The Death Instinct (32 page)

    'Festive,' said Younger.

    Gruber hopped out of his car and ran toward the crowd. He pulled aside one gawker after another to reach the center of the circle, where the taunted gentleman in evening clothes stood.'
Jiidisch
?' asked Gruber.

    The frightened man didn't reply. The onlookers seemed as suspicious of Gruber as they were hostile to the gentleman.

    '
Jiidisch
?' Gruber repeated, not malignly, but as if it were an important point of information.

    Luc looked at Younger, who explained quietly, 'He asking if the man's Jewish.'

    The bespectacled gentleman in evening clothes evidently understood the German word. He nodded just perceptibly: perhaps he nursed a hope of rescue from the foreigner. The admission was costly. Gruber removed the man's glasses, let them fall to the ground, and crushed them under his shoe. The crowd erupted with approving shouts. The gentleman tried to back away, but Gruber caught him by a lapel and punched him in the face, causing him to fall backward through the broken windowpane. The crowd cheered still louder. Hans, wiping his hands, pushed through the circle of onlookers and returned to his car.

    Younger considered going to the aid of the assaulted man, but Gruber was even then climbing back into his car. Probably Colette had no knowledge of what he had just done. Younger could see her in the backseat, letting Gruber throw his arm around her again. The car restarted and drove away. Younger left the fallen man to his fate.

    Gruber's car rolled slowly up the boulevard. Younger followed, keeping his distance. After several blocks, they entered an old square in the center of which a bonfire burned. People clapped their hands and sang around it. Others, loaded with piles of heavy tomes, emerged from an old and considerable building on the opposite side of the square. When these people reached the bonfire, they fed it with the books.

    'It's a good old-fashioned pogrom,' said Younger.

    Gruber's car crossed the square, circumventing the revelers, and about a half mile farther on, pulled up at the gate of a small, grassy park. Younger stopped a block or so behind him. The interior of the park was dotted with wrought-iron lampposts and scattered trees, whose russet leaves shimmered silver in the moonlight. Gruber and Colette got out. His friends remained within, drinking and carousing.

    'Wait here,' said Younger to Luc.

    Younger dismounted and slipped through the darkness to the perimeter of the park, where he encountered a high, barred, iron fence. Through the bars, he could make out Colette and Gruber strolling arm in arm. Younger moved along the fence, watching them penetrate farther into the center of the park. Gruber was carrying on in rapid German; Colette laughed flirtatiously, although Younger had trouble believing she could understand what he was saying. To Younger's disgust, Gruber twirled Colette every now and then as if they were still dancing in the beer garden.

    They stopped under the soft light of a gas lamp. Gruber slipped her coat off and let it fall to the ground. He turned Colette around so that he faced her back. His put his hands on her stomach and seemed to be nibbling at her ear. Younger recalled an evening when he himself had done something similar: Colette had been rather less acquiescent. Roughly, Gruber turned her round again. They were face-to-face. He stroked her mouth with his thumb. Colette's purse fell to the grass. Gruber drew her in, bent to kiss her - then abruptly staggered back, palms raised in the air.

    Colette was holding a small pistol. There had been no report; she hadn't shot him. But she pointed it straight at his heart with two hands. She was saying something to him in German. From her cadence Younger had the impression she was reciting memorized words, but she spoke too quietly for Younger to understand. Gruber dropped to his knees, pleading, begging. Colette was breathing hard; her shoulders heaved up and down. Then she grew still, her pistol aimed at Gruber's eyes, the range point-blank.

    But she hesitated. A full thirty seconds she hesitated, Gruber supplicating all the while. At last she took a backward step, then another and another, until she turned and fled into the darkness.

    Younger heard a collision and a muffled cry. A moment later, Hans's stocky friends appeared in the cone of light falling from the lamppost. Between them, they held a struggling Colette, her feet not quite touching the ground. She must have run right into them. One of the men had a fat hand covering her mouth; the other pressed Colette's own gun into her ribs.

    Gruber got up. He spat, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and took the pistol from his friend. He slapped Colette across the face, called her a foul name in German, and inserted the gun into her mouth.

    'You there, Gruber!' bellowed Younger, straining at the bars of the fence. 'Let her go!'

    His voice took the men by surprise. They heard Younger, but couldn't see him. Gruber spun around, waving the pistol blindly in Younger's direction.

    'We're coming for you, Gruber,' shouted Younger. 'We're going to rip your heart out of your chest and stuff it in your mouth and make you eat it.'

    Younger was of course lying: there was no 'we.' Or so Younger thought until a little figure dashed up next to him and fought its way through the bars of the fence, which were too tightly spaced for a man, but not for a boy. Younger grabbed Luc by his leather jacket just as he squeezed through. His feet spun like a flywheel, slapping at the ground, but he went nowhere.

    The sound of these footsteps had an immediate effect. Evidently believing that he was being chased, Gruber broke for the park gate, ordering his friends to bring the girl. The two men obeyed at once, dragging Colette between them. Younger, yanking Luc back through the fence, sprinted away as well, carrying the boy over his shoulder. He had farther to go, but he reached the motorcycle almost as quickly as Gruber and his friends reached their car.

    'Stay when I tell you to, damn it,' ordered Younger, jamming Luc back into the sidecar and this time pinning the boy's arms and shoulders into the closed interior, so that he couldn't squirm out. 'Brave lad.'

    Younger fired up the motorcycle's engine and pulled out in chase.

    Gruber had taken the wheel of his car. He drove savagely through the narrow streets. He didn't slow when he sideswiped a parked car or even when he sent pedestrians diving out of his way In fact he sped up once when a man in the middle of the street had nowhere to go; on impact, the man was sent sprawling. In the backseat, Colette was sandwiched between Gruber's two friends, who held her fast.

    Younger pursued, but could not close the distance between them. Suddenly they emerged onto an avenue bordering the river, where Younger, opening the throttle, was able to make up ground. Gruber turned under a Gothic pointed arch onto a medieval bridge, hurtling past twisted baroque statues on either side, again sending pedestrians scurrying away. As they reached the far side of the river, Younger was right behind him.

    But Gruber made a sharp turn off the bridge, and though Younger tried to follow, the motorcycle skidded out beneath him, spinning a hundred and eighty degrees and slamming into a shuttered wooden stall. Younger had the bike going again in a moment, but he had lost ground. Down the street, Gruber turned hard again, tires screeching, heading uphill. Following, Younger entered a neighborhood with zigzagging streets that grew increasingly steep. For a moment Younger lost Gruber's car completely. Then, in the distance, he saw it take a hairpin turn and disappear up a steep alley.

    Younger raced to follow. The street underneath turned into a cobblestone ramp lined by houses on one side and a stone wall on the other. They were ascending to a great height. Low steps intervened every fifty feet or so; Younger bounced in the air every time they climbed over one of them, with Luc in the sidecar airborne next to him. They flew by a roadblock, which was broken and swinging: Gruber's car had obviously smashed through only moments before.

    At the summit, Younger entered a huge dark plaza. He stopped the bike. The massive Gothic cathedral of St. Vitus loomed up one side, and the enormous Prague castle on the other, engulfed in shadows.

    The plaza was empty, littered with rocky debris and construction equipment. In some places the ground had been dug out in vast holes. In other places mounds of earth were piled twelve feet high. All was silent. Strange oblong shapes broke up the moonlight. There was no sign of Gruber.

    Younger didn't like it. Gruber's car could be hiding anywhere, while if Younger drove into the open plaza, he and Luc would be exposed - wide-open targets. A flock of birds screamed from a distant corner of the square, rising and peeling away, but Younger heard no motor, nor saw any vehicle lights. 'Maybe they aren't here,' said Younger quietly, not believing his own words.

    He killed his headlight. With a light hand on the throttle, he guided the motorcycle around the dug-up terrain, skirting the large equipment and the dangerous pits. Still there was no sign of Gruber. They came to two great conical mounds of earth, close together. Younger rolled the motorcycle between them.

    Just ahead was a vast and panoramic vista overlooking all Prague - its river, its bridges, its many districts sparkling with lights. At the edge of the precipice, there had been a retaining wall, but it was demolished. Younger began to fear that he really might have lost his prey.

    The response to this inward conjecture was the roar of an engine behind them and a crash. Gruber's car had rammed them from the rear, forcing them several feet closer to the cliff. Gruber backed up and rammed them again. Younger had no escape route, caught between the two hillocks on either side of them and the precipice ahead. Gruber's car now locked against the rear of the motorcycle and sidecar; its engine screamed, pushing them forward. Younger's brakes had no effect. He put the bike in reverse and gunned the motor. This slowed their forward motion, but didn't halt it. They came to the very edge of the precipice - and lurched to a stop. The remains of the demolished retaining wall, maybe five or six inches in height, had saved them.

    Gruber backed up one last time. Younger tried to yank Luc out of the sidecar by the collar of his leather jacket, but the boy was crammed into it too well. Younger couldn't get him out. He heard the roar of Gruber's car; he heard its gears engage. Younger jumped onto the top of the sidecar. He seized the boy by the armpits, pulling and twisting at him just as the final impact came, which punched the motorcycle over the curb. Younger was thrown into the air, with the boy in his arms, as the motorcycle plunged over the cliffside and banged down the mountainous slope, flipping over, hitting ground and flipping again, finally crashing into a stone wall at the bottom of the hill, where it exploded into flame.

    Younger looked down at the explosion from a spot a few yards down from the top of the cliff. He and Luc had rolled down the treacherous slope together until Younger arrested their descent by the clever stratagem of slamming into a tree trunk. The explosion sent pieces of the motorcycle high in the air, several of which rained down on either side of Younger and Luc. The boy wasn't breathing properly: his eyes were wide, but he wasn't taking in breath at all. Younger had a heart-stopping instant. Then Luc began to gasp brokenly.

    'You're all right,' said Younger. 'Just the wind knocked out of you. Stay here.'

    Younger ran up the slope. When he climbed back into the plaza, he saw Gruber's car at the other end - about to leave the square by the same cobbled lane they had come up. Younger put fingers to mouth and whistled piercingly in the night.

    Gruber's car stopped. Younger whistled again. The car backed up and wheeled around, its headlamps illuminating Younger, perhaps a hundred feet separating them. For an instant there was no movement except the wind ruffling the tails of Younger's long overcoat. The great towers of the castle were shrouded in darkness; moonlight cast a faint glow on the flagstones. Younger opened his arms wide, beckoning Gruber to come at him.

    The car's engine clamored. Younger began walking forward. The car jerked into motion; Younger broke into a trot. Gruber accelerated; Younger ran. In the center of the plaza, when the collision was imminent, Younger leapt high in the air. The car's hood passed under him. He hit the windshield with his shoulder, shielding his face behind an arm.

    The glass gave way, knife-like shards flying into Gruber's face, and the car spun out of control. The front passenger seat broke from its anchorage when Younger smashed into it, plowing into one of the men in the backseat, who cried out in pain, his legs pinned or perhaps broken.

    Next to that pinned and unarmed man, in the middle of the backseat, was Colette. 'Stratham?' she said.

    'Don't move,' he replied.

    Gruber's second stocky friend, on the other side of Colette, had her pistol in his hand and tried to point it at Younger as the car skidded to a halt. Younger seized that hand, placed his own thumb over the gunman's trigger finger, and forced the man's first two shots to fire harmlessly into the air. Then he thrust the man's arm across Colette's chest, so that the gun pressed directly into the ribs of the other man - the pinned man. Younger squeezed off three shots, after which he jackknifed the gunman's arm so that the pistol pointed at the gunman's own temple. The last look on the fellow's face was incomprehension; he didn't seem to understand how a weapon he himself was holding could be aimed at his head. Younger caused the pistol to fire.