't think they'll be open for business."
Stavru turned to Vaughan. "You think he is telling the truth?"
"Very probably."
"Which means his friends may come down on us at any time."
"That's right," Chavasse said smoothly. "Courtesy of the Royal Navy."
Stavru shrugged. "The situation is certainly inconvenient, but not impossible. The Pride of Man is a very fast boat. We can be in French territorial waters within ten minutes of leaving here."
"You can always try," Chavasse said, inventing freely. "But I think you'll find that the French coastguard and police are prepared in advance for just such a move."
"It would seem you have thought of everything." Stavru walked to the french windows and stood there looking out at the rain. Suddenly he swung around and there was something close to excitement on his face. "But perhaps not?" he said softly and turned to Vaughan. "Get Youngblood up here, Simon, and quickly. There's no time to lose."
"There's no way out, you know," Chavasse said.
"You have a saying, do you not, Mr. Chavasse? Desperate situations breed desperate remedies."
He poured himself another drink and a moment later, Youngblood was pushed into the room. He stood there, hands clenching and unclenching nervously, a wary expression on his face and Stavru moved to meet him.
"Mr. Youngblood, I have just discovered some rather unpleasant news. Mr. Chavasse's wolves could apparently descend on us at any moment."
"That's your hard luck."
"And yours--or do you look forward to your return to your cell at Fridaythorpe for the next fifteen years?"
Youngblood's face was his answer and Stavru laughed gently. "Then we can do business. I understand that at one time you were a Petty Officer on torpedo boats in your Royal Navy and that after the war you were engaged in the running of contraband across the channel."
"So what?"
"You brought the Pride of Man over from England by night in not very pleasant weather which would seem to indicate your competence. Could you sail her to Portugal?" He turned to Chavasse. "I should perhaps explain that the boat is registered in Liberia. It would therefore be completely illegal for even the Royal Navy to attempt to board her at sea."
"Her range is only six hundred," Youngblood said. "You'd need enough extra juice for another three or four hundred miles, just to take care of contingencies."
"There is plenty of petrol on the jetty in twenty gallon drums."
"All right--what's in it for me?"
"Your continued freedom and, of course, your diamonds or their equivalent in Swiss francs. As a matter of interest, I would be setting up a new organisation in Tangiers. I think we might do very well together."
"Don't listen to him, Harry," Chavasse said. "You'd never get across the Bay of Biscay in a boat like that. It's the wrong time of year."
"Who says I wouldn't?" Youngblood smiled recklessly. "I'd take that tub to hell rather than go back to Fridaythorpe." He turned to Stavru. "How do I know I can trust you?"
Stavru's hand came out of his pocket clutching a Luger. He held it out, a slight smile on his face. "Would this constitute a satisfactory token?"
Youngblood satisfied himself that the weapon was loaded and grinned as he pushed it into his hip pocket. "Okay, let's get started. The sooner we get those drums on board, the sooner we get out of here."
Stavru nodded and turned to Vaughan. "Take Mr. Chavasse back to the young lady and come back as quickly as you can. I want you to help me clear up the essentials in the house. Gledik can go down to the jetty with Mr. Youngblood to load the fuel."
"Is it in order to ask what you're going to do with us?" Chavasse said.
Vaughan smiled. "I'm sure I'll think of something, old man."
As he was pushed towards the door, Chavasse turned in appeal to Youngblood. "They're going to kill us, Harry, you know that."
"That's your hard luck."
"What about Molly?"
"She shouldn't have joined. Nobody asked her to."
"And that's your last word?"
Youngblood's face was suddenly suffused with passion. "Well what do you expect me to say, for Christ's sake? You've got to look out for number one in this life."
He turned angrily and went out through the french windows, Gledik at his heels and Stavru came forward. "Sad, isn't it, but that's life, my friend."
"Even sadder is the fact that a man only ever reaps what he sows," Chavasse told him and he turned and went out, Vaughan a couple of paces ahead of him.
* * *
As the cellar door closed behind him, Molly got up from the bench and came forward anxiously. "Where's Harry? What have they done to him?"
"He's fine," Chavasse said soothingly. "He's gone down to the jetty."
She stared at him blankly. "I don't understand."
He pushed her gently down on the bench. "They're leaving, Molly, and Harry's going with them. They need him to run the boat."
"But what about me?" she said. "He wouldn't leave me? He'll take me with him?"
"I wouldn't count on that."
She got to her feet, her eyes wild. "They're taking him by force, aren't they?" She turned without waiting for an answer. "What can we do, Paul? There must be something."
There was obviously nothing to be gained from any further discussion and Chavasse didn't try. It was almost half past nine now and he lit a cigarette and sat down on the bench.
Vaughan would be coming very soon and there was nothing he could do about that either. Whatever happened, it would be handled with ice-cold efficiency and with no chances offered for sudden grabs or in-fighting. The man was too much of a professional to make silly mistakes. No point in telling the girl--it would only make it harder for her.
There was a footstep in the passage outside, the rattle of the bolt and the door opened. Vaughan stayed well back, the gun in his right hand as steady as a rock.
"Outside, we're taking a little walk."
"I want to speak to Stavru," Chavasse said. "Tell him I'm ready to make a deal."
"He doesn't need one, old man, and you're too late anyway. He's gone down to the boat. In fact we're just about ready for off."
The girl seemed completely bewildered by all this. "What's happening, Paul? Where are we going?"
"Just do as you're told, sweetie," Vaughan said. "Much better in the long run."
They went up the steps from the basement, Vaughan staying well back and somehow there was a terrible inevitability about everything. When they reached the study, Chavasse paused and said desperately, "How do you know they won't clear off without you?"
"With what I've got stored away up here?" Vaughan tapped his forehead and smiled cheerfully. "Don't be silly and keep moving, there's a good chap. We haven't got much time."
It was raining harder than ever as they went out through the french windows and crossed the lawn. It was very quiet in the wood, the only sound the rain hissing down through the branches, and the girl stumbled along in front, Chavasse behind her, Vaughan bringing up the rear.
There would be no sudden warning, no order to halt and turn round, Chavasse knew that. Just a bullet in the back of the head. There was really nothing to lose, no matter how suicidal the situation was and Stavru's words came back into his mind. Desperate situations breed desperate remedies.
Molly pushed a branch out of the way as she ploughed through the wet grass. Chavasse caught it, held it for only a moment and ducked, allowing it to sweep back into Vaughan's face. He staggered back with a cry of alarm and Chavasse gave Molly a violent push to one side that sent her tumbling down the slope and ran.
A bullet chipped bark from a tree to one side of him, two more sliced branches over his head and he zigzagged desperately. He stumbled and fell and another bullet kicked dirt in his face and he rolled to one side, screaming in sudden agony as stitches tore loose in his left arm.
He staggered forward, head down, aware of the sound of rushing water somewhere ahead and burst through a final screen of bushes to find himself on the banks of a small stream of clear water that brawled its way down to the sea over a bed of smooth stones.
Two more shots sounded, flat and sinister on the damp air and his right leg doubled up suddenly as if kicked and he went headfirst into the water.
He turned over, aware of the blood drifting in a brown cloud from the hole in his leg and tried to get up. He was too late. There was a tremendous crashing in the undergrowth and Vaughan emerged on the bank above.
His face was very pale, ice-cold, intent only on the job in hand. He said nothing, simply raised the revolver and took careful aim. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Without a word, his eyes never leaving Chavasse for a moment, he slipped the revolver into one pocket and produced the flick knife from the other. As the blade jumped out of his hand, he stepped into the water and waded forward.
Chavasse's right hand fastened over a large round stone in the stream bed and he brought his arm up and round, hurling it into Vaughan's face with all his remaining strength. It caught him high on the right cheek and he cried out sharply and staggered back, the knife flying from his hand.
It fell into the water a yard or two away, plainly visible on a bed of pebbles and Chavasse rolled over and grabbed for it desperately. He got to one knee, turning just in time to meet Vaughan's forward rush, splitting him cleanly on the razor sharp blade.
Vaughan poised on the edge of eternity, a look of blank amazement on his face and then he actually smiled.
"Well I'll be damned. So the old bitch was right after all."
Blood erupted from his mouth in a sudden bright stream and he turned, took a single hesitant step forward and fell on his face in the water.
Chavasse waded forward and crawled up the bank. He paused to examine his leg and found two holes in the rubber diving suit indicating that the bullet had passed clean through.
It wasn't painful until he stood up and tried to walk and then the pain was bad--really bad, flowering inside him like fire, sweat springing to his forehead. There wasn't much bleeding which was one good thing and he staggered forward, clutching at the pine trees for support as he passed, calling Molly's name aloud.
He was almost at the edge of the wood when he found her huddled under a bush, soaked to the skin. She got to her feet and ran to meet him.
"Thank God. Paul, are you all right?"
"Only just."
"Where's Mr. Smith?"
"Face down in a stream a little way back."
The words meant nothing to her and she clutched at his arm excitedly. "We'll have to hurry if we're going to get down to the jetty in time."
He stared at her blankly. "The jetty? What for?"
"They'll be leaving soon and taking Harry with them. We've got to stop them."
Chavasse held her arms lightly and tried to find the words. "He's going because he wants to go, Molly. He's agreed to take Stavru to Portugal in the boat. In return he gets his freedom and his money."
She laughed--for the first time since he'd known her she laughed. "But that doesn't make sense."
"He left us, Molly. He left us behind to be executed. You never at any time had even a remote prospect of a place in his future."
"You're lying," she said in a low desperate voice. "I don't believe a word of it." She struggled to free herself. "Let me go. If you won't help him, I will."
Dark Side of the Street (1967) Page 15
