Terror's Cradle

CHAPTER TEN

Ten minutes later the rest of the passengers came aboard. We must have looked a bit odd, the three of us, sitting in silence, shoulder to shoulder in a single row of seats with the rest of the cabin empty. One or two people did give us the kind of mildly curious second glance reserved for privileged travellers who don't have to wait at gates. Elliot and his companion sat like statues, not talking either to me or to each other. I'd asked Schmid what was happening several times, and he hadn't told me, so I'd no reason to expect anything from these two. I'd save my breath.

Then the hostess came along the gangway, looking at seat

belts, and noticed mine. 'Fasten your seat belt, please, sir.' Ì can't,' I said, raising my wrist. 'I'm handcuffed to the seat.'

Her eyes widened briefly. 'I see, sir. Perhaps one of these gentlemen . . .?'

`Would you be so kind,' I murmured to the silent bloke next to me. 'Regulations do require it.'

He leaned over without a word, fastened the clip and jerked the strap brutally tight across my stomach.

Ì think they're here to guard me,' I said loudly, to the hostess and everybody in general, '

But I'm not certain and they won't tell me.'

She smiled uncertainly and went away. A few heads half-turned to look, but aircraft seats aren't designed to assist the curious. Soon the engines wound up for the taxiing and again for take-off.

I ate breakfast one-handed as the DC9 headed for London and tried to decide who Elliot'

s companion might be and why I'd been handed over. There was a powerful smell of official co-operation on a fairly high level, and that alone finally confirmed that Elliot wasn't a National Georgraphic writer. I'd been suspicious of his credentials anyway. And'

so, I realized, had Schmid. That thought made me blink for a moment, but the answer to the riddle must be simply that Elliot had had to declare himself to Schmid and Schmid had had to co-operate. Government stuff.

I looked hard at the man in the next seat. He was as' English as Elliot was American : a darkish suit of some tweedy mixture, Tattersall check shirt, club tie, brown, wellpolished Tricker shoes and that kind of fair tight-to-theskull curly hair that somehow always says army officer. Sometimes wrongly, but not often. Official circles ! I grinned'

mirthlessly to myself.

When the seat belts sign lit up again as the aircraft began its descent towards Heathrow, there was no need for further action; the belt had been left fastened and my guts felt badly constricted. But having sat quietly through the journey I felt entitled to one more try. I reached up and quickly

pushed the 'Call Hostess' button with my free hand. As she approached Elliot waved her away, but she looked at me inquiringly. I said, 'I am not certain that these men are properly authorized. I wish to surrender to the British police at Heathrow. Will you ask the captain to radio that message ahead, please. My name is John Sellers.'

Ì think, sir,' she began hesitantly, 'that . .

`Please give my message to the captain.'

She nodded, turned and walked away up the aisle. She didn't come back. It had been pretty feeble, anyway. Elliot and the other man continued to ignore me. A car was waiting at the airport and the passengers were kept in their seats while the three of us disembarked, my handcuffs having been unfastened by Elliot's still unidentified companion. Not much more than half an hour after landing, I was being hurried from the car across the pavement into a building in Northumberland Avenue. We entered a lift and went up two floors, along a corridor and into what looked like a company board room. There was a long, polished table, with seats round it, an Indian carpet on the floor, a couple of dark, old, unidentifiable and unlabelled portraits on the walls. Then the one with the wavy hair spoke for the first time. He said simply, 'Your clothes.'

`What about them?'

`Take them off.'

`Not until I know who you are and what all this is about,' I said. Tor all I know, you're just some sadistic poofter —'

`You can be held and stripped forcibly.'

Ì can be shot, too, I expect,' I said. 'But unless you do that, you're going to have to let me go, sooner or later, and when you do —'

À D-Notice will cover these matters,' he said, almost contemptuously. D-Notices are issued by the British Government to gag the press on matters of supposed national security. A while ago they slapped one on a railway magazine to stop it publishing a story about a proposed reduction in rail services.

`Not in America, Germany and a lot of other countries,' I said. His neck muscles tightened. 'I am an official of the Ministry of Defence. This is a matter of national security.'

I pointed to Elliot. 'But he's not. I want names and reasons and documentary proof.'

He stared at me grimly for a moment. I stared back, unimpressed. I've met them before once or twice. There's usually at least one in British embassies abroad, and they're characterized by their satisfaction at being in many respects, above and outside the law. The British like to think they haven't a secret police, and that there's protection for all under the law etc. etc. It's not wholly true. These people operate on terms and budgets not approved by or even submitted to Parliament, except as part of a lump estimate, and where the law is concerned, they're the ones who make sure the trial is in camera. That's if the matter comes to trial.

Elliot said, 'Can't you – ?'

`No, he can't,' I said. 'Not without asking his superiors. If he goes high enough, of course, these things can be fixed, but he's not high enough. You can tell by his suit.'

The man glowered at me for a moment, then went to the telephone and talked into it quietly. A few minutes passed silently, then another man came into the room. I recognized this one, which probably annoyed him. His name was Wemyss (pronounced Weems) and he'd conducted Ministry of Defence briefings for defence correspondents in his time.

I said, 'Good morning.'

He nodded. Black jacket and striped trousers, high level professional civil servant doing his three years in this rather distasteful organization before promotion to yet higher things. Ì understand you're being unco-operative, Mr Sellers,' he said, in a rather pained way.

Ì'm not doing anything,' I said. 'Neither co-operating nor otherwise until I know who I'

m talking to and why.'

Ì should have thought it was obvious,' he said mildly. He turned to the man with' the wavy hair. 'You told him who you are?'

`Yes, sir.'

I said, 'He says he's an official of the Ministry of Defence `So he is. Such officials do not normally disclose thei names.'

Òr authorizations?'

Ì see. Very well.' He snapped his fingers.

I saw the card briefly as it was flashed resentfully under my nose. It was headed Ministry of Defence and said the bearer was a duly authorized . . . I said, 'I have a feeling this militaristic clown and I don't speak the same language.'

`Your choice of words is offensive.'

Às F. E. Smith once said, I am trying to be offensive. He can't help it.'

The mildness was wearing thin. 'You know who I am?' Ì know your name. Alastair Wemyss. '

He sighed. 'You shouldn't know even that. However .. . all right. Mr Elliot here is an official of the National Security Agency of the US Government.'

`That's not how he introduced himself to me.

`No.' Wemyss looked at me for a moment. He was , an abstracted, scholarly man, and his dislike for his current position showed. He'd much prefer, to be back at Oxford, or out in the glowing light of Civil Service day again. 'You'd better leave us.' The DI5 man left reluctantly, badly wanting another go at me. Elliot remained. Wemyss said, 'Would you mind telling me what you know?'

`Precious little. I didn't have much chance. I was, only there thirty-six hours.'

Àll the same. If you please.'

Àlison Hay has disappeared,' I said, 'and nobody knows where to start looking for her, including me. Including Elliot, and including a Swedish police inspector called Schmid. I was trying to look.'

`You shouldn't have been there at all.'

Why not? Because you tied Scown's hands?'

He said patiently, 'In these matters it is sometimes necessary. How did you discover Miss Hay was, er, missing?' `she rang me up.'

Wemyss frowned. 'I understood she failed to get through. Elliot?'

`That's right.' Elliot was totally =emotional watching me through his shiny glasses. 'She didn't get through.'

Ì do wish you'd help voluntarily, Mr Sellers,' Wemyss said in that pained manner. Ìf I don't?'

`Let's avoid that attitude.'

I said, 'Correct me if I'm wrong. I think you've been using Alison Hay. Without her knowledge. As a result she's deep in something she can't handle and probably in very grave danger. Or even dead. Why the hell should I help you.'

`You have a duty to your country.'

`Certainly. But not to Elliot's.'

We have an alliance. You may have noticed. Your plain duty is —'

`No,' I said. 'Not that way. You tell me what this thing's about and if I can I'll help. But not if it involves further risk to Alison.'

`That decision is not yours to make.' He kept glancing past me at something and now he did it again. I turned my head. There was a clock on the wall. Ùnless we're back to the days of rack and thumbscrew it's my decision,' I said.

`Yes. Please empty your pockets.'

`You're charging me?'

Ì hope it won't be necessary, Mr Sellers, but you are impeding, quite deliberately, an important matter of state security. As you say, can't put you on the rack, even if I so wished . . Wemyss gave a thin smile. 'But I am entitled to ask to examine your effects.'

Àll right. Start with that.' I laid a none-too-clean handkerchief on the table. Then the rest : Elliot's gun; my passport, wallet, press card, money, cheque book, keys, notebook, pens, finally the layout photocopies. Elliot recovered

his gun with a long, easy arm. Wemyss picked up the passport and said, 'There is no entry relating to all this currency.'

`No.'

À technical charge, of course, but –'

I said, 'Don't threaten. I'm interested in Alison Hay. Just Alison. I don't give a damn what she was carrying and I think to make her carry it, whether she knew she was doing it or not, was bloody disgraceful. If there's some way of getting her out of whatever she's in, then I'll help. For the rest, you can get knotted!'

Ìt's a natural viewpoint,' Wemyss admitted. 'He looked up at me and then his eyes flickered past me to the clock. `But a difficult perspective for – '

I said, Ìf time's as tight as it seems to be, you're wasting quite a lot of it.'

`Perhaps.' He'd gone through most of my things and was now unfolding the photocopies.

'What are these?'

`Layouts. They're innocent enough.'

`Why did you copy them?'

`Because they were there. Because I thought they might tell me something.'

'Arid they didn't?'

`No.'

I folded my arms and decided to say no more. I knew that at least one of those layouts had been done before Alsa left Russia. She'd also brought something out and got rid of it.

' These men wanted it, whatever it was. But having got rid of the thing, Alsa was part of the past, expendable, perhaps already expended. Except that Wemyss kept watching the clock.

Wemyss glanced at me, then said to Elliot, 'Did you bring Miss Hay's belongings?'

`No.'

:Better get them sent over.'

Now Elliot glanced at the clock. 'Okay, but –' `Please be quick.'

Òkay.' Elliot moved to the telephone.

Wemyss said, (It means, Mr Sellers, that we must confide in you. At least to some extent.'

`Good.'

He shook his head. 'Hardly that. This is extremely important information.'

Ì shan't pass it on'

`No?' He shrugged a little. 'Well, perhaps you won't. Let me ask you this : why are you so sure Miss Hay was, as you put it, carrying something?'

I stared at him. 'You mean she wasn't?'

Ìt was open to question. Now I'm no longer sure there's any doubt.'

I said, 'You know it all, surely. The phone call saying she was in danger. The two alleged Frenchmen in the next hotel room who got murdered. Then she vanishes. And the business of being searched before she left Russia.'

Wemyss said, 'People are sometimes searched before they leave Russia.'

'To me it adds up.'

Ànd to me.' He gave his thin smile. 'I wish it didn't.'

Elliot replaced the phone and crossed the room towards us. `They'll try for the afternoon plane. Swedish police won't like it, though. They weren't too happy in the first place.'

Wemyss' manner changed abruptly. His, voice was suddenly crisp. 'Sit down, Sellers. And listen.'

I obeyed, watching him. The scholarly air had departed. He said, 'There is a writer in the Soviet Union whose work is disapproved by the authorities.'

I said, 'There are quite a number.'

`Please do not interrupt. This man's name is Daniel Kominsky. You know about this?'

I nodded. Kominsky was Jewish and had a daughter. He wanted to emigrate to Israel but wouldn't leave his daughter behind in Russia and his daughter was being kept there because her mother wanted her to stay. The Kominskys were divorced. A nasty tangle. The official Russian line was that Kominsky was free to go, but meanwhile he had no job in Russia and no income and survived on the charity of friends. It was rumoured that his Wife was an officer of the KGB. Nobody knew the daughter's view because she was in a training camp on the Black Sea. The Russians said she didn't want to leave her mother behind. Kominsky said she did. The story had been in and out of the newspapers for months.

Wemyss said, 'A group of Russian Jews, admirers of Kominsky, apparently decided to exert direct pressure upon the Soviet Government, other methods having failed. In spite of what you may have heard to the contrary, there are still many highly-placed Jews in the Soviet Union. What they did was to acquire a piece of important military information. They then made arrangements to take it out of the country. The plan was to inform the Soviet Government that unless Kominsky and his daughter were allowed to leave the Soviet Union, this information would be passed to the Americans. Clear so far?'

`Perfectly clear.'

`Very well. It was not intended that the information should actually reach the Americans. The group of Russian Jews were neither espionage agents nor traitors to their country.'

I said, 'In that case, how do you know? '

`There are sources.'

Òne of them talked. There was a traitor among them.'

Wemyss said, 'I repeat, it was learned in the West that this . .. ah . .. plan existed. It seems the first courier, carrying the information in some physical form, was on a Russian aircraft which crashed on landing at Vienna three weeks ago. Another means had to be found.'

Alsa was the other means?'

Ìt seems likely.'

`What form did it take, this information?'

We believe it was photographic. We're not certain.' `What's wrong,' I asked, 'with word of mouth?'

Wemyss looked at me for a moment. Then he said, 'I

don't know.'

`What was the information?'

'We don't know that either.'

I said, 'This is bloody stupid!'

`So we thought at the time. Arrangements had been made by . . . ah, by Mr Elliot's organization, to intercept the courier on the plane at Vienna. The crash, of course, made that impossible.'

`The crash wasn't accidental?'

He hesitated. 'The courier was on the aircraft. If the aircraft was deliberately destroyed, the need must have been extraordinarily great.'

Elliot chimed in. 'A hundred and sixty-three people died.'

I whistled. 'Surely not. Not even the Russians — '

Wemyss said, 'The violence of the Russian reaction was enormous. There were a great many arrests inside Russia. We know that. But the Central Intelligence Agency learned, indirectly, from a source within the Soviet Union, that another attempt was being made to smuggle the information out via State Publishing House Number One. It seems likely that Miss Hay was the chosen method.'

`Why?'

Elliot said, 'She was there by government arrangement. She was carrying large quantities of photographic material.' Ànd you still don't know what it was?'

Wemyss lifted his hands and let them fall. 'No, Mr Sellers, we do not. But there can be no question now of its importance.'

I turned to Elliot. 'These two men in Gothenburg, Maisels and Cohen? They were Jewish. They were part of it, right?'

He nodded. 'We don't know how they originally planned to get this thing, but it's obvious they finally had to grab her.' ,

I said savagely, 'And they were murdered! Who by? Your people? The two Americans in the other room at the hotel?'

Elliot said tightly. 'No, sir. My ,people missed the whole damn' thing. But whoever killed Maisels and Cohen snatched your Miss Hay. That's for damn' sure.'

I said, 'And who was-that?'

But I knew the answer before he told me. Alsa was now a prisoner of the Russians. I shuddered. She'd tell them; she'd have no alternative. They'd find out where she'd sent the thing and then finish with her.

Wemyss said, 'You were right about the pressure of time.'