Алистер Маклин: Death Train

‘ Entschuldigen Sie, Herr Brummer ?’ she said, addressing the silver-haired man standing by the window.

He turned to face them. ‘ Ja. Kann ich Ihnen helfen? ’

Graham held up his hand before she could reply. ‘ Sprechen Sie englisch? ’

Brummer nodded. ‘Of course. Can I help you?’

‘I’m Mike Graham. This is Sabrina Carver.’

‘Ah yes, I was told to expect you. I have the invoices you’ll want over here.’ He indicated the five bulky files on his desk. ‘All the transactions of goods loaded and off-loaded at Strasbourg in the last ten days.’

Graham eyed the mountains of files with dismay. ‘You must be running a pretty busy operation here.’

‘It is, Mr Graham. Because of its strategic position Strasbourg has become the rail centre of Europe. We also have an ever-growing harbour complex, with the result that over half the city’s workforce are dependent on the transportation industry for their livelihood. So as you can see, it is imperative for us to attain a constant turnover to maximize profitability.’

Sabrina opened the top file and leafed through the first few invoices. ‘Are they all in French?’

‘Yes. It is for the benefit of the inspectors who come up from Paris for the biannual audits.

None of them speaks Alsatian.’

‘Thank goodness for the Parisian inspectors. How are the invoices for the loaded and off-loaded goods filed? Separately or together?’

‘Separately, but on a daily basis for easy reference. All invoices also state the consignment’s ultimate destination. For insurance purposes, you understand.’

‘Thank you for your help,’ Sabrina said with a quick smile.

‘If there’s anything you need don’t hesitate to ask.’

‘Coffee,’ Graham said abruptly.

‘I’ll have some sent up straight away.’

‘And some privacy to work,’ Graham added.

‘If you need me I can be contacted on the phone. Extension seven.’

Sabrina waited until Brummer had left then selected a ballpoint pen from the holder on the desk and wrote on a scrap piece of paper. She handed it to Graham.

‘What’s this?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘ Tonnelets de bière et tonneaux de bière – the French for beer kegs and beer barrels. You don’t exactly speak the lingo, do you?’

The meticulous scrutiny of each invoice proved to be both tedious and time-consuming, especially for Graham, who had the disadvantage of not understanding anything he was reading. He finally resigned himself to memorizing the translated words, hoping to come across a matching entry on one of the invoices. It was wishful thinking.

They managed to keep their lassitude at bay with regular coffee breaks every hour and when lunch arrived unexpectedly just after midday, courtesy of Brummer, they were grateful for the nourishment and the respite. Lunch consisted of garbure , a thick vegetable soup, followed by veal de la forestière and pot-au-chocolat for dessert. Although momentarily tempted by the seductively rich chocolate dessert Sabrina’s willpower held firm and she gave it to Graham.

With lunch over they reluctantly returned their attention to the files.

It was 3.20 when Sabrina finally closed the last of her three files. She stood up, stretched, then moved to the window and looked out over the busy concourse.

‘Are you nearly finished?’

He gripped the remaining invoices between his thumb and forefinger in an attempt to judge their numbers. ‘About fifty to go.’

‘Give them to me, it’ll be quicker. You get the gear from the locker downstairs.’

Their weapons would have been deposited in the locker the previous night by a UNACO operative. The key had been left at the hotel pending their arrival. It was a standard UNACO procedure.

‘Why the hurry?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve found something, haven’t you?’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Give me the file.’

‘We are supposed to be working together.’

She rubbed her eyes wearily. ‘I had my reasons. We had to go through all those invoices, regardless of what we found. If I’d told you about the entry earlier on it might have lulled you into a false sense of complacency. It was you, after all, who was going on at breakfast about the perils of lapses in concentration.’

‘Your faith in me’s touching,’ he said tersely.

‘It works both ways, Mike,’ she replied, holding his stare.

He bit back his anger and left the office. The concourse was packed and he struggled to control his temper as he was jostled and shoved by passengers rushing for the boarding gates the moment their trains were announced over the Tannoy. On reaching the lockers he found the area around them occupied by a crowd of students, their rucksacks and kitbags strewn across the unswept floor. He removed an envelope from his anorak pocket, slit it open with his finger, and dropped the key into his hand. He unlocked the relevant locker and removed the pale-blue Adidas holdall; but when he turned away he found his path blocked by an attractive teenager in scruffy jeans and a baggy floral T-shirt. The glazed expression in her eyes told him she was on drugs. She offered him the half-smoked burnie but he batted it angrily from her fingers before heading back towards the concourse. It was then he saw the approaching gendarme . For a moment he thought the gendarme had seen the incident and he instinctively gripped the holdall tighter. He would have a lot of explaining to do if he were asked to open it.

The gendarme stopped in front of the scattered luggage and prodded the nearest haversack with his foot, ordering the students to stack their belongings in a tidy pile against the wall. As the students came forward to claim their luggage the gendarme watched them closely, randomly checking passports and train tickets. Graham noticed the fear on the girl’s face as she crouched against the wall, her eyes flickering nervously around her. He crossed to where she was squatting and hauled her to her feet.

‘You speak English?’ he asked sharply.

She nodded.

‘Put these on,’ he said pressing his sunglasses into her hand.

She glanced at the gendarme . ‘You’re not going to–’

‘Put them on!’ he interposed irritably. ‘Now, where’s your luggage?’

‘The orange haversack.’

Graham hoisted the haversack over his shoulder and noticed the gendarme watching him.

‘My daughter’s. Is there some problem?’

He never knew whether the gendarme understood him or not but felt relief flood over him when he was dismissed with a curt wave of the hand.

‘Who are you?’ the teenager asked after he had led her into the main concourse.

‘That’s not important. How old are you?’

She bowed her head. ‘Eighteen.’

‘Student?’

‘Princeton.’

‘You’re young, pretty and obviously intelligent so why the hell are you trying to screw up your life? All it takes is one conviction to make you a criminal. You’ll have to carry that stigma around with you for the rest of your life. It’s not worth it.’

‘You’ve done drugs,’ she said softly.

He held out his hand. ‘You’re safe now. My sunglasses.’

She took them off and gave them back to him. ‘Thanks. I owe you.’

‘You owe yourself.’ He pushed the sunglasses into his shirt pocket then disappeared into the seething mass of afternoon commuters.

Sabrina looked up when he returned. ‘You took your time.’

He grimaced. ‘It’s a jungle out there.’ He pointed to the file in her lap. ‘Find anything?’

‘Just that one entry.’

He put the holdall on the table then moved behind her chair to look over her shoulder at the entry she was underlining with a fingernail.