Алистер Маклин - Circus

Sergius drained his glass of vodka – he had the same osmotic affinity for his national drink as parched sand has for water – and said: ‘Where is Bruno Wildermann?’

‘He’s in the stadium. But – but you’re not seriously thinking of fingerprinting him? His own brothers–’

‘Please. I look so foolish? Come. It concerns you, too.’

As the two men approached, Bruno turned away from the supervision of the rigging of a low wire across the centre ring. He looked without expression at Sergius and said: ‘You have word, Colonel?’

‘Yes. Both from the railways and the Air Force. But I’m afraid both reports are negative. No trace of any person lying alongside the railway tracks.’

‘So that has to make it kidnapping?’

‘There would appear to be no other obvious solution.’

Late that afternoon, when Bruno was rehearsing his solo act on the newly slung high trapeze, he was summoned to Wrinfield’s office. He slid to the ground, put on his mentalist’s mandarin cloak and went to the office, which, as seemed inevitable, was only feet from the as yet empty tigers’ cage. Wrinfield was at his desk, Maria at hers. Sergius and Kodes were standing. The atmosphere was halfway between the tense and the funereal.

Sergius took a piece of paper that Wrinfield was studying and handed it to Bruno. It held a printed message, in English, which said: ‘The Wildermann brothers will be returned alive on the receipt of 50,000 dollars. Used bills. Any denomination. Instructions for transfer on Sunday, delivery Monday. Failure to deliver will result in delivery of two left little fingers Monday. Same fingers delivered if notes received but found to be treated for identification by infra-red, ultra-violet or X-ray. Two fingers on Tuesday. On Thursday, two one-handed trapeze artistes.’

Bruno handed the note back to Sergius.

‘Your suspicions were correct.’

‘I was right. No nerves. No feelings. Yes, it would appear so.’

‘They seem ruthless.’

‘They are.’

‘And professionals?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do they keep their promises?’

Sergius sighed. ‘Are you so naïve as to try to trap me into something? You are about to say that I seem to know a lot about them. If they are who I think they are – and this has all the hallmarks of previous ransom demands – then they are an extremely able and efficient gang of kidnappers who have carried out a number of such kidnappings in the past few years.’

‘You know the members of this gang?’

‘We think we know one or two.’

‘Then why are they still at large?’

‘Suspicion, my dear Wildermann, is not proof. One cannot ask for the death penalty on suspicion.’

‘I did ask an earlier question. About their promises. Will they carry out their mutilation threats? If the ransom is paid, will they return my brothers alive?’

‘I can offer no guarantee. But, judging by past experiences, the chances are high. It’s only logical and good business for them, as specialists in kidnapping operations, to do so. Sounds ridiculous in this context, but it builds up good faith and good will. If a kidnapee is returned promptly and unharmed after the payment of the ransom, then the parents and relatives of the next victim will meet the demands at once, knowing the chances are good that the victim will be returned. But if the kidnappers were to accept the ransom and then kill the victim, then the relatives of the next victim might conclude that the paying of a ransom was a waste of time.’

‘What are the chances of tracing them before Monday?’

‘Four days? Very little, I’m afraid.’

‘Then we’d better have the money ready, hadn’t we?’ Sergius nodded and Bruno turned to Wrinfield. ‘It would take me a year to pay you back, sir.’

Wrinfield smiled, a not very happy smile. ‘I’d do it for the boys themselves without any hope of return. And – I’m being purely selfish, of course – there is not and never will be another group like The Blind Eagles.’

Walking casually, aimlessly, they turned right down a street opposite the undertaker’s on West Street. Dr Harper said: ‘Are we being followed, do you think?’

Bruno said: ‘Watched, I don’t know. Shadowed, no.’

Inside two or three hundred yards the street deteriorated into a winding country lane. Soon afterwards it came to a stout wooden bridge which spanned a slow-flowing and obviously very deep river, some thirty feet in width with ice already forming at both edges. Bruno examined the bridge with some deliberation, then hurried to catch up with an impatient Harper, whose circulation was clearly not geared to cope with the sub-freezing temperature.

Immediately beyond the bridge the road was swallowed up by what appeared to be virgin pine forest. Less than a quarter of a mile farther on the two men came to a large semicircular glade lying to the right of the road.

‘The helicopter,’ Dr Harper said, ‘will land here.’

Dusk was falling when Bruno, clad in his best street clothes, returned to Wrinfield’s office. Only the owner and Maria were there.

Bruno said: ‘Okay if I take my fiancée for a coffee, sir?’

Wrinfield smiled, nodded, then got back to looking worried and preoccupied again. Bruno helped the girl on with her heavy Astrakhan coat and they walked out into the thinly falling snow.

Maria said crossly: ‘We could have had coffee in the canteen or in your living-room. It’s very cold and damp out here.’

‘Nagging and not even married yet. Two hundred yards is all. You will find that Bruno Wildermann always has his reasons.’

‘Such as?’

‘Remember our friends of the other night, who followed us so faithfully?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at him, startled. ‘You mean–’

‘No. They’ve been given a rest – snow has an adverse effect upon both marcelled hair and bald heads. The lad behind us is about three inches shorter than you, with a cloth cap, torn coat, baggy trousers and scuffed shoes. Looks like a skid row graduate but he’s not.’

They turned into a café that had obviously abandoned hope a generation ago. In a country where the cafés seemed to specialize in smoke and minimal lighting, this one had really touched rock bottom. One’s eyes immediately started to smart: a couple of guttering candles would have provided an equal level of illumination. Bruno guided Maria to a corner seat. She looked around her in distaste.

‘Is this what married life is going to be like?’

‘You may look back on this as one of your happiest days.’ He turned round. The Chaplinesque figure had slumped wearily into a chair close to the door, produced a ragged paper from somewhere, and sat there dispiritedly with his elbow on the table and a grimy hand to his head. Bruno turned back to Maria.

‘Besides, you must admit there is a certain wild Bohemian charm to the place.’ He put his finger to his lips, leaned forward and pulled up the collar of her Astrakhan coat. Nestling deep in the fold of her collar was a small shining metal device no bigger than a hazelnut. He showed it to her and she stared at him wide-eyed: ‘Order up for us, will you?’

He rose, crossed to where their shadow was sitting, seized him unceremoniously by the right wrist, pulled it away from his head and twisted sharply, an action that gave rise to a sudden yelp of pain from the man but no reaction from the few other customers, who were presumably accustomed to such diversions to the point of boredom. Nestled in the man’s hand was a tiny metal earphone attached to a wire. Bruno followed the wire to a small metal box, hardly larger than the average cigarette lighter, which was tucked away in a breast pocket. Bruno put those items in his own pocket and said: ‘Tell your boss that the next person who follows me will be in no condition to report back again. Leave!’