Snare of the Hunter (39 page)

Jo said, her voice strangled, “It always is. But will the right treatment be given to Hrádek? Oh, why didn’t you shoot him through the head last night when you had the chance?” She tried to pull her hand away.

Both men stared at her. David’s answer was to keep his grasp on her hand. Weber said, “That is for someone else to do. And perhaps sooner than you think. Captain Golay—” Weber hesitated.

“You’ve heard from him?” David asked sharply.

“I had a telephone call only an hour ago. He simply wanted to reassure us that everything is developing very nicely. A neat double meaning, don’t you think?”

David nodded. Any comment he could make might seem a bit rough.
Developing very nicely
. Diplomatic phrasing, but that was not enough. When the hell were the photographs of Hrádek being sent to Prague? When was that stiff protest to be made by the Swiss? That was what counted: the when of it all.

Weber noticed David’s noncommittal silence, but he ignored it and went on talking about Captain Golay in his quiet and deliberate way. “There was also reference made to some documents that had just come into Kusak’s possession.”

“The note-books? What about them?”

Weber frowned, both puzzled and interested. “Note-books?”

“What about them?” David repeated. “Jaromir Kusak has agreed to have a copy made of certain pages, so that they can be relayed to Prague.”

David recovered from the shock: incredulity gave way to stunned relief; and then anxiety returned. “When?”

“Immediately.” So that is what has been troubling my friend here, thought Weber. He did not think we were moving quickly enough. “It will be handled most delicately, of course: a part of our dossier on Hrádek, perhaps, which we will lodge along with a most serious complaint.”

“Immediately?” David insisted.

“The complaint will follow—it takes a little time to word. But the initial evidence, and the Kusak material, are already on their way.” Weber smiled. “Speed, after all, is essential. You agree?”

David nodded again, but this time there was an answering smile in his eyes.

“I’m not really following this,” Jo said.

David didn’t even hear her. “But who persuaded Kusak? Was it McCulloch?” Someone must have twisted the old boy’s arm, got him to take action and at once.”

“It was the daughter, I believe.”

“Irina?” David’s sudden jubilation was transparent.

“At least,” said Weber, “it was she who insisted that Captain Golay let you know about this new development.” He studied the American’s face. “Does it solve some problem?” he hinted gently, angling for a little clarification.

“Yes,” was all that David said.

“It makes sense to you?”

“It makes good sense.” Wonderful, wonderful sense. He felt like catching Jo round her waist and waltzing her across the terrace.

“Not to me,” Jo said. Her words were clipped. “Note-books, developments—”

“Later, Jo, later.” First let me get my thoughts straight. I never even dared hope for this news about Kusak.

“What is there to be so excited about?” Jo was angry. “Hrádek is still alive, and Walter Krieger is lying helpless—”

“Now, now,” Weber broke in placatingly, “not helpless. He is being most helpful. The fact that he is lying in a hospital bed proved that he was criminally attacked at Samaden airport. That assault verifies the actual time of Hrádek’s presence at the airport yesterday evening. Hrádek was there, at that place, at that minute, and neither he nor any of his men can manage to deny it. Krieger has identified all their photographs.”

David said, “Krieger—yes, trust Krieger to supply the finishing touch.” He checked his laughter: Jo was still too worried. “Yes, Krieger really clinched it,” he told her.

“And what good is that? Hrádek is now outside Swiss jurisdiction. He is back in Czechoslovakia, plotting and planning and thinking of vengeance. He will, too.”

“Hrádek is finished, Jo.”

She said nothing, just kept watching his eyes.

“We managed it, Jo,” His voice had the true ring of confidence. “We can stop thinking about Hrádek.”

She was almost persuaded. “Hrádek has friends. Don’t forget them, Dave. Because they won’t forget us.”

“Cancel them too.” A few pages from Jaromir Kusak’s notebooks had made sure of that. “There is no more threat to any of us.”

“You really believe—” Jo hesitated. She was torn between doubt and hope.

“Yes.”

“And so does your friend Mr. Krieger,” Weber said. “I think this small item proves it.” He began fishing in his pockets for McCulloch’s report.

Jo said slowly, “You seem so sure, Dave. Have we really managed it?”

“Yes. You and I and Krieger and Irina. Above all, Irina.”

Weber had found the scrap of paper he was looking for, but his attention was caught by David’s words. He didn’t interrupt. He waited, McCulloch’s report in his hand: it could keep.

David was saying, “Irina took the biggest risk, brought out two note-books from Czechoslovakia, and doubled the danger to herself right then. They contained highly sensitive information, disastrous to Hrádek. He must have known or feared that such material could exist. When he learned that Irina had managed to bring it out of the country, he went into action. She was no longer a pawn in his game of tracking down her father. She became a prime target, someone who had to be destroyed along with the information she carried. She knew this could happen when she took the note-books with her. If she had wanted to play safe, she would have left them behind.”

Weber said, “And when did Hrádek learn that she had them?”

“Yesterday. Around noon.”

“But how?”

“From a telephone call made in Brixen by Mark Bohn.”

“Oh?”

David sidetracked the question by one of his own. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand, Weber? Another surprise?”

“No, no. Nothing important. Just a few words from Mr. Krieger—a message he sent to McCulloch’s office in Geneva. I think you will find it reassuring. Miss Corelli. Now, let me see—” His eyes searched through his tight script. “Yes, here it is.
We have met the enemy
,
and they are ours
,” Weber began shredding the piece of paper. “That’s all,” he said. “He has quite a turn of phrase, your Mr. Krieger.”

“It’s a quotation, isn’t it?” asked Jo. She had recovered her smile. She might still be a tired girl, but she could smile: “I know. Nelson said it.”

David shook his head.

“Then it’s John Paul Jones.”

“Perry.”

“I knew it was someone nautical. It has that definite ring. Are you sure it wasn’t Nelson? He’s so quotable.”

“Kiss me, Hardy,” David said, and set Jo laughing. Her hand was no longer clenching tight, though it was still too cold. He released it gently as the waitress arrived. “You’ll need both of them for the ham and eggs. Eat them, will you?”

Jo nodded. “Damn the calories! Full speed ahead!”

David caught Weber’s astounded eye. “Yes,” he agreed with him. “We are possibly a little crazy at this moment.”

“Relief, of course. I understand.”

Either this, thought David, or tears.

Extraordinary people. Weber stopped watching them, and concentrated on his food. They were talking now about leaving Tarasp once they had eaten, and going to see Krieger. After what they had been through last night, really extraordinary. As for their journey here from Vienna—he had still to find out about that. It must have been much more than a long drive west. Jo, this morning, had been charming but vague. “Dave will tell you about it,” she had said. Would he? Weber pushed his plate aside. “I shall be leaving here too. I must be back in Geneva by this afternoon. Would you give me a lift as far as Samaden?”

“You do the driving, and it’s a bargain,” David said.

“And after you see Mr. Krieger, where are you going?”

Jo said, “I’ll fly to Zurich and get a plane for Rome. A few days there, and I’ll be able to face a fashion show again. What about you, Dave?”

“I’ll call in at Geneva.”

Ah yes, she thought, Geneva and Hugh McCulloch and talk about Irina. She poured herself one last cup of coffee and fell silent. Weber lit a cigar. David was looking at the valley below them. His thoughts were farther away than the mountains.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Helen MacInnes, whom the
Sunday Express
called ‘the Queen of spy writers’, was the author of many distinguished suspense novels.

Born in Scotland, she studied at the University of Glasgow and University College, London, then went to Oxford after her marriage to Gilbert Highet, the eminent critic and educator. In 1937 the Highets went to New York, and except during her husband’s war service, Helen MacInnes lived there ever since.

Since her first novel
Above Suspicion
was published in 1941 to immediate success, all her novels have been bestsellers;
The Salzburg Connection
was also a major film.

Helen MacInnes died in September 1985.

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

A series of slick espionage thrillers from the
New York Times
bestselling “Queen of Spy Writers.”

Pray for a Brave Heart

Above Suspicion

Assignment in Brittany

North From Rome

Decision at Delphi

The Venetian Affair

The Salzburg Connection

Message From Málaga

While We Still Live

The Double Image

Neither Five Nor Three

Horizon

Agent in Place

PRAISE FOR HELEN MacINNES

“The queen of spy writers.”
Sunday Express

“Definitely in the top class.”
Daily Mail

“The hallmarks of a MacInnes novel of suspense are as individual and as clearly stamped as a Hitchcock thriller.”

The New York Times

“A sophisticated thriller. The story builds up to an exciting climax.”
Times Literary Supplement

“Absorbing, vivid, often genuinely terrifying.”
Observer

“She can hang her cloak and dagger right up there with Eric Ambler and Graham Greene.”
Newsweek

“An atmosphere that is ready to explode with tension... a wonderfully readable book.”
The New Yorker

TITAN BOOKS.COM

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

BY DONALD HAMILTON

The long awaited return of the United States’ toughest special agent.

Death of a Citizen
(February 2013)

The Wrecking Crew
(February 2013)

The Removers
(April 2013)

The Silencers
(June 2013)

Murderers’ Row
(August 2013)

The Ambushers
(October 2013)

The Shadowers
(December 2013)

The Ravagers
(February 2014)

PRAISE FOR DONALD HAMILTON

“Donald Hamilton has brought to the spy novel the authentic hard realism of Dashiell Hammett; and his stories are as compelling, and probably as close to the sordid truth of espionage, as any now being told.” Anthony Boucher,
The New York Times

“This series by Donald Hamilton is the top-ranking American secret agent fare, with its intelligent protagonist and an author who consistently writes in high style. Good writing, slick plotting and stimulating characters, all tartly flavored with wit.”
Book Week

“Matt Helm is as credible a man of violence as has ever figured in the fiction of intrigue.”

The New York Sunday Times

“Fast, tightly written, brutal, and very good...”
Milwaukee Journal

TITAN BOOKS.COM