The Saint in Trouble (20 page)

Yakovitz seemed disinclined for idle conversation, and the Saint used the silence to assess the situation. Whichever way he looked at it, he realised that the game was still far from over. They had succeeded in grabbing Hakim, and therefore whatever happened next, they held the trump card. They had the added advantage that Masrouf and company could have no idea where they were taking Hakim. Leila was the only problem; and the more Simon considered her disappearance, the more uncertain he became that his side would be able to completely dictate the next move.

From the Bell Post House, he followed Yakovitz’s directions until they swung onto a rutted, unpaved road that wound through a thin belt of trees to peter out before a pair of tall iron gates that were the only break in a high redbrick wall. Beyond the gates, a gravel drive swept in a wide arc for some three hundred yards until it reached an elegant white stone house of the sort that real estate agents are moved to call a luxurious country residence.

As soon as the Hirondel stopped at the gates, two men emerged from the shelter of the wall. Both carried shotguns, and while one levelled his weapon at the occupants of the car, the other opened one gate and walked over to the driver’s side of the car. He scrutinized the pass that Yakovitz extended and finally nodded to his companion, who lowered his gun and opened the other gate. The man who had come out spoke briefly into a two-way radio that he took from his breast pocket and waved them through.

Hakim was beginning to come around once again by the time they pulled up at the portico but he offered no resistance when Yakovitz dragged him roughly from the car and half carried, half dragged him up the wide steps.

Inside, the air was stale and heavy with the tang of mothballs and sickly smell of fresh paint. The furniture was Mdden under wMte dust sheets, and there were ladders propped against the walls. Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the uncarpeted hall and went through a rear door to the kitchen. The room contained only a table and a few plain wooden chairs, a gas stove on which simmered a battered coffeepot, and an open larder whose shelves were stacked high with tinned food. A telephone and a small radio transmitter slightly larger than the one worn by the guard at the gate stood on the table.

Two men rose to greet them as they entered. Yakovitz dumped his prisoner in a chair and while one of the men tied the Arab’s hands and feet he told them the basic details of what had happened.

The Saint poured himself a cup of coffee and sat in a chair opposite Hakim. The Arab was wide awake now, and Simon could see the fear behind the defiant set of his features. It was a unique experience, for him, to have the privilege of observing a thoroughly terrified terrorist, and after the wanton assault on his home he wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

“So what do we do now?” he enquired genially. “Is it going to be castration with red-hot spoons or a simple force-feeding with boiling oil? Or do you boys have something more scientific to offer?”

He saw Hakim’s larnyx take a gulp, and grinned encouragingly.

“Don’t worry, Abdul, old camel. They tell me you don’t give a damn after the third hour.”

Neither of the two Israelis on duty had previously paid much attention to the Saint, assuming that he was merely Yakovitz’s aide and therefore a minor member of their organisation. They looked enquiringly at Yakovitz, who grudgingly related the Saint’s role before and during Hakim’s capture. The Saint acknowledged the account with a bow, and the other two agents regarded him with new respect but no extravagant display of friendship.

“As I said, what happens now?” Simon repeated.

Yakovitz smiled faintly, as if he had already been framing the answer to the Saint’s question. The way in which the other two men reacted to him showed that he was their superior, and he was obviously enjoying being in charge for the time being, instead of acting as just an assistant to Leila and the Saint.

“That does not concern you, Mr. Templar,” he said. “Your job is now completed. You have done us great service, and I am sure our government will show its appreciation. I now arrange for you to be taken back to London.”

The Saint shook his head.

“You forget that this is now my game too,” he returned calmly. “After last night I’ve got a personal score to settle with Masrouf and his cronies, and if Hakim the Horrible can tell us anything about where I may be able to find them, then I want to hear it. Also, the way I see it, my job isn’t completed until I know that Captain Zabin is safe. She should have telephoned here before we arrived, and obviously she hasn’t. So I think I’ll just hang around.”

Yakovitz’s face reddened at the challenge to his authority.

“You are not permitted to do anything except what you are told. Any action you take against Masrouf is your business, but I am afraid you cannot stay here.”

The Saint stretched out his legs and settled more comfortably into his chair.

“And which of you is going to be the first to try and move me?” he queried interestedly.

He appreciated that he was actually in no position to argue with whatever Yakovitz decided. One against three were odds he had tackled before, but even with his supreme confidence in his own abilities he recognised the fact that they were armed and probably trained in unarmed combat as well. His one real hope of staying was that Yakovitz was unsure of the limits of his authority.

Yakovitz hesitated, conscious that his men were looking to him for a lead, but whatever that directive would have been was never known. The radio on the table buzzed and Yakovitz flicked a switch.

“Yes?”

The voice of the guard at the gate made itself heard above the crackle of static.

“Colonel Garvi has arrived, sir.”

Yakovitz almost visibly deflated as he realised that his role was about to revert once again to that of a subordinate.

Simon smiled.

“Well, perhaps we should wait and let the good colonel decide what’s to be done with me.”

There was about a minute of awkward silence before Garvi strode into the room. He looked first at Hakim and then at Yakovitz and the Saint.

“You have both done very well,” he said.

“We try to please,” murmured the Saint ironically.

Yakovitz began to give his report on the morning’s events, but the colonel cut him short.

“I know, I know. Masrouf telephoned the embassy. They have Captain Zabin. They want to do a deal, an exchange of prisoners.”

It was no more than the Saint had dreaded to hear, but the confirmation of his fears brought an empty feeling to the pit of his stomach.

What did you say?” he asked.

“I stalled, there was nothing else I could do. I arranged for them to contact me here, after I had verified that you had Hakim.” His gaze travelled from his watch to the telephone. “They should be coming through soon. But Simon, there can only be one answer. An exchange is out of the question. Hakim is too important.”

The Saint stood up, and his eyes slashed like a sword through the middle of the other’s sentence.

“And Leila? What about her? Or is she expendable for the good of the cause?”

Garvi turned away and stared down at Hakim. When he faced Simon again he was markedly paler and looked years older than he had twenty-four hours before. In any other circumstances the Saint might have felt sorry for him for the decision he had had to make.

“If it were just a matter of a life for a life, I might have to agree. But it is not that simple. The information that this man can give us may save hundreds of lives. Innocent lives. Captain Zabin understood this, she knew the risks when she volunteered for the job. I know her, Simon. I know her far better than you do, and I know she would not thank us for saving her if that was the price we had to pay.”

“So you’re not even going to give her a chance, Colonel.”

Garvi replied softly, almost pleading for understanding: “Simon, I have no choice.”

The shrill ringing of the phone split the tense atmosphere in the room. Before anyone else could move, the Saint snatched up the transceiver. He held up his other hand for silence as he waited for the caller to speak first.

“Garvi?”

“Yes.”

The Saint knew that his mimicking of the colonel’s tone would not have fooled anyone for long, but he was gambling that the call to the embassy had been the first time the terrorists had spoken to their chief enemy.

The caller appeared satisfied. He spoke quickly and with such a thick accent that it was all the Saint could do to make out his words:

“This is the last call you will receive. Either you agree to an exchange, or Captain Zabin dies.”

“How do I know she’s still alive?”

There was a long pause, and the Saint began to fear that the caller had hung up. Then suddenly Leila’s voice came over the line, the words tumbling out as she tried to get her message across before she was silenced.

“Simon, forget me. Keep Hakim. Make him talk.”

The sound of a scuffle followed before the Arab spoke again.

“Satisfied? If you want her back, come to Waterloo Bridge tonight at eight. A car will be parked in the middle of the bridge facing north. Stop and flash your lights three times, then follow it. Do exactly as you are told. Understand?”

“Yes.”

The phone went dead, and Simon dropped the handset back into its cradle. He looked at Garvi.

“I’ve agreed to a deal,” he stated flatly.

“You cannot complete it. You have no authority.”

Yakovitz was standing on the Saint’s left but looking towards his boss; his coat was unbuttoned, and Simon could clearly see the automatic in its shoulder holster. The Saint moved so swiftly that no one was aware of his intention until it was too late. As his fingers closed around the butt and pulled the gun from its spring clip, he stepped back and placed himself where he could cover all four men at the same time.

“How’s this for authority?” he suggested mildly. “And if any of you have an idea that I don’t know how to use it, you can ask the colonel for a reference.”

“Simon, don’t be a fool.” Garvi was rigidly unemotional. “You’ll never get out of the grounds. And even if you did manage it somehow, you couldn’t take Hakim with you.”

“Colonel,” said the Saint, just as reasonably, “the name of this game seems to be catch the hostage. If your men know you’ll be the first to cash in, they won’t be so quick to start shooting. Now, there is one thing I could do. I could blow the lid off this whole illegal operation. I could create a stink that’d smell from Whitehall to the Wailing Wall. But that isn’t my idea at all.” He paused for a moment, deliberately, and they waited. They had very little option; but now he held their attention with more than the gun in his hand.

“We are going to do exactly what they told me. We are going to take Hakim along and swap him for Leila. They’ve given me no choice and I’m giving you none. But the rendezvous isn’t until eight. That gives us four hours to work out a plan. And four hours for me to find Leila and get her away. It shouldn’t be completely beyond us.”

Garvi seemed suddenly more relaxed, as if he almost welcomed the Saint’s pre-emptive intervention.

“Very well, Simon,” he said quietly. “Put the gun away. We’ll play it your way-until eight.”

“Your word, Colonel?”

“You have it.”

Simon lowered the automatic, but tucked it into his belt instead of returning it to Yakovitz. Garvi accepted the Saint’s reservation without comment.

“We also have four hours to find out what we can from our prisoner,” he remarked.

“Help yourselves,” said the Saint hospitably. “Just don’t do anything that leaves marks, in case he has to be exhibited.”

Hakim had been following the action and dialogue in swivel-eyed silence, but now he protested for the first time.

“You cannot make me talk. They would kill me.”

Yakovitz cuffed him across the ear with the back of his hand.

“If they don’t, I might,” he snarled. “Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it.”

He was about to say more when the phone rang again, and Garvi picked it up. He listened for a moment and then held it out to the Saint.

“For you. Someone who seems to expect you to be here.”

Simon took over the instrument.

Harry?” The bite in his voice was belied by the sparkle in his eyes. “What the hell happened to you? Where are you?”

Harry’s reply came in an injured whine.

“That was unfair, Mr. Templar. You didn’t say nothin’ about a shooting match. I was goin’ to clear off when I see them grab the girl, so I followed. I couldn’t call you before in case I lost them.”

“Where are you?”

“It’s goin’ to cost, Mr. Templar. This ain’t what you ordered originally.”

“Tell me where the girl is, and I’ll give you enough to keep the bookies singing until Christmas.”

“Straight?”

“Straight. Now make it snappy.”

“They’ve taken her to an old factory, back of the Union Canal in Bethnal Green.”

“How many are they?”

“Five, I think. There was the three that brought her an’ another two met ‘em when they arrived. Might be more inside for all I know.”

“Right. Stay with them, Harry. I’ll be there as soon as I can -in a couple of hours with luck. Tell me exactly where this place is.” t3u.uuu.iri, 1D1 When he was sure that he could find the hideout, Simon hung up and turned to the others.

“Gentlemen,” he announced happily, “we are in business.”

10

The Saint pressed his foot down and the big car surged forward on the instant that an obstructive traffic light turned green. For the first time since he had been summoned to the embassy and become involved in a duel that was not of his choosing, he felt relaxed and in total control of his actions. The events of the day had combined to uncomplicate the proceedings. The hunt was over, the intrigue finished. The whole affair had been stripped of its complexities and clutter and reduced to the basics upon which an adventurer builds the structure of his career. There were villains to be thwarted and a damsel in distress to be rescued. He asked for nothing better.

The plan he had settled on with Garvi after Harry’s call was the essence of simplicity, and if he was aware that its execution would prove more difficult than its conception he did not allow the thought to worry him. Garvi and Yakovitz would take Hakim to the bridge and follow the terrorists to their hideout where the exchange would be made. As the rendezvous was taking place, he would enter the factory alone and try to get Leila out while the garrison was at least reduced.