Circus

6

The arrival, unloading and disembarkation at Genoa was smooth and uneventful and took place in a remarkably short space of time. Wrinfield was his usual calm, efficient and all overseeing self and to look at him as he went about his business it would have been impossible to guess that his favourite nephew, who had been much more like a son to him, had died the previous night. Wrinfield was a showman first, last and all the way between: in the hackneyed parlance the show had to go on, and as long as Wrinfield was there that it would most certainly do.

The train, with the help of a small shunting engine, was assembled and hauled to a shunting yard about a mile away where some empty coaches and provisions for animals and humans were already waiting. By late afternoon the last of the preparations were complete, the small diesel shunter disengaged itself and was replaced by the giant Italian freight locomotive that was to haul them over the many mountains that lay in their way. In the gathering dusk they pulled out for Milan.

The swing through Europe, which was to cover ten countries — three in western Europe, seven in eastern Europe — turned out to be something more than a resounding success. It resembled a triumphal progress, and as the circus’s fame travelled before it the welcome, the enthusiasm, the adulation became positively embarrassing until the stage was reached that there were half a dozen applications for each seat available at any performance — and some of the auditoriums were huge, some bigger than any in the United States. At dingy sidings in big cities they were greeted and seen off by crowds bigger than those paying homage to the latest fabulous group of singers — cup-winning football teams — at international airports.

Tesco Wrinfield, determinedly and with a conscious effort of will, had put the past behind him. Here he was in his element. He revelled in solution of the complexities of the vast logistical problems involved. He knew Europe, especially eastern Europe, where he had recruited most of his outstanding acts, as well as any European on the train and certainly far better than any of his executives or American-born artistes and workers. He knew that those audiences were more sophisticated about and more appreciative of the finer arts of the circus than American and Canadian audiences, and when those peoples’ papers increasingly referred to his pride and joy as the greatest circus of all time it was undiluted balm to his showman’s heart: even more heady, were that possible, were the increasing references to himself as the greatest showman on earth. Nor was he displeased with the pragmatic side of it all: the packed houses and the very high profits made ledger books a positive pleasure to peruse: one cannot be a great showman without being a great businessman as well. It came to the stage that he began calculating that, even without the United States government backing, he could still, America to America, have made a handsome profit on the tour. Not, of course, that the United States government would be apprised of this. At least as happy were those of his artistes — over half of them — who came from eastern Europe. For them, especially for the Hungarians, Bulgarians and Romanians, whose circus training schools were the best in Europe and probably in the world, this was the long-promised home-coming. In front of their own people they excelled themselves, reaching heights of professional brilliance never attained before. The morale in a top circus is always high: even so, Wrinfield had never seen those people so happy and contented.

They swung through northern Italy, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Romania and Hungary then across the Curtain back into Austria. It was after the final show of their first day in Vienna, the finale of which had been greeted with the now standard rapturous ovation, that Harper — who had kept their contacts on the Continent to the barest minimum — approached Bruno. He said: “Come to my compartment when you are ready.” When Bruno arrived, Harper said without preamble: “I promised you I’d show you three things in one night. Here they are.” He undipped the bottom of his medical bag and drew out a metal container smaller even than a box of Kleenex tissues. “A little transistorized beauty. Earphones and mike. This switch is for power. This button is for a combination of preselected wave-length and call-up — the receiver in Washington is manned twenty-four hours a day. This spring-loaded lever is for speak-transmit. Simple.”

“You said something about a code.”

“I won’t burden you with that. I know if I wrote it out you could commit it to memory in nothing flat but the CIA has a thing about committing codes to paper, however temporarily. Anyway, if you do have to use this machine — which would mean, unfortunately for me, that I would no longer be around — you wouldn’t want to bother with code anyway. You just shout ›Help!‹ in plain English.

It’s on this machine that I received confirmation of our escape route instructions today — this evening, in fact. There’s a NATO exercise taking place in the Baltic in about ten day’s time. An unspecified naval vessel — they’re a very cagey lot in Washington; I assume it’s American but I don’t even know what type of craft it is — will be standing by or cruising off the coast from the Friday night until the following Friday. It carries an Air-Sea Rescue helicopter. It will land at a place I’ll show you when we get there — I don’t consider it wise to carry maps on me and, besides, I can’t properly locate it until we get there. The ship is tuned to the same wavelength as Washington. We press this top button on the transceiver here — just as simple as that — and the helicopter comes-a-running.” “All seems perfectly straightforward. You do seem to have this organized. You know, I’m beginning to think that the Government regard Van Diemen’s pieces of paper as very valuable indeed.”

“One gathers that impression. By the way, I’m curious. How long does your memory span last?”

“As long as I want.”

“So you’ll be able to memorize the contents of those papers and reproduce them, say, a year later?”

“I should think so.”

“Let’s hope that’s the way it’s going to be — that you’re going to be given the chance to reproduce them, I mean. Let’s hope nobody ever finds out that you got in there, did your mentalist bit and left unseen. Let’s hope, in other words, that you don’t have to use those.” From the breast pocket of his jacket Harper undipped a couple of pens, one black, one red. They were of the heavy felt-Biro type with the release button at the top. “I picked these up in town today. I don’t have to tell you where I picked them up.”

Bruno looked at the pens, then at Harper. “What on earth would I want to use those things for?”

“Whatever the faults of our science and research department, it’s not lack of imagination. They positively dote on dreaming up these little toys. You don’t think I’m going to let you cross two eastern frontiers with a couple of Peacemaker Colts strapped to your waist? These are guns. Yes, guns. The red one is the nasty one, the one with the anaesthetic tipped needles which are not so healthy for those with heart conditions: the other one is the gas gun.”

“So small?”

“With the micro-miniaturization techniques available today, those are positively bulky. The needle gun has an effective range of forty feet, the gas gun of not more than four. Operation is simplicity itself. Depress the button at the top and the gun is armed: press the pocket clip and the gun is fired. Stick them in your outside pocket. Let people get used to the sight of them. Now listen carefully while I outline the plans for Crau.” “But I thought you had already agreed to the plan — my plan.”

“I did and I do. This is merely a refinement of the original part of that plan. You may have wondered why the CIA elected to send with you a medical person. When I have finished you will understand.”

Some four hundred and fifty miles to the north, three uniformed men sat in a brightly lit, windowless and very austere room, the furniture of which consisted mainly of metal filing cabinets, a metal table and some metal-framed chairs. All three were dressed in uniform. From the insignia they wore, one was a colonel, the second a captain, the third a sergeant. The first was Colonel Serge Sergius, a thin, hawk-faced man with seemingly lidless eyes and a gash where his mouth should have been: his looks perfectly befitted his occupation, which was that of a very important functionary in the secret police. The second, Captain Kodes, was his assistant, a well-built athletic man in his early thirties, with a smiling face and cold blue eyes. The third, Sergeant Angelo, was remarkable for one thing only, but that one thing was remarkable enough. At six feet three, Angelo was considerably too broad for his height, a massively muscular man who could not have weighed less than two hundred and fifty pounds. Angelo had one function and one only in life — he was Sergius’s personal bodyguard. No one could have accused Sergius of choosing without due care and attention.

On the table a tape recorder was running. A voice said: “and that is all we have for the moment”. Kodes leaned forward and switched off the recorder.

Sergius said: “And quite enough. All the information we want. Four different voices. I assume, my dear Kodes, that if you were to meet the owners of those four voices you could identify them immediately?”

“Without the shadow of a doubt, sir.”

“And you, Angelo?”

“No question, sir.” Angelo’s gravelly booming voice appeared to originate from the soles of his enormous boots. “Then please go ahead, Captain, for the reservation of our usual rooms in the capital — the three of us and the cameraman. Have you chosen him yet, Kodes?”

“I thought young Nicolas, sir. Extraordinarily able.” “Your choice.” Colonel Sergius’s lipless mouth parted about a quarter of an inch, which meant that he was smiling. “Haven’t been to the circus for thirty years — circuses had ceased to exist during the war — but I must say I’m looking forward with almost childish enthusiasm to this one. Especially one which is as highly spoken of as this one is. Incidentally, Angelo, there is a performer in this circus whom I’m sure you will be most interested to see, if not to meet.”

“I do not care to see or meet anyone from an American circus, sir.”

“Come, come, Angelo, one must not be so chauvinistic.”

“Chauvinistic, Colonel?”

Sergius made to explain then decided against the effort. Angelo was possessed of many attributes but a razor-sharp intelligence was not among them.

“There are no nationalities in a circus, Angelo, only artistes, performers: the audience does not care whether the man on the trapeze comes from Russia or the Sudan. The man I refer to is called Kan Dahn and they say that he is even bigger than you. He is billed as the strongest man in the world.” Angelo made no reply, merely inflated his enormous chest to its maximum fifty-two inches and contented himself with a smile of wolfish disbelief.

The three-day stay in Vienna was by now the inevitable enormous success. From there the circus moved north and, after only one stop-over, arrived in the city where Sergius and his subordinates had moved to meet them.

At the evening performance, those four had taken the best seats, about six rows back facing the centre of the centre ring. All four were in civilian clothes and all four were unmistakably soldiers in civilian clothes. One of them, immediately after the beginning of the performance, produced a very expensive looking camera with a telephoto lens, and the sight of this produced a senior uniformed police officer in very short order indeed. The taking of photographs was officially discouraged, while with westerners the illegal possession of an undeclared camera, if discovered, was a guarantee of arrest and trial: every camera aboard the circus train had been impounded on entering the country and would not be returned until the exit frontier had been crossed.

The policeman said: “The camera please: and your papers.” “Officer.” The policeman turned towards Sergius and gave him the benefit of his cold insolent policeman’s stare, a stare that lasted for almost a full second before he swallowed what was obviously a painful lump in his throat. He moved in front of Sergius and spoke softly: “Your pardon, Colonel. I was not notified.”

“Your headquarters were informed. Find the incompetent and punish him.”

“Sir. My apologies for —”

“You’re blocking my view.”

And, indeed, the view was something not to be blocked. No doubt inspired by the fact that they were being watched by connoisseurs, and wildly enthusiastic connoisseurs at that, the company had in recent weeks gone from strength to strength, honing and refining and polishing their acts, continually inventing more difficult and daring feats until they had arrived at a now almost impossible level of perfection. Even Sergius, who was normally possessed of a mind like a refrigerated computer, gave himself up entirely to the fairyland that was the circus. Only Nicolas, the young — and very presentable — photographer, had his mind on other things, taking an almost non-stop series of photographs of all the main artistes in the circus. But even he forgot his camera and his assignment as he stared — as did his companions — in total disbelief as the Blind Eagles went through their suicidal aerial routine. It was shortly after their performance that a nondescript individual approached Sergius and murmured: “Two rows back, sir, ten seats to your left.” A brief nod was Sergius’s only acknowledgement.

Towards the very end of the performance Kan Dahn, who appeared to grow fitter with the passing of every day, went through his paces. Kan Dahn spurned the use of props such as iron bars and bar-bells: a five-year-old could tie an iron bar in knots and lift a massive 400-pound bar-bell, provided they were made of the right material, which could be anything except iron. He invariably worked with human beings: creatures who ran, jumped and turned cartwheels could not very well be made of featherweight plastic.

As a finale, Kan Dahn paraded around the centre ring, with a heavy wooden pole resting in a yoke on his shoulders. On either side of the yoke sat five circus girls. If Kan Dahn was aware of the presence of their weight he showed no signs of it. Occasionally, he stopped to scratch the back of his left calf with his right instep. Sergius leaned across Kodes and spoke to Angelo, who was watching the spectacle with an air of determined indifference.

“Big, isn’t he, Angelo?”

“All show muscle. Puffy. I once saw an old man in Athens, seventy-five if he was a day, and not a kilo, I swear, over fifty, carrying a grand piano the length of a street. Friends must have put it on his back — he could never have straightened his legs under the load — and if he didn’t keep them straight he would have collapsed.”

Even as he spoke, Kan Dahn started climbing a massive stepladder in the centre of the ring. The platform on top was about three feet square. Kan Dahn reached this without any apparent difficulty, stepped on to an inset turntable, and by a circular motion, slowly speeding up until the girls on the outer ends of the pole were no more than coloured kaleidoscopic blurs. Gradually he slowed, came to a stop, descended the ladder, knelt, then bowed his shoulders until the feet of the circus girls touched the sawdust. Sergius leaned across again. “Could your old friend in Athens have done that with his piano?” Angelo made no reply. “Do you know that they say that he can do that with fourteen girls but the management won’t allow him because they say nobody will believe it?” Angelo remained silent.

The performance ended with rapturous applause, a standing ovation, lasted several minutes. When the audience started filing out, Sergius looked for and located Wrinfield, and by judging his pace contrived to meet him at the exit gangway. He said: “Mr Wrinfield?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, should I know you?”

“We haven’t met.” Sergius pointed to the picture on the front of the souvenir programme he carried. “The likeness, you will agree, is unmistakable. My name is Colonel Sergius.” They shook hands formally. “Stupendous, Mr Wrinfield. Impossible. Had anyone told me that such a show existed I would have called him a liar to his face.” Wrinfield beamed. Beethoven’s Ninth left him cold — this was the music that reached his heart. “I’ve been a devotee of the circus ever since I was a young boy” — Sergius was as fluent a liar as the next man and a great deal more so than most — “but never in my life have I seen anything like this.”

Wrinfield beamed some more. “You are too kind, Colonel.” Sergius shook his head sadly. “I wish I had the gift with words the way you have with those marvellous performers of yours. But that is not the sole reason for introducing myself. Your next stop, I know, is Crau.” He produced a card. “I am the Chief of Police there.” Sergius carried a considerable variety of cards with him. “Whatever I can do, I am at your service. Ask and it’s done and I shall consider it a privilege. Not that I shall ever be very far from your side. It is my intention to attend every single performance, for I know I shall never see the like again. For the duration of your stay, crime in Crau can reign unchecked.”

“Again, you are too kind. Colonel Sergius, you shall be my personal — and, I hope — permanent guest at the circus. I would be honoured —” He broke off and looked at the three men, who showed no intention of moving on. “They are with you, Colonel?”

“How thoughtless of me. I’m afraid I quite got carried away.” Sergius performed the introductions while Wrinfield introduced Harper, who had been seated next to him. Wrinfield went on: “As I was about to say, Colonel, I would be honoured if you and your men would join us in my office for a glass of your national drink.” Sergius said that the honour would be entirely theirs. It was all very cordial. In the office, one glass became two and then three. Nicolas, permission given, clicked his camera constantly, not forgetting to take at least a dozen of a smilingly protesting Maria, who had been seated behind her desk when they had entered. Wrinfield said: “I wonder, Colonel, if you would like to meet some of our performers?”

“You’re a mind-reader, Mr Wrinfield! I must confess that I did have that very thought in mind but I didn’t dare presume –

I mean, I have sufficiently trespassed upon your hospitality —” “Maria.” Wrinfield rattled off a list of names. “Go to the dressing-rooms and ask them if they would be kind enough to come and visit our distinguished guest.” Wrinfield, in recent weeks, had fallen victim to a certain mid-European floweriness of speech.

And so they came to see the distinguished guest, Bruno and his brothers, Neubauer, Kan Dahn, Ron Roebuck, Manuelo, Malthius and half a dozen others. Apart from a certain reserve in Angelo’s attitude when he greeted Kan Dahn, everything was very pleasant indeed, fulsome congratulations offered and as modestly received. Sergius did not overstay his welcome and left almost immediately after the last handshake, he and Wrinfield exchanging mutual expressions of goodwill and cordial anticipation of their next meeting.

Sergius had a large black limousine waiting outside, with a uniformed police chauffeur and a dark man in dark clothes beside him. After about a quarter of a mile, Sergius stopped the car and issued certain instructions to the plain-clothes man, whom he addressed as Alex. Alex nodded and left the car.

Back in his hotel suite, Sergius said to Kodes and Angelo:

“You had no trouble in matching the voices with the tapes?” Both men shook their heads. “Good. Nicolas, how long will it take you to develop those photographs?”

“To develop? Within the hour, sir. Printing will take considerably longer.”

“Just print those of Mr Winfield, Dr Harper, the girl — Maria, isn’t it? — and the leading circus performers.” Nicolas left and Sergius said: “You may leave, too, Angelo. I’ll call you.” Kodes said: “Is one permitted to ask the object of this exercise?”

“One is permitted. I was about to tell you, which is why I asked Angelo to leave. A loyal soul, but one does not wish to overburden his mind with complexities.”

Bruno and Maria, for the first time walking arm in arm, made their way along the ill-lit street, talking with apparent animation. Some thirty yards behind them Alex followed with the unobtrusive casualness of one who has had long practice in following people without calling attention to himself. He slowed his pace as the couple ahead turned through a doorway with an incomprehensible neon sign above. The café was ill-lit and smoke-filled from an evil-smelling brown coal fire — the outside temperature hovered near the freezing point — but cosy and comfortable enough if one had a gas-mask ready to hand. It was half full. Seated in a wall booth were Manuelo and Kan Dahn, the former with a coffee, Kan Dahn with two litres of beer. Kan Dahn’s legendary consumption of beer was excused — by Kan Dahn — on the grounds that he required it to keep his strength up: it certainly never affected his performance. Bruno spoke briefly to them and asked to be excused for not joining them. Kan Dahn smirked and said that that was perfectly all right by them: Bruno led Maria to a corner table. Only a few seconds later Roebuck sauntered in, acknowledged their presence with a wave of his hand and sat down with his two companions. The three of them talked desultorily, then started, casually at first, then with increasing urgency, to search through their pockets: from where Bruno sat it would appear that a certain degree of acrimony, not to say downright recrimination, had crept into their conversation. Finally Roebuck scowled, made a dismissive gesture, rose and crossed to Bruno’s table.

He said sadly: “Roebuck, begging for alms. Not one of us bothered to check if the others were carrying money. As it turns out, we don’t have a cent. Rather, we do have thousands of cents, but we doubt whether they’ll accept dollars here and Kan Dahn appears to be against washing up in the kitchen.

Now, if I had comrades in distress —”

Bruno smiled, brought out a wallet, handed some notes to Roebuck, who thanked him and left. Bruno and Maria ordered an omelette apiece.

Alex, shivering in the cold on the pavement, waited until the food had been served, crossed the street and went into a phone booth. He fed in money, dialled a number and said: “Alex.” “Yes?”

“I followed the man and girl to the Black Swan. They’re beginning to eat so it looks as if they’ll be there for some time yet. They spoke to two other people, at another table, after their arrival, before going to their own place.”

“You sure you have the right ones?”

“I have their photographs, Colonel. A third man came in shortly after the man and girl had sat down at their own table. He sat with the other two men for some time then went across to this man Bruno. He seemed to be borrowing money, at least I saw notes change hands.”

Sergius said: “Do you know any of those three men?” “No, sir. But one of them I’d recognize if I didn’t see him again for twenty years. A giant, the biggest man I’ve ever seen, bigger even than Angelo.”

“I won’t award myself any prizes for guessing who that is. Come back here. No, wait. Stay out of sight so that no one inside the café can see you. I’ll send Vladimir and Josef down to relieve you. I’ll give them their instructions. You just have the point those people out to them. A car will be there in a few minutes.”

Inside the café, Maria said: “What’s wrong, Bruno?”

“What should be wrong?”

“You looked troubled.”

“I am troubled. D-day approaches with uncommon haste. Just about a week now. Wouldn’t you be troubled if you had to get inside that damned Lubylan?”

“It’s not just that. You’ve become remote from me. Cool. Distant. I’ve done something you don’t like? Said something wrong?”

“Don’t be silly.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Please.”

“Is this affection? Or something more? Or something else?”

“Why do you hurt me so?”

“I don’t want to.” His voice lacked the ring of conviction.

“Have you ever been an actress?”

She took her hand away. There was bafflement in her face, and pain. She said: “I can’t think what I’ve done wrong, I can’t think what I’ve said wrong — and you do want to hurt me. Suddenly you want to hurt me. Why don’t you slap me, then? Right here in public? That way you can hurt both me and my pride. I don’t understand you, I just don’t understand you.” She pushed back her chair. “I can find the way.” It was Bruno’s turn to take her hand. Whether this was affection, appeal or just an attempt to restrain her it was difficult to say. He said: “I wish I could.”

“Could what?”

“Find the way.” He looked at her, his brow slightly corrugated.

“You’ve been how long with the CIA?”

“Nearly four years.” The bafflement was back in her face.

“Who appointed you to this particular job?”

“Dr Harper. Why?”

“I thought it was this man called Charles.” “He appointed me. Dr Harper made the suggestion. He was very insistent that I should be the one who should come along on this trip.”

“I’ll bet he was.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Merely congratulations. To Dr Harper. On his impeccable good taste. Who’s Charles?”

“Just Charles.”

“He’s not Charles. He has another name.”

“Why didn’t you ask him?”

“He wouldn’t have told me. I’d hoped you might.”

“You know that we can’t divulge things such as that.” “Well, I like that. I’m going to risk my damned life for the CIA and they can’t even trust me with a straightforward piece of information like that. I thought that at least by this time I could trust you or you could trust me. It seems I was wrong — on the second count, anyway. You’re willing that I should die but you’re not even willing to tell me that. Trust and faith and loyalty — those are great things, aren’t they? Or used to be. There doesn’t seem to be too much of it around nowadays.”

“His name is Admiral George C. Jamieson.” Bruno looked at her for a long moment, then his face slowly broke into a wide smile that transformed his whole expression. She snatched her hand away and looked at him furiously. At their table Kan Dahn nudged Roebuck and Manuelo in turn: all three watched the scene with interest.

“You horrid man! You deceitful, devious, conniving human being — if I can call you that! And you had the audacity to ask me if I had ever been an actress. I never have been but even if I had I could never hold a candle to you as an actor. Why did you do it? I don’t deserve that.”

Roebuck said: “She’s getting madder by the minute.”

“How little you know of human nature,” Kan Dahn said.

“She’ll be proposing to him inside thirty seconds.”

Bruno said: “I apologize. But I had to.”

“Had to find out if I would trust you?”

“It’s terribly important to me. Please forgive me.” He took her unresisting hand again and examined its ringless state with care. He said: “It looks pretty bare to me.” “What does?”

“You know that we’re only supposed to be in love?” “Yes.” It was Maria’s turn to be silent. “Or do you think we should stop supposing?” Her voice was hesitant, unsure. “I don’t think. I know. Do you love me, Maria?”

The voice was a whisper but the answer immediate. “Yes.” She looked at her left hand and smiled. “It does look a little bare, doesn’t it?”

Kan Dahn leant back against the booth in an expansive fashion. “What did your Uncle Kan Dahn tell you? Somebody buy me a drink.”

Bruno said: “Sure?”

“Even the most intelligent man can ask the most stupid questions. Can’t you see it?”

“I think I can. At least, I hope I can.”

“I’ve been in love with you for weeks.” She had stopped smiling now. “In the early days I used to watch you blindfolded on that trapeze. Then after a while I had to leave the auditorium and go outside and be sick. Now I don’t dare go inside at all and I’m still sick. A fraction of a second too early or too late…” She broke off and her eyes were wet. “But I can still hear the music, your music, and when it begins I die inside.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will, you lunkhead.” She was crying openly now.

“There’s no need for such language. And I’d like to point out that Kan Dahn, Manuelo and Ron are taking the greatest interest in the proceedings. I have a feeling they’re taking bets on us. I’ve also got the feeling that I’m going to suffer when they get me alone.”

“I can’t see them.” Bruno passed his handkerchief and she mopped her eyes. “Yes, they are looking a bit this way, aren’t they?” Unconsciously crumpling the handkerchief in her hand, she turned her gaze back to Bruno. “I love you, I want to marry you — isn’t that old-fashioned — I’d marry you tomorrow — but I can’t love and marry the greatest aerialist in the world. I know I can’t. I think you know I can’t. Do you want me to be sick all my life?”

“That wouldn’t be nice for either of us. Well, it’s all living and learning — I thought blackmail normally started after one married.”

“You live in a strange world, Bruno, if you think honesty and blackmail are the same thing.”

Bruno appeared to ponder. “You could always marry the greatest ex-aerialist.”

“Ex?”

“No problem.” Bruno made a throwaway gesture with his right hand. “I’ll burn my trapeze or whatever the phrase is.” She stared at him. “Just like — just like that? But it’s your life, Bruno.”

“I have other interests.”

“What?”

“When your name is Mrs Wildermann, I’ll let you know.” “This year, next year, sometime, never.” Matrimony was obviously closer to her heart than alternative occupations for a future husband.

“Could be the day after tomorrow.”

She got back to staring at him. “Do you mean here? In this country?”

“Heaven forbid. No. In the States. Special licence. We could get the first plane out tomorrow. Nobody’s going to stop us. I’ve plenty of money.”

She took some time to assimilate this, then said with conviction:

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Bruno said agreeably: “Lots of times that’s true. This time, no. I know what I’m saying because — and it’s no exaggeration — I know we’re in deadly danger. I know they’re on to me. I’m pretty sure they’re on to you. We were followed here tonight. I don’t want —” “Followed? How do you know?”

“I know. Later. Meantime, I don’t want you to die.” For a moment Bruno rubbed his chin with a pensive hand. “Come to that, I don’t particularly want to die myself.” “You’d let your brothers down? You’d let Mr Wrinfield and the circus down? You’d abandon this entire mission?” “I’d abandon anything in the world for you.”

“You’re running scared, Bruno?”

“Possibly. Let’s go to the American embassy now and get things fixed up. It’s hardly office hours, but they wouldn’t turn away a couple of nationals in distress.”

She looked at him in total disbelief. Then the disbelief faded to be replaced with something very close to contempt. Then that look faded in turn to be replaced by a very thoughtful expression indeed. A faint smile touched her face, widened, and then suddenly she began to laugh. Bruno looked at her speculatively, the three men at the adjacent table in perplexity. She said: “You’re impossible. It’s not enough for you to test me once, you have to do it all over again.” It was as if she hadn’t spoken. He said: “You heard me? I’d give up the world for you. Can’t you do the same for me?” “Willingly. The whole world. But not the whole world and Bruno. If we went to the embassy, do you know what would happen! I’d be on that plane tomorrow. But you wouldn’t. Oh, no, you’d stay here. Don’t deny it. It’s in your face. You think you’re the inscrutable Bruno Wildermann. Everyone thinks so. Well, almost everyone. Three months and you won’t have a secret left from me.”

Bruno said: “I’m afraid of that. Okay, okay, so I tried and failed. Nothing new for me. Please don’t tell Dr Harper any of this. He’ll not only think me a fool but he’ll take a dim view of my mingling, shall we say, business and pleasure.” He put money on the table. “Let’s leave. When we get to the door I’m going to turn back on some pretext and have a word with Roebuck. While I do that, have a look around, see if there is any person who might be taking — or about to take — an interest in us.”

At the doorway, Bruno, as if recalling something, turned back. He approached Roebuck and said: “What was he like?” “Medium height. Black hair. Black moustache. Black coat.

He followed you all the way from the circus.”

“Your compartments may be bugged. I doubt it, but no chances. See you.”

Arm in arm he walked along the street with Maria. She said curiously: “What are those three to you?”

“Very old friends. No more. You don’t put friends’ heads on the chopping block. Fellow all in black, black hair, black coat. See him?”

“Saw two, but none like that. One had that horrible marcelled blond hair, the other was as bald as a coot.” “Which means that Junior has returned to hand in his report to his boss.”

“His boss?”

“Colonel Sergius.”

“The Crau police chief?”

“He is not the Crau police chief. He’s the head of the national secret police.”

She stopped and looked at him. “How do you know? How can you know?”

“I know. I know him although he doesn’t know me. You forget this is my country. But I know Sergius and I’ll never forget him. Would you forget the man who killed your wife?” “The man who — oh, Bruno!” She paused. “But he must know now.”

“He knows.”

“But then he must know why you’re here!”

“I imagine so.”

“I’ll go with you tomorrow. I swear it.” There was a note of hysteria in her voice. “That plane, Bruno, that plane. Don’t you know you’ll never leave this country alive?”

“I have things to do. And kindly modulate your voice. There’s a character with horrible marcelled blond hair close behind.”

“I’m scared. I’m scared.”

“It’s catching. Come along and I’ll give you some real coffee.”

“Where?”

“In this accommodation of mine you envy so much.” They walked some way in silence then she said: “Have you thought that if they’re on to you that they may have bugged your place?”

“Who says we’ve got to discuss affairs of state?” Sergius was deeply engaged in discussing affairs of state. He said to Alex: “That’s all that happened? Bruno and the girl went into this café, spoke briefly to the two men already seated, took the girl to a separate table and ordered a meal. Then a third man appeared, joined the other two men, went to Bruno’s table, borrowed some money from him and returned to his seat.” Alex nodded. “And you said you didn’t know the names of any of those men, had never seen them before, but that one of them was a giant, as big as Angelo here?” Alex looked at Angelo. “Bigger,” he said with some satisfaction. Angelo was sadly lacking in Kan Dahl’s genial good nature and did not make the most lovable of characters. Angelo scowled blackly but no one paid him any attention, possibly because it was very difficult to differentiate between bis black scowl and his normal expression. Sergius said: “Well, we know who that it. Would you recognize the three men from their photographs?”

“Of course.” Alex looked hurt.

“Angelo. Go tell Nicolas to bring whatever prints he has ready.”

Angelo returned with Nicolas and about twenty prints. Silently, Sergius handed them to Alex, who leafed rapidly through them. He put one on the table. “That’s the girl,” he announced. Sergius said with restraint, “We know that’s the girl.”

“Your pardon, Colonel.” Alex selected three more. “Those.” Sergius took them and handed them to Kodes, who glanced at them briefly and said: “Kan Dahn, Manuelo the knife-thrower and Roebuck, the expert with the cowboy rope.” “Precisely.” Sergius smiled his mordant smile. “Have them shadowed at all times.”

Kodes showed his surprise. “The presence of those three men could have been just coincidence. After all, they are among the outstanding artistes in the circus and it is natural that they should be friends. Besides, the Black Swan is, after all, the nearest café to the circus.”

Sergius sighed. “Alas, it was ever thus. I am left to fight on virtually alone. All the decisions have to be made, all the thinking has to be done by a senior officer, which is no doubt why I am a senior officer.” A false modesty was not one of Sergius’s besetting sins. “Our Bruno Wildermann is clever, he may also be dangerous. He suspected, only he knows how, that he was under surveillance and put his suspicions to the test. He had this man Roebuck standing by to follow whoever might follow him. This would make Roebuck — and, by implication, the other two — something just a little bit more than friends. Roebuck followed Alex. He didn’t go to borrow money, he went to inform Bruno that he, Bruno, had been followed by a man with a black coat, black moustache, very stupid.” He bestowed a pitying glance on the crestfallen shadower. “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you, Alex, to look over your shoulder? Just once?”

“I’m sorry, Colonel.”

Sergius gave him a look more commonly associated with a starving crocodile which has just sported lunch.