Алистер Маклин: The Way to Dusty Death

‘I know.’ There was no disguising the harsh edge of strain in Jacobson’s voice.

‘Remember I’d told you that I thought Harlow had phoned Vignolles? He hadn’t. The bastard had phoned the Bandol police. They arrived while I was still in the phone booth. There was nothing I could do. They rowed out to The Chevalier and nabbed him there.’

‘And the papers?’

‘One of the police was carrying a large attaché case.’

‘I don’t think that Bandol is a very healthy place for us to be.’ Jacobson was back on balance again. He drove off but not in a fashion ostentatious enough to attract attention. As they reached the outskirts of the town, he said: ‘That’s it, then. What with those papers and that cassette the whole operation’s blown. Termine. Fine. The end of the road.’ He seemed remarkably calm.

‘And now?’

‘Operation fly-away. I’ve had it planned for months. First stop is our flat in Cuneo.’

‘Nobody knows about it?’

‘Nobody. Except Willi. And he won’t talk. Besides, it’s not under our names anyway.’ He pulled up alongside a thicket of trees. ‘The boot’s unlocked and the grey case is yours. Those clothes you’re wearing – leave them among the trees.’

‘Why? It’s a perfectly good suit and–’

‘What’s’ going to happen if the Customs search us and find a suit of soaking wet clothes?’

‘You have a point,’ Tracchia said and got out of the car. When he returned in two or three minutes, Jacobson was in the back seat. Tracchia said: ‘You want me to drive?’

‘We’re in a hurry and my name is not Nicolo Tracchia.’ As Tracchia engaged gear he went on: ‘We should have no trouble with the Customs and police at the Col de Tende. The word won’t be out for hours yet. It’s quite possible that they haven’t discovered that Mary is missing yet. Besides, they’ve no idea where we’re heading. No reason why they should notify border police. But by the time we reach the Swiss frontier we may be in trouble.’

‘So?’

‘Two hours in Cuneo. We’ll switch cars, leave the Aston in the garage and take the Peugeot. Pack some more clothes for ourselves, pick up our other passports and identification papers, then call in Erita and our photographer friend. Within the hour Erita will have turned our Mary into a blonde and very shortly afterwards our friend will have a nice shiny British passport for her. Then we drive up to Switzerland. If the word is out, then the border boys will be on the alert. Well, as alert as those cretins can be in the middle of the night. But they’ll be looking for an Aston Martin with one man and a brunette inside – that’s assuming our friends back in Vignolles have managed to put two and two together, which I very much doubt. But they won’t be looking for two men and blonde in a Peugeot, with passports carrying completely different names.’

Tracchia was now driving the car close to its limits and he had almost to shout to make himself heard. The Aston Martin is a magnificent machine but not particularly renowned for the quietness of its engine: there were carping critics who occasionally maintained that the engines for the David Brown tractor division found their way into the wrong machines. Ferrari and Lamborghini owners had been known to describe it as the fastest lorry in Europe. Tracchia said: ‘You sound very sure of yourself, Jake.’

‘I am.’

Tracchia glanced at the girl by his side. ‘And Mary here? God knows we’re no angels but I don’t want any harm to come to her.’

‘No harm. I told her I don’t make war on women and I’ll keep my word on that. She’s our safe conduct if the police come after us.’

‘Or Johnny Harlow?’

‘Or Harlow. When we get to Zurich, each of us will go to the bank in turns, cash and transfer money while the others keeps her as hostage. Then we fly out into the wild blue yonder,’

‘You expect trouble in Zurich?’

‘None. We haven’t even been arrested far less convicted so our Zurich friends won’t open up. Besides, we’re under different names and with numbered accounts.’

‘The wild blue yonder? With teleprinted copies of our photographs at every airport in the world?’

‘Only the major ones on scheduled flights. Lots of minor airfields around. There’s a private flight division in Kloten airport and I have a pilot friend there. He’ll file a flight plan for Geneva which will mean that we don’t have to pass customs. We’ll land somewhere quite a way from Switzerland. He can always claim that he was hi-jacked. Ten thousand Swiss francs should fit it.’

‘You think of everything, don’t you, Jake?’ There was genuine admiration in Tracchia’s voice.

‘I try.’ Jacobson, uncharacteristically, sounded almost complacent. ‘I try.’

The red Ferrari was drawn up outside the chalet in Vignolles. MacAlpine held his sobbing wife in his arms but he was not looking as happy as he might have done in the circumstances. Dunnet approached Harlow.

‘How do you feel, boy?’

‘Bloody well exhausted.’

‘I’ve bad news, Johnny. Jacobson’s gone.’

‘He can wait. I’ll get him.’

‘There’s more to it than that, Johnny.’

‘What?’

‘He’s taken Mary with him.’

Harlow stood immobile, his drawn and weary face without expression. He said: ‘Does James know?’

‘I’ve just told him. And I think he’s just telling his wife.’ He handed a note to Harlow. ‘I found this in Mary’s bathroom.’

Harlow looked at it. ‘ “Jacobson is taking me to Cuneo.” ’ Without even a pause he said: ‘I’ll go now.’

‘You can’t, man! You’re totally exhausted. You said so yourself.’

‘Not any more. Come with me?’

Dunnet accepted the inevitable. ‘You stop me. But I’ve no gun.’

‘Guns we have,’ Rory said. He produced four as proof of his assertion.

‘We?’ Harlow said. ‘You’re not coming.’

‘I would remind you, Mr Harlow,’ Rory said with some asperity, ‘that I saved your life twice tonight. All good things come in threes. I have the right.’

Harlow nodded. ‘You have the right.’

MacAlpine and his wife were staring numbly at them. The expressions on their faces were an extraordinary combination of happiness and a broken bewilderment.

MacAlpine said, tears in his eyes: ‘Alexis has told me everything. I’ll never be able to thank you, I’ll never be able to forgive myself and the rest of my life will be too short for the apologies I have to make to you. You destroyed your career, ruined yourself, to bring my Marie back.’

‘Ruined me?’ Harlow said calmly. ‘Nonsense. There’s another season coming up.’ He smiled without mirth. ‘And there’ll be a fair bit of the top-flight opposition missing.’ He smiled again, this time encouragingly. ‘I’ll bring Mary back. With your help, James. Everybody knows you. You know everybody and you’re a millionaire. There’s only one way from here to Cuneo. Phone someone, preferably some big trucking firm in Nice. Offer them £10,000 to block the French end of the Col de Tende. My passport’s gone. You understand?’

‘I’ve a friend in Nice who would do it for nothing. But what’s the use, Johnny? It’s a job for the police.’

‘No. And I’m not thinking about the continental habit of first of all riddling wanted cars and then asking the dead bodies questions. What I–’

‘Johnny, whether you or the police get to them first makes no difference. I know now that you know everything, have known for a long time. Those are the two men who will bring me down.’

Harlow said mildly: ‘There’s a third man, James. Willi Neubauer. But he’ll never talk. Admission to kidnapping would bring him another ten years in prison. You weren’t listening to me, James. Phone Nice. Phone Nice now. All I said was that I would bring Mary back.’