1967 - Have This One on Me Read online

  They were still at the mouth of the tunnel, listening to the gun fire and watching the searchlights darting like snakes’ tongues over the bullet-shattered ground.

  Mala was staring with horror at the two lifeless bodies and crying.

  Girland stood up and taking hold of her, he pulled her to her feet. She collapsed against him.

  ‘Stop it!’ he said sharply. ‘Stop being a weakling! Do you hear me?’

  She clung to him, her body shaking, her breath coming in short gasps. He shoved her roughly away. She staggered back against the wall of the tunnel, then deliberately and hard, he slapped her face.

  Mala caught her breath, stiffened, then as she opened her mouth to scream, he slapped her again, this time so hard she slid down the wall and landed in a heap on the sandy ground.

  He dragged her upright.

  ‘Better?’ He put his arms around her. ‘Come on, baby. Get hold of yourself. I’ll help you if you’ll help yourself.’

  She broke away from him.

  ‘You hurt me! Oh! You hurt me!’

  Girland smiled at her.

  ‘You had to be hurt. You were behaving like a five-year old.’

  She swung her open hand. Girland saw the blow coming, but he made no attempt to avoid it. Her open palm smacked against the side of his face with considerable force. He remained still, watching her.

  ‘Go ahead ... do it again if it’s fun,’ he said quietly.

  She looked at him, then he saw in the reflected light from the searchlights, life come into her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. You just got me mad,’ and moving up to him she kissed his cheek ‘Forgive me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  Girland drew a sigh of relief. Well, at least, that was the first problem out of the way.

  ‘We’re going to get out of here. It’ll be tough, but we’ll do it. We’re going for the Austrian tunnel.’ He pulled her against him and kissed her, his lips hard on hers. ‘In three days from now. I’ll buy you the best and most expensive dinner Paris can give us.’

  She regarded him and forced a smile.

  ‘It’s a date,’ she said.

  They started down the tunnel. Girland carried an automatic rifle and a rucksack while Mala held the lighted candle. It took them over an hour to reach the junction of the two tunnels.

  The further they walked, the worse the air became. Soon both were breathing with difficulty. Girland had long discarded his jacket, now he threw off his shirt. Mala walked in her jeans and bras. She had taken off her sweater.

  , ‘Here we are,’ Girland said breathlessly. ‘We turn right and start again. How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m managing,’ she returned, ‘but I can’t stand these anymore,’ and zipping down her jeans, she dragged them off her sweating legs.

  His eyes ran over her trim figure. She looked at him.

  ‘Go on ... look! I hope I please you.’

  He smiled at her.

  ‘You’re lovely. In three days’ time, we are going to make wonderful love together. Is that another date?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Yes ... it’s another date.’

  They started up the second tunnel. The air seemed a little fresher and they were able to move faster. After some two kilometres. Mala paused.

  ‘Could we rest? I’m nearly flat out.’

  ‘Sure, Girland said. He took the candle from her and dropped the rifle and the rucksack on the ground. ‘You take a rest. You’ve earned it. I’m going to look around.’

  ‘Don’t leave me!’

  ‘Come on, baby!’ Girland said sharply. ‘You’re doing fine. I won’t be a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Please ...’ She was now lying on the sandy floor of the tunnel looking pleadingly up at him. The candlelight made shadows around her. Her hand moved behind her back. The bras slid off. ‘Put the candle out ... please take me.’

  He realised her necessity and was violently stirred. He blew out the candle and came down beside her. As his arms slid around her, she moaned, her mouth seeking his. His thrust into her made her cry out, then she gripped him in her arms, holding him fiercely, her long legs twining around his, her cooling body arching to his.

  Time stood still for them. The danger, the frontier, the tunnel became distant nightmares. Both of them drifted away into an ecstasy of mutual pleasure. During that all too brief period they left the world and orbited into that special space reserved only for proficient lovers.

  Girland was the first to return to reality. Very gently, he released himself from Mala and turned on his side. His hands still moved caressingly down her slim back. She remained still, breathing in slow, gasping breaths, now relaxed and satisfied.

  He listened to the sound of water. His mind switched from the pleasure he had from her to the task ahead of them.

  ‘Stay still, honey,’ he said. ‘Wait for me.’

  He moved away from her and stood up.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ she murmured, trying to hold on to him.

  He pushed her hands away.

  ‘Stay still.’ He slid into his trousers, then groped for the candle. He lit and began walking up the tunnel.

  ‘Mark!’

  ‘I’ll be back ... stay where you are.’

  As he moved up the tunnel, he became aware of a rank smell. He kept on then paused as he saw five or six oil drums standing against the wall of the tunnel. He tilted one. It moved easily ... it was empty. He paused to think. An oil drum would float, he reasoned. This could be a way of getting through the tunnel of water ahead of them.

  He heard Mala coming down the tunnel and he waited for her. She arrived, dragging the rifle and the rucksack ‘I couldn’t bear to be alone,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Look at these. We might make a raft. Three of them together. Let’s see where the water is.’

  Putting his arm around her and holding the flickering flame of the candle high, he continued up the tunnel. They didn’t have to walk far before they came to an abrupt stop. The floor of the tunnel slid down abruptly for some three metres and below was black, oily water. The smell from the water sickened them both.

  ‘We can’t go this way!’ Mala exclaimed, recoiling. ‘We can’t!’

  ‘This is the way, honey, and this is the way we’re going.’

  He put down the rifle and rucksack. He rummaged in the rucksack and found another candle and lit it.

  Then giving her the candle and taking the other one, he returned to the oil drums. He pulled one of them on its side and rolled it up the tunnel to the water’s edge. Mala followed him, now holding both candles. They returned for the second drum. As Girland moved it, there came a sudden flurry and something streaked over his foot and disappeared into the darkness. Mala screamed and dropped one of the candles, backing away.

  ‘It was a rat!’ she cried, shuddering.

  ‘Well, it’s gone now,’ Girland said and picked up the candle. He relit it from the other she was holding in her shaking hand. ‘Now don’t go temperamental on me, baby. I need your help.’ He turned up the second drum. ‘You wait here, I’ll be right back for the third one.’

  ‘I’m keeping with you!’ Mala said. ‘Do you think there are any more rats?’ She looked fearfully into the darkness.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Girland lied, remembering what Jan had told him. He saw no point in telling her the truth. She was frightened enough as it was.

  He rolled the drum up the tunnel and stood it by the first drum. Mala kept close to him. They returned for the third drum.

  As he shifted it he saw behind it something that looked like a snake. He controlled the impulse to jump back and standing motionless, he said quietly. ‘Give me a candle.’ The tenseness in his voice made Mala stiffen with terror. She gave him a candle. Holding the flickering flame high, he looked at the snake-like thing. It was a coil of rope.

  ‘Luck’s coming our way,’ he said an
d reached down and picked up the rope. An enormous spider lay under the rope. It scuttled away into the darkness, passing close to Mala who caught a glimpse of it. She jumped back, catching her breath, sickened at the sight of its obscene, hairy legs.

  ‘Only a spider,’ Girland said. ‘You’re a big girl now. Here - take the rope. I’ll handle the drum.’ As he handed her the coil of rope, he smiled at her. ‘Don’t forget, we have a date: the best and the most expensive dinner in Paris.’

  ‘I’m not forgetting,’ she said and taking the coil of rope, she hung it over her shoulder.

  ‘That’s my girl ... come on.’ and Girland began rolling the third drum up the tunnel.

  * * *

  Malik lowered his field glasses.

  ‘That’s not Girland,’ he said in disgust. ‘So he’s still in the mine!’

  He was standing with Smernoff at the foot of one of the watch towers, surveying the minefield where three soldiers were cautiously sweeping the ground with mine detectors. ‘I must get across. I can’t wait for them to lift the mines.’ He turned to the Major in charge of the frontier post, a short, fat man who had arrived from the Police Control Post by fast car. ‘Have the electricity cut off!’ he snapped ‘I must get across. Get trestle tables from somewhere. If they are put across the ground. I should be able to walk over.’

  The fat Major looked startled.

  ‘Not if the legs of the tables happen to touch a mine. Comrade,’ he said. ‘It is far too dangerous. It would be possible and much safer to use a rope with a hook. If you could swing yourself across ...’

  Malik looked across the minefield, then nodded.

  ‘Yes ... arrange it.’

  As the Major hurried off Smernoff said, ‘You are being stupid. Girland may not come out of the mine. If the rope breaks ...’

  ‘I am going across,’ Malik said. ‘Oblige me by keeping quiet!’

  Smernoff shrugged. He produced his pack of Benson & Hedges and offered it. Malik took a cigarette and both men lit up.

  ‘I need an automatic pistol,’ Malik said, letting smoke drift down his wide nostrils.

  ‘There is one in the truck.’

  ‘Good. From here to the second exit is three kilometres. I will cross here and walk by the wire. I will return the same way. See these fools clear a path through this minefield by the time I return.’

  ‘I’ll get the pistol,’ Smernoff said and hurried away to the radio truck. He found an automatic pistol in one of the lockers, checked that it was loaded, then came back to where Malik was now talking to the Major who had returned.

  ‘It is loaded and in order,’ Smernoff said, handing the pistol to Malik.

  Malik nodded and turned back to the Major who was saying, ‘They are splicing a hook to a rope now. It won’t take long. The electricity has been cut.’

  Malik looked at his watch. He reckoned, once he was across the fence, it would take him under an hour to reach the second exit. Girland had been down in the mine now for three hours. He couldn’t swim four kilometres under two hours - even if he managed the swim - so there was plenty of time.

  The three men watched a soldier, high up in the tower, toss the hooked rope towards the fence. After three attempts, the hook caught in one of the uprights and the soldier made the rope fast.

  ‘Then I’ll go,’ Malik said. He shook hands with the Major, then turning to Smernoff, he said, ‘This is the end of Girland. I warned him the next time we met. I would kill him.’

  ‘Do you have to be so ambitious?’ Smernoff asked, lowering his voice so the Major couldn’t hear what he was saying. ‘It is my job to kill Girland ... I should go.’

  ‘No ... this is a personal thing between Girland and myself,’ Malik said. He tossed away his cigarette butt, then offered his hand. ‘Get those mines cleared.’

  Smernoff shook hands.

  ‘Good luck.’

  He watched Malik stride to the watchtower and begin to climb the ladder to the upper platform. A few minutes later, he was high above Smernoff. He waved, then without hesitation, he took hold of the rope and b e g a n the long, dangerous slide down, controlling his speed with his legs. The rope sagged under his massive weight and Smernoff watched with alarm, but Malik reached the fence. He swung himself over the wire and dropped down on to Austrian soil.

  He waved, then moving fast, keeping close to the fence, he started off for his rendezvous with Girland.

  * * *

  Captain Hugo von Raitenau, the Commander of the Austrian frontier post, reached for the telephone and asked to be connected to the American Embassy at Vienna.

  As he waited for the connection, he leaned back in his chair, tapping his blotter with a pencil. Von Raitenau was some thirty-eight years of age, blond, tall and aristocratic. He had a rabid hatred of Communism, an admiration for the American way of life and a determination that was almost fanatical to snatch any fugitive who crossed the frontier out of the Communists’ hands.

  A voice told him he was through to the American Embassy.

  The previous day he, had been alerted by Frank Howard, the C.I.A. agent working in Vienna, that an American agent might be attempting to cross the frontier. Any news would be welcomed. Howard, a good friend of his hadn’t given him any details, but there was a hint that the crossing was important.

  Howard came to the line.

  ‘There has been an attempted crossing,’ von Raitenau told him. ‘I’m afraid it can’t have been successful. The sound of exploding mines and machine gun fire have been reported. I am leaving immediately for the frontier. I will report back as soon as I get further information. Don’t expect to hear anything for at least two hours.’

  ‘I’ll stand by.’ Howard said. ‘Thanks. Hugo. This is a top level affair. Can you give me a map reference where the crossing was attempted?’

  ‘Section 15 ... square 2,’ von Raitenau told him.

  ‘Okay ... I’ll stand by.’

  * * *

  During the past thirty-six hours, there had been considerable activity back in the American Embassy, Paris. The news of Bruckman’s death had finally reached Dorey. His contact in Prague at the American Embassy had sent a coded telegram.

  The news was brief and unsatisfactory. Bruckman had been shot.

  Girland, Worthington and Mala Reid were thought to be heading for the Austrian frontier. It was certain Malik and Smernoff were after them.

  Dorey, pale, dark rings around his eyes, tossed the decoded telegram over to O’Halloran.

  O’Halloran read the telegram and then dropped it on the desk.

  ‘We don’t know if Girland still has the document, do we?’ he said.

  He pulled at his lower lip. ‘I’m not worried about him. I’ll back him any day against Malik and Smernoff.’

  Dorey removed his glasses and began to polish them. This was always a sign that he was uneasy.

  ‘It’s three days now ... do you think I should report that I’ve lost the document, Tim?’

  ‘No. If it’s lost, it’s lost, but it is possible Girland will bring it out. Don’t cut your throat too soon.’

  Dorey brooded, then nodded.

  ‘Yes. Well, at least Latimer has gone in.’ Seeing O’Halloran’s look of surprise, Dorey went on, ‘That was the operation, Tim. With Malik so tied up with Girland, I sent Latimer off yesterday morning. I’ve heard he had no trouble ... so I haven’t entirely messed up the affair.’

  O’Halloran grunted.

  ‘Girland could sell me down the river,’ Dorey said bitterly. ‘If he has the document and if he gets cornered by Malik he will bargain for his life with the document. He has no scruples ... no principles.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t he make a bargain?’ O’Halloran asked quietly. ‘Have we ever done anything to encourage his loyalty?’

  Dorey stiffened and stared at O’Halloran, then as he found nothing to say, O’Halloran went on, ‘I’m going right away to Vienna. I’ve already alerted Howard who says there is a good guy in charge of the frontier post and he�
��ll give us all the help he can.’

  ‘All right, Tim,’ Dorey said. ‘I’ve got to get that T.S. back. I don’t have to tell you ... I’m relying on you.’

  ‘If it can be got back, it will be got back,’ O’Halloran said, and left the room.

  In under the hour, he was in a fast military jet heading for Vienna.

  * * *

  Girland straightened up and wiped the sweat off his face with his forearm. He regarded the three oil drums now lashed together by rope. He wasn’t happy about the rope. It was old and brittle, and he wondered if it would hold once the drums were in the water. He didn’t let Mala know of his doubts. He grinned at her as he said, ‘How’s that for a do-it-yourself job?’

  ‘Will they float?’ Mala asked, staring uneasily at the drums and then looking at the oily, black water.

  ‘Of course they will.’ He squatted down on his heels and opened the rucksack. He emptied its contents. He found a plastic bag containing a lump of cheese, stale bread and a sausage.

  ‘You must be hungry.’

  Mala shuddered.

  ‘I couldn’t touch a thing.’

  ‘Yeah ... well, later perhaps.’

  The smell of the water made him also feel queasy. He returned the food to the rucksack.

  From his hip pocket, he took the soiled envelope with its Top Secret seal and put it in the plastic bag. From the rucksack he took the big packet of dollar bills. This was his and the Brauns’ share of the thirty thousand dollars. He stuffed the money into the plastic bag. ‘You’d better give me your money,’ he went on. ‘It’ll be safer in this bag just in case we sink.’

  Mala was now feeling cold. The dank atmosphere from the water was making her shiver. She put on her jeans and sweater, then taking the roll of money from her pocket, she handed it to him.

  He made a secure parcel of the plastic bag, then put it back in the rucksack. He tied the straps of the rucksack to one of the ropes around the oil drums.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s launch our boat.’ He went to her and put his arms around her. ‘Remember this: we are going to get out of here. That’s understood. If something goes wrong, don’t panic. Leave everything to me. We are going to eat the best and most expensive dinner in Paris three days from now.’