Алистер Маклин - Death Train

‘The young lady who was arrested at Vergiate.’

‘Yeah, I was with her, but we’d only met the night before. I didn’t even know her name. Do you know her?’

‘I did once. A long time ago.’

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Kolchinsky said, indicating the two vacant chairs on either side of the table.

‘Why thank you, Father,’ Werner said and sat down beside him. He introduced himself and Hendrique, using the alias Joe Hemmings.

‘Father Kortov,’ Kolchinsky said, shaking Werner’s hand.

‘What part of Russia are you from?’ Werner asked.

‘Moscow originally but I was forced to leave. I work in America now.’

‘Yes, the Russian authorities are notorious iconoclasts.’

Graham took the bill from the waiter and mentally worked out what he owed. Kolchinsky paid the balance.

‘A drink perhaps?’ Werner asked and indicated that the waiter should stay.

‘What does one drink after a meal in Italy?’ Kolchinsky asked.

‘The favourite liqueurs are Amaretto and Sambuca.’

‘Amaretto? That’s almond flavour, isn’t it?’ Kolchinsky asked, feigning ignorance. ‘Liquor isn’t one of my strong points.’

‘I should hope not, Father,’ Werner said, chuckling. ‘You’re quite right though, it’s an almond liqueur.’

‘That would be nice, thank you,’ Kolchinsky replied.

Werner looked at Graham. ‘How about you Mr–?’

‘Green. Michael Green. Nothing for me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘ Due Amaretti, per favore ,’ Werner said to the waiter, who then hurried away.

‘Any sign of your missing conductor?’ Graham asked Hendrique.

Hendrique shook his head.

‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for his disappearance,’ Werner said, breaking the uneasy silence.

The waiter returned with the liqueurs.

After paying for them Werner held up his glass. ‘To the future.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Kolchinsky said, touching glasses.

Werner took a sip. ‘I can’t imagine Sabrina involved in anything as sordid as murder. She always struck me as the epitome of refinement.’

‘Murder has no class boundaries,’ Hendrique said.

‘True enough, but I still can’t imagine her as a murderess.’

‘Perhaps she’s a spy,’ Hendrique countered with a faint smile.

‘Piacenza, Piacenza,’ the assistant conductor announced from the doorway.

Werner drank down his Amaretto, then stood up. ‘I think I’ll turn in and read a few chapters of my book. Nice to have met you both. I’m sure we’ll meet again.’

Kolchinsky gripped the proffered hand. ‘I’m sure we will. And thank you for the drink.’

‘My pleasure,’ Werner replied with a curt bow.

Hendrique pushed back his chair and followed Werner out of the dining car.

‘We know they know and I’m pretty sure they know we know. It’s a stalemate. And if they know we know they’re almost certainly going to change their plans. We have to be ready for that.’ Kolchinsky finished his Amaretto and put the glass in the centre of the table.

‘Right,’ Graham said without any conviction. Kolchinsky had left him behind after the first sentence. He stifled a yawn and got to his feet. ‘You coming?’

‘Sure,’ Kolchinsky replied.

They reached the compartment as the train came to a halt in the brightly illuminated Piacenza station. The corridor windows were facing the platform and Graham scanned the assortment of passengers waiting to board the train.

‘There’s a nun out there,’ Graham called out over his shoulder.

‘Come in and close the door,’ Kolchinsky urged. ‘If she sees me she’s sure to want to talk. Come inside.’

Graham entered the compartment and slid the door shut. ‘This waiting game’s playing on my nerves. We’re running out of time and those bastards could give us the slip any time. Who’s to say they’re even going to Rome? All they need to do is uncouple the freight car and we’ve lost them.’ There was a knock at the door.

Graham unholstered his Beretta and slipped it into his jacket pocket, then peeked through a hairline crack between the two drawn curtains. ‘It’s the nun, she must have seen you from the platform.’

‘That’s all we need. You’d better open the door.’

‘We could ignore her,’ Graham suggested.

‘We can’t ignore her. Open the door, I’ll speak to her.’

Graham shrugged and did as he was told. The nun picked up her holdall and came in, her head bowed.

‘This compartment’s already occupied, Sister. I’m sure–’ he tailed off when she looked up at him. ‘Sabrina?’

‘I’d say we’ve got the same tailor,’ she said, removing her black-rimmed glasses. ‘One Monsieur Jacques Rust.’

Graham locked the door. ‘What the hell’s going on? How did you get out of custody? How did you get here for that matter?’

She held up her hands defensively. ‘Give me a chance to sit down and I’ll answer all your questions.’

‘Fancy a coffee?’ Kolchinsky asked. Her smile answered the question.

‘You can get something to eat later. The dining car’s open till ten. I’ve no idea why, there are barely enough passengers for a first sitting,’ Kolchinsky said on his way out in search of coffee.

When he returned it was with a small tray on which was a cup of hot coffee and a slice of chestnut cake with freshly whipped cream. She refused the cake so he ate it while she described what had happened, from the time of her arrest at Vergiate to the helicopter flight from Zurich.

‘This is for you, Sergei, from the boss,’ she concluded, taking a sealed envelope from the holdall and handing it to Kolchinsky.

Kolchinsky slit the seal open, read the contents of the letter and then burned it. ‘The Colonel wants us to impound the plutonium as soon as possible. He feels it’s too dangerous to play this cat and mouse game with them any longer, especially with Hendrique on the loose with such an array of weapons. This train’s only so big and innocent people are likely to be hurt if he’s not stopped.’

‘One has already. The conductor.’

Kolchinsky nodded and explained the incident briefly to Sabrina.

She glanced at the communicating door. ‘Make sure you point out which couchette he’s under before I turn in. I’d hate to sleep on him.’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,’ Graham said sardonically.

She gave him a contemptuous smile then turned to Kolchinsky. ‘Have you got a plan in mind?’

‘It’s the outline of a plan. Whether it’s feasible is quite another matter.’

Graham and Sabrina listened to him in silence then the three of them thrashed out the details until they were in agreement how to implement it.

Sabrina then went through to the dining car and while she ate she thought about C.W. and wondered how he was progressing with his investigation in Mainz.

The telephone rang.

Whitlock rolled over sleepily in bed and fumbled in the darkness for the overhead light switch. He knocked something over and by the noise it made on hitting the carpet he knew it was the quarter-full glass of water he had left on the bedside table before going to sleep. He found the switch then lifted the receiver to his ear, his forearm shielding his eyes from the dazzling light.

‘Hello?’ he muttered, stifling a yawn.

The voice at the other end was little more than a hoarse whisper.

‘Hello?’ he said irritably. ‘You’ll have to speak up.’

‘C.W.?’ the voice was barely audible.

‘Yes, who’s speaking?’

‘Karen.’

‘It’s–’ He squinted at the bedside clock with one eye. ‘God, it’s 1.40 in the morning. What do you want?’