Cade

Nine

Cade and the girl stared at each other as the rap sounded on the door again.

Cade looked wildly around the room for a hiding-place. His hand went into his pocket, his fingers closing protectively over the two cartridges of film.

“The bathroom,” the girl whispered and pointed. Then raising her voice, she called, “Who is it?”

“Police,” a voice answered. “Open up, please.”

As Cade moved silently into the bathroom, Ginette zipped open her dress, stepped out of it and snatched up her wrap.

Cade was now in the bathroom. He silently closed the door, then looked around the small, windowless room. There was no way of escape. His heart pounding, he leaned against the wall by the door and waited.

He heard Ginette unlock the bedroom door, then a man’s voice said, “We are looking for a man... a dangerous criminal.”

“Oh!” Ginette’s voice sounded alarmed. “There’s no one here but me. I’ve been here all evening... I was just changing.”

“Your passport, please.”

There was a pause, then Cade heard heavy footfalls as the man entered the bedroom.

“Here’s my passport,” Ginette said. “What’s this man wanted for then?”

“Murder,” the policeman said and walked with a heavy tread to the bathroom, turned the door handle and looked in.

Cade cringed back against the wall, closing his eyes. He couldn’t believe his luck when the door closed again.

Murder! So he had killed the guard! He was aware now of nothing but panic. He lost count of time, and it was only when the bathroom door opened and Ginette said, “It’s all right... they have gone,” that he made the effort and pulling himself together came out into the bedroom.

Ginette had put on her dress. She looked at him, her face pale, her eyes uncertain.

“You had better tell me what has happened.” Her voice was determined. “They say you are wanted for murder.”

Cade walked slowly to a chair and sat down. In a flat monotone, he told her the whole story about Braddock, Anita Strelik and what he had seen on the terrace of the Château. Ginette, sitting on the edge of the bed, listened, in silence, her face set in her concentration.

“If I hadn’t knifed him he would have killed me,” Cade said as he concluded telling her of his fight with the guard and his escape. “They must know now I have photographs. They are certain to have found my camera equipment. I can’t give up now. I must get these films somehow to the American Consul.”

“Are they so important?” she asked.

“I suppose so.” He pulled at his underlip, uncertain. “We seem to have spies everywhere. This could be stale news, but if it isn’t, then it must be vitally important.”

“I could take them. There’s nothing to stop me driving to Geneva.”

Cade stared at her, hesitating. On the face of it, it seemed to be the obvious solution, then he remembered Old Sam, the negro barman at Eastonville. He also had seemed to be the obvious solution. But who was this girl? How could he trust her with something so important? Besides, suppose they did stop and search her? It was unlikely, but it was also possible. Then she would be in serious trouble. No, he couldn’t push his responsibility onto her.

“I have to do it myself,” he said. “Do you know this district well? Is there any way of getting to Geneva except by road?”

“There’s the railway down to Montreux. You could get a train to Geneva, but I suppose they will be watching the station, won’t they?” She thought for a moment, then asked, “Can you ski?”

Cade nodded.

“I’m not good, but I can manage.”

“We could get to Aigle by ski-paths. I know the way. I have often done it. From Aigle we could get a bus to the lake and then a steamer to Geneva.”

Cade thought about this. Taking the girl with him worried him.

“I can’t expect you...” He stopped and shrugged. “Anyway, we have no skis.”

“I can get them. A friend of mine has a villa not far from here. He’s in Paris at the moment. He has skis... if we can get to the villa.”

“This is dangerous.” Cade said. “I can’t drag you into it. Tell me where the villa is... I’ll find it.”

“You wouldn’t” She got briskly to her feet “I’ll go down and see what’s happening. If the police have gone, we can go through the garden. If they are still in the hotel, we’ll have to wait.”

She was gone before he could stop her. He looked around for the whisky bottle. He found it on the dressing-table and poured a stiff drink. Fortified, he lit a cigarette and began to pace up and down.

In about ten minutes, she returned.

“They have left the hotel,” she told him. “There is a policeman outside the hotel, but we can go by the back way. There’s no one there.”

“My three friends who were arrested? What’s happened to them?” Cade asked.

She shook her head.

“Mr. Tanz... he owns the hotel... told me they were driven away in a police car.”

Cade grimaced. He watched Ginette go to a closet and take out a short, wool-lined coat.

As she struggled into it, she said, “Come on, let’s go.”

He went up to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Just why are you doing this?” he asked. “I have told you I have killed a man. If the police find me, they will probably kill me. They wouldn’t want me to talk. If they find you with me God knows what they will do to you. Why are you doing it?”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Because I am an infatuated, sexually aroused fan of yours,” she said softly. “Do you want it plainer than that? This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.” Then putting her hand to his face, she pressed her soft, yielding lips to his.

For a brief moment, Cade held her close to him, then he pushed her gently away. He was depressed that the feel of her lips against his raised no desire in him.

“All right,” he said. “If that’s the way you feel, then let’s go.”

She gave him an intent stare and then smiled ruefully.

“You are not madly romantic, are you?” she said and moved to the door.

Cade dropped the half empty bottle of whisky into his pocket. He followed her out into the corridor, then walked with her to the stairs. Half way down the final flight, she lifted her hand and he stopped. She went on, looked into the deserted lobby, beckoned and he joined her.

She led the way past the crowded dining-room, down a corridor to a glass door that led onto the terrace.

They walked onto the thick, frost hard snow. It was very cold, and the moon drifted in dark clouds. Cade could feel the frost nipping his face.

He followed the girl who seemed to know the way. She went down snow covered steps and along a path that led through fir trees to a head-high wall.

“There’s a path the other side,” she said. “It leads to the villa.” She rested her hands on top of the wall. “Help me over.”

He took her foot in his mitten-covered hands and lifted her. She swung over the wall and dropped the other side. He quickly joined her.

It was dark there under the trees, but the fitful moon lit the snow-covered open ground beyond the forest.

As they started off, Cade looked back over his shoulder. Their trail of footprints made sinister black marks in the snow: an easily read escape route, and it worried him.

A ten minute walk through the forest brought them to the back entrance of the villa: a small two-storey wooden building with a big terrace facing the view of the slopes.

He followed her up the wooden steps, standing close to her as she groped along one of the rafters supporting the sloping roof over the front door.

“I have it,” she said and thrust a key into the front door lock, turned the key, and together, they moved into a cold, dark hall. As he shut the door, she turned on the light.

“The shutters are closed. No one can see the light from outside.”

“We had better hurry,” he said, worried. “If Hardenburg’s men see our prints out there, they’ll investigate.”

“I’ll get the skis,” she said. “Wait here.”

“Let me help you.”

“It’s all right.” There was a note of impatience in her voice, “They are downstairs. We don’t want to make a mess all over the place. Look at your boots.”

As he looked down at his snow-covered boots, she opened a door leading to the stairs, turned on the light and went quickly out of sight.

Cade needed another drink, but he resisted the urge. As he waited nervously, he put his hand in his coat pocket. Then he stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. He groped feverishly, snatched out the bottle of whisky, dropping it on the floor and groped in that pocket. Both pockets were empty. The film cartridges had gone!

For an agonising moment, he stood motionless, then his heart racing, he moved swiftly to the head of the stairs and peered down into a corridor.

“Ginette!” His voice was off-key and frantic.

She called from somewhere out of sight. “I won’t be a minute. Wait...”

He blundered down the stairs and along the corridor which led to an empty garage. Standing by a rack on which were hung a number of skis, Ginette looked towards him, her eyes startled.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“The films have gone! They were in my pocket in the hotel bedroom... they have gone!”

“Oh! No!” She came towards him. “Are you sure? Have you looked in all your pockets?”

He snatched off his gloves and went frantically through his pockets. Then with a gesture of despair, he slammed his fists together.

“Every goddamn thing I do goes wrong!” he said, his voice shaking.

“You could have dropped them. When you climbed the wall... they could have fallen out of your pocket.”

“I don’t know... they have gone!”

“If they did, they will be there now. I’ll go back and look. They weigh nothing... they wouldn’t sink in the snow. They are probably right by the wall.”

Her words gave him hope.

“They could be. I’ll come with you. Come on... let’s go.”

He turned and ran along the corridor and up the stairs.

“Val! Please! Wait!”

She came hurrying after him. He turned impatiently. They were now in the hall, his hand on the door latch.

“What is it?”

“You mustn’t go out there! It’s too dangerous. The police may be waiting for you. I can go. I can say I was returning to the hotel by the back way if they spot me. You wait here. I won’t be five minutes.”

“You may have trouble finding them. They’re so small. No, I’ll come with you. Let’s go,” and he began to open the door, but she moved past him and pushed the door shut.

“Do be sensible! Of course I can find them! I’ll bring them right back! Why take risks? I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you.”

Cade looked intently at her, then a ghost of a smile lit up his white face.

“Maybe after all there is still a chance for me,” he said. “Maybe I am not such a drunken sucker as I think I am. Of course! And I nearly fell for it! So you are an infatuated, sexually aroused — that was what you said, wasn’t it? — fan of mine! That kiss! You took my films. You took them from my pocket while you were pretending to swoon in my arms, didn’t you?”

“I? I took them? How can you even think of such a thing? I’m doing my best to help you!” Her big blue eyes were shocked; her lips trembled. “If you don’t trust me, then let us both go together and look for them. I was only...”

It was now she who began to open the front door and he who slammed it shut.

“Give me those films!” His voice was thick with fury, “I won’t tell you a second time! I’ll strip every shred of clothing off you until I find them! Give them to me!”

She stared for a long moment at him. There was a crazy, furious light in his eyes that made her flinch. She backed away, then lifting her shoulders in a gesture of surrender, she forced a smile.

“I did nearly get away with it, didn’t I?” she said. “I really thought I was going good. All right, you can have them.” She dropped her hand into her coat pocket and lifted out a .38 Smith and Wesson automatic which she levelled at his chest. “Don’t move, Mr. Cade. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”

Cade looked at the gun, rock steady in her gloved hand, then he looked directly into the blue eyes that had suddenly become cold and hard.

“Just who are you?” he said. “I should have guessed you were too damned convenient. Who are you?”

“Back into that room behind you, please. You may as well make yourself comfortable. I am sure you are cold. You can light a fire in there.” She waved the gun at him. “Don’t try anything heroic.”

Cade made a grimace of disgust. He turned and walked into the living-room clicking on the light. There was a large fireplace, laid with logs at the far end of the room. He walked to it and applied the flame of his cigarette lighter to the wood shavings that caught, and in a few moments, flames were blazing around the logs.

Ginette tossed the half-empty bottle of whisky onto the settee.

“Amuse yourself with that,” she said. “I have a telephone call to make.”

She backed to where the telephone stood on the sideboard, dialled a number, the gun in her hand still covering Cade who took a long drink of whisky. He shuddered as he replaced the cap.

Ginette said, “Is Nicki there?” She listened. “In ten minutes? Tell him to call me. I’m at his place. Tell him it is very urgent,” and she replaced the receiver.

Feeling the heat of the fire, Cade took off his wool-lined coat and dropped it on the floor, then he sat on the settee, nursing the whisky bottle.

“Are you working for the Russians?” he asked, looking at Ginette, mild interest on his white face.

She studied him, then smiled.

“Perhaps. I shall be leaving you in a little while. I don’t know what will happen to you. You will be safer if you stay here. If you leave, you will almost certainly be caught. They will probably kill you. If you will take my advice, stay right here.”

“Your anxiety for my welfare is most touching,” Cade said. He lit a cigarette and was pleased to see his hands were steady. “I am trying to work out this little puzzle. Since you have my films, do you see any reason why you shouldn’t explain to me how you come into all this?”

She thought for a long moment as she regarded him, then she shrugged.

“No. It’s fair. Anita Strelik and I have worked together for a long time. We have been trying to get evidence of Hardenburg’s treachery. Anita dangled her charms before him and he fell for her. She convinced him she was against the present Russian Government and regretted the old régime. Hardenburg was so infatuated with her that he confided to her that he was planning to put Duslowski back into power. It was such a far-fetched story, we needed tangible proof to support it. It wasn’t difficult to bait a hook for Mr. Braddock of Whisper. He became curious and sent you here to take photographs... and we needed the photographs which we weren’t capable of getting ourselves. I reserved a room below yours at the hotel and waited hopefully. You obligingly took the photographs and I now have them. It is really very simple, isn’t it?”

Cade thought this over.

“How did you know I would blunder into your room the way I did?”

“Know? I didn’t. It was sheer luck. You don’t imagine I would have been in bed if I thought you would be arriving? I had been up all night watching you in that tree and I just had to get some sleep. When you turned up, I couldn’t believe my luck!”

“Who is Nicki?”

“You are curious, aren’t you? He owns this villa. He will take one of your films by road. I’ll take the other by train. I believe in spreading the risk.”

“And I remain here, toasting my toes by the fire until Hardenburg’s thugs find and kill me. Is that the idea?”

She lifted her shoulders indifferently.

“I’m sorry for you. A year ago I would never have put you in danger, but you are expendable now. You can’t consider yourself anything but unimportant now, can you?”

“That seems to be the idea most people have of me,” Cade said, staring into the fire.

She studied him, then leaning forward, she said, “You have always interested me. I think you are a great artist and I admire your work. Is it really true you ruined your life because of some slut in Mexico?”

Cade continued to stare into the fire.

“You are amusing as a spy,” he said, “and you are quite picturesque with your gun and your sleazy methods of sexual awareness, but would you please keep your bitchy nose out of my past?”

She flushed.

“I’m sorry... really I mean that.”

“That’s nice of you.” He glanced at her and smiled. “I can understand your morbid interest. I have become a museum-piece to be stared at and wondered at.” He lifted the bottle and took a long drink, then as he replaced the cap, he went on, “What really surprises me is your faith in me as a photographer. I should have thought you, with your intelligence, your sophistication and your quite impressive courage, would have had more psychological awareness. Didn’t it occur to you that I was so goddamn drunk that I just didn’t get any photos?”

She became motionless, her fingers tightening on the gun, her blue eyes widening.

“What are you saying?”

“Baby, my heart bleeds for you,” Cade said, still staring into the fire. “You claim to know something about me, but your research has been very superficial. Didn’t you hear about my débâcle with General de Gaulle? I had the exclusive on him, but I was so plastered at the time, the pictures were completely out of focus. Do you imagine I sat up in that tree without getting plastered? Don’t puff out that pretty little chest of yours. Wait until the films you have stolen from me have been processed. It’s my bet they will be as useless as I am: probably a little more useless, if that is possible.”

He watched her lose colour and confidence. She put her hand inside her coat as if the touch of her fingers on the two film cartridges would work a miracle.

“I have a sneaking feeling you have backed the wrong horse,” Cade said, stretching his feet out towards the fire. “For the past six months, people have been making the same mistake about me. A man on the bottle is always a rotten bet. I don’t know who your Russian boss is, but he won’t be at his amiable best when he finds out you picked on Cade of all the photographers to get vitally important photos.”

She sat for a long moment, still and tense, then she said, “You know how to talk, don’t you? You think my psychology is all wrong, but I don’t. No matter how drunk you were, you would have taken good pictures. This happens to be one of the biggest news scoops ever. You don’t bluff me. You — Cade — wouldn’t have fallen down on an assignment this important.”

Cade smiled at her.

“Your confidence in me is touching,” he said. “The proof of the pudding is in the processing.”

The sound of the telephone bell made them both start. She lifted the receiver, the gun covering Cade.

“Ginette,” she said, then listened. She went on, “Will you come here at once, Nicki? It is urgent. We have what we hoped for. Yes... all right. I’ll wait, but be as quick as you can,” and she hung up.

Cade was taking another long pull from the bottle.

“Oh! Can’t you stop that!” she exclaimed angrily.

“Don’t worry about me.” The bottle nearly slipped out of his hand. He hastily grabbed it. He now seemed pretty drunk. “It’s time you began to worry about yourself, baby. We’re no longer alone. While you were talking to your boyfriend, company has arrived.”

Her eyes widened.

“Company? What do you mean?”

“There’s creaking and groaning outside.” Cade got to his feet, lurched, recovered himself and pitched the bottle of whisky on the settee. “Someone is prowling around on the terrace.”

She raised her hand and they both listened. They could hear the rise of wind in the fir trees. There was a sudden startling noise that made her catch her breath as snow dropped from the roof onto the terrace.

Cade walked unsteadily to the door, opened it and listened. Ginette watched him, tense. He beckoned, holding up his finger for silence. She came close to him.

“They are in the basement,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “Listen!”

She leaned forward as he opened the door wider. She heard nothing, then his hand slammed down on her wrist, knocking the gun out of her grip. He gave her a hard shove that sent her reeling hack into the middle of the room. He scooped up the gun and smiled at her.

“Still psychologically wrong, baby. You really thought I was drunk, didn’t you? That was just an act. I’m not all that much of a sucker, am I?”

She stood motionless, her eyes smouldering.

“Okay, let’s start where we came in. Give me those films!”

She backed away, but moving quickly, he caught hold of her wrist, twisted it, turning her, then pushed her bent arm up against her shoulder blade. She caught her breath in a little exclamation of pain.

“Do you want me to strip you?” he asked. “Give me my films!”

As he increased the pressure on her arm, she hurriedly took the two film Cartridges from her pocket and dropped them on the rug.

He gave her a violent shove that catapulted her across the room to land sprawling on the settee. He picked up the cartridges, then walked over to the lounging chair and sat in it.

“You know something?” he said, looking at the two film cartridges in his hand. “I have had a change of mind. I am now asking myself why I got so worked up about Hardenburg and his silly little plot. I am asking myself why my people should give a damn? So why not let him go ahead? There was a time when I could get worked up over a situation like this, but not now. Did you ever hear of a town called Eastonville? There, they hate negros. They really know their business of hating in that small town. I got worked up about that. I thought the murder of two young negroes was the end of civilisation. But I have learned different now. I know that people have to die so other people can survive. I had photographs of that murder: proof that five brutal bastard men clubbed the life out of two harmless negroes. That film was destroyed by a man who had no conscience.” He frowned as he recalled Deputy Sheriff Schneider’s sneering face. “Right now, you imagine the world will come to an end if you don’t prove that Hardenburg is a traitor. You just happen to be young. I assure you the world will go on its own sweet way because treachery is the normal background of our lives these days. So it seems to me I won’t have any part of this. These films belong to me and as my property, I can do what I like with them.”

Deliberately, he began to pull the film out of the cartridge in exactly the same way that Deputy Sheriff Schneider had done once in Eastonville airport.

“No!” Ginette screamed, jumping to her feet. “Don’t!”

“If you come near me,” Cade said evenly. “I will hit you pretty hard. I mean that.” He began stripping the second film out of the cartridge while Ginette, white-faced, watched him. Finally he looked down at the coils of film at his feet, then he tossed the empty cartridges onto the settee. “Keep these as a memento. Don’t look so tragic. You just backed the wrong horse.” He reached for the bottle of whisky and took a long drink, sighed, then took another. As he lowered the bottle, he said, “I think I deserve that drink. You are not a very clever spy, are you? You should have seen that the bottle is still half full.”

“I was mad to have hoped for anything from a spineless drunk like you!” Ginette said furiously. “Go back to your Mexican slut if she will have you!”

Cade smiled.

“Okay, so I’m spineless. Okay, she is a slut, but she and I together discovered something, short as it was, that you will never find. I say this because when I look at you, I see you haven’t ever found a man to love you the way a woman needs love. While I am philosophising, here is another tip: the trick in this complicated life which we are trying to live is to appreciate the good moments and discount the bad ones. That has been my trouble. The bad moments have always been too much for me. Take my advice and drop this cloak and dagger nonsense. Find a man, get married, have kids: that’s what a woman is made for.”

“Shut up!” Ginette said furiously. “Who cares what a drunk like you thinks?”

Cade scratched the side of his nose, then he nodded.

“You have a point.” He paused to take a final drink, then he dropped the bottle on the floor and stood up. “People who can’t manage their own lives should never offer advice. Well, so long, baby. I am on my way. You stay here and keep warm until your boy-friend arrives. I am going to take a ski run down to Aigle.”

As he walked to the door, Ginette said, “Stop playing the fool! They are waiting for you outside! Stop being dramatic!”

He paused, turned and smiled.

“I have no future. I now have no means of earning a living so why shouldn’t I be dramatic? I am inserting a full stop to a way of life that now has no further interest to me. I am going to be as dramatic as I like.”

He left the room and walked down the stairs to the garage.

As he strapped on a pair of skis, he thought of Juana. He wondered what she was doing. Probably, he thought, she was with some rich, fat American, her slender fingers stroking an ageing, hairy chest while the sun of Acapulco made patterns of light and shade around her. He tightened the last strap. His mind shifted in quick succession to Sam Wand, Ed Burdick, Mathison and finally to Vicki Marshall. He shook his head sadly as he realised that they had become shadowy, unreal figures, no more important to him than characters he had seen in some good movie. Then as he opened the garage doors, he thought of Adolfo Creel. The fat Mexican with the food stains on his suit, his smile, his kindness and his loyal friendship became startlingly real and very close as Cade moved out into the moonlit snow.

He was just beginning to gain speed for his rush down the slopes to Aigle when one of Hardenburg’s men spotted him.

The rifle sight lifted, a finger tightened. There was a bang and a flash as the bullet sped on its destructive way.

Cade was already dead as his skis churned up the snow in a disorderly, but artistic pattern that could be read as his epitaph.