Алистер Маклин - Death Train

‘And Hendrique?’ Werner asked.

‘He’ll take orders from you.’

‘You know how independent–’

‘He’ll do as he’s told!’ Benin cut in sharply, then lowered his voice. ‘I’ve tolerated his insubordination in the past but he knows exactly what will happen to him if he doesn’t toe the line this time. I think you’ll find him very cooperative.’

‘That will be a first,’ Werner said with surprise. ‘How did you manage it?’

‘I’ve built up a dossier on his drug and arms deals over the past few years. If he steps out of line this time I’ll see to it that the dossier falls into the appropriate hands.’

‘The authorities?’

‘Since when has he ever been frightened of the law? You no doubt heard about the raid on a Venezuelan freighter outside Amsterdam a couple of years ago when a gang impersonating the harbour police impounded over a million pounds worth of acapulco gold?’

‘Hendrique?’

‘Correct. He thought the cannabis was being shipped in by a small-time Dutch gangster trying to muscle in on the Amsterdam syndicate. He couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a Mafia shipment.’

Werner whistled softly.

‘The Mafia immediately put out a contract on the gang. It’s still valid.’ Benin watched Werner light a cigarette before continuing. ‘I spoke to Hendrique on the phone before I left East Berlin. The train’s due out of Sion at nine tomorrow morning. It’s next stop’s Brig, the last station before the Simplon Tunnel. Board the train there, he’s expecting you.’

‘I’ll have a company helicopter refuelled and ready for takeoff within the hour.’

‘There is one more thing,’ Benin said, and picked up an attaché case from beside his chair.

He handed it to Werner.

Werner knew what it contained even though he had never seen it before. He swallowed nervously and unlocked it. Then, almost reluctantly, he opened it. It contained a silver box no bigger than a pocket calculator, cushioned in the centre of a layer of spongy foam.

‘There’s a miniature computer built into the roof of the lid.’

Werner squinted at it. A narrow blank screen above a row of the numbers one to nine. ‘What are the coordinates?’

‘One-nine-six-seven,’ Benin replied.

‘I should have guessed,’ Werner replied, and reached for the numerical keys.

‘Don’t touch it!’

Werner jerked his hand away as though the keyboard had given him an electric shock.

Benin smiled apologetically. ‘It can only be opened once.’

Werner felt a drop of perspiration trickle out from under his hairline and he wiped it away before it could run down the side of his face.

‘It must only be used as a last resort.’

‘I’ll buy that,’ Werner said, then closed the case and locked it, after memorizing the combination.

Benin held out his hand. ‘Good luck, my friend.’

Werner shook it firmly.

Benin left the room. Werner placed the attaché case beside the chair then poured himself a stiff Scotch from the crystal decanter on the sideboard.

Graham tossed the paperback on to the opposite couchette and made his way to the dining car. It was deserted except for a sleepy-eyed steward who glared at him as though he were trespassing.

‘Coffee,’ Graham said as he sat down.

The steward gave him a look of indifference then disappeared through one of the swing doors.

The train had already left Sion when the avalanche struck and with the possibility of further minor falls it had retreated to the sanctuary of the station where the passengers were told it would remain for the rest of the night. The station restaurant had promised to remain open until midnight and the dining car would be open all night for light snacks and beverages, all courtesy of the company.

Graham glanced at his wristwatch. Almost one o’clock in the morning. The steward deposited the steaming hot cup of coffee on to the table in front of him, slopping some into the saucer in the process.

‘Are acts of God designed to show us just how mortal we really are?’

Graham glanced round, startled by the voice behind him.

Hendrique, having rejoined the train at the previous station, Vetroz, was staring out of the window behind Graham. ‘Sorry if I startled you. I take it you are English-speaking?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Hendrique asked, indicating the two chairs opposite Graham.

‘Sit down.’

Hendrique snapped his fingers to wake the dozing steward. ‘ Cameriere! Un cappuccino, per favore .’

The steward scrambled off the bar stool and disappeared through the swing door.

‘You Italian?’

Hendrique pulled one of the chairs away from the table and sat down. ‘No, but it’s one of the languages I’ve learnt to speak over the years.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Graham said with a thinly veiled sarcasm. ‘How many in all?’

‘A handful,’ Hendrique replied with a shrug. ‘I find I can blend in better with the locals if I understand their language. How about you? Are you interested in languages?’

‘Just one. American.’

Hendrique waited until the steward had deposited the coffee and left the dining car before speaking. ‘You look like the sort of man who enjoys a challenge.’

Graham was intrigued. ‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ve devised a board game to alleviate these kind of boring situations. The object is to bluff your opponent into submission. There is a catch, however. We play for pain, not money. The squeamish would doubtless see it as sadistic; I see it as a test of character and inner strength. Interested?’

‘As you said, I look like the sort of man who enjoys a challenge.’

‘Excellent.’ Hendrique got to his feet. ‘I’ll fetch it from my compartment. I won’t be a moment.’

Graham had barely finished his coffee when Hendrique returned with a brown leather attaché case. He put the case on the table and opened it. After removing the contents he closed the lid again and placed the case on the floor beside his chair.

It consisted of a two-inch-thick wooden board, its fifteen-by-eight-inch surface divided into two equal sections by an indicator running the length of the board with the figures one to ten printed on it. On either side of the indicator was a set of three lights positioned equidistantly beneath each other and a metallic pressure pad raised fractionally above the level of the board. A metallic bracelet was attached to a circuit underneath each of the pads by a length of flex on opposite sides of the board. Hendrique, using two paper napkins to protect his hands, removed the strip light from its socket on the ceiling of the carriage directly above the table then unravelled a length of flex and secured the two crocodile clips at the end of it to the respective overhead power points. He fitted the plug at the other end of the flex into the socket at the side of the board.

‘The rules are quite simple. We each attach a bracelet to our wrist then press the palm of our other hand on to the metal pad. Once the pad’s level with the board it activates the electrical circuit and the game begins.’ Hendrique ran his finger the length of the indicator. ‘This monitors the level of current passing through the circuit at any given time. The number one will automatically light up as soon as we activate the circuit and the current increases gradually as the numbers get progressively higher. One to five light up in green, six to eight in amber, nine and ten in red. I think the colours are self-explanatory. The winner is the one who can out-bluff his opponent and keep his hand on the pad the longest. We play the best of three, hence the lights. As soon as the loser pulls his hand off the pad the light on his side comes on. That’s it.’