Circus

7

The circus left for Crau on the Wednesday night. Before its departure Bruno had gone to Dr Harper’s rail compartment. For a man with so much on his mind, facing up to what was unquestionably the crucial moment of his professional career, Harper was remarkably calm and relaxed. It was more than could be said of Wrinfield, who sat there with a drink in his hand and a most dispirited expression on his face. Wrinfield had screwed his courage to the sticking point but now that the moment was at hand he had about him the air of a man who suspects that something is about to become unstuck. Crau was a huge black cloud on his horizon.

“Evening, Bruno. A seat. What will you drink?” “Thank you. Nothing. I’ve only one a week and I’m reserving that for later.”

“With the fair Miss Hopkins, one would suppose?”

“One would suppose correctly.”

“Why don’t you marry the girl?” Wrinfield said sourly. “She’s getting so she’s almost useless to me now, either moping or dreaming the whole day long.”

“I’m going to. Maybe she’s worried and nervous. Like yourself, Mr Wrinfield.”

“Going to what?” Harper said.

“Marry her.”

“Good God!”

Bruno took no offence. “Marriage is a common enough institution.”

Wrinfield said suspiciously: “Does she know about this?” Wrinfield had become genuinely fond of her and had come to treat her as the daughter he’d never had, more especially since Henry’s death.

“Yes.” Bruno smiled. “So would you, if you kept your eyes open, sir. She sat next to you at table tonight.” Wrinfield clapped his palm against his forehead. “She was wearing a ring tonight. She’s never worn a ring before. Fourth finger, left hand.” He paused and came up with a triumphant solution. “An engagement ring.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind, sir. Like Maria. I bought it this afternoon.”

“Well, congratulations. When we move off, we must come and toast the happy couple.” Bruno winced but said nothing. “Eh, Dr Harper?”

“Indeed. I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Thank you. I didn’t come to talk about the ring, though, just the company I had when I bought it. I’m afraid someone is on to me. A couple of nights ago I went with Maria to a café. It so happened Roebuck came along very soon after. He said he’d been intrigued by the behaviour of a character who emerged from the shadows of an alley near the circus when we’d passed by. Apparently he followed us all the way to the café, stopped when we stopped then took up a position across the road where he could watch us. It could have been coincidence or Roe-buck’s lively imagination. Last night I was pretty certain that Maria and I were being followed again but I wasn’t sure. Today I was because it was in daylight. Not one shadow but two, taking the job in turns, one with artificially waved blond hair, the other completely bald. We wandered aimlessly, like a couple of tourists, wherever the fancy took us: they followed everywhere.”

“I don’t like this,” Harper said.

“Thank you for not questioning my word. I don’t much like it either. And I don’t understand it. I’ve done nothing, absolutely nothing to attract any attention to myself. Maybe it’s just because my name is Wildermann and Crau’s my home town. It’s anybody’s guess. Maybe a dozen other circus people are under surveillance, too. Who’s to say?”

“Most disturbing,” Wrinfield said. “Most disturbing. What are you going to do, Bruno?”

“What can I do? Just keep going, that’s all. Play it as it comes. One thing’s for sure, they won’t be shadowing me on the night.”

“The night?”

“Hasn’t Dr Harper told you?”

“Ah. Tuesday. I wonder where we’ll all be then.” With much clanking and shuddering the train began slowly to get under way.

“I know where I’ll be. See you shortly.” Bruno turned to go, then stopped short at the sight of the miniature transceiver on Harper’s desk. “Tell me. I’ve often wondered. How is it that the customs in various countries remove just about the fillings from our teeth while you manage to sail through with that transceiver?”

“Transceiver? What transceiver?” Harper clamped the earphones to his head, touched the microphone to Bruno’s chest, switched on the power and pulled the transmit switch backwards instead of forwards. The machine hummed and a narrow strip of paper emerged from an all but invisible slit at the side. After about ten seconds Harper switched off, tore the protruding few inches of paper away and showed it to Bruno. It had a long wavy line along the middle. “A cardiograph machine, my dear Bruno. Every travelling doctor needs one. You can’t imagine the fun I’ve had taking the cardiographs of customs official after customs official.”

“Whatever will they think of next.” Bruno left, walked along the corridors of the now-swaying train, picked up Maria from her compartment, took her along to his own, unlocked the handleless door and ushered her inside.

Bruno said: “Shall we have some music? Romantic, to fit the occasion? Then one of my incomparable dry martinis to celebrate — if that is the word — my descent into human bondage. And — it is just a thought — a few sweet nothings in your ear.”

She smiled. “That all sounds very pleasant. Especially the sweet nothings.”

He turned on the record player, keeping the volume low, mixed the martinis, set them on the table, sat on the settee beside her and pressed his face against the dark hair in the approximate area of where her ear could be presumed to be. From the expressions on Maria’s face, first of startlement then of sheer incredulity, it was clear that Bruno had a line in sweet nothings that she had not previously encountered. Crau lay just under two hundred miles distant, so that even for a necessarily slow freight train it was no more than a brief overnight haul there, with two intermediate stops. They left in darkness, they arrived in darkness, and it was still dark when they disembarked. It was also extremely cold. The first overwhelming impression of Crau was one of bleak inhospitability, but then railway sidings, especially in cold and darkness, are not the most welcoming of places anywhere. The siding in which they had just drawn up was an inconvenient three quarters of a mile from the circus auditorium, but the organizational genius of Wrinfield and his executive staff had been functioning with its usual smooth efficiency and a fleet of trucks, buses and private cars was already waiting alongside. Bruno walked beside the track towards a group of circus performers and hands who stood huddled under the harsh glare of an overhead arc-lamp. After exchanging the routine good mornings he looked around for his two brothers, but failed to see them. He spoke to the man nearest him, Malthius, the tiger trainer.

“Seen my wandering brothers around? They’re a very hungry couple who never fail to join me for breakfast but I haven’t had the pleasure this morning.”

“No.” Malthius called out: “Anyone seen Vladimir and Yoffe this morning?” When it soon became apparent that no one had, Malthius turned to one of his assistant trainers. “Go and give them a shake, will you?”

The man left. Dr Harper and Wrinfield, both with fur hats and collars upturned against the gently falling snow, came up and said their good mornings. Wrinfield said to Bruno: “Like to come with me and see what kind of exhibition hall they have for us here? For some odd reason it’s called the Winter Palace, although I can’t see it having any possible resemblance to that place in Leningrad.” He shivered violently. “Even more important, however, is the fact that I am told that the central heating is superb.”

“I’d like to. If you could just wait a moment. Two-thirds of the Blind Eagles seem to have slept in this morning. Ah! Here’s Johann.”

Urgency in his voice, Malthius’s assistant said: “I think you’d better come, Bruno. Quickly!” Bruno said nothing, just jumped quickly aboard the train. Dr Harper and Wrinfield, after an uncomprehending glance at each other, followed closely behind him.

Vladimir and Yoffe had shared a double-bedded compartment, nothing like the princely quarters of their elder brother but comfortable enough for all that. They had become renowned and teased at for their almost compulsive tidiness: unquestionably, they would have been distressed to see its present state.

It was a shambles and looked as if a small but determined tornado had recently passed through it. Bedding lay scattered over the floor, two chairs were broken, glasses were smashed, a small hand-basin had been splintered and even a window — of heavy plate — had been cracked and starred without however, shattering. Most ominously of all, there were bloodstains on the torn sheets and on the cream-panelled walls. Bruno went to move inside but Harper put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Don’t. The police wouldn’t like it.” The police, when they arrived, didn’t like it at all. They were shocked that such a monstrous thing, the kidnapping of two famous American artistes — if they knew that Vladimir and Yoffe had been born less than half a mile from where they stood they were keeping the information to themselves — should happen upon their soil. The most immediate, the most rigorously thorough investigation would be held immediately. To begin with, said the inspector who had arrived to take charge, the area had to be completely cleared and cordoned off by his men, which was a lot less impressive than it sounded, for the cordoning off consisted merely of stationing two of them in the corridor. The occupants of the coach in which the brothers had slept were to remain available for questioning. Wrinfield suggested the dining-room — the temperature outside was below freezing point — and the inspector agreed. As they moved off, plain-clothes detectives and finger-print experts arrived on the scene. Wrinfield elected to join them in the dining car, after directing his immediate deputies to proceed with the unloading of the train and the setting up of the circus and the cages in the arena immediately outside. The air in the dining wagon was almost unbearably warm — the giant locomotive was still hooked up and would remain so throughout the day to provide the necessary heat for the animals, who would remain there until they were moved up to the circus in the evening.

Bruno stood apart with Wrinfield and Harper. Briefly, they discussed what could possibly have happened to the brothers and why; but as there was clearly no answer to either question they soon fell silent and remained that way until no less a person than Colonel Sergius himself made his entrance. His face was set in hard, bitter lines and he gave the impression that his anger was barely under control.

“Dastardly!” he said. “Unbelievable! Humiliating! That this should happen to guests in my country. I promise you, you shall have the full criminal investigating weight of our country behind this. What a welcome and what a day for Crau!” Harper said mildly: “This can hardly be laid at the door of any citizen of Crau. They were missing when we arrived here. We had two intermediate stops on the way up. It must have happened at one of those.”

“True, true, Crau is exonerated. Does that make it any easier for us to bear, do you think? What hurts our country hurts us all.” He paused and then his voice took on a deeper timbre. “It needn’t have happened at either of those two stops.” He looked at Bruno. “I’m sorry to have to suggest this but they might have been thrown off the train while in motion.” Bruno didn’t stare at him, his feelings and emotions were always too tightly under control for that, but he came close to it. “Why should anyone do that? Why should anyone even lay hands on them? I know my brothers better than anyone in the world — they never did anyone any harm.”

Sergius looked at him pityingly. “Don’t you know that it is always the innocent who suffer? If you want to commit a burglary you don’t go to the home of a notorious gangster to do it.” He turned to an aide. “Get the radio telephone in here and get the Minister of Transport on the line for me. No, do it yourself. If he complains about still being in bed tell him I’ll come and talk to him personally. Tell him I want every inch of track between the capital and here searched for two missing people. Tell him it’s urgent. Tell him they may be badly hurt and that the temperature is below freezing. Tell him I want a report within two hours. Then call the Air Force. Tell them the same thing but only to use helicopters. I want their report within the hour.” The aide left.

Wrinfield said: “You think there’s a serious possibility —” “I think nothing. A policeman’s job is to overlook nothing. We’ll know inside the hour. I have no faith in that old fuddy-duddy transport minister, but the Air Force is a different matter altogether. Pilots flying at ten metres, a trained observer for either side.” He looked at Bruno with what he probably intended to be a sympathetic expression. “I commiserate with you, Mr Wildermann; I also commiserate with you, Mr Wrinfield.”

Wrinfield said: “With me? Admittedly, two of my very best artistes are gone. True, I held them in the highest regard. But so did a score of others. So, for that matter, did everyone else in the circus.”

“The others won’t have to pay the ransom. I merely advance a possibility. If such a possibility existed you would pay a great deal of money to get them back, would you not?” “What are you talking about?”

“Alas, even in our glorious country, we have our villains. We even have kidnappers — and their favourite method of seizing a victim is from a train. And they are very desperate men — kidnapping is a capital offence in our country. This is but supposition, but a fairly strong one.” He looked again at Bruno and the gash that substituted for his mouth parted fractionally. Sergius was smiling. “And we commiserate with ourselves. It looks as if we shall not be seeing the Blind Eagles in Crau.” “You’ll be seeing one of them.”

Sergius looked at him. A score of people looked at him.

Maria slowly passed a tongue across her lips. Sergius said: “Am I to understand—”

“I used to be a solo act before my brothers were old enough to join me. A few hours’ practice and I can do it again.” Sergius looked at him for a considering moment. “We all know you are a man totally without nerves. Are you also a man totally without feelings?”

Bruno turned away without reply.

Sergius looked after him thoughtfully, then turned away also.

He said: “All the occupants of that coach here?” “All present, Colonel,” Wrinfield said. “But you voiced the opinion that kidnappers were —” “Might. And you heard what I said — a policeman’s job is to overlook nothing. Anybody here heard any noise, any unusual sound, during the night?” From the loud silence it was apparent that no one had heard anything. “Very well. The brothers slept in the end compartment in the coach. Who slept next to them?” Kan Dahn moved his massive bulk forward. “I did.”

“Surely you heard something?”

“I already haven’t answered your question. That means no.

I’m a very heavy sleeper.”

Sergius looked thoughtful. “You’re big enough to do it single-handed.”

Kan Dahn’s tone was mild. “Are you accusing me?”

“I’m making an observation.”

“Vladimir and Yoffe were good friends of mine, very good friends. Everyone knows this for years. Why should I wait until now and then do something crazy like this? Besides, if I did it there would have been no sign of a struggle. An arm round each and I would have just carried them away.” Sergius was sceptical. “Indeed?”

“Perhaps the colonel would like a demonstration?”

“It should be interesting.”

Kan Dahn indicated two burly uniformed policemen standing together. He said: “They are bigger, much bigger, and stronger than the two brothers?”

“I should have thought so.”

For the giant that he was Kan Dahn moved with the speed of a cat. Before the two policemen had time to assume defensive postures Kan Dahn was upon them, a gorilla arm round each of them, pinning their own arms to their sides. A moment later both men were off their feet, struggling furiously to free themselves from what, judging by the expressions on their faces, was a far from affectionate embrace. Kan Dahn, his voice still mild, said: “Stop struggling or I shall have to squeeze.”

Doubtless under the impression that Kan Dahn could squeeze no more, the men intensified their efforts to escape. Kan Dahn squeezed some more. One man cried out, the other grunted, both expressions of agony. Kan Dahn tightened the inexorable pressure. Both men stopped struggling. Carefully, gently, Kan Dahn set them on their feet and stood back and watched sorrowfully as the two men collapsed to the floor. Sergius regarded the tableau thoughtfully. “Angelo should be here this morning. You, Kan Dahn, are exonerated.” The tone was totally humourless. He turned as Captain Kodes hurried in. “Well?”

“All we have is fingerprints, Colonel. There are many sets of two different fingerprints. Those must belong to the brothers. But we also found two other sets in rather unusual positions — against the walls, on the window, on the inside of the door — places where men might have braced themselves in the course of a violent fight.”

“So.” Sergius thought briefly, absently watching the painful efforts of the two policemen to struggle to their feet. Their sufferings obviously left him completely unmoved. He turned to Wrinfield. “Every man in this circus will have to be fingerprinted this morning. In the Exhibition Hall, where your circus is being held.”

“Is it really necessary —”

Sergius affected weariness. “I have a job to do. And, for the third time, a policeman’s job is to overlook nothing.” Although Crau lay roughly to the north of the capital, the main railway station did not, as one might have expected, lie to the south of the town: because of unfavourable terrain the railway line curved round the city and entered from the north. Consequently, when the black limousine of uncertain vintage set out for the Winter Palace, it drove due south along what, downtown, developed into the main thoroughfare of the city. This north-south street was, confusingly enough, called West Street.

Bruno sat in the back seat and beside him was Dr Harper. Wrinfield, whose gloomy expression was indication enough that his dark forebodings about Crau were in the process of being confirmed, sat silently beside the driver. The weather was hardly calculated to lend a certain buoyance to the spirits: it was just after dawn, a bleak and bitter dawn with snow swirling down from the darkly lowering clouds. Some hundred yards from the siding Harper, who was sitting in the right-hand corner, rubbed the steamy window, peered out and up, then touched Bruno on the arm.

“Never seen anything like it. What on earth is that?”

“I can’t see from here.”

“On top of those buildings. Bushes, shrubs — good heavens, they’ve even got trees growing up there.”

“Roof gardens. Very common in central Europe. Living in a flat doesn’t have to mean that you can’t have your own little plot of land. Lots of them even have lawns.” Bruno rubbed his own window. The building to his left was as grim, bleak and forbidding as any he had ever seen. He counted the storeys: there were nine of them. He saw the windows, each one heavily barred. He observed the curving menace of the steel spikes that surrounded the roof, the watch-towers at the north and south corners: from that angle it was impossible to see what might be on the roofs of those towers but Bruno knew there would be searchlights and klaxons mounted there. He looked at Harper and lifted an eyebrow: the driver had smilingly shrugged when addressed in English, but the chances were high that he was one of Sergius’s men and Sergius would not have picked a non-English speaker for the job. Harper caught his glance and nodded, although the confirmation was really superfluous: the reality of Lubylan all too dismayingly matched Harper’s description of it. The prospect of trying to effect an entry into the fortress was as chilling as the dawn. Some quarter of a mile farther on they passed by a row of stationary black cars lining the right-hand pavement. At the front was a wreath-covered hearse: the hour was not early but the day was: the cortège, Bruno reflected must have quite some way to go. Across the pavement from the hearse was an establishment with draped black velvet curtains in the windows, those being the framing for what the proprietor obviously regarded as being his choicest selection of wreaths, artificial bouquets under glass domes and unengraved marble tombstones, all in black. The adjacent door was also of the same cheerful colour, relieved only by a white cross. Bruno caught a glimpse of the door opening and the foot of a coffin on the shoulders of the two leading bearers. “How very convenient,” Bruno murmured.

Dr Harper appeared not to have heard him.

The Winter Palace was the pride of Crau, and deservedly so. Deliberately baroque in construction, both inside and out, it was in fact only three years old. It was a reinforced steel and concrete structure, cladded both inside and out with white marble veneer from which, presumably, the name of the building arose. The building itself consisted of a very large, elliptical covered forecourt, which gave on to the much greater elliptical stadium beyond it. The interior could not have been in greater contrast to the spires, minarets and gargoyles which so liberally be-festooned the exterior: here all the latest ideas in spectacle presentation had been incorporated, so that everything was modern, almost excruciatingly so, functional and above all adaptable. The permutations of staging and seating, always to the best advantage of performers and audience, were practically limitless. It could be and was used for opera, theatre, cinema and music-hall: it was also used for the presentation of sporting spectacles ranging from ice-hockey to covered court tennis: for the setting for a circus amphitheatre it was nothing short of superb. In the last capacity, the sharply tiered seats, each one upholstered and with its own armrests, could accommodate no fewer than eighteen thousand spectators. It was, Wrinfield declared, the finest auditorium he had ever seen, no mean compliment coming from a man who had seen the best in North America and Europe, especially when it was borne in mind that the population of Crau totalled just under a quarter million.

The mass fingerprinting of the entire circus staff took place during the course of the forenoon in one of the many restaurants and bars — empty at that time of day — that lined the inner side of the forecourt. Resentment and indignation at what was pretty well regarded as cavalier and unnecessary treatment ran high, and it required much of Wrinfield’s considerable tact and powers of persuasion to ensure co-operation. Sergius, supervising by remote control from the comparative comfort of Wrinfield’s prefabricated office and armoured in his seemingly pachydermatous hide, remained totally unmoved by the sullenness of the circus employees, the numerous, far-from-affectionate glances that were cast in his direction. Towards the end of the fingerprinting he received a telephone message, but as he spoke in his own language neither Wrinfield nor Maria, who were present with him, could understand the burden of the conversation.

Sergius drained his glass of vodka — he had the same osmotic affinity for his national drink as parched sand has for water — and said: “Where is Bruno Wildermann?”

“He’s in the stadium. But — but you’re not seriously thinking of fingerprinting him? His own brothers —” “Please. I look so foolish? Come. It concerns you, too.” As the two men approached, Bruno turned away from the supervision of the rigging of a low wire across the centre ring. He looked without expression at Sergius and said: “You have word, Colonel?”

“Yes. Both from the railways and the Air Force. But I’m afraid both reports are negative. No trace of any person lying alongside the railway tracks.”

“So that has to make it kidnapping?”

“There would appear to be no other obvious solution.” Late that afternoon, when Bruno was rehearsing his solo act on the newly slung high trapeze, he was summoned to Wrin-field’s office. He slid to the ground, put on his mentalist’s mandarin cloak and went to the office, which, as seemed inevitable, was only feet from the as yet empty tigers’ cage. Wrinfield was at his desk, Maria at hers. Sergius and Kodes were standing. The atmosphere was halfway between the tense and the funereal.

Sergius took a piece of paper that Wrinfield was studying and handed it to Bruno. It held a printed message, in English, which said: “The Wildermann brothers will be returned alive on the receipt of 50,000 dollars. Used bills. Any denomination. Instructions for transfer on Sunday, delivery Monday. Failure to deliver will result in delivery of two left little fingers Monday. Same fingers delivered if notes received but found to be treated for identification by infra-red, ultra-violet or X-ray. Two fingers on Tuesday. On Thursday, two one-handed trapeze artistes.”

Bruno handed the note back to Sergius.

“Your suspicions were correct.”

“I was right. No nerves. No feelings. Yes, it would appear so.”

“They seem ruthless.”

“They are.”

“And professionals?”

“Yes.”

“Do they keep their promises?”

Sergius sighed. “Are you so naive as to try to trap me into something? You are about to say that I seem to know a lot about them. If they are who I think they are — and this has all the hallmarks of previous ransom demands — then they are an extremely able and efficient gang of kidnappers who have carried out a number of such kidnappings in the past few years.”

“You know the members of this gang?”

“We think we know one or two.”

“Then why are they still at large?”

“Suspicion, my dear Wildermann, is not proof. One cannot ask for the death penalty on suspicion.”

“I did ask an earlier question. About their promises. Will they carry out their mutilation threats? If the ransom is paid, will they return my brothers alive?”

“I can offer no guarantee. But, judging by past experiences, the chances are high. It’s only logical and good business for them, as specialists in kidnapping operations, to do so. Sounds ridiculous in this context, but it builds up good faith and good will. If a kidnapee is returned promptly and unharmed after the payment of the ransom, then the parents and relatives of the next victim will meet the demands at once, knowing the chances are good that the victim will be returned. But if kidnappers were to accept the ransom and then kill the victim, then the relatives of the next victim might conclude that the paying of a ransom was a waste of time.”

“What are the chances of tracing them before Monday?”

“Four days? Very little, I’m afraid.”

“Then we’d better have the money ready, hadn’t we?” Sergius nodded and Bruno turned to Wrinfield. “It would take me a year to pay you back, sir.”

Wrinfield smiled, a not very happy smile. “I’d do it for the boys themselves without any hope of return. And — I’m being purely selfish, of course — there is not and never will be another group like the Blind Eagles.”

Walking casually, aimlessly, they turned right down a street opposite the undertaker’s on West Street. Dr Harper said: “Are we being followed, do you think?”

Bruno said: “Watched, I don’t know. Shadowed, no.” Inside two or three hundred yards the street deteriorated into a winding country lane. Soon afterwards it came to a stout wooden bridge which spanned a slow-flowing and obviously very deep river, some thirty feet in width with ice already forming at both edges. Bruno examined the bridge with some deliberation, then hurried to catch up with an impatient Harper, whose circulation was clearly not geared to cope with the subfreezing temperature.

Immediately beyond the bridge the road was swallowed up by what appeared to be virgin pine forest. Less than a quarter of a mile farther on the two men came to a large semi-circular glade lying to the right of the road.

“The helicopter,” Dr Harper said, “will land here.” Dusk was falling when Bruno, clad in his best street clothes, returned to Wrinfield’s office. Only the owner and Maria were there.

Bruno said: “Okay if I take my fiancée for a coffee, sir?” Wrinfield smiled, nodded, then got back to looking worried and preoccupied again. Bruno helped the girl on with her heavy Astrakhan coat and they walked out into the thinly falling snow.

Maria said crossly: “We could have had coffee in the canteen or in your living-room. It’s very cold and damp out here.” “Nagging and not even married yet. Two hundred yards is all. You will find that Bruno Wildermann always has his reasons?”

“Such as?”

“Remember our friends of the other night, who followed us so faithfully?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, startled. “You mean —” “No. They’ve been given a rest — snow has an adverse effect upon both marcelled hair and bald heads. The lad behind us is about three inches shorter than you, with a cloth cap, torn coat, baggy trousers and scuffed shoes. Looks like a skid row graduate but he’s not.”

They turned into a café that had obviously abandoned hope a generation ago. In a country where the cafés seemed to specialize in smoke and minimal lighting, this one had really touched rock bottom. One’s eyes immediately started to smart: a couple of guttering candles would have provided an equal level of illumination. Bruno guided Maria to a corner seat. She looked around her in distaste.

“Is this what married life is going to be like?”

“You may look back on this as one of your happiest days.” He turned round. The Chaplinesque figure had slumped wearily into a chair close to the door, produced a ragged paper from somewhere, and sat there dispiritedly with his elbow on the table and a grimy hand to his head. Bruno turned back to Maria.

“Besides, you must admit there is a certain wild Bohemian charm to the place.” He put his finger to his lips, leaned forward and pulled up the collar of her Astrakhan coat. Nestling deep in the fold of the collar was a small shining metal device no bigger than a hazelnut. He showed it to her and she stared at him wide-eyed. “Order up for us, will you?” He rose, crossed to where their shadow was sitting, seized him unceremoniously by the right wrist, pulled it away from his head and twisted sharply, an action that gave rise to a sudden yelp of pain from the man but no reaction from the few other customers, who were presumably accustomed to such diversions to the point of boredom. Nestled in the man’s hand was a tiny metal earphone attached to a wire. Bruno followed the wire to a small metal box, hardly larger than the average cigarette lighter, which was tucked away in a breast pocket. Bruno put those items in his own pocket and said: “Tell your boss that the next person who follows me will be in no condition to report back again. Leave!”

The man left. Bruno went back to his table and showed the trophies. He said: “Let’s try it.” He lifted the tiny meshed metal oval to his ear. Maria turned her mouth towards the collar of her coat.

She murmured: “I love you. Truly. Always.” Bruno removed the earphone. “It works just fine, although it doesn’t seem to know what it’s saying.” He put the equipment away. “A persistent lot, aren’t they. But so very, very obvious.”

“Not to me. I think you should be doing my job. But did you have to let him know we were on to him?” “They know anyway. Maybe now they’ll stop shadowing me and let me move around in peace. Anyway, how could I talk to you with that character invading my privacy.” “What is there to talk about?”

“My brothers.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean — why were they taken, Bruno?” “Well, for one thing, it’s given that hypocritical, twisting, sadistic liar —” “Sergius?”

“Are there any other hypocritical, twisted, sadistic liars around? He had the perfect excuse to fingerprint every man in the circus.”

“How will that help him?”

“Apart from giving him a feeling of power and making him feel very clever, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. They’re my hostages to fate. If I step too far out of line things will happen to them.”

“Have you talked to Dr Harper about this? You can’t risk their lives, Bruno. You just can’t. Oh, Bruno, if I lose you and they’re lost and all the others in your family gone —” “Well, really, you are the biggest crybaby I’ve ever met. Who on earth picked you for the CIA?”

“So you don’t believe this story about the kidnapping?”

“Love me?” She nodded. “Trust me?” She nodded again. “Then don’t discuss anything I discuss with you with any other person at all.”

She nodded a third time. Then she said: “Including Dr Harper?”

“Including Dr Harper. He has a brilliant mind, but he’s orthodox and doesn’t have the central European mentality. I’m not brilliant, but I’m unorthodox and I was born right here. He might not care for some improvisations I might care to make.” “What kind of improvisations?”

“There you are. The perfect wife. How come that red stain on your handkerchief? How should I know what improvisations? I don’t even know myself yet.”

“The kidnapping?”

“Rubbish. He had to have a story to explain their disappearance. You heard him say he knew who a couple of the gang were but could prove nothing? If Sergius knew them he’d have them in Lubylan in nothing flat and he’d have the entire truth out of them five minutes before they died in screaming agony. Where do you think you are — back home in New England?” She shivered. “But why the threats? Why say they’d cut off your brothers’ fingers? Why ask for that money?” “Background colour. Besides, liberally rewarded though Sergius may be for his nefarious activities, fifty thousand bucks in the hip pocket gives a man a very comfortable feeling of support.” He looked at his untouched coffee in distaste, put some money on the table and rose. “Like some real coffee?” They returned to the exhibition hall looking for transport to the train, which was almost immediately arranged. As they moved out again into the darkness and the cold they met Roebuck coming in. He was pinched-looking, bluish and shivering. He stopped and said: “Hi. Going back to the train?” Bruno nodded. “A lift for your tired and suffering friend.”

“What are you suffering from? Been swimming in the Baltic?”

“Come winter, all the cab-drivers in this town go into hibernation.”

Bruno sat silently in front on the way to the station. When they alighted at the siding opposite the passenger coaches Bruno sensed as much as felt something being slipped into his jacket pocket.

After the coffee, sweet music and sweet nothings in Bruno’s living-room, Maria left. Bruno fished out a tiny scrap of paper from his pocket. On it Roebuck had written: “4.30. West entrance. No question. My life on it.” Bruno burnt the note and washed the ashes down the hand-basin.