Have This One on Me

Eight

For the past hour, Malik had been sitting in the radio truck waiting and seething with fury. Next to him sat a Sergeant Radio Engineer, listening through headphones to a flood of messages coming to the truck. So far nothing of importance had come through. An officer at the farm house had sent a message to say that Smernoff had returned to Prague. Malik guessed Smernoff had gone after a map of the mine. In the meantime, he had to contain his impatience.

As he was lighting cigarette, he heard in the far distance a dull thump of an explosion. Then another. Then faint sounds of machine-gun fire. He stiffened to attention and looked at the Sergeant who was sitting forward, listening.

There was a long pause, then the Sergeant said something in Czech into the microphone strapped to his chest. He listened. Again he said something, then taking off his headphones, he turned to Malik, his face showing his excitement.

‘There has been an attempt to cross the frontier. Comrade Malik,’ he said. ‘A man and a woman have been killed by a mine. An investigation is now taking place.’

Girland? Malik wondered.

‘I want a description of those two!’ he said. ‘Get it!’

The Sergeant replaced his headphones. He flicked switches on his radio set, frowned, flicked more switches, waited, then shook his head.

‘They have gone off the air Comrade,’ he said finally.

‘Keep trying!’

‘A message coming in Comrade Smernoff to Comrade Malik,’ the Sergeant said. ‘He wants to talk to you,’ and he passed the headphones and the microphone to Malik.

‘Boris?’

‘Yes. I have a map of the mine. There are only two exits. One of them is completely blocked with water... the other leads directly to the minefield at the frontier.’

‘They have already tried to cross. Two of them are dead,’ Malik said. ‘Are you sure the second exit is blocked?’

‘Yes... the tunnel is full of water.’

Malik thought for a brief moment.

‘Come here and bring the map,’ he said and handed back the headphones and the microphone to the Sergeant. ‘See if you can find out who these two dead are.’

The Sergeant juggled with switches. After a few moments, he got a reply. Turning to Malik he said, ‘The bodies are in the middle of the minefield. It will take some time to get to them. From what can be seen through the field glasses, the man is heavily built and the woman is blonde.’

Could it be Girland? Malik wondered. But if Girland was still alive, would he attempt to reach the Austrian frontier by the second exit? Smernoff had said the exit was blocked by water. Did that mean Girland couldn’t break out? Was he trapped in the mine?

There was nothing to do but to wait for Smernoff to arrive.

‘Ask them how long it will take to clear the minefield,’ Malik said.

The Sergeant again made contact with one of the watchtowers. After some moments of talking, he said to Malik, ‘About five hours. They have no mine detectors. These are coming. The clearance will be dangerous and slow.’

Malik had some experience of frontier hazards. The possible delay came as no surprise. Five hours! If Girland was alive, he could do a lot in that time. He might even escape!

He got out of the truck and began to pace up and down the narrow lane, smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Smernoff arrived two hours later. He had been driving like a lunatic and twice he had nearly skidded into a ditch. Even Malik was startled to see him so soon. He had thought Smernoff couldn’t possibly have made the journey under two and a half hours.

‘Let me see the map,’ Malik said, striding to Smernoff’s dusty car as Smernoff got out.

Smernoff handed him the map. Using his flashlight and spreading the map on the hot hood of the car. Malik examined it.

‘There are two exits. You see this second one comes out three hundred metres inside the Austrian border. But I am told it is completely blocked.’ Smernoff indicated on the map the two exits.

‘What does that mean... completely blocked?’ Malik demanded.

‘There is water in the tunnel for at least four kilometres.’

‘Girland would think nothing of swimming four kilometres!’

Smernoff grinned.

‘The water is stagnant, oily and full of water rats. They would eat him alive. Besides, there is a concentration of gas in the tunnel.’

‘How do you know?’ Malik snapped.

‘They made a test six months ago. The gas is lethal.’

‘It could have evaporated by now.’

Smernoff shrugged.

‘Experts have told me the tunnel is impassable. You either believe them or you don’t.’

‘If we were dealing with anyone but Girland, I would believe it. Girland is different. If there is the slightest chance of escaping, he will escape.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

Malik moved away from the car while he thought. Then he returned and studied the map.

‘The second exit is here,’ he said, putting his thick finger on the map. ‘That is where I’m going to be when — if — he comes out.’

Smernoff stared at him.

‘Are you mad? You can’t touch him in Austria!’

‘I can wait by the exit... it is only three hundred metres from the frontier. If he comes out, I will kill him. Before the Austrian guards arrive, I’ll be back this side.’

‘It’s madness!’

‘Girland is not to escape!’

Smernoff hesitated, then shrugged.

‘Very well. Then I’ll come with you.’

‘No. You must stay on this side. When you hear shooting, you must organise my return. The electricity must be cut off. A path must be made for me through the minefield. I don’t trust these fools to do the job properly. You must see to it.’

‘You don’t even know Girland will come out by this second exit,’ Smernoff pointed out. ‘You could be risking your life for nothing.’

‘That is a chance I am prepared to take. If he doesn’t break out, then he will be trapped in the mine. As soon as the minefield has been cleared, we send troops into the mine. But I am taking no chances. Now we will go to the frontier post where the bodies are. We’re wasting time here.’

He slid under the wheel of Smernoff’s car and started the engine, Smernoff got in beside him.

The car shot away down the narrow lane, leaving a cloud of dust behind it.

Girland wondered how long it would be before the exit from the mine would be discovered and they would have soldiers after them. He thought their chances of survival were slight, but such was his nature, he never considered defeat. If he was alone, he thought, he could cope with the situation, but to be burdened by this hysterical, sobbing girl, made his task trebly difficult.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She broke away from him.

‘You hurt me! Oh! You hurt me!’

Girland smiled at her.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Of course.’

‘What are we going to do?’

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

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

She regarded him and forced a smile.

‘It’s a date,’ she said.

They started down the tunnel. Girland carried an automatic rifle and a rucksack while Mala held the lighted candle. It took them over an hour to reach the junction of the two tunnels. The further they walked, the worse the air became. Soon both were breathing with difficulty. Girland had long discarded his jacket, now he threw off his shirt. Mala walked in her jeans and bras. She had taken off her sweater.

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

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

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

‘Go on... look! I hope I please you.’

He smiled at her.

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

She nodded.

‘Yes... it’s another date.’

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

‘Could we rest? I’m nearly flat out.’

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

‘Don’t leave me!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moved away from her and stood up.

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

He pushed her hands away.

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

‘Mark!’

‘I’ll be back... stay where you are.’

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

He heard Mala coming down the tunnel and he waited for her. She arrived, dragging the rifle and the rucksack.

‘I couldn’t bear to be alone,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

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

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

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

‘This is the way, honey, and this is the way we’re going.’ He put down the rifle and rucksack. He rummaged in the rucksack and found another candle and lit it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malik lowered his field glasses.

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

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

The fat Major looked startled.

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

Malik looked across the minefield, then nodded.

‘Yes... arrange it.’

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

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

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

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

‘There is one in the truck.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smernoff shook hands.

‘Good luck.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Howard came to the line.

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

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

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

‘Okay... I’ll stand by.’

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

The news was brief and unsatisfactory. Bruckman had been shot. Girland, Worthington and Mala Reid were thought to be heading for the Austrian frontier. It was certain Malik and Smernoff were after them.

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

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

‘We don’t know if Girland still has the document, do we?’ he said. He pulled at his lower lip. ‘I’m not worried about him. I’ll back him any day against Malik and Smernoff.’

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

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

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

Dorey brooded, then nodded.

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

O’Halloran grunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mala shuddered.

‘I couldn’t touch a thing.’

‘Yeah... well, later perhaps.’

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

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

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

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

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

She held him close to her.

‘I won’t panic... promise.’

‘Let’s go.’

They kissed, then together they pushed the raft down the slope into the water. It floated easily. Girland picked up the automatic rifle and slid down the bank, catching hold of the raft and steadying it. Mala joined him.

‘Get aboard,’ Girland said, ‘lay flat and keep to the offside.’

The drum dipped as Mala edged her way flat across the top of the drums. Girland held the raft steady and then drawled on and lay beside her. He had stuck the two candles on the foremost drum. The raft sank lower under his weight until it was just above the surface of the water.

‘Well, at least it floats.’ Girland said, then using the butt of the automatic rifle as a paddle, he moved the raft down the tunnel of water.

The rifle was heavy and Girland wondered how long he would be able to use it as a paddle. Four kilometres of water, Jan had told him. Well, they were on their way and the raft was floating. But very soon, he felt a nagging ache developing in his back and he realised that he was wasting his strength using the rifle as a paddle.

‘This isn’t going to work.’ he said and pulled the rifle out of the water. ‘We’ll use our hands.’

Suppressing a shudder. Mala dipped her hand into the filthy water. They began to paddle. The raft moved sluggishly, but it made progress. For more than half an hour, they continued to paddle with their hands and the raft continued to drift down the tunnel. Mala’s arm was aching now, but she kept on. Looking up, Girland realised the dripping roof of the tunnel was closer and he guessed there was now more water in the tunnel than from where they had come. The air was getting bad. He could hear Mala gasping.

‘Take a rest.’ he said.

As she thankfully lifted her hand out of the water, she saw two glittering sparks close to her in the water. She jerked her hand up so violently, the raft wobbled.

‘Steady,’ Girland said. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s something in the water!’ She peered fearfully into the oily blackness but could see nothing.

Then Girland saw the twin sparks and snatched his hand out of the water as a big water rat made a pounce. It hit the side of the drums and recoiled.

Mala stifled a scream as she now saw the water was alive with rats.

Girland reached out and put his arm across her shoulders.

‘Don’t panic, honey,’ he said. ‘We’ll get through,’ but he was aware that the raft had come to a standstill. He could see in the flickering light of the candles that the water around them was swarming with vicious looking rats. He grabbed up the rifle and began to paddle with desperate strokes. The raft wobbled and then moved forward, its speed increasing under Girland’s frantic efforts.

A big rat, sleek with water, its eyes glowing, leapt out of the water and landed on the barrel of the gun. It snapped at Girland’s hand, but he was just too quick for it. He struck it with his left hand throwing it back into the water, then reversing the rifle, and aiming at the carpet of moving rodents, he pulled the trigger.

The noise of the exploding cartridge in the enclosed space was like a bomb going off. One moment there was a sea of rats around them: the next the rats had vanished. He could feel the great swirl of water as they dived and swam in panic away from the raft.

‘Paddle!’ he cried

They began paddling with their hands but this time with a fast, exhausting stroke that sent the raft surging forward. But this pace couldn’t last for long. Mala felt her strength draining out of her. In spite of forcing herself, her arm slowly lost power and finally she collapsed.

‘I can’t go on! I can’t!’ she sobbed weakly.

‘All right, baby,’ Girland said soothingly. ‘Take a rest. Get your hand out of the water.’

They lay for some time, struggling to breathe. The raft drifted slowly forward. Then Girland felt something touch his shoulders. He stiffened, controlling the impulse to swing over on his back, knowing such a move might capsize the raft. Again something touched his back. Cautiously, he lifted his head and then realised that it was the roof of the tunnel scraping his shoulders as the raft drifted forward.

Was the tunnel ahead completely blocked by water? he wondered. Carefully, he turned on his back. He reached up and began to propel the raft forward by pushing against the slimy surface of the roof.

‘Turn over.’ he said. ‘Be careful! The roof’s right on top of us.’

Mala turned slowly. When she saw how close the roof was, she caught her breath sharply.

‘We won’t get through!’ The edge of panic in her voice made Girland put his hand over hers.

‘Come on, baby,’ he said. ‘You can help with this. We’re getting out... it’s a promise.’

He began to push against the roof and Mala, stifling her panic, imitated him. The raft began to move forward at a much faster speed.

The air was very bad now. Every now and then, a projecting rock in the roof threatened to force the raft under water, but Girland managed to manoeuvre around it. Neither of them had any idea how long they continued to claw their way along the tunnel. Time stood still for them.

Scarcely able to breathe, sweat pouring from her body. Mala kept on She had complete faith in Girland. He had said they would get out, and that meant they would get out.

But after what seemed to her to be an eternity, she felt her arms growing heavy. Her heart was racing. She made a desperate effort as she felt consciousness slipping away from her. Finally, her hands dropped and she collapsed into a huddled heap of despair.

Exerting his remaining strength. Girland kept pushing against the roof, sending the raft on and on into the evil smelling darkness. He too could scarcely breathe, and his efforts were becoming weaker. Then he found he had to reach further up to touch the roof. That could only mean the level of the water was dropping. He kept on. A few minutes later, his arms were fully extended and he was breathing more freely. Suddenly the roof was out of his reach and the raft began to lose momentum. He dragged himself on to his knees and again reached the roof. The raft tilted and he hurriedly adjusted its balance. He kept on until he had to stand to reach the roof, and then the roof was right out of his reach and a sudden breath of fresh air swirled around him. He lowered himself to lay flat on the raft and began paddling with his hands.

Mala stirred as the fresh air revived her.

‘We’re through,’ Girland gasped. ‘We’ve done it! Come on, sweetheart... start paddling?’

O’Halloran climbed from the military jet after it had landed at the Wein-Schwechat airport.

Frank Howard, the C.I.A. agent, ran across the tarmac and greeted him.

‘I have a helicopter waiting,’ he said. He was a tall, thin, youngish man with thinning hair and an aggressive jaw. ‘Von Raitenau is expecting you. I’ll brief you as we go.’

O’Halloran nodded and the two men walked across the tarmac to where a military helicopter was waiting. Once settled in their seats behind the pilot and as the machine became airborne, Howard said, ‘Girland is trapped in a defunct copper mine. There are only two exits.’ He went on to tell O’Halloran about Jan and Blanca Braun. ‘I imagine Girland will try for the second exit. He’ll be damn lucky if he breaks out. From what von Raitenau tells me the tunnel is full of water and man-eating rats, but he might just do it. Malik and Smernoff are handling the operation. This could be dodgy.’

O’Halloran was completely relaxed.

‘I’ve known Girland for some time,’ he said. ‘He has this trick of survival. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he’ll get through.’

Howard grinned and shook his head.

‘No bet! I’ve heard plenty about Girland myself.’

The two men watched the ground slide under them as the helicopter pounded on towards the frontier.

Malik was getting worried. He had taken much longer than an hour, to get within distance of the mine and now there seemed to be considerable activity on this side of the frontier.

Three times he had to hide in the long grass as Austrian soldiers patrolled through the forest. Time was running out. It was now some minutes after four o’clock, and the sky was lightening.

For the moment the forest had become silent. Satisfied that the Austrian patrol had passed him, Malik stood up and began to move more quickly. In the distance he could see the outline of a derrick against the sky, and he knew he was at last approaching the entrance to the mine. But at this point, the forest petered out. He was now confronted by a large open space of rough grass and sand, and beyond, shrubs. He paused by a tree to listen. Somewhere to his right, he could hear men moving through the forest and a distant voice calling. He could see the mineshaft: a narrow tunnel overgrown by grass and shrubs. It would be from here that Girland would come if he came at all. Malik judged the distance and decided the range was too far for a certain shot with an automatic pistol. He would have to get closer: this would mean leaving his cover. Again he listened. The sound of movement and voices had died away He hesitated, then ran fast across the grass and sand and plunged down behind a shrub. He waited for an alarm, but nothing happened. He surveyed the ground. To his left, growing on a small hillock was a thick clump of wild shrubs. From there, if Girland came from the tunnel, he would have a perfect shot at him. He ran to the hillock and flattened down on the sand behind the shrub. He took the heavy automatic pistol from its holster, slid back the safety catch and checked the magazine, then satisfied, he laid it on the sand within instant reach.

How long would he have to wait? he wondered. Maybe Smernoff had been right when he said he was crazy. The chances were Girland wouldn’t succeed in escaping from the mine, then when the minefield had been cleared, the soldiers would move in to trap him. Again Malik heard distant voices. He looked towards the forest, but could see no movement. Then it dawned on him that if the Austrian troops remained in the forest, he could not risk shooting Girland. Even if he killed him, he himself would be trapped. The sound of the shot would bring the soldiers around him like a swarm of wasps and he would have no chance of getting back to the other side of the frontier.

Well, he would wait. He had no doubt, with his immense strength, he could kill Girland with his bare hands, but was he in the best position, should Girland come from the mouth of the tunnel? He surveyed the ground and decided he wasn’t. He must make his way to the high ground above the mouth of the tunnel. From there he could drop on Girland as he came out.

As the sun came up behind the trees. Malik cautiously began to edge towards the new position.

The raft bumped gently against the bank. Ahead of him, Girland could see daylight. Fresh air, pouring down the mineshaft, cooled his exhausted, sweating body.

‘We’ve arrived, baby,’ he said. ‘We’re in Austria.’

Mala lay flat on her back, too tired, too exhausted to care. She was streaked with dust, her jeans were plastered to her body, her hair in long wet rat-tails.

‘Come on, sweetheart.’ Girland said. ‘We’ve arrived.’

He slid off the raft into the filthy water and hauled the raft up on to the sandy bank. His body ached and he felt frighteningly weak, but he didn’t care: they had won through.

Mala made the effort and reaching for his hand, dragged herself off the raft. They lay side by side, breathing the cool air and resting. They remained like that for some minutes, then Girland stirred himself. Getting up, he untied the rucksack from the raft. Their difficulties weren’t over yet, he told himself. He had no idea what their reception would be when they encountered the frontier guards. He had no idea how far away they were from the nearest village or town.

‘Feel like moving?’ he asked, bending over Mala who lay flat on her back, her eyes half open.

She regarded him and smiled.

‘You’re a wonderful man. I’m so grateful to you.’

‘The civil reception can come later.’ Girland said. ‘Come on... up on your feet.’

She gave him her hand and he pulled her to her feet.

‘I must look a sight.’ she said ruefully.

He laughed.

‘I’ve seen worse, but not much worse.’ He picked up the rifle and the rucksack. ‘Let’s go.’

Slowly, side by side, they walked up the long tunnel. Ahead of them, they could see a small circle of blue sky. When they finally reached the mouth of the tunnel, Girland stopped, putting his hand on Mala’s arm.

‘Stay here. I’m taking a look around. We don’t want to get shot by some trigger-happy Austrian.’ He laid down the rifle and the rucksack. ‘When I’m satisfied it’s safe, I’ll be right back.’

‘No! Don’t leave me!’ Mala’s eyes widened with fear. ‘Let me come with you.’

‘Do what I tell you,’ Girland said. ‘I must see first if it is safe.’

The tone of his voice quelled her rising panic.

‘All right... I’ll wait.’

He regarded her affectionately. Although she was dirty, bedraggled and woebegone, there was this thing about her that made her special to him. He gave her a little hug.

‘I’ll be right back.’

He moved cautiously to the opening of the mouth of the tunnel. He stood for some time looking across the rough grass, the shrubs and the sand. There was a brooding silence over the distant forest. The sun made shadows. Lazy white clouds floated in the blue sky. It looked very peaceful out there, but Girland had learned never to take anything on its face value.

He remained still, listening. No sound came to him. Well, it looked safe, he told himself, and was about to call to Mala when he stiffened to attention. A few metres from him he saw a footprint in the sand. He studied it then looked for other prints, but couldn’t see any more. Someone had been here, had moved from one grass tuft to another and had probably slipped and made this print before recovering and getting back to the grass.

Girland moved back. One footprint! This could only mean the man who had come here had been anxious to leave no trace of his approach. He again studied the print: the impression was deep and big: therefore a big heavily built man. Girland became very alert. A big, heavily built man... Malik? Again he studied the ground. He could see nothing suspicious.

Could it be Malik? Had he crossed the frontier, knowing there was this exit from the mine? Girland nodded. Yes, Malik would take such a risk.

He returned to where Mala was waiting.

‘I think we have trouble,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I think Malik is out there waiting for us.’

Mala caught hold of his hand.

‘Take it easy,’ Girland said. ‘We can handle this.’ He picked up the automatic rifle. ‘Have you ever used one of these?’

She stared at him, her eyes dark with fear.

‘No.’

‘It’s simple enough. Here, take hold of it.’ He pushed the gun into her shaking hands. ‘All you have to do is to point it and keep your finger hard on the trigger. It will fire twenty continuous rounds. Understand?’

She nodded dumbly.

‘Here’s what to do. I’m going out there. You come to the mouth of the tunnel. Point the gun at the sky and as soon as I’m in the open, press and hold back the trigger. Watch out. The gun will be hard to hold. The idea is to distract Malik’s attention until I can spot where he is. The noise will also alert the frontier guards.’

While this was going on, Malik had seen Girland’s shadow as he had come nearly into the open. He could hear him talking. He decided to make the first move.

Girland was saying, ‘Got it all? Okay, don’t be scared. All you have to do...’

‘Don’t move,’ Malik barked. He appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, his pistol covering both Girland and Mala.

Mala dropped the rifle and screamed.

Girland grinned wryly.

‘I had an idea you were around.’ he said. ‘You’re sticking your thick neck out crossing the frontier, aren’t you?’

‘Come out here,’ Malik said and began to move back into the open, still covering them. ‘The girl stays where she is. You come Girland. I want you.’

Girland’s mind worked swiftly. Malik could have shot them both without them even knowing he was there. Why hadn’t he? Obviously, being on the wrong side of the frontier, he would know at the sound of a shot he would be trapped. So, the gun in Malik’s hand was bluff. He dare not shoot.

Girland regarded him.

‘Run away,’ he said. ‘If you’re lucky, you might just get back to the other side. Go on Comrade, get lost!’

Malik studied him. He realised that Girland knew the gun was a bluff.

‘I warned you the next time we met it would be the last time.’ he said. ‘Come out here.’

Although Girland was ready for Malik, he wasn’t prepared for the speed this giant could move. With a quick flick, Malik tossed the gun from him and came at Girland with a charging rush. It was like the spring of a wild cat. He had the advantage of being on higher ground. Girland was badly placed. Malik hit him with his body, sending him crashing flat on his back. As Malik made a grab at Girland’s throat, one of his long legs swept Mala off her feet, sending her flying back to land with a splash and a scream into the oily water.

The grip on Girland’s throat was like a vice. Savage, thick fingers dug into his windpipe. Malik was some ten kilos the heavier and Girland was completely flattened. While the breath in his lungs lasted and he knew it could only last a few seconds, he slashed at the side of Malik’s neck with a chopping karate blow. Malik relaxed his grip and geared back, then smashed his clenched fist down towards Girland’s face, but Girland, breath streaming back into his lungs, shifted his head in time and Malik’s’ fist slammed down on the Stone ground. He caught his breath in a gasp of agony as the bones in his hand shattered. Girland chopped him again and Malik fell away from him. Girland tried to struggle up, but his strength had gone. He managed to roll away from Malik and the two men lay on their sides, staring at each other. Slowly, his left arm hanging by his side, Malik got to his feet. He looked down at Girland.

Girland lay still. It was as if he were bloodless. The journey through the tunnel and the struggle had drained all the strength out of him.

Malik moved closer. He lifted his heavy boot with the intention of smashing it down on Girland’s upturned face, then he hesitated. Why make a mess on his boot? He turned to look for a stone and found himself facing Mala, dripping wet, covered in oil, her eyes staring, the automatic rifle held firmly in her hands.

Seeing her wild, desperate expression, Girland cried. ‘Don’t kill him!’

‘I’m going to!’ she sobbed.

‘Mala!’

The snap in Girland’s voice stopped her. She backed away as Girland dragged himself to his feet. He joined her and took the rifle from her.

Malik watched them. He braced himself, expecting Girland would kill him. His shattered hand was beginning to swell, but his stone-like face was cold and expressionless as he stared fixedly at the rifle.

Girland regarded him, then shook his head.

‘Relax, Comrade,’ he said. ‘I’m not shooting you. Like me you do a job, and like me you are a sucker to do it. That’s the way it is.’ He pointed to the raft. ‘That’s your best way home. Watch out for the rats. It’s some journey, but I did it... so can you. Get going.’

Malik regarded him, his green eyes puzzled.

‘I was going to kill you,’ he said. ‘What’s the idea?’

‘You take your job too seriously,’ Girland said. ‘Just because you were going to kill me doesn’t mean I have to kill you, does it?’

Malik paused to consider this, then he again regarded Girland who waved him to the raft.

‘Go on... shove off,’ Girland said.

Still Malik studied him, then he said, ‘We’ll meet again. When we do, I’ll buy you a drink.’

Girland knew this was Malik’s way of thanking him and he grinned.

‘That’s a date. Wait a moment.’ He turned to Mala. ‘Get his pistol.’

She stared at him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Get his pistol, baby.’

She hesitated, then ran up the tunnel, found the automatic pistol Malik had thrown away and returned.

Girland took it from her, then walked to the water’s edge.

‘You won’t get far without a gun. The rats don’t like noise,’ and he offered the gun, butt first to Malik.

Malik made no move. He looked intently at Girland.

‘I’ve always thought you were mad,’ he said finally, ‘now I’m sure of it.’

Girland laughed.

‘That makes two of us. No one but mad men would do the work we do.’

He again offered the gun.

‘That gun’s loaded,’ Malik said.

‘So what? It wouldn’t be much use if it wasn’t loaded, would it?’

‘You are giving me a loaded gun?’ There was a bewildered expression in Malik’s eyes.

‘Oh, come on!’ Girland said impatiently. ‘You won’t get through without it. We’re professionals... and we are both working in this shabby, dirty racket. There comes a time when we can forget the little stinkers at the top who pull the strings... take it.’ He shoved the gun at Malik who took it.

Mala watched breathlessly. She wanted to scream. Now this awful blond giant would kill him. She looked frantically around for the automatic rifle.

Girland turned.

‘Don’t get worked up, baby,’ he said and going to her, he put his arm around her shoulders. ‘He and I just happen to be on the wrong side of the Curtain.’ He looked back and waved to Malik who was motionless, the gun hanging his side, watching them. ‘So long, and good luck.’

Picking up the rucksack, leaving the rifle, his arm still around Mala, he led her to the opening of the tunnel and into the early morning sunshine.

Mavis Paul, Dorey’s secretary, was clipping papers into a file when her office door pushed open and Girland wandered in.

At the sight of him, she blushed and looked quickly around her desk for a suitable weapon. She had met Girland before and she knew he took liberties.

Girland looked very handsome. He was wearing a cream lightweight suit, a blood-red tie and reverse calf ankle high boots.

‘There you are,’ Girland said and smiled at her, putting his big brown hands on the desk and gazing with rapt attention into her eyes. ‘I’ve been counting the hours. Last night I dreamed of you.’

Mavis’s fingers closed around a long, heavy ruler.

‘Mr. Dorey is waiting for you. Please go straight in.’

‘It’s sad that a beautiful girl like you should be so wrapped up with a silly little man like Dorey.’ Girland said sadly. At the same time he was watching the ruler. He had one slap in the face from Mavis and knew she had surprising strength. ‘You and I could have lots of fun together... how are you fixed? How about the day after tomorrow? A cosy dinner, and then I could show you my electric razor.’

‘If you don’t get in there fast. I’ll hit you!’ Mavis said fiercely, pushing back her chair.

Girland drew back.

‘Some other time, perhaps? Well, all right. Sooner or later the inevitable must happen. You’re wasting the best time of your life, baby.’

‘Get in there!’ Mavis said, brandishing the ruler.

‘While I’m talking to the old goat.’ Girland said, moving to Dorey’s office door, ‘take stock. Think about what you are missing. You and I could have an experience together that would put L.S.D. off the map.’

Her face scarlet. Mavis pulled the typewriter to her and began pounding the keys.

Girland wandered into Dorey’s office, closing the door behind him.

Dorey sat at his desk. Looking at him seeing his white, drawn face, the dark shadows under his eyes, Girland felt sorry for him, but he didn’t show it.

‘Hello, there.’ he said, and walked to the visitor’s chair and sat down. ‘How are your ulcers?’

Dorey said, ‘I could have had you arrested Girland. Right now, you could be in an Austrian prison. I have been lenient with you, but understand this... I’m not standing any nonsense from you.’

Girland looked at him, then laughed.

‘Dorey... you really kill me,’ he said. ‘That bluff wouldn’t scare a kid of five. You have your script muddled. You know, as I know, you didn’t dare have me arrested because you knew I would have talked and you would be, by now, out of a job. You like your job. There are times when I have to admit you do it quite well. Every now and then your imagination runs away with you and you drop a clanger. You played me for a sucker and I fell for it. I took your bait and swallowed the hook. You didn’t give a damn what would happen to me.’ He paused and stared soberly at Dorey who looked away, then he opened the gold cigarette box on the desk and helped himself to one of Dorey’s hand-made cigarettes. He lit it with the gold lighter. ‘You wanted to square accounts with me because I made a sucker out of you on our last operation ... fair enough. When I found you had boobed and had planted a genuine top secret document on me I was in two minds what to do. I finally decided I would bring it back to you. It would have been much easier to have torn it up and flushed it down the toilet. I suppose I am a bit of a sucker. You and I have worked together for some time. I have always regarded you as a conscientious dope. For some reason or other, you do a good job. I wouldn’t like to see you lose it because I’m pretty sure your successor could be a bigger dope than you are and that would be a disaster.’ He took from his wallet the dirty, oil-stained envelope with its top secret seal and dropped it on Dorey’s blotter. ‘There it is. I won’t bore you with the details about how I got it out of Prague. It was a rough trip, but I made up my mind you should have it back... you now have it back.’

Dorey opened the envelope and examined the crumpled sheets of paper it contained. His face lightened, the sparkle that had been missing from his eyes for the past three days now returned. He slid the papers into a drawer arid turned the key.

‘Thank you,’ he said. Sitting back, he stared woodenly at Girland. ‘And now, what are your terms?’

Girland stubbed out his cigarette.

‘What’s the matter with you, Dorey? Are you getting that old? Do you imagine I would have given you those papers if I was going to make a bargain with you?’

‘I am not a rich man.’ Dorey said, placing his fingertips together and resting his elbows on the desk. ‘I know what money means to you, Girland. Could we settle this for twenty thousand dollars?’

Girland looked at him and shook his head.

‘So you’re still afraid I’ll talk?’ he said. ‘Listen, you silly old goat, don’t you understand you are the salt in my stew? I can’t imagine life in Paris without you cooking up some trick, make some stupid mistake and coming to me to help you out. Can’t you get that fact into your small, suspicious mind? Paris without you would be like Paris without the Eiffel Tower.’ He got to his feet. ‘Anyway, I’ve had fun, found a girl and even Malik is going to buy me a drink when next we meet.’ He walked to the door, paused and looked at Dorey who was staring at him, his face set, his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses bright. ‘The next time you take me for a sucker, will be the last time... just remember that.’

Dorey said quietly, ‘There will be no next time... and thank you.’

As Girland opened the door. Dorey said, ‘Wait.’

Girland lifted his eyebrows.

‘Now what?’

‘What happened to that thirty thousand dollars?’ Dorey asked, leaning forward. ‘Have you got it?’

Girland burst out laughing.

‘The same old Dorey... see what I mean? Like the Eiffel Tower... you never change,’ and he left the office, closing the door.

Mavis was still typing. She didn’t look up. Girland paused to study her. She was beautifully built and he liked her uptilted nose and the waves in her hair.

‘Have you made up your mind, honey?’ he asked, pausing by her desk. ‘How about this date?’

Without looking at him, without pausing in her typing, she said curtly, ‘That is the way out,’ and she jerked her head towards the outer door.

‘Tell me something confidentially,’ Girland said, leaning close to her. Lowering his voice, he asked, ‘Do you prefer girls to boys?’

As Mavis’s hand slapped across his face, Girland gathered her in his arms. Her warm, yielding lips met his and her arms slid around his broad shoulders.

Dorey, coming out of his office, paused, stared, hesitated, then silently stepped back and closed the door.

A taxi stopped outside Le Grand Vefour, one of France’s eleven greatest restaurants that hid itself under the shadows of the arches of the Palais Royal.

Raymond Oliver, owner of this restaurant, tall, bearded, came to welcome Girland as Girland pushed open the glass door and stood aside for Mala to precede him.

The Maître’s eyes ran over Mala, radiant in a white, simple evening dress and he approved, then he clasped Girland’s hand warmly.

‘It is a great pleasure to see you again, mon ami,’ he said. ‘Everything has been arranged. You have Colette’s table.’

He led the way through the red plush and mirrored room to a table. Mala followed the tall figure, awed and excited. Life in Paris, after her years behind the Iron Curtain, had gone to her head like champagne.

Settled on the red plush, surrounded by expensively dressed Americans, they listened as Oliver described the menu while Henrique, the veteran wine waiter, placed vodka martinis on the table.

‘Monsieur has already ordered,’ Oliver said to Mala. ‘There is toast de crevettes Rothschild, partridge, a little cheese and coupe Empire. There is a Chablis 1959 and a Petrus 1945 for the grouse. Champagne, of course, for the dessert.’

Mala looked at Girland and put her hand on his.

‘It sounds like heaven.’

‘It’ll taste like heaven, too,’ Girland said.

It was some minutes before they were alone. Mala was very conscious she was looking her best. She had spent all the afternoon preparing for the occasion and when she looked at Girland, she could see his admiration.

Girland had booked a room for her at the Normandy Hotel, near the Palais Royal. When she arrived at the hotel room, she found it full of flowers. She had wept a little because this was happiness she had never known. Girland had called for her in a taxi and now they were in this restaurant. He had promised her the best and most expensive dinner in Paris and although she had faith in him, she hadn’t really believed the time would eventually come when she would be sitting by his side in the quiet and safety of red plush and gilded mirrors.

It was after they had finished the crevettes Rothschild that Girland told her about Worthington’s will.

‘You have only to go to Geneva and to Credit Suisse Bank and tell them who you are to take over his money... it’s quite a sum... sixty thousand dollars. It’s all yours.’

‘He really left it to me?’ Mala asked, her eyes opening wide.

‘Yes.’ Girland sipped the Chablis. He watched her, wondering what was going on in her mind.

‘He loved me,’ she said. ‘He was odd... a man I couldn’t love.’ She fingered the porcelain ashtray made from a cast of Colette’s hand. ‘What am I going to do with all that money... alone?’

‘Ask the bank to invest it for you,’ Girland said. ‘You won’t be alone for long.’

She hesitated, then said quietly, ‘You wouldn’t come to Geneva with me... we could be happy together.’

Girland shook his head.

‘No. I’m a loner, baby. I can only thrive on my own.’

The partridge came, golden brown on its bed of foie gras and toast. The Petrus was poured.

Girland had a sudden feeling the evening was dying on him. He sensed Mala was close to tears.

Women! he thought. I wish I hadn’t started something here. I should have known she would fall in love with me. Anyway, she has money, she is young and when she gets to Geneva she will find a new life.

Later, they left the restaurant. It had been a splendid meal, impeccably served, but the mood just wasn’t there. They settled silently in the taxi that took them to the hotel.

As the taxi pulled up. Mala asked, ‘Are you coming up?’ Her warm hand closed over his.

This is the moment to stop, Girland thought. I must be free. I must be fair to her.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow you fly to Geneva and you will become a rich woman.’ He took from his wallet the Air France ticket and dropped it in her lap. ‘Make your own life, baby. You’ll manage. A lovely with your looks and money won’t be lonely for long.’

He leaned across her and opened the taxi door. ‘Forget about me. I’m no good for any girl.’

She took the air ticket and pushed it into her bag, then she got out of the taxi. She peered down at him as he looked up at her.

‘Thank you for the beautiful dinner,’ she said. ‘When next we meet, I’ll buy you a drink.’

Girland laughed.

‘That’s my girl. So long and good luck.’

She stared at him for a long moment, then turning, she walked slowly to the entrance of the hotel. Girland watched her, seeing the way she swung her neat little hips, her slim, upright figure very desirable.

‘Where to?’ the taxi driver asked, turning to look impatiently at Girland.

Girland was still watching Mala as she moved through the revolving doors. He remembered the moment in the cave when they had come together. He remembered that exciting little cry as he had entered her.

He felt a violent surge of desire to have that experience again.

‘Where to?’ he said. ‘Why, nowhere,’ and he dropped a ten-franc note into the driver’s hand and getting out of the taxi he hurried into the hotel lobby.

Mala was getting her key as Girland joined her.

She turned and they looked at each other, then smiling happily, she linked her arm in his and led him towards the elevator.